Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 02 - Elective Procedures (38 page)

“Where is Inez now?”

“Now?” It was almost dark, but I could see his blank eyes. “I told you. She stays at the clinic. In a private suite. She’s not well.”

“Is she conscious?”

The question seemed to surprise him. “Conscious? Why would you ask?”

Why? How should I explain? Because there were no tampons in your house? Because I didn’t see a bedpan? Because I suspect that you might have killed her?

“I just wondered.”

Alain looked at the horizon. “She has moments of clarity. In
between, it’s as if she’s gone. Her skin was like flawless porcelain. Her features were in perfect proportion, the epitome of the feminine aesthetic. But in a single instant—a mere moment of carelessness, it was gone.”

Gone? So she was dead or comatose? I’d been right? I didn’t know what to say, felt cruel for having opened the Pandora’s box that was Alain’s conscience.

“It’s surprising,” he talked to the distance, “how fragile we humans are. We can shatter so easily.”

Was he talking about his wife or himself?

“Alain, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked—”

“No, no. I’m glad you did.” He took a breath and his eyes came alive again. He set the beer bottle down and took my hand. “You have a right to know, given what’s passed between us.”

I stood still, not wanting to arouse the jealousy of his other self. Took a swig of beer.

“Here’s the situation, Elle. My wife won’t recover. I won’t divorce her because, as I’ve said, her condition is my fault. I can’t abandon her.” He lifted my free hand to his mouth, kissed it.

I stiffened.

“I have no right to ask this. I can’t offer you marriage or a future. But you’re not like other women, Elle. You are a complete person, comfortable in your skin. You don’t need me to fix or change you. You don’t expect me to be God. You let me be who I am, flaws and all.”

I held my breath, sensing where he was heading. Trying to figure out a neutral response. Something that would neither hurt him nor incite his alter ego. Wondering if he might transform into his wife’s character right in front of my eyes. Picturing it. Would he use a falsetto? Pull a knife out of his pants’ pocket? Oh God.

He was still talking. “Anyway, forgive me for sounding maudlin. But what I’m trying to say is that I’d like it if—Elle, can I see you again? I could come to the States in a few—”

Susan pulled the sliding door open. “Dr. Du Bois—it’s Jen—”

Alain let go of my hand and rushed inside.

As I followed, I heard an ear-shattering scream.

“I think she’s having a reaction to the salve.” Susan hurried, sounded scared.

“Salve?”

“The scar-prevention stuff you sent. With your nurse.”

Alain gaped at Susan. “My nurse?”

Susan looked around. “I think she left right before you got here.”

We hurried, frenzied, while Jen screamed and Susan kept talking, saying that she couldn’t remember the nurse’s name. That the nurse had said Alain had sent her because he was running so late. That moments after Jen applied the salve as instructed, her skin had gotten red and burned.

We ran through the bedroom, into the bathroom where Jen stood in the shower, belting out a litany of curses. I stood in the doorway, helpless, chewing my lip.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Susan jabbered, “so I threw her into a cool shower.”

“Get clean towels,” Alain commanded. “And washcloths. And gauze. Let me see that salve.”

Susan rushed around, assisting. Alain spoke calmly to Jen, trying to examine her, telling her not to stand directly under the spray. I felt useless. Confused. Couldn’t understand what had happened. An allergic reaction? A pharmacy mistake?

And why didn’t Alain remember sending the nurse over? Had he been so busy at the clinic that he’d forgotten? So busy that he’d even given her the wrong salve? Dammit. What if Alain had had another “moment of carelessness,” making another mistake, causing an accident that harmed Jen the way he’d harmed his wife?

Jen wasn’t cursing anymore, just whimpering. I couldn’t bear
to listen. I left the room, wandered uselessly across the living room, pacing. Worrying. Thinking about the nurse.

What if Alain hadn’t forgotten about her, but hadn’t sent her? What if the nurse’s uniform had been a disguise like the maid’s uniform?

Was it possible that Alain’s other persona had dressed as a nurse, wearing a wig, keeping his face turned away so no one would recognize him? After all, she’d left moments before he’d arrived. He could have changed his clothes and come back. In fact, he might have worn the nurse’s disguise and injured his other patients earlier, at the clinic.

Oh God. Was it possible? Could Alain be that sick?

I didn’t want to think so. And in truth, I had no evidence that he was. All I had were possibilities and my imagination. But there had to be other possibilities.

I tried to think of some. Couldn’t stop picturing Alain in a nurse’s uniform, a maid’s uniform. His features were refined; he wouldn’t make a bad-looking woman. Except for his jaw. And the hair on his hands. And his prominent Adam’s apple. Susan would probably have noticed. Jen definitely would have.

So the nurse couldn’t have been Alain. And if she hadn’t been Alain—

I stopped breathing, bit my lip. Maybe it had been Alain’s wife all along. Maybe she was well enough to attack Alain’s patients, seeking vengeance on the women who’d received her nose and lips.

My mind spun. One minute I was suspecting Alain, the next his disabled wife. For all I knew, Jen’s reaction wasn’t related to either of them. It might merely have been an allergy. But, deep down, I knew better. One of them, Alain or his wife, had gone too far, had hurt my friend. And I couldn’t let that go. Had to find out.

The clinic was close to the hotel. Even limping, I could be there in ten minutes. I would pay a visit to Mrs. Du Bois and find out how badly disabled she was, how angry she was. And
whether or not she was capable of doctoring Jen’s medication or slicing Greta’s face.

In the next room, Susan was soothing Jen. Speaking in mommy tones, saying that she’d be fine. Alain was telling Jen to lie still so he could apply cool compresses, then assuring her that the burns were superficial and wouldn’t cause scarring. That, even so, she’d have to change the dressings twice a day, use antibiotic cream, apply aloe. He talked on.

I didn’t tell them where I was going, didn’t want Alain to object or try to stop me. Besides, I’d be back before they even knew I was gone. I hurried to my bedroom to get my shoes, so focused on what I was about to do and what I might learn that I didn’t pay attention to anything else. So I didn’t see the nurse hiding by the door, and I’m not sure which happened first, the flash of white light or Charlie’s voice calling my name.

“Come here, Elf.” Charlie sounded comforting. “Let me hold you.”

Charlie was with me. Did that mean I was dead again? Damn.

“Charlie?” I tried to speak. I might have, wasn’t sure. Thoughts and actions seemed to have merged. “Where are you?” I couldn’t see him, couldn’t open my eyes. But I felt his arms around me.

“Nobody else ever mattered to me. I compared every other woman to you. They never came close.”

“Stop bullshitting,” I told him, or thought I did. “It’s too late. It doesn’t matter any more.”

“Of course it matters. We have the entire future.”

He continued, but I didn’t understand what he said next because it was in Spanish.

Wait. Spanish? Charlie didn’t speak Spanish. And I was answering in Spanish, which I didn’t speak either.

Damn. Did people speak new languages after death?

Even in my confused state, I realized that it made no sense.
If I were able to speak a language, I would also be able to understand it, wouldn’t I?

I faded for a moment, resting in Charlie’s arms. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

See that? I thought. He’s speaking English again.

I listened as he’d told me to stay still.

Susan yelled. “What’s going on? Oh God—Elle? What the hell—”

A man said, “Get out.”

A woman yelled, “No, do not move. Stay right there.”

So the man’s voice hadn’t been Charlie’s. And the woman’s hadn’t been mine. So whose were they? Where was I?

“Charlie?” I tried again.

“What’s happened to Elle?” Susan demanded. She sounded far away.

It was a good question. What had happened? Slowly, I took inventory, starting at the top. The back of my head hurt. Oh, and my eyes were closed. Cautiously, I opened one. Saw a broken lamp. And fabric—The hem of a bedspread. I closed the eye again. Reasoned that I must be on the floor beside Becky’s bed. That my head hurt because someone had hit me with the lamp.

The man and woman kept arguing. Back-and-forth. Spanish and English, English and Spanish.

“
Ponga la cuchilla. Por favor. Venir aqui
.” The voice was Alain’s.

“
No. Yo le voy a matar
.”

“You don’t want to kill her. She’s no one to me. Just a tourist.”

“Don’t you think I can see her face? Look at the wounds. I can see that you destroyed her, too.”

“No, she’s not a patient.”

“Liar. She’s one of your women. I can see your trademark in her scars. I can smell you on her skin.”

“Please, Inez.
Te amo
.”

Inez? I opened my eyes, turned my head. A woman in a
nurse’s uniform crouched over me. Holding a long, thin knife over my chest.

“
Te odio,”
she hissed. “You ruined me. You made me ugly, and now you spurn me.”

“It’s not true, Inez—”

“You think I’m not good enough for you. You go to other women instead. Women you’ve made beautiful. Well, no more.
Es terminado
. I’ll finish them. Or I’ll make them as ugly as I am—”

“Inez,” I could see Alain’s feet step closer to the bed. “You are my only love.
Solo le amo.”

“Really? Then tell me: how come you help every woman but me? You take crows and make them swans. But me you leave ugly. Why didn’t you just kill me? Then at least I wouldn’t scare children and repulse everyone who sees me—”

“Don’t say that, Inez. It’s not like that. I’m trying to help you. Everyone at the clinic is trying.” He tried to sound soothing, but his voice was unsteady.

“The clinic? Hah. You sent me there so you wouldn’t have to look at me. Admit it.”

“No. It’s not true.”

“Anyway, they can’t help me. How are they going to take away my disfigurement and give me back my face?”

Alain sighed. His feet moved closer.

“No—stay back. And you—don’t move.”

“Okay. I’m not moving.” Susan’s voice came from outside the door.

I turned my head slightly, tested my fingers and toes. The knife was just a few inches above my breastbone. If I rolled over, she’d miss my heart, hit my side. Maybe puncture a lung—or was it a kidney. I couldn’t remember anatomy. Couldn’t think of parts of my body that hadn’t been injured yet. My head buzzed. Inez’s knife was inches from my heart. I didn’t dare move, and yet I had to if I wanted to escape.

Alain kept talking, trying to calm her. Asking her to put
down the knife. Swearing his love for her. “You are still beautiful to me.
Mujer bella.”

“Oh, yes. Very beautiful. Except, if I am so beautiful, why can’t you make love to me anymore? When’s the last time, Alain? You can’t remember, can you?”

“I will,
mi amado.
I’ll make love to you now. Let’s go home.
Haga el amor conmigo
.” Alain stood near my head. “Come to me, Inez. You are the love of my life.”

The love of his life? Charlie’s exact words. Did all husbands say that to their wives? Or just all cheating husbands?

“
Lo siento. Es demasiado tarde
.” Inez turned, met his eyes with fire and raised the knife, ready to plunge it into me.

Reflexively, I thrust a hand onto her arm and a knee into her hip, surprising her, diverting her aim, unbalancing her. She glared, recovering, swinging the blade at me, shouting, “
Te matara
,” as Alain pounced, trying to disarm her. He reached for the hilt, missed, caught the blade, yowled. Dived onto her. Susan joined in, grabbing Inez’s legs, pulling her away from me.