by Cara Charles
“Keep your soul… Dimitri.” Sid said finally to D, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling D to his feet to look into his intense blue eyes. “Comprende’?”
D nodded and remained standing.
Sid walked away from them to add one final thing before he dismissed them.
Sid wrote on the blackboard then walked back into the center of them.
“One final thing…” He said. “Attention!”
They rose to their feet at their desks and stood tall.
Sid looked at D, Trevor, Kenny, Carlos, Kate, and Iain and said, “Commit this to memory. It will serve you in your darkest hour. Repeat after me…”
“For a man to conquer himself… is the first and noblest of all victories,” they said as a unit.
“Vaya con dios. Dismissed.” Sid said.
D’S BODY was never found.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE — ’TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS…’
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT… not a creature was stirring.
The ding from the elevator startled Shannon, the lone middle-aged night nurse on the orthopedic unit’s desk, surfing the Internet, her charting done.
Two ambulance attendants with a gurney exited the elevator and approached.
“Hi. We’re here to transfer Alva Cross, Dr. Buran’s patient,” the first EMT said handing Shannon a form.
The other EMT continued down the hall with the gurney.
“Now? It’s snowing outside. And… It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Where’s she going?”
“Call Dr. Buran. We’re on a tight schedule. It will be fine, you’ll see.”
He smiled and followed his buddy to the room, as Nurse Shannon got into Alva’s computer chart. Not happy now, Nurse Shannon dialed the service. She filled out a form from the form drawer, as she waited on Dr. Buran’s service to pick up.
“Dr. Buran, please. Four North, calling, I’ll hold. No, I said, I’ll hold.”
While Shannon was on the phone, the two EMTS had Alva dressed warmly, packed up, on the gurney sitting up, her lower leg in a cast, grinning from ear to ear. They were back at the nurses’ station waiting on the elevator.
The second attendant pushed the elevator’s down button.
“Dr. Buran? Hi. I have a transfer for your patient Alva Cross, but I don’t have an order. Yes, they’re here. Yes, now. That’s what I said, but by her huge smile, she doesn’t care. She’s ready to go. She’s right here on the gurney, packed, waiting on your order and the elevator. OK. Thanks.” She hung up.
The ding said the doors were opening.
Ultra efficient Nurse Shannon offered the form already on a clipboard and the pen to Alva.
“Here Alva, sign this and you’re outta here. You have a great holiday.”
Alva signed her name. “I’m going where it’s warm. Merry Christmas, honey.”
“She’s obsessed with being warm. Hope Santa’s good to you, Alva. You deserve it.”
Shannon had the form filed in her paper chart, and was back to her monitor as the doors closed, as she heard the first attendant say, “here Alva, take this pain pill.”
ALVA WOKE up in a room flooded with bright sunlight. Christmas music was coming from somewhere.
“Must be Heaven,” she said aloud and stretched while afraid to open her eyes.
The first thing Alva saw when she opened her eyes was she was in a carved four poster bed of dark wood, and cream colored one thousand thread count sheets with lace borders, covered with a lavender Damask duvet. A red silk kimono, and red satin slippers waited, draped across a lavender divan with tangerine silk pillows. She was in red silk pajamas. Crutches propped by her bed. The President’s autographed photo smiled at her, from her bedside table.
“Merry Christmas, Alva. All the best in your new home, in the New Year and always, Barack Obama.”
On her dresser, a huge California fruit and muffin basket, and a carafe of fresh orange juice on a silver tray with crystal, old fashion glasses waited for her to finish enjoying her dream.
Alva pinched herself. “Am I dreaming?”
No, she was not dreaming. The President’s smiling face told her so. Alva put on her new robe and slippers, grabbed her crutches then toured the house as the Christmas music welcomed her.
The interior was decorated in ivories, sages, and lavenders with rich, dark wood floors. The front room had a breathtaking twelve-foot tall Christmas tree adorned with reds, gold and white trimmings, and beautifully wrapped presents with her name on all the tags. One was from Sean.
Alva giggled.
Alva opened the cupboards in the all ivory kitchen, stocked with food and China.
Back in her room, new clothes in her closet hung organized in colors and occasions, with photo-cards of outfit recipes. Her old things from her cart were cleaned and pressed. Her dresser was full of silky necessities.
Now in her new lavender office, Alva sat in her chair, and opened her desk drawer. There were new prescription glasses waiting, she put them on.
“Perfect. How’d they do that? Mercy, mercy me,” Alva giggled.
Alva saw a bankbook, a bank debit card, and instructions to create a PIN number. She looked at her balance and shrieked. She had to read it twice.
$33,110,919.84. Her cash out lottery winnings from five years ago, plus an additional two million dollars compounded interest, to last her the rest of her life.
There was a note from a financial planner showing her a monthly expense budget, if she chose not to touch the principal.
“Thank you, thank you, my guardian angel. Thank you, wherever you are! And I think I know where! 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue!”
Alva picked up the phone.
It had a dial tone, then a voice said, “Ms. Cross? This is Gary, your concierge. Anything you need ma’am, just pick up the phone and you’ll get me. To make an outside call, dial nine.”
“Alright son, I’d like to order… a whole standing rib roast Christmas dinner with everything. Homemade apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream for dessert. Black eyed peas, a baked ham, and coconut cake for New Years. And one more thing. Are you an angel? And… where am I?”
“Celebration, Florida Ms. Cross. Close to Disney World.”
“Really?”
“Yes ma’am. I can arrange a tour for you after you’ve rested.”
“Good. I want to bring a bus load of children and their parents from the shelter with me.”
“Yes ma’am. A bus will arrive at eight-thirty tomorrow morning, if you approve.”
“Fine and dandy, Gary. Tomorrow, eight thirty. And Gary? Could I go to a beauty shop?”
“Today’s Christmas, Ms. Cross, we at the C-Spa are closed. I could bring in a stylist in sixty minutes. But have you looked in the mirror this morning, ma’am? You’re quite beautiful. ”
“No. Guess I’d better.” Alva looked in the mirror. “Mercy, Gary. Is that me?”
She’d lost years. Her hair was colored, styled, face radiant, her new make-up still intact.
“Yes, ma’am. I supervised your make-over last night, myself.”
“My, Gary! You’re a talent. Thank you for making a sow’s ear into a silk purse.”
“Yes, ma’am. May I suggest the white wool ensemble? I personally styled that outfit.”
“Thank you, son. I can’t wait to see you again, in my Gary-styled outfit.”
“Yes, ma’am. Goodbye for now and Happy Holidays.”
“The same to you. and yours. Goodbye, for now.”
Alva opened an envelope addressed to her.
Miss Cross: To read this note, you must wet your finger and run it across this line and following the lines, one at a time.
Alva licked her finger. It was manicured and polished.
A little voice said, ‘look at your toes, too.’ Her old feet were as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
“Mercy! Wonders never cease!”
Alva licked her finger, with its Christmas red polish and ran it across line one. The instructions faded. T
hen, line two.
Alva. This is the President.
The words slowly faded away. She wet the next line.
Eric Lindley was arrested for hurting you.
“My God in Heaven.”
She wet the next lines with the help of the tears that welled up in her eyes and dropped on the paper.
Your inheritance has also been restored. It’s in your account, paperwork is in your desk.
Eva Lindley has been charged with forging your name and with embezzlement. The Lindley’s will never hurt you again.
Anything you ever need Alva, just pick up the phone. I’ll be thinking about you in your new home, because Alva, you deserve this new life. You’ve earned it. Many thanks for saving my hide.
Tears fell onto the paper. Alva ran her tears along the last line…
Fondest wishes. To my most loyal constituent. Ain’t life rich? - Barack Obama.
Alva fell out laughing. Her hero, Barack Obama had heard her say, “Ain’t fame a bitch?”
Alva was crying as she stepped out onto her front porch.
A ‘welcome’ mat sat at her front door which said, ‘Welcome to My Home Sweet Home’.
Four white wicker rocking chairs with red gingham chair pads waited to be filled by new friends. One was tied with a big red bow and tag.
Enjoy your own Little “White House!” Rock on, Alva! -- B.O. the tag said, and she kissed it.
She carefully crutch-walked down the steps. The front yard was decorated with red, and white cyclamen. Alva looked back. There stood the first home Alva had had in her entire long life of serving others, since she was twelve years old. The long, white porch was dressed in dark red buntings, ribbons and wreaths, and candles in the windows for the holidays.
On Towhee Court overlooking the ponds in Celebration, Florida, Alva’s own beautiful two-story, Little White House with a portico porch, smiled back at her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO — LAUGHING LAST
MAVRA WOKE UP under a mosquito net in a small country hospital in the postpartum section of a maternity clinic, somewhere near a tropical beach, decorated for the holidays.
Her face and ears, heavily bandaged. Her lungs felt tight. She coughed a sickly, wet cough. Her face shattered in pain. She could hear the waves hitting the nearby beach, and many gulls calling.
Two African nurses at the end of the long ward full of new mothers, and newborns were busy with their patients. Another two African nurses were conferring with a middle aged Caucasian doctor at the other end of the ward.
“Nurse?” Mavra propped herself on her elbows, and called out.
They finished their conversation. The doctor, and one nurse left the ward.
Nurse Bette Finnerty came to her bedside.
Mavra’s head swam in pain. She lay back down, closed her eyes.
“Merry Christmas, Mademoiselle. Having pain?” the kind, African nurse asked.
“Where am I?” Something was familiar about the light, the latitude, and her pretty accent.
“You’re in Logan Hospital on La Digue Island, Seychelles. You survived a terrible plane crash as the only survivor and a near drowning. You have been sleeping for several days.”
Mavra was rattled by the irony. ‘The only survivor? Dimitri is dead? No.’
“Mademoiselle?”
“Ah, yes. I’m saddened by the news. Truly? The only survivor?”
“Yes, mademoiselle. Sorry to say.”
“And his body?”
“No one else was recovered.”
Nurse Bette held her hand, offering empathy.
Mavra pulled it out of her grasp. “May I have a phone and two pain pills? Am I able to leave?”
“Yes. There was much damage. The surgeon did what he could. Be checked out with a CAT scan, once home. To get off the island, you will need a helicopter then, you’ll transfer to the airlines or arrange a private jet at the international airport on Mahe’, a short chopper ride from here. Most Ex-Pats do that.”
Nurse Bette stepped away, quickly returning with a portable phone, her pills and the helicopter’s phone number.
Mavra popped the pills. The antique portable phone popped with static. Mavra called the New York apartment to reach Peder. It was near midnight there.
“KIMIROV RESIDENCE,” Peder said sleepily.
“Peder. You oaf! Don’t make me shout. I’m in great pain. It’s me…”
She had to shout and the new moms with the sleeping babes aggressively shushed her.
“Hello? I can’t hear you? Hello? Hello? Anyone there?” Peder said, making it more difficult for her, wishing he could hang up, knowing he couldn’t, because the seriously big, red headed Aussie in his kitchen yesterday had wired the phone to record all calls.
“Peder? It’s Mavra, you idiot! Damn it man! Hear me now?”
“Woman! Shut up down there,” A baby cried, shattering the quiet.
Soon they were all crying, the mothers irate.
“Yes. I can hear you now, Miss.”
“Send a helicopter for me at Logan Hospital, La Digue Island, Seychelles, now. I just woke up in this retched backwater hospital. Have Doctor Archibald come to the chalet and arrange for him to fix my shattered nose and I’ve got pneumonia. How soon can someone come?”
“I’ll get right on the arrangements, Miss. Someone will be coming for you, soon.”
“No! Peder, wait?”
He’d hung up. He had an annoying habit of always cutting her off. She was too tired to fight with him now. She tried to re-connect but the operator told her, ‘the circuits are busy, please try later’. The pills were making her very sleepy.
So were the morphine drops Bette had put in the water, knowing full well, head trauma and morphine might not mix.
PEDER CALLED BACK twenty minutes later. Bette answered.
Mavra Kimirov was sleeping, her respirations barely eight a minute.
The doctor was standing by her bed as Bette relayed the phone message.
“Tell Peder, her chopper will be here shortly, taking her to Mahe’. Her jet will be waiting to take her home to Chamonix, France. Thank you, Bette. Make sure she stays pain free and mildly sedated for the plane trip back to Chamonix. Head trauma is very tricky. Right before she leaves give her two Ambien. Fill this Percocet prescription for her. That should hold her.”
“Yes, doctor.” ‘And put this rich bitch into a coma,’ Bette smiled walking away.
THE TIME HAD COME to ask for the President’s help.
Desiree IM’d the President.
‘Sir. Dear here. We may need a rescue helicopter for three air-sea open water rescues at these coordinates: ONE NAT MILE, EAST OF BIRD ISLAND, SEYCHELLES, LAT. 3 degrees 42’ S, LONG.55 degrees, 13’ E, in approx 90 minutes from this message, sent 1400 GMT+4, MAHE’, SEYCHELLES TIME. Advise as to ship availability in this vicinity. If none available, we can alter our plan. Our friends are secure and we are following an alternate arrangement for clean up. We’d rather not involve you. Will keep advised. Thx. Dear.’
IT WAS twelve midnight in D.C. when the President’s special Blackberry he wore in the pocket of his pajama bottoms mildly shocked him awake. He jumped. He’d retired early sharing the bed with Michelle. He woke Michelle.
“What’s the matter, honey?” Michelle asked putting a hand on his forehead.
“Sorry, honey. Just dreaming about playing ball. Guess I was jumping.”
She laughed and rolled over as he went to the bathroom to check his message. He looked at his preprogrammed contact list of ships worldwide and found the U.S.S. Mercury was in the vicinity. He punched in the coordinates and times and send it back to Dear.
The President chuckled as he sent back the required smiley face, confirming the confirmation, then forwarded it to Dez adding, “ETA 85 +/- 10 MIN.’
Double smiley faces came back from Dez.
The President tucked his special Blackberry in his bottoms pocket. He went back to bed in Michelle’s bed, grateful Michelle had gone back to sleep. Barack O
bama slept like a baby for the first time in weeks, imaging Joseph and Shanti in Africa, and Alva getting a mani-pedi in her posh retirement home in Florida, and all those happy people wherever they were, about to celebrate mission accomplished with a big fat cigar and a magnum of Napa Valley sparkling wine. He punched the air declaring victory, but settled quickly to keep Michelle sweetly sleeping. He sighed then cuddled up next to her and was soon sleeping, himself.
MAVRA SNORED through the noisy helicopter ride to Victoria and the Seychelles Airport. The ambulance crew, an elderly African doctor and a beautiful African nurse littered her aboard her 727-200 series airliner and handed prescriptions to the doctors who had accompanied the jet.
Dr. One took off his lab coat, shook hands with the shuttle pilot who had delivered the 727.
“Thanks Rog. Couldn’t have done this without you.”
The EMT’s settled her in.
The beautiful nurse covered her with a white cashmere blanket.
If Mavra woke up early, she would see and feel her blanket, knowing she was on her way home.
The co-pilot paid the ambulance crew handsomely and closed the door behind them.
The pilots did their pre-flight, spoke to the tower and were given clearance for take off, flight plan filed for a scenic fly by of some of the outer islands, then they’d climb to cruising altitude and on to Chamonix, France.
As they rolled down the runway and lifted off, the co-pilot started his stopwatch. It would be a four-hour plus flight, and the weather was going to cooperate. The co-pilot looked behind him. Mavra was sleeping, mouth open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE -- HE WHO LAUGHS LAST…
MAVRA WAS DREAMING OF FLYING, the wind swirling around her face.
She was cold and the cold woke her, startled by the wind in her face. Her sunglasses were on. The cockpit door was open. She could see the shoulders of the pilots. She looked out the window and realized the plane was descending and the rate of decent was increasing. She clutched her way to the cockpit. She screamed.
The D. B. Cooper door in the back of the plane was open. That was where the wind was coming from.
The pilots were blow up dolls wearing pilot shirts, strapped into their seats.
She threw out the pilot doll and took his seat to study the instruments.