Pandora's Key (13 page)

Stacy stared at Evangeline like horns were suddenly growing out of her head—like she was some kind of monster. “You don’t know. Of course you don’t. How could you?”

“Know what?” Evangeline demanded in a fervent voice she’d never heard herself use before.

“Don’t be so quick to judge, okay? Only two weeks ago, Dr. Sullivan woke up to find that his wife had died sometime during the night from a pulmonary embolism. She was eight months pregnant.”

“Oh my god.” Evangeline winced and gripped her mom’s hand tightly. “The baby?”
All those unopened pink gift bags.

“The baby died, too.” Stacy sat down at the foot of the bed. “Look, Evangeline, I’m sorry—really sorry. This situation, well, it sucks for you, I get that. But changing doctors isn’t going to alter what’s happening to your mom. And Dr. Sullivan is the best. He knows what’s at stake.”

Walking to the window, Evangeline stared out on the gloomy gray morning. “I feel like it’s all my fault,” she said softly.

“What is?”

“I haven’t been the greatest daughter. I knew something was wrong with my mom—all these weird symptoms—and I ignored it—because it scared me. And the day I found my mom unconscious in her bedroom…she’d made me a painting and I called it a monstrosity. I pretended I was kidding, but I wasn’t.”

“Was it?”

Evangeline half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Nothing my mom ever painted was a monstrosity. It was beautiful—but it felt like a slap in the face.”

“You have something in common with Dr. Sullivan,” Stacy said.

Evangeline shook her head. “I have nothing in common with him.”

“He thinks his wife’s and daughter’s deaths were his fault, too.”

“Oh no. Were they?”

“Embolisms are like cancer. They just happen.”

“E,” a girl’s voice called out. Evangeline turned and saw her best friend pushing open the door. Melia had dressed hastily—no makeup, unbrushed hair, torn jeans, sneakers and an oversized sweater.

“Melia! What are you doing here? Evangeline said. “You look awful.”

“Thanks a lot. You…don’t.” Melia came into the room and wrapped Evangeline in a tight hug. Evangeline didn’t move, willing to let Melia try to hold her together.

“She’s really sick, M.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

Evangeline breathed in the familiar cinnamon scent of her friend and for just a second tried to pretend they were somewhere else—but it didn’t work. When she opened her eyes, she saw Tristin in the hallway, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and nervously spinning that lacrosse stick. He looked awful, too, like he’d had about as much sleep as she’d had the last few nights.

Stacy gave Evangeline’s arm a squeeze as she headed out the door. “Trust Dr. Sullivan, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, and thanks,” Evangeline said.

Raphe walked up beside Tristin and raised one hand in a shy greeting. “Hey, E.”

“Hey. Oh, I’m so glad you’re all here. But…how’d you guys find out?”

“Bad news travels fast,” Melia said. “Samantha’s murder attempt on your mom was front page of the Oregonian. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“How’d you get out of school?”

“Duh, we’re skipping. This is way more important than school.” Melia grasped Evangeline’s hands. “Why didn’t you call? My mom would’ve picked you up last night. You could’ve stayed with me.”

Evangeline shrugged. “I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t say the words, you know? It would’ve made everything too real. And Samantha…I thought she loved us.” And then Evangeline was crouching on the floor, sobbing hard with Melia and Raphe’s arms around her, trying to keep her from shattering into a million pieces.

“There’s a manhunt out for Samantha Harris,” Tristin offered from the doorway.

“I don’t think they’ll find her,” Evangeline said when she finally stopped sobbing. “The detective on the case said she’s disappeared without a trace. Sam didn’t have a Social Security number and I bet we never even knew her real name. Can you believe that? I don’t even know my godmother’s real name?!”

“Hey gang, I don’t think your friend has had breakfast,” Stacy said, popping her head in the room. “Why don’t you head down to the cafeteria and get her something?”

Evangeline stood up, wiping her face on her sleeve. “I’m not really hungry. Besides, I don’t want to leave mom.”

“I’ll page you if there’s any change. I promise, kiddo.”

Evangeline went over to the bed and kissed her mother’s pale, dry cheek, then allowed her friends to lead her into the corridor. They passed Dr. Sullivan and his passel of residents. “You guys go ahead,” Evangeline said. “I’ll meet you down there. I need to talk with the doctor a sec.” Her friends didn’t budge.

“I’ll wait with Evangeline,” Raphe offered. “Okay, E?” Evangeline nodded. “I’ll bring her to the cafeteria after she’s done.” Melia hesitated and then she and Tristin headed for the elevator.

“Looks like your friends are here,” Dr. Sullivan said. “That’s good.”

“Yeah. Um, can I talk to you alone?”

“Sure.” Dr. Sullivan led them down the hallway, out of hearing of Raphe and his residents.

“Your family—” she began. She so badly wanted to find the right words, but was unable to articulate that she didn’t believe their deaths had been his fault, that she knew no matter what, nothing would make that raw feeling go away. “Thanks for giving me the chance—to say goodbye to my mom.”

Dr. Sullivan held Evangeline’s gaze for a long moment and then adjusted his lab coat and walked away to join his residents.

“What was that all about?” Raphe asked, holding her hand.

“Turns out Dr. Sullivan and I have something in common.” Evangeline twined her fingers through Raphe’s; it made her feel a little bit stronger. “Thanks so much for coming.”

“Of course, E. What a crummy birthday.” Raphe paused. “You know, my mom’s still out of town. You can stay at our house if you want.”

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Had it only been yesterday that she’d had her first kiss? They passed a patient lounge—lots of sickly looking people attached to IV drips filling them with fluids, chemo drugs, and pain killers. They looked like the walking dead.
Do I really want that for my mom?

The television in the lounge was playing an old Julie Andrews movie—“The Sound of Music.” Evangeline had seen it a million times because her mom loved corny movies. Captain Von Trapp was singing Edelweiss. “Soft and white, clean and bright, bless my homeland forever.” Something about the song made Evangeline stop. It wasn’t the words. No, it was the tune. “Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow—” She’d heard that song recently…where?

“Evangeline, everything is going to be okay. I promise…”
Samantha had said when she’d called to say she was on her way to take care of her. There’d been bells ringing in the background. But it hadn’t been bells. It had been chimes from “Edelweiss.” The same chimes Evangeline sometimes heard…Where had she heard them recently?

“Evangeline?”

Oh! In the clock tower of the crumbling old building she passed every day on her way to the bus stop.

“Raphe, I know where she is!” Evangeline exclaimed.

“What? Who?”

“Samantha Harris.”

“Well, we should call the police!”

“No!”
What am I saying? Why not?

“Come on! She tried to kill your mom. She deserves to go to jail.”

“I agree. But—but I want to see her first. I need to know why. Once I hear the truth—from Sam herself—then we can call the cops.” Evangeline rushed toward the closest exit stairway.

“But what if she’s dangerous?”

“Detective Morrison said if Sam had wanted to kill me she’d had plenty of chances already.”

“Well, how are you so sure? I’m going with you!” Raphe followed Evangeline into the stairwell.

“I was hoping you would,” Evangeline called, leaping down the steps three at a time and ignoring the jangle of her nerves and the voice inside her head screaming for her to stop before it was too late.

The city bus rounded the corner, slowed, and squealed to a stop. Evangeline and Raphe rushed down the aisle and out onto 25
th
Street. The sky was slate-gray and it had begun to pour again, the sidewalk more a moving stream than concrete. They ran, their sneakers soaking through as they splashed through deep puddles. Evangeline felt the rain saturate her down sweater and hoodie and cold rivulets trickling down her neck and back. Raphe was wearing an unzipped sweatshirt and a long-sleeved black T-shirt with “Believe” stenciled in red letters on the front beneath a skateboarder dropping into a steep bowl. The shirt was completely stuck to his lean, muscled torso by the time they reached the condemned building—six stories of crumbling brick—and its narrow clock tower.

They took the steps two at a time. The front door of the building was completely boarded up, covered with graffiti tags in black, pink, and purple.

“Come on, let’s see if there’s a side entrance,” Raphe said. They ran back down the steps, rounded the corner, and trotted along the east side of the building, careful not to snag their clothes on the barbed wire fence bordering an adjacent empty lot. The side door was boarded over, too, thick wooden planks drilled into the brick wall.

“Let’s check the alley.” Evangeline ran to the end of the building, turned and entered an eight-foot wide alley with dumpsters and three metal trash bins along one side. Garbage was strewn everywhere—broken bottles, beer cans, decaying food, and soggy trash. The air stank of worms and rotten food.

Evangeline peered up, eyes narrowed against the driving rain.
This was probably once an apartment building. Maybe, it still is for at least one woman.
About twelve feet above them, one of the boards covering a second story window was hanging crookedly.

“Look, Raphe,” Evangeline said, pointing. “Help me move a dumpster to stand on, will you?” Holding their breath, they pushed and pulled the least heavy dumpster until it rested beneath the window.

Raphe pulled himself onto the top of the dumpster, then helped Evangeline clamber up. They stood about a foot below the window. Reaching up, Raphe tugged at the board—it was still connected on one side, but loose on the other.

“I’ll hold it for you, E, then once you’re on the ledge, you can hold it for me,” Raphe suggested.

Evangeline crouched beneath the window and then jumped, her hands gripping the crumbling ledge.
Good thing I’m tall after all.
Scrabbling her sneakers along the bricks, she managed to pull herself until she was sitting on the ledge.

“Okay, got it,” Evangeline said, wedging her back against the side of the ledge and using her legs to hold the loose board still. Raphe leapt for the ledge and easily pulled himself up beside her. They eased the board back into place, turned, and slid themselves through the opening onto the floor inside.

It was dark. Pitch-black dark once the board had settled back into place. Digging into her jeans pocket, Evangeline pulled out her house keys. On the end of the chain was a tiny flashlight her mom had insisted she keep. Evangeline clicked it on and the narrow beam illuminated an empty room and floor thick with dust. In the corner lay a pile of boards and a can of nails.

“Let’s go,” she whispered to Raphe and they crept toward the rough door at the far end of the room.

The outer hallway was lined with a fading, threadbare brown and yellow-flowered carpet gnawed through here and there by time or rodents. The musty, thick air was pungent with mold and decay and there were thick cobwebs hanging down from the ceiling. Doors with broken or missing deadbolts lined the hallway every six feet. Raphe and Evangeline stopped at each one, gingerly pushing them open and cringing if they squeaked. Every room was mostly empty—a broken chair, a box of old newspapers, a piece of moldy bread or empty soup can from a squatter long gone.

Approaching the end of the hallway, they reached a stairwell and began to climb. Evangeline stepped cautiously—some of the wooden treads were rotten. Her heart was pounding and even though her skin was cold and clammy, she was also perspiring. What would she say to Samantha?
Who are you? Why did you make us trust you, love you, depend on you if you were only going to betray us? Do you hate us that much? Why? What did my mom and I ever do to you to deserve this?

“What if she’s got a gun or something?” Raphe asked, his thoughts in line with Evangeline’s.

“If she does, run. She won’t hurt me.” But Evangeline wasn’t so sure. Detective Morrison thought she was safe, but he could have been wrong.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Raphe whispered.

“If she has a gun then one of us will have to go for help.”

“You go, then,” Raphe said, unwilling to concede.

The next floor up yielded more of the same: empty rooms, some strewn with trash and old upholstered furniture covered in mouse holes and disgusting stains. The next level was also deserted. Evangeline’s disappointment grew as they climbed up to the top floor. As scared as she felt, she was also desperate to find Samantha. She had to know why Sam had tried to kill her mother. Evangeline also needed to be the one to turn Sam over to the cops—to feel like she had some control in all this mess. It was the least she could do for her mom. Her godmother had stolen the time she had left with her mom when she’d put her in a coma.
She will pay for that.
Evangeline tried not to think about the fact that she still loved Sam.