Messenger of Death

by Alex Markman

  Shelly stopped talking and glanced over Camilla’s shoulder. Camilla turned around, too, to see what was causing the disturbance. She noticed a man struggling awkwardly to get through the line of skiers. Jostling with enviable energy, he advanced at last to the place where Camilla stood and asked her rather politely, “May I join you girls?”

  He was the man who had not responded to her glance just a minute before. Camilla shrugged her shoulders and looked the guy up and down. Medium height, slim but apparently strong, a sporty, very fit man. The blue, piercing eyes on his skinny face reminded her of a marathon runner. She noticed again the small scar under his left jaw.

  “You may. The lift is for four.”

  The next moment they were in a rush to be seated on the moving bench.

  “My name is Stanley.” The man introduced himself as the lift began moving.

  “And your name?”

  The question was directed to Camilla, as she was next, on his left.

  “Leave us alone,” responded Camilla. She did not like these kinds of advances.

  “That’s not polite,” commented the man. Camilla turned her head and looked disapprovingly into his unblinking eyes. An expression of unrestrained force in them was frightening. She did not say a word.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Stanley asked.

  “Indeed, Camilla, what are we gonna do tonight?” asked Shelly. “Let’s go to the spa first. I love to sit in the hot tub outside when the snow is all around.”

  “Good idea,” agreed Stanley. Shelly bent forward to look at Stanley with her “would-you-marry-me?” eyes. When their stares met, she flapped her eyelashes but then, disturbed and embarrassed, she leaned back and fell silent.

  Stanley tried to strike up a conversation a few more times, but his attempts were not well received. He then sat quietly for a while, bending forward and shifting his eyes from one woman to another. Camilla, however, felt that most of his attention was directed toward her. As the lift approached the top of the hill, she turned to Shelly.

  “I’m gonna try the Diamond Run this time. You go on Green, Shelly.”

  “Please don’t, Camilla,” Shelly begged. “Look—there are icy moguls all the way down. And it’s getting dark.”

  “I don’t care,” Camilla said, jumping off the bench and pushing ahead with both poles. “I’ll see you down there.”

  She slid to the start of the run and looked back. Stanley stood right there behind her, smiling.

  “I can’t let you run alone,” he explained. “Nobody goes there. What if you break a leg?”

  “I wouldn’t advise you to go after me, unless you are a really good skier. The slope is very steep. See those moguls? They are all ice.”

  With another push of her poles, she began making the slalom descent, elegantly making quick, deft turns on parallel skis. She stopped where the moguls began and looked back. Stanley was catching up, trying to make the same turns and twists that she had. No doubt he was a poor skier. He wasn’t even able to keep his skis parallel, let alone demonstrate elementary slalom techniques.

  “Please, be careful. Don’t try to follow my tracks,” Camilla warned him again when he stopped beside her. “This is really dangerous.”

  “Everything dangerous is worthwhile for me.”

  “You are crazy.” She tried to convince him: “If you do that, the paramedics would bring your body down the slope in parts. Don’t exhibit your stupid bravado here.”

  Having said that, she pushed forward and rushed between the moguls, fully enjoying the strength of her legs, the speed, the twists, turns, and jumps—all attributes of a body’s physical superiority over the challenges of the world. A noise behind made her stop. To her horror, she saw Stanley rolling on the snow. His skis—which were off his boots—were scattered far away from where he was tumbling downhill. At last, his body ceased its terrifying roll. He lay on his back, arms spread wide, motionless. Camilla looked around in search of anyone who could help. Only the icy moguls and the still trees, clad in their white winter dresses of snow, were in sight. She took off her skis and walked up as quickly as she could, but the climb was not easy in heavy alpine boots. When she got close, she knelt beside him and touched the artery in his throat. Suddenly, Stanley opened his eyes, grabbed her with both hands, threw her on the snow, and bent over her, smiling.

  “A-a-ah!” Camilla screamed, frightened. “Let me go!”

  “I will. But tell me first, why did you touch my throat?”

  “I was trying to feel your pulse. Let me go. Now!”

  He held her tight. It was useless to struggle against such a strong man.

  “How’d you know about feeling for a pulse in the throat?” he insisted.

  “Because I am a medical student. Next year I will be a registered nurse. Why do you care?”

  “I almost lost my life chasing you,” he complained.

  “I warned you,” Camilla objected. She sat up, looking at him as a nurse would a patient. “How do you feel?”

  “My hip hurts. But, I’m okay.”

  “Can you get down alone, or shall I call the paramedics?”

  “No, no help at all,” commanded Stanley decisively. “I’ll manage.”

  “I’ll go get your skis and poles. Sit here for now, okay?”

  Stanley nodded. She brought him his equipment and helped him get ready. The guy was apparently in pain, but was trying not to show it.

  She walked back down the slope and put her skis on. In the meantime, Stanley slid past her—this time with caution—and then turned left to the easier run, disappearing behind the trees.

  It was getting dark. Camilla rushed down, consumed again by the thrill of the dangerous sport, the blowing wind whistling in her ears. After a few steep curves, she approached the first night lights of the ski resort below.

  Shelly stood at the foothill, holding her skis and poles upright, waiting.

  “What took you so long to come down?” she asked. “I’m freezing here.”

  A cold wind had begun to blow from the top of the mountain as dusk descended on the village. The projectors shed bright light on the twisting run as the first skiers, complaining about the freezing temperature, awaited the chairlift for night skiing.

  “He followed me,” explained Camilla. “The poor bastard fell. I wonder how he managed to come down with his hip so badly hurt. I helped him a bit.”

  “His eyes are pretty scary,” Shelly remarked. “Haven’t you noticed how scary his stare is?”

  “It’s all in your mind,” Camilla said with the resolution of an experienced woman. “He has a hard stare. That’s all right. That’s how a man should be, but nothing is scary about that.”

  Grasping their swimsuit-filled bags they rushed to the building where the hotel spa and swimming pool were. Camilla was not a bit surprised when Stanley blocked their way in the lobby.

  “Nice to see you again,” he said, smiling.

  “How’s your hip?” she asked, returning the smile.

  “Very bad. I came here because I want you to take care of me.” The naughty gleam in his eyes made it clear that there was nothing wrong with his hip.

  “I didn’t notice you limping,” Camilla observed. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  Shelly shot her a quick, sly glance.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Stanley asked, ignoring the question, and the look. Camilla was about to say something when Shelly interrupted.

  “What would you suggest?” she asked.

  “I’d like to invite you to dinner. There’s a very nice restaurant about ten minutes from here. The Eagle Nest. Have you heard of it?”

  “You must be a rich man to be able to afford an evening there with two girls,” Shelly remarked, regarding him with renewed interest. She straightened, waiting for confirmation that she was invited.

  “I am,” Stanley agreed.

  “What do you do for a living?” Shelly asked.

  “This is Shelly, by the way,” Camilla
laughed as she introduced her roommate. “She’s a very straightforward girl.”

  “I can see that. Nice to meet you, Shelly.” Stanley nodded. “I have a muffler shop.”

  “A muffler shop?” Camilla echoed. “How boring.”

  “Would you prefer someone with a more interesting occupation?” Stanley asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I would. I like adventures. I like interesting people.”

  “With me, you’ll have as many adventures in your life as you can handle.”

  “What kind of adventure do you offer us tonight?” Camilla asked mockingly.

  “First, I’ll impress you with the restaurant,” Stanley assured her authoritatively. “Then—trust me. But I have just one small favor I would ask before we go. Will you?”

  “What kind of favor?” Camilla exchanged glances with Shelly, asking silently, Shall I go for it?

  “I have a friend here at the hotel, who is sick. He has a high fever. Would you mind taking a look at him and helping him, if you can?”

  “Well . . . why don’t you ask for medical help from the hotel?” Camilla frowned. “I haven’t earned my degree yet. There might be legal implications.”

  “I see what kind of adventurous girl you are,” Stanley remarked contemptuously. “You want adventures in the movies, not in real life. You’re afraid of a very simple thing.”

  “Okay. You got me,” Camilla yielded. “I’ll look at him.”

  “Very nice of you. I have friends who can entertain Shelly while you and I are upstairs with the sick one. It won’t take long. Right after that, we’ll drive to the restaurant.” He gave them a broad, friendly smile. “Deal?”

  He made a nod toward two men, approximately his own age, who were sitting in a distant corner of the lobby. They instantly stood up and came closer. Other than their quick reaction, there was nothing weird about them. One might even say that they were handsome and friendly looking.

  “Shelly, I trust you to my friends for 15 minutes,” Stanley said. “They will take good care of you at the bar. Okay?”

  Not really waiting for her reply, he took Camilla’s hand and walked to the elevator. On the fourth floor they stepped out, turned left, and went along the narrow corridor. Once they reached the end of it, Stanley unlocked the door, threw a suspicious glance over his shoulder, and let her in.

  On the king-size bed inside, a man with thick, dark hair, round face, and bushy eyebrows was lying on his left side. With his T-shirt stained with blood, his grayish pale face, and his eyes closed, he seemed dead. Suddenly his eyes opened; they glistened with unmistakable luster of high fever and pain.

  “This is a nurse, Ogre,” Stanley said. The man blinked. Camilla rolled up his shirt, uncovering a poorly done bandage, soaked in blood.

  “What kind of wound is it?” she asked the man. He had the huge muscles of a bodybuilder.

  “Knife,” Stanley said.

  “How long ago did it happen?”

  “About an hour ago, may be more. Could you stop asking questions?”

  “I ask only what’s necessary,” Camilla snapped. “If it was more than two hours ago, you’d better take him to the hospital.”

  “I won’t take him to the hospital, no matter what.”

  Camilla carefully removed the bandage and uncovered a long, but shallow wound. Ogre groaned and clenched his teeth.

  “Gosh,” Camilla sighed. “He needs a surgeon. I’m not qualified to do the job.”

  “You’re much more qualified than I am,” Stanley insisted. “What should be done?”

  “The wound should be cleaned and disinfected. Stitches must be put in—this wound won’t heal without them—although, as I see it, the knife didn’t penetrate the ribs and didn’t touch any vital organs.”

  “What supplies do you need to fix it?”

  “But . . . ”

  “Say it. What do you need?”

  All of a sudden, fear gripped her heart. She realized that there was no way out. She would have to do the job they wanted.

  “First, I need some 3 percent hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound. I need some Sofra-Tulle to cover it, and a large roll of gauze bandages to wrap around his chest. And then, if nothing better is available, I need a needle and silk thread to sew the wound. Actually, you could get all of these in any drugstore.”

  Stanley nodded and pointed at the bag on the table.

  “Morphine, syringes, and some other things are in that bag,” he said. “Someone will bring Sofra-Tulle and peroxide soon from the drugstore behind the hotel. Do whatever you can in the meantime.”

  Stanly flipped his cell phone and dialed.

  “You are insane,” Camilla objected emphatically. Stanley didn’t listen; no doubt he was giving orders, but his speech was impossible to understand.

  “What if I do something wrong?” insisted Camilla. “They’ll throw me out of school. I might even be taken to court.”

  “Bullshit,” Stanley grumbled, putting the phone in his pocket. He’d grown increasingly irritated, impatient, and menacing.

  “I’m scared,” she complained meekly, as if somebody could help her.

  “Do it,” Stanley demanded. “There’s nothing to fear. Ogre will never be taken to any hospital, no matter what happens.” He put his hand on her shoulder and smiled. “Don’t worry, Camilla. Everything is gonna be okay. Do it. With me, you shouldn’t fear anything.”

  Something clicked inside her. As her fear vanished, her mind became cold and clear. She removed everything that was inside the bag. As promised, it held a remarkable supply of syringes, bandages, and whatnot. Where did these people get all of this? she thought to herself.

  “You’ll feel better soon,” she promised. Ogre nodded, and then looked at Stanley.

  “Three of us were in the bar when the two jerks came in,” he began speaking, hardly moving his lips. “The barman is my man, you know. They came to the bar and showed him a photograph. I saw him shrugging his shoulders. Our guys went to the washroom, too much beer, you know . . . ” He sighed. “I went to the bar, like, to order a beer, and asked the barman what those two fuckheads wanted. He said . . . he said that they showed him your photograph and asked if he saw you in the bar. He said ‘no.’ When the barman spoke, one of the two looked at me. We recognized each other. I saw the son of a bitch two years ago in slumber. Claude’s his name, if I remember right.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Stanley said.

  “Please, lie back and relax,” Camilla asked. “Try to stay calm. Moving your body won’t do you any good.”

  “Tell me everything later,” Stanley demanded.

  There was a knock at the door, and Stanley returned with a plastic bag.

  “Here’s everything you needed,” he said.

  Elevated to the role of a surgeon, Camilla did everything with a calm, firm hand. She cleaned the wound, inserted thread into the needle, and moved the skin to close the wound’s edges.

  “Now, this is the unpleasant part,” she said to Ogre. “I have to stitch you up, but I don’t have any local anaesthetic.”

  “Go ahead,” Ogre said weakly. Camilla inserted the needle into the inflamed flesh. Ogre stiffened. She stopped for a moment, but he moaned: “Do it. Finish it.”

  Suddenly, Camilla felt a chilling indifference to the man’s suffering. She concentrated on her job, pushing away all feelings and thoughts that could distract her. She stitched the wound, disregarding the convulsive shakes of Ogre’s body; placed Sofra-Tulle on the scar; and wrapped the bandage around his chest, making sure that it was tight and firmly fixed.

  “We can only pray that there’s no serious infection,” she said through the open door of the bathroom, while washing her hands. “Hopefully, everything will be okay. When are you going to take him from here?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Are you leaving with him?”

  “No. I’ll stay another two nights. Somebody else will take care of him. Let’s go to the restaurant. We’ll talk there
.”

  Ogre slowly turned onto his back, eyes closed, with a look of grim relaxation on his greenish-pale face. Camilla tidied the blanket and sheets and started to gather waste from the operation.

  “He should be able to sleep now,” she said gently, “and will be okay by tomorrow. Do you have somebody to stay with him?”

  “He won’t be alone for long,” Stanley said. “Don’t worry about the garbage, someone will clean everything up.”

  He helped her with her ski jacket, which still retained the aroma of cold, fresh mountain air, and then led her out.

  “Don’t tell much to Shelly,” he asked.

  She was quick to respond.

  “Of course not. What I did may cost me my career. I’ll tell her that the guy had a high fever.”

  They sneaked through the empty corridor and stepped into the elevator.

  “How long will it take for the two of you to get ready for dinner?” Stanley asked. The elevator moved smoothly and quietly downward.

  “About an hour. We have to fix our hair and get dressed. Girl’s business, you know. By the way, where did you manage to get all this medical stuff that fast?”

  Stanley dodged the answer.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked instead of answering.

  “Here.”

  “Let’s meet in an hour downstairs.”

  The elevator landed like a feather, and the door opened to reveal the lobby. Two busy clerks stood behind the reception desk at the far end, while Shelly sat on a cozy sofa a few steps away, conversing leisurely with two men.

  “What took you so long?” was Shelly’s immediate reaction. She was pink from the drinks and the warmth of the hotel. With a sly smile, she added, “I think you were having a good time by the bed of that sick man.” Her sly, mischievous but pleasant grimace was the reflection of her own intriguing suspicion.

  Camilla did not respond, giving a brief glance around.

  “Now, let’s rush. Stanley and his friends are gonna pick us up in an hour.”

  Shelly leapt up. With ringing laughs, see-you-soon promises, and eyes shining, the girls departed. Shelly was excited; so was Camilla. She, however, was hiding her mood beneath a quiet demeanor.