by Amey Zeigler
“I can ask whatever I want and you will answer truthfully?”
“Or not at all.”
“Where are you from?” she asked. “You’re not from the States.”
He arched an eyebrow. “How did you figure that out?”
“You kept using words Americans don’t use like ‘flat,’ and ‘expiry.’ And you called the Bruce Lee movie The Way of the Dragon. It was released in the States as Return of the Dragon.”
He sat back and grinned. “I’m impressed, Andy Baker.”
“Tell me how you acquired such an authentic American accent?”
“Are you going to ask me questions for our entire flight?”
“No, I plan on falling asleep and drooling on your shoulder.”
“Pleasant.”
****
Andy, true to her word, did fall asleep on his shoulder and drooled on his collared shirt. Breaking out of the hospital, the pain throbbing in her head, she zonked, an hour into the flight.
“So, what’s our first stop?” Christiaan asked when they landed.
“Are you just going to follow me around until I reveal to you what was written on the sticky?”
“Something like that.”
“So, like house arrest.”
“Think of it as security detail.”
Andy sighed. She’d have to find some way to get away from him to make her call. He was like a dangerous, spying puppy. “We have to visit a friend—a guy.” Andy wrestled her bag down from the overhead compartment. Christiaan stopped her and lifted it down with one swift yank.
His eyes glimmered. “Oh? This is even more interesting. You must have guys stashed all over this nation.”
“A client.”
“Where?”
“Boston Psychiatric Hospital.”
“About what I’d expect from one of your boyfriends.”
Shaking her head, Andy disembarked the plane.
****
Andy gave the hospital her name. They okayed her from a list of approved visitors. They scanned her ID gave her a visitor’s badge with her driver’s license picture.
“And you are?” The nurse faced Christiaan. Andy had no idea what name he was going to tell her.
“Her boyfriend,” he said without blinking an eye.
“Name?” The older lady stared at him over the top of bright red readers, unrelenting. Andy faced him, amused that this lady wanted something Andy hadn’t been able to extract the whole time she’d known him.
Andy smiled. Because her visit here was so totally unexpected, Christiaan couldn’t fake his way in.
“Christiaan”—he shot a glance at Andy’s smug expression—“Johnson,” he said, breathing out.
“I’m sorry, but you’re not on the family’s visitor list. You’ll have to wait here in the lobby.”
Andy laughed to herself. Johnson wasn’t his last name, but he knew he wasn’t on the list anyway. Triumphantly, Andy waved to him as they beeped through the security doors. “I’ll be back shortly, honey.”
Grumbling, he sat on the orange vinyl chairs.
Andy’s smile soon faded as she found the smell of cleaners revolting. It was unnaturally clean. With her own doctor escort, she passed nurses in the hall, carrying clipboards, the florescent lighting emphasizing the wrinkles in their brows.
They stopped at room 405. Andy wasn’t sure what to expect. She wasn’t even sure what Mrs. Vehemia wanted her to find out.
The doctor opened the door to a sparsely furnished room. Only a bed, a small table, and a chair. A small square window high above them gave little light.
Scott sat in the corner. He was plainly not well. Since their last meeting, his face was paler, his hair grew longer. Dark stains circled his eyes. Still, he had a charming smile.
“Amanda,” he slurred. Andy was glad he remembered her. “You’re here. Carla said you would come.”
“Of course, Scott. You and your family are dear friends.”
He extended his hand to her. Andy almost gasped. Three of his fingers were scarred bright pink nubs, shortened at the blunted knuckles. Only his thumb and forefinger remained whole. Andy could only stare.
When he saw Andy’s horror, he retracted his hand, the smile leaving his face.
“How are you?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“School is hell,” he stared at the wall near him.
“What happened?”
He shook his head, his hair in greasy spikes flailing around.
“Carla told me you got into trouble. Can you tell me about it?”
“I miss my car.”
Andy wasn’t sure if he was cognizant, or if he heard her. She approached the bed and slid her hand over his. She allowed him to talk. His eyes rolled in his sunken sockets.
“It was a nice car. My father bought it for me.” He spoke with a slur, like he had been sedated. “A McLaren F1. GT. My father bought it for me.”
“Uh, huh.”
“I used to go for long drives in my car. As a way to de-stress from school.”
“Was school stressful then?”
He faced her, gazing from his sunken eyes. “I don’t feel well.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall. Andy’s pity was stirred.
“What can I do for you?”
His eyes started drooping. Andy wasn’t sure if she should wake him up. With his neck angled awkwardly over his shoulder, he started to snore. She’d sacrificed so much time to come and talk to him. Letting go of his hand, she dropped hers in her lap and sat back in the chair.
“Now what?” she said aloud. Shaking her head, she glanced around, about ready to leave when she noticed his bedside table filled with pictures. Andy leaned in closer. Carla and her family were there, of course. Carla never had a bad hair day in her life. But another picture caught her eye. Scott and another man, an older man. He looked familiar. Andy picked up the photo. Her eyes didn’t deceive her. It was Dr. Armstrong. She recognized him from her Internet searches. The frame slipped from her hand, knocking two cups of meds over. Four little white pills scattered on the floor.
The noise woke Scott who frowned at Andy. The glass only cracked slightly, but the frame was dented. She scooped it up along with the meds. Not knowing which ones went in which cup, she just dumped them together.
“I think I broke it,” she said holding up the dented frame.
With eyes wild, he glanced from her to the frame. He tried to grab it from her, but he couldn’t wrap his fingers around it. “Go.”
Andy wasn’t sure what he said, for it was said in such a whisper. Surely, he didn’t want her to go, she just got there.
She stepped closer. “Go!” he yelled, almost rabid, sinking farther into his bed. His timbre and forcefulness shook Andy, her heart lunging. Trembling, she placed the broken picture on the nightstand. Scott sobbed repeatedly before the doctor let her out.
“Perhaps it’s best,” the doctor said. “It’s time for his medication, anyway.”
Andy, still shaking from her experience, forgot to ditch Christiaan to call Juan Martinez. In the lobby, she broke down in tears, causing him to wrap his arms around her and take her to the nearest cafe to calm down.
“What did Mrs. Vehemia tell you?” Christiaan had just handed her a cup of hot chocolate. “Careful it’s hot.”
“Thank you.” Andy let him slide next to her in the booth, taking a drink of the dark, creamy liquid chocolate. It made her insides warm. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you. Carla said it was a great secret.”
“Let’s pretend like I can keep secrets.”
Andy snorted. “Yeah, I guess if anybody asks, you’ve got a string of fantastic lies you could tell them.” Andy held the chocolate in her hands and breathed in the steam the cocoa produced, her mind still harrowed from the memory of Scott’s shouts, his empty hand. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone, not even the people you work for. This has nothing to do with whatever you’re investigating.” When he nodded consent, she started. “Scott, Carla�
�s brother, is finishing up his undergrad. He had begun a few of his graduate-level courses for his MBA since his junior year.”
Christiaan sipped his cocoa, his gaze rooted on her.
“Go on.”
“Well, here’s where it gets kind of crazy.” Andy paused, uncomfortable even with the memory of the conversation. “He was accused of doing some very bizarre things.”
“Elaborate.”
“Well, during his late-night studies, of which he had many, I’m sure since I know Scott, he’s totally studious…”
Christiaan’s eyebrows arched in a tease. “Oh? You know Scott well.”
Andy ignored the jibe, her mind still fresh of visions of Scott’s sunken eyes. “He’s studious and brilliant. He wants to do well so he can take over his dad’s business when he’s done with school.”
“Not your typical frat boy.”
“Not at all. He was his parents’ Golden Boy. I think that’s why Carla rebels a bit. He was always doing the right thing and Carla wanted to be different.”
“Makes sense. So, while he’s studying…”
“Yeah, while he’s studying, it was like he tossed his cookies.”
“Eh?”
“He went crazy.”
“Define crazy.”
“Attacking people in the dorms.”
“Not crazy. Violent,” he clarified. “I know lots of violent people. I work with them every day.”
“No but, he…” Andy set down her hot chocolate for it no longer had taste to her. “He ate them.”
Andy was glad he flinched a little bit. Only a flicker at the corner of his eyes. She was beginning to wonder if he had any sort of feeling. “Ate them?”
“He bit off chunks of flesh from their bones. While they were conscious.”
“Did he kill them?”
“No. He just ate off bits of flesh.”
“Interesting.” Christian sat back. “What did the police say?”
“Well, they think Scott was doing some sort of drugs, like bath salts.”
“Of course, erratic behavior, violence.”
“Forensics ran a urine test but they didn’t find anything in his system.”
“They wouldn’t. Bath salt recipes change all the time. There isn’t anything traceable to find.”
Andy loved having these conversations with someone who understood, who solved and thought. Maybe working in a two-some wasn’t so bad.
“What’s the verdict?” he asked.
“He’s awaiting trial.”
“What’s the defense?”
“His lawyers are saying he was crazy, asking the court for him to be evaluated by an independent psychologist. They are thinking maybe he flipped over the stress.”
“How did the family react?”
“Carla says when the lawyers advised him to plead insanity, her father totally blew up. He’s groomed Scott to take his place in his business. Until now, they’ve managed to keep it quiet, but money can only hush things up for so long. If you’re wondering why the media hasn’t had a heyday with this, it’s because Carla’s dad donates a lot of money to the campus, his alma mater, and they don’t want to him to retract his money. He donates millions of dollars to their chemistry department.”
A grim silence passed between them. “There’s one more thing I need to do in Boston,” Andy said, fingering the brim of her mug. “Something I need to do alone.” Andy had found an address for Dr. Armstrong. She wanted to talk to his wife, a relative, someone.
Christiaan eyed her suspiciously.
Maybe it was the firmness in her voice, the resolution in her eyes, but Christiaan met them, nodded. “I’ll take you as far as you want.”
****
Christiaan drove a rental to the outskirts of Boston, searching for an address. He parked at the curb of a tall building, an apartment.
“You know which number?”
“Three-forty.” Andy tucked something into her bag and stepped out. She probably thought Christiaan didn’t catch it, but he did. A note.
Andy searched along the buzzers on the plate fixed into the cement just outside the glass front doors. Her silken hair flew in her face with the breeze. She swooped it out of the wind to read the nameplates. Bending for a closer look, she threw her bag across her shoulder, then buzzed one of the buttons.
He sat back in driver’s seat, focusing through the windshield. Probably another one of Andy’s boyfriends.
What did he care? After this assignment, they’d never be together again. He needed to get his head in the game. He’d only just managed to convince the boss to let him come to find out what was on the yellow sticky. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Andy was playing them all to be fools. No. She couldn’t be that tricky.
Christiaan peeked at her, tapping her feet against the stone stairs and suddenly wished his life was his own, to be free to love who he wanted, to live where he wanted, to anticipate to the future. Christiaan scanned the street for the zillionth time, soaking in every detail of the brownstones, probing the windows, his gaze sweeping the rooftops. Would he ever be able to just relax and enjoy the moment?
Movement caught his attention. His gaze flickered to the rearview mirror. A car was coming down the street awfully fast. A window rolled down. Christiaan caught a glimpse of a gun barrel.
Christiaan’s instincts kicked in. He rolled down the window.
“Andy.” She glanced his way before he slid himself down into the foot well, his hands on the keys.
Christiaan held his breath his muscles tense.
Nothing happened.
The car passed.
Andy approached the open window. “What were you doing?”
Christiaan straightened up and gazed after the car. It was only an umbrella poking out of the passenger side window. Someone was pointing with it.
“I thought…” Maybe he’d been doing this too long. Everyone was an enemy. “Never mind.”
Andy opened the door and slid across the seat.
Christiaan was a bit relieved. “Where to?”
“I don’t know, I’m emotionally drained. Dead ends at every turn.”
“I know just what you need.”
He slid his hand over her back as if to emphasize his point, tenderly working a few muscles between her shoulder blades. He hoped Andy would melt under his strong persuasion. She was withholding information. And it was his job to get it.
****
Andy collapsed on her bed, ready for a hot shower. Christiaan stood back aloof.
Physically, emotionally the last few days had been killer. “I’m going to take a nice hot bath. I think I need some Epsom salts.” Andy raised up on her elbows. “Thanks for coming. I’m actually really glad you were here with me tonight.”
Finally, Christiaan gazed up at her. “Take off your clothes.”
“What?” she sat up.
“I mean, go take your bath. Wrap yourself in the bathrobe, backward. Leave your back exposed.”
When Andy, in the hotel bathrobe, exited the steam-filled bathroom, Christiaan was kneeling on the bed, shirtless, a bottle of wine and several glasses on a tray near his knee. Only the cotton balls and lighter didn’t make sense. Andy eyed his toned shoulders and arms.
“Lie down on your front,” he said.
“Are you going to tell me what you are doing?” The backward robe was awkward. Andy pinned it closed behind her with a hand. Eying the wine, she hesitated before she hiked up the bathrobe to climb on the bed. “I don’t drink on the job.”
The last thing she wanted was to be too loose and friendly with Christiaan while only wearing a bathrobe.
“I think you misunderstand. We’re not going to drink the alcohol.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to help you relax.”
“How?”
“Zhenjiu hé báguàn, chaoguò yibàn zhìyù de bìbìng.”
“Say what?”
He picked up each cup, rubbing the rims with lotion. “An old Chinese proverb
, ‘Acupuncture and cupping, more than half of the ills cured.’ ”
Andy was glad he didn’t ask for her sewing needles, although she did have some in her bag. Acupuncture wasn’t something she wanted to try in a hotel room. “Lie.”
“I don’t lie, how ’bout you?”
He smirked. “On your front.”
Gingerly, she lay on her front on the bedspread, the robe opening slightly, tickling the sides of her breasts. His warm hands opened the robe, exposing all of her back.
He warmed lotion in his hands then spread it on her back in long forceful strokes. Andy’s skin prickled with goosebumps. She couldn’t remember when she’d been touched by a man in such a healing way.
With her head tilted to the side, she watched him expertly wipe the glass with wine and light cotton balls on fire inside before setting them on her back.
“Woah, fire,” she said, raising her head. He was probably violating some fire code.
“Shh. Relax.” He soothed her head back down. “Traditionally this is done with horn or bamboo.”
A warm sensation filled her back, painful in a weird sort of way, but wonderfully calming as well. Soon serene warmth replaced the ache in her back.
“Where did you learn this?” she asked.
“China.”
“Right, I don’t know why I bother to ask you anything.”
“Andy, when are you going to trust me?” He sounded so hurt, so saddened, Andy’s heart ached, almost as much as her back. She yearned to trust him, despising the suspicion, the lies between them.
He replaced the burning cups on her back. As each cup cooled, the muscle bubbled into a deep tissue massage, a mixed sensation of pleasure and pain. He continued until he had covered all of her back, releasing stress and tension.
When he finished cupping, he massaged her back in strong strokes. “The massage will help with the blood flow so the bruising will heal faster.”
“Bruising?”
“The cupping leaves bruises, like hickeys.”
“Won’t be the first time I’ve had a hickey on my back,” she muttered under her breath.