by Bill Hiatt
“I can’t help noticing that you have a lot of responsibility for someone as young as you are.”
Lucas smiled. “I’m your age.”
“Exactly, and people our age aren’t often that far up the corporate ladder unless they’ve had some kind of brilliant idea and/or have the startup capital to launch their own company. Seeing you behind that desk makes me think GYL is different.”
“Carrie Winn is different,” said Lucas. “She believes in investing in people. A lot of her midlevel employees are students she found in high school and provided with the resources they needed to reach their full potential.
“In my case, Ms. Winn helped me get into Julliard’s dance program and gave me a full scholarship. She also helped get me into a company in San Francisco. In exchange, I help out here when I can, but my primary function is to assist companies in developing support for dance programs and other types of art education.”
“That sounds like a full-time job all by itself. How do you find time to do that when you’re dancing in San Francisco?”
Lucas gave me another one of his trademark smiles. “I spend a lot of hours traveling, but it’s worth it. I get to dance, and I get to help others dance as well.”
His responses all sounded sincere, and he didn’t hesitate over a single syllable. It was too bad there were holes in his story big enough to drive a truck through.
I’d known enough dancers to be aware that any normal dance company demanded the full attention of its performers. The idea that someone could travel back and forth all the time between Santa Barbara and San Francisco was pretty hard to swallow. Not only that, but I’d asked my PI friend to shadow some of Carrie Winn’s young stars. As far as he could tell, they were frequently in Santa Brígida at times when they were supposedly somewhere else. Just a few days ago, he spotted Lucas going into the GYL building at the same time he was supposed to be on stage in San Francisco.
Unless Carrie Winn’s clandestine experiments included crazily advanced cloning projects, there was only one possible explanation—doubles were impersonating these guys at least some of the time. Unfortunately, I had no idea why anyone would create such an elaborate deception, and without a motive, the story sounded crazy.
I would dig that motive up one way or another. If everyone were as chatty as Lucas, the process might be faster than I thought.
“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” I said as I stood up. “I hope I’ll get the chance to work here. It sounds like a great company.”
Lucas shook my hand again. “You’ll hear from us in a day or so. I—”
He stopped so suddenly and looked so panicked that I was afraid he might be having a stroke. Then he looked at me with fear in his eyes.
“We need to get you to a hospital!” He wasn’t exactly shouting, but he was so loud that I instinctively took a step back.
“I…what do you mean?”
My headache, which had been behaving itself during the interview, suddenly intensified to excruciating levels.
I felt as if my brain were on fire. I cried out. My legs began to buckle. Lucas caught me in his arms.
Then the darkness swallowed me up.
In the Enemy Camp
I must have been floating in and out of consciousness. I couldn’t get my eyes open and had a hard time figuring out where I was. Bed. It felt as if I were in a bed. Was I in my motel room? How did I get there? And why could I hear voices all around me?
Then I remembered I’d collapsed. I also remembered where I’d been. The thought was frightening.
I was still only getting bits of conversation. People were talking in low voices some distance away.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said a female voice, calm and professional. A doctor? Lucas had mentioned a hospital. Was that where I was?
“…needs constant observation,” said an unfamiliar male voice. Another doctor? It was hard to tell.
“Wouldn’t it be better to send her back to Los Angeles?” said another male voice—Lucas.
“It’s too late for that,” said a harder female voice. I didn’t know why, but that one scared me a little. “There’s no guarantee…and we can’t…How could we explain one of us being with her?” It was frustrating to only be able to hear part of what was being said.
“That kind of memory rearrangement isn’t practical,” said the male voice that wasn’t Lucas. “I doubt it would stick in her case, anyway.”
Memory rearrangement?
I managed to get an eye open. At first, my vision was blurry, but it gradually focused. The wall opposite my bed looked as if it had expensive and elaborate wood paneling, polished until it shined. Private hospital, maybe.
The bedspread looked expensive, too, and it had a very elaborate floral pattern that seemed out of place even in a private hospital.
I noticed a painting on the opposite wall. I hadn’t seen it at first because it was a little to my left. It wasn’t the kind of relaxing scene one expected in a hospital room. It was something medieval, with knights confronting a disturbingly realistic looking dragon.
An alarm bell went off in my head. I’d never seen this painting before, but I had seen some in a similar style. They’d appeared in a biographical piece on Carrie Winn—in shots of the interior of her home.
This was no hospital. Lucas—or someone—had brought me to Awen.
Talk about being in the lion’s den! Quite aside from the fact that I felt too weak to get out of bed and had no idea how the house was laid out, there was probably a small army of security guards between me and any possible exit.
Thank God I hadn’t had any surveillance equipment on me during the interview, but I might have been unconscious for a long time. Winn and her partners in whatever crimes were going on had my keys. If they’d searched my motel, they could have stumbled across my real ID in one of my suitcases.
I struggled to remember the bits of conversation I had just heard. They hadn’t said anything that suggested they knew who I was. I didn’t know how much of the conversation I’d missed, though.
I opened my eyes wider and looked to my right. The voices had been coming from that direction.
“Oh, you’re awake,” said a happy voice that just about made me jump out of my skin. Khalid had been sitting right next to my bed, clutching a bouquet of roses that looked out of place in a teenager’s hands.
“Khalid?” My voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Everything’s going to be OK,” he said, patting me on the hand. “I’ll just tell everyone you’re up.”
I wanted to stop him, but I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. He stuck his head out the door and hollered, “She’s awake!”
The doctor must have been nearby. She came bustling in almost immediately. My heart sank when I realized she was Viviane Florence, yet another one of the people tied up in Carrie Winn’s schemes.
She was six years older than she had been in the photos I’d seen, but she looked almost identical. Her long, blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she had on a white doctor’s coat, but otherwise, she looked more like a fashion model than a medical professional.
During my research, I discovered she had spent several years as the high school nurse, even though she’d already completed medical school and a residency in Wales. She’d opened her own medical practice after most of Winn’s young stars graduated. Like all of the backgrounds I’d been able to piece together, hers made no sense.
A young, dark-haired woman in a nurse’s uniform followed her in. I got another shock when I recognized her as Carla Rinaldi, the girl who had been in a coma for months back in 2012 and the early part of 2013.
Any way I looked at it, I was completely surrounded by people tangled up in shared secrets I meant to expose.
Khalid trailed in after them, but Dr. Florence, who seemed aware of him before she even turned around, stopped him in his tracks.
“Why don’t you get those roses put in water, Khalid?”
“B
ut—”
“That’ll give me a chance to speak to Ms. Monroe. She might want some privacy, you know.”
Khalid looked forlorn. “I’d like to visit with her for a while.”
“Later—if she’s up to it and wants company.”
Khalid, slouching dejectedly, dragged himself out of the room, but just before he stepped out, he turned just long enough to give me another wink.
“If he bothers you, just let me know,” said Dr. Florence. She pulled a chair next to the bed. “He means well, but his attention can sometimes be a bit…overwhelming. He insisted on waiting by the bedside until you woke up.”
“That’s all right,” I said. I managed not to whisper, but I still sounded hoarse. “He seems like a nice kid.”
“He is. Now, how are you feeling?”
“Better. Puzzled, though. Shouldn’t I be in a hospital?”
“You were taken to Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital after the incident. You’ll be relieved to know the emergency room staff arranged for every conceivable test, brain scan included, and they couldn’t find anything wrong with you. Naturally, they would have kept you for observation, but we can take care of you just as well here, and Ms. Winn thought you might be more comfortable.”
“What time is it?”
“A little after midnight.”
Just like Lucas, Dr. Florence could lie without a second’s hesitation. I wasn’t familiar with Santa Barbara hospitals, but I’d seen enough of emergency rooms to know that a little less than eight hours wasn’t long enough to get an unconscious patient who’d collapsed all the way through the system. Oh, they’d have checked for any possibly life-threatening conditions very fast, but once they’d ruled them out, the workflow would have slowed noticeably.
Not only that, but would any emergency room have released an unconscious patient to someone with no legal connection? It seemed unlikely. The liability issues alone would surely have precluded that.
No, no one had taken me to a hospital. They’d risked my life bringing me here instead.
That could only mean one thing—they’d somehow caused my condition. I didn’t see how they could have, but why else would they have tried so hard to keep me out of a real hospital?
“You look puzzled.” Dr. Florence was eying me with what could have been suspicion.
“I just feel a little groggy.”
Dr. Florence was not the only accomplished liar in the room.
“You should try to get some sleep. Nurse Rinaldi will stay with you if you need anything, and I won’t be far in the unlikely event that a serious medical problem develops.”
“Shouldn’t I be…hooked up to monitors or something?”
Dr. Florence smiled. “There is a room here set up with all the state-of-the-art hospital equipment. I can have you moved if you’d feel more secure there. Since you didn’t have any identifiable physical problem, I thought you’d be more comfortable without being hooked up to all kinds of machinery that would be glowing and beeping all night.”
“That makes sense, but, if nothing physically is wrong with me, then why did I collapse?”
“We’ll explore that more over the next couple of days, but I’d guess stress. Have you been under any unusual stress lately?”
I couldn’t very well say, “Sure, I was stressed-out by meeting with a city councilman in a motel that vanished as soon as the meeting was over.” Nor could I say, “I’ve been very stressed because of my plan to expose the hidden corruption of Santa Brígida.” I had to settle for, “I don’t think so.”
“No need to trouble yourself about that. Well, I’ll say goodnight and let you get your rest. We’ll talk again in the morning.”
“Good night,” I muttered, not knowing what else to do. I was caught like a rat in a trap.
As soon as she was gone, I tried to convince Nurse Rinaldi that I didn’t need a babysitter, but I got nowhere.
“Sorry, doctor’s orders,” she said with one of those nurse smiles that tells you the answer will be no regardless of what argument you make. She did settle herself in a chair out of my line of sight, but I knew she was there, and I knew why.
While I was still barely conscious, I’d heard Lucas say something about sending me back to Los Angeles—but he had no way of knowing that’s where I’d come from. I used my local motel address, and my recommendation came from a company in Boulder, Colorado.
Even worse, Dr. Florence had slipped and referred to me as Ms. Monroe, even though my fake ID said Madison.
One way or another, they’d found out who I really was.
Planning an Escape
Despite how tense I was, I slept. I didn’t want to, but my body must have needed the sleep more than I thought. Despite nightmares bizarrely focused on ancient Egypt— montages of pyramids, sphinxes, and things lurking in the shadows—I even felt better when I woke up, until I remembered where I was.
Nurse Rinaldi was on me the moment I opened my eyes.
“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked cheerfully.
“Better,” I said. “I’m ready to go back to my motel.”
“Dr. Florence will want to have a look at you first. She’ll be by shortly after breakfast. What would you like, by the way? The food is much better here than what you’d get in the hospital.”
The food would be another opportunity to drug me. On the other hand, I’d been having hallucinations and massive headaches when there’d been no opportunity to give me anything. Claiming I was not hungry might give Dr. Florence an excuse to keep me here longer.
“What would you suggest?”
“The kitchen staff can do pretty much anything on relatively short notice. If you’ve got the appetite, I’d suggest a Denver omelet. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, right?”
I nodded. “That’s right. I guess I’m hungry enough for an omelet.”
Nurse Rinaldi pulled out her cell phone and started texting. Her fingers flew over the keys faster than I’d ever seen anyone manage.
“OK, the kitchen has your order. Someone will bring it up soon.”
“Uh, I’d actually like to stretch my legs.”
Nurse Rinaldi raised an eyebrow. “Not the breakfast-in-bed type? Well, as long as you’re feeling up to it, I’m sure a little walk wouldn’t hurt. We can go down to the garden if you like.”
What I would have liked was to run screaming out the front door, but that wasn’t going to work. “That sounds like a good idea. Where are my clothes?” I had just realized I was wearing an unfamiliar nightgown.
Nurse Rinaldi pointed to the closet. “You’ll find them right in there. If you’d prefer something a little more casual, Ms. Winn had some other outfits brought up that should fit you.
“I’ll just wait outside to give you time to change.”
I managed a smile. “I’ll just be a minute.”
As soon as the door closed behind Rinaldi, I looked around. Someone had brought my purse up and left it on the nightstand. I rummaged through it, grabbed my cell phone, and hit the power button as I walked over to the closet.
I had zero bars. How was that possible? Rinaldi had just been texting a few feet away from where I was standing.
Cursing silently, I opened the closet. Yesterday’s interview outfit was there, looking as if someone had washed and pressed it. Hanging next to it were ten pairs of jeans and several different tops, all looking new.
I wished I could believe Winn was such a great person that even a possible new employee who was ill would get all this attention. I didn’t believe that for a minute, though. She wanted me to stay here—that much was obvious. Why she wanted it was another question.
I wanted to put my own clothes back on, but jeans would be easier to run in, so I took advantage of Carrie Winn’s suspect generosity. Then I put my cell phone back in my purse and headed out the door.
The fact that the door was flanked by two security guards didn’t surprise me one bit. The fact that they started following Nurse
Rinaldi and me was kind of a shock, though.
I turned toward them. “Guys, you’re making me a little nervous.” They looked back, expressionless.
“It’s all right,” Nurse Rinaldi told them smoothly. “I don’t think our patient here is going to need the protection of armed guards just to visit the garden.” They both nodded and walked back quietly to the guest room I’d just come from.
The nurse gave me an eye-roll. “I’m sorry. Ms. Winn is a bit…eccentric about security. Be flattered, though. She cares about what happens to you.”
“Santa Brígida seems like a quiet little town. Is there really that much need for security?”
“Ms. Winn has had some bad experiences. She was even kidnapped once from inside this very house. That’s made her a little nervous.”
Well, that was information that didn’t pop up in any bio of Carrie Winn’s that I’d ever seen. I would have loved to ask some follow-up questions, but I didn’t. I was trying to learn the geography of the house.
The place was huge. That much was immediately apparent. We were walking roughly north—away from the front of the house. That wasn’t good news.
Awen had elevators just like a hotel. That was lucky because it told me I was on the fourth of eight floors. There was also a basement. Above the buttons was what looked very much like a fingerprint reader. Nurse Rinaldi hit it with her thumb, then hit the button for the first floor.
Seeing how my eyes focused on the fingerprint reader, she said, “Eccentric about security, remember? The elevators are all keyed to the fingerprints of Ms. Winn’s staff in the house, at GYL, and anyone else in the area who might visit.”
“What, no retinal scanner?” I said, trying hard to sound as if I were joking.
“Don’t say that too loudly,” replied the nurse. “You don’t want to give Ms. Winn any ideas.”
Rinaldi was smiling, but I wondered if we were under surveillance. I tried to look casual as I glanced around. I didn’t see any camera, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.