Blind Trust (Blind Justice Book 2)

by Adam Zorzi

  “You're full of surprises,” LouLou said. She and Gregg exchanged a heartfelt kiss and deep hug. “What's this about?”

  “Skylar rented it for me. One of my pieces is a duet for contra bass and piano. I need to hear precisely how they work together. I hope you don't mind.” He suddenly looked worried. LouLou was cautious about having too much furniture or sharp edges around.

  “Not at all. As long as it goes in the closet when it's not being played.”

  “Skylar, how are you, aside from the back strain of hefting that bass?”

  “Busy. My shipment of CDs sold out in one day. I've had walk-ins looking for it. I saved a copy of each for my library so people are listening to them in the booths. One man drove up from Raleigh to purchase them. I was sorry to tell him I was out. He did stay to browse and bought several nice LPs. He's a good, intelligent customer.”

  LouLou poured a root beer into a glass. “Have a seat before you go back.”

  Skylar took the glass and downed it. “Thanks. Can't sit or I'll never get up. Later.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Skylar, LouLou demanded a real welcome from Gregg. He agreed without hesitation. Their lovemaking was slow with a sweetness about it that LouLou enjoyed.

  Afterward, LouLou and Gregg had their first conversation about the recitals as they snuggled on the striped sofa.

  “I guess you heard about the reviews. Roy saved them for me.”

  “I'm still in disbelief. My compositions have been published, performed, recorded, and praised by the best critics. It was the thought of one day having an opportunity to get my music on paper that kept me going at Petersburg.”

  Gregg had never mentioned his time at Petersburg after he told her he'd been a patient there. LouLou assessed his mood and decided not to pursue it.

  “What are the new pieces?”

  “A piano concerto. Don't look at me like that,” he said when she frowned. “You'll learn to love playing with an orchestra occasionally. The duet is just for us playing our favorite instruments. We're simpatico, as one reviewer called us.”

  “I love that idea. I do. You'll play contra bass again. Each of us playing our best instruments. That's romantic.” She kissed him lightly. “I suppose most of my part will be high octaves.”

  He nodded. “Of course. I want the bass to shine, but I want it to be a blend that's rarely heard. At least as far as I know.”

  LouLou didn't know. “Check with Skylar. If he doesn't know, he'll ask one of his musicologist friends. They're all his absolutely best buddies now, hoping to get extra copies of CDs and gossip about what's in the pipeline.”

  She checked the time. “It's later than I thought. I'm having dinner with Roy, Sara, and the kids tonight. Will you be okay alone?”

  “Sure. I've got loads of work to do. I feel like I'm racing time.”

  What did that mean? It was too soon for him to leave.

  Gregg continued. “I felt the same agitation, I guess is the word, at the recital as I did at the university. It was wonderful and painful at the same time. I watched in a bubble. There's a part of me that thinks if I keep composing as fast as I can, maybe I'll become visible. We can be an almost normal couple. It keeps me going.”

  “Do you feel more energized?” One look in his eyes told her the answer.

  “Sadly, no. I feel my energy is being drained. I have pieces to finish and I want to celebrate the holidays with you and your family, if only as a spectator.”

  “I'll know you're there. Your presence will brighten what will be a difficult holiday. Christmas Eve was always the most special when I was growing up. I know it's going to be hard for Mom. Maybe Dad will come to her like you did to me.”

  “That's a happy thought.”

  Gregg leaned in and kissed LouLou. Softly, at first, and the kiss grew more intense until LouLou felt her heart racing.

  “I love you, LouLou, with all my heart.”

  She curled next to him. “I love you more than I knew was possible.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTY-FIVE

  December

  “Dort, dort, dort le petit fils, Mille anges divins, mille séraphins, Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour. Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.”

  LouLou sang with the instrumental ancient French carol as she drove south on I-95 the day after Christmas. Having Gregg with her had made this first Christmas without her father less painful. Her mother hid her feelings well, but she did have tearful moments. Orchid rarely left her lap. LouLou hated to see her mother in such unrelenting pain. The only bright spot was that her mother and Buttercup had become fast friends. Liz said they needed each other.

  The best part of the holiday was snuggling in the double bed with Gregg as they looked at the snowy nights through the skylight. It was as peaceful and happy as LouLou had imagined. Tux snored at the end of the bed. He sniffed Gregg, decided he could stay, and fell sound asleep. Gregg was the best present she’d ever been given.

  “You become a soprano when you sing that,” Gregg chided.

  “Because I learned it as a child. It's probably more falsetto now.” She increased the speed of the windshield wipers. “The snow is coming faster, don't you think?”

  “We were supposed to drive out of it by Springfield. The storm must be wider than forecasted. Are you okay driving?”

  “Not if it gets worse. See if there's a news station that has a weather update.”

  Traffic was heavier and slower than when they left Collin's home in Middleburg. LouLou deliberately took the highways with salted roads that would make the trip longer, but she wanted to avoid snow-covered, two-lane roads. They passed a Miata that had skidded off onto the shoulder. The radio buzzed and fussed, but no distinguishable traffic news was broadcast.

  “Nothing. I'll check the storm app.” Gregg pulled LouLou's phone from her tote and pressed the weather icon. “No reception.”

  “That does it,” she said. “I think we're near Stafford. I'll get off at the next exit. There's probably a motel there.” LouLou crept up the left lane to switch to the far right lane. “Keep an eye out for exit signs.”

  Suddenly, everything before her was a mass of white. Two white tractor-trailers had collided, followed by a few cars. Snow was a barrier to seeing anything else clearly.

  “Slow, slow,” she said. “I've got room to stop.”

  She was talking more to herself than to Gregg. She gripped the wheel, sat up straighter, and took her foot off the accelerator.

  Gregg rolled the passenger window down and up to shake off the sticking snow and gain a little extra vision.

  “You've got it. We'll be good.” Just as he spoke, the car behind them spun out of control and clipped the right rear end of LouLou's car, sending it off the road, and onto the median. It stopped, rammed into a row of pine trees.

  “LouLou, are you okay?”

  She could hear Gregg through layers and layers of consciousness. She floated above them. She watched Gregg immediately reach out to her. She saw herself slumped over the steering wheel. The airbag hadn't deployed. Gregg turned off the ignition.

  She felt his fingers on her wrist—right where she had one of the suicidal razor tattoos—and muttered, “Good, not great.”

  She'd hit her head on the steering wheel. She vaguely felt Gregg touching her body. Not in a sexy way. He was checking for injuries. She was fine. He shouldn't bother. He gently lifted her head off the steering wheel and slid her seat back. He stuffed what felt like his plump knitted hat behind her head. He tried the cell again.

  She could hear him get out of the car. No, he shouldn't do that. You're supposed to stay in the car when stranded. Where was he going?

  When Gregg returned, he tucked a blanket around her. He held her gloved hands in his and rubbed them.

  “LouLou, LouLou, wake up. Please wake up.” He was almost crying. She wanted to wake up. She tried. He kept talking to her. Something about a Christmas angel on the highway, a pile-up, a red flag on t
he roof of the car.

  She could feel it getting darker and colder outside. Why weren't they being helped? Gregg kept getting in and out of the car and running the heater for a few minutes. “Exhaust pipe,” he'd said. She felt something soft covering her window. Her calves were being rubbed. She heard distant sirens.

  “Gregg.” She kept saying his name, but he didn't respond. Slowly, she opened her eyes and said it louder. “Gregg.”

  “LouLou, you're awake.” He gave her a clumsy hug. “How do you feel? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need anything?”

  “Thirsty,” she whispered. He put a bottle of water to her mouth and tilted it so she could have a few sips.

  “Can you move your arms and legs?” She tried to move her legs, but felt there was too much heavy stuff on them. She'd have to take her boots off. She moved her hands and arms, bent her wrists, and wiggled her fingers.

  “Good. You'll be okay. The important thing is to keep warm. Help is coming, but there are a lot of cars. Fifteen, maybe. Or twenty. I think we're near the back. It's snowing harder. Are you warm enough? We can only run the heat for ten minutes every half hour if there's no snow in the exhaust pipe.”

  LouLou smiled. “Boy Scout?”

  “Navy family. Same thing.”

  “Seat belt?”

  “I think you should keep it on in case someone else hits us from behind. Visibility is zero. We could be pushed deeper into the trees. Your seat is back as far as it can go.”

  She smelled acrid smoke. “Fire?”

  “About half-mile ahead. Two trucks. One leaked fuel, but I heard it was contained. We're okay back here.”

  “What happened?” She was sleepy.

  “People said a barefoot angel with enormous golden wings appeared in the middle southbound lane of the highway serenely holding the baby Jesus in a long blue wrap. Cars crashed trying to avoid hitting her, and the trucks crashed into everything in front of them. It sounds crazy, but that's what the drivers say they saw. They tried to stop.”

  “An angel. That's nice. Where is she?” she wondered.

  “Disappeared. LouLou, are you sure you're warm enough?”

  “Yes. Thank you for taking such good care of me.” She reached her hand up to stroke his face. He pressed his face against her palm. She felt tears.

  “What's wrong?”

  “LouLou, it's almost time for me to leave you. I'll try to stay until EMS reaches us.”

  “Now? Why?” Suddenly, she was alert. She wasn't drifty anymore.

  “We knew it couldn't be forever. Now's the time. Promise me something.”

  He was fading. She couldn't make out his features and started to cry. “Anything, but please don't go. I love you. I love us.”

  “I love you. You're in my heart, but I can't control my being. It's time.” He kissed her forehead. His voice was now a whisper. “Promise me whenever you feel like you're sinking under Sick, you'll go to a doctor. Don't stop taking your meds. You need them to live as much as you need air and music. Please.”

  She cried. “I'll try. I can barely see you.”

  “Promise me you won't just stop. Think of me.”

  “I promise.” She looked toward the sound of his voice with longing. She was frightened because she couldn't see him.

  Voices of rescue personnel were coming closer. Shouts. Orders. Screams.

  She felt Gregg kiss her as deeply and passionately as she could remember. “I love you, LouLou. Always.” His face, his voice, his body were gone.

  “Gregg!”

  The driver's side door jerked open, revealing the dark night. A reassuring and authoritative voice said, “Ma'am, are you okay? Looks like someone took really good care of you. You're warm, hydrated, and awake.”

  She looked at herself. She was covered by Gregg's parka and two blankets. Her feet were warmed by Gregg's blue sweater. She had two pairs of gloves on her hands. Another sweater insulated her window; a blanket curtained the passenger window.

  Hands unbuckled her seat belt and encircled her bracelet. “Medic Alert. She needs meds. Check for a bag.” Other hands helped her onto a gurney. “Ma'am. Ma'am, was there anyone with you? Did you have a passenger?”

  Tears flowed and mixed with the still falling snow on her cheeks.

  “Ma'am, is the person who helped you missing?”

  She whispered, “No.”

  “Ma'am, are you sure? Should we be looking for someone?”

  The falling snow felt like soft kisses on her eyes and lashes. Gregg's kisses.

  “Ma'am?” She was being loaded into an ambulance. “Are you sure?”

  “No one. I'm alone.” LouLou closed her eyes.

  Inside the ambulance, there was muted activity. She shared the bay with another patient. The shouts, noises, and lights outside seemed far away. They started moving. She kept her eyes closed and thought of Gregg.

  She'd almost drifted into sleep when she heard a woman's voice. A beautiful, mellifluous soprano.

  “LouLou, ma petite fille, you're not alone. I'm here. I'll take care of everything.”

  LouLou opened one eye. A stunning blonde woman about her age was sitting on the bench next to her, away from the EMS workers. She smelled like flowers. Amaryllis. Magnolia. A hint of boronia. Soft and serene. Her white blonde hair was swept to one side in a chignon. Her hands were powerfully delicate with long, graceful fingers. Her blue eyes were riveting. LouLou had never seen anything like them. They were mesmerizing. Hypnotic.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  The woman laughed a delicate bell-like lyric soprano that was lovely to hear.

  “LouLou, Je suis ta mère.”

  LouLou wondered what the woman meant. She spoke, or thought she did. “You don't look like anyone's mother.”

  That laugh again. “I consider that to be a compliment, but c'est vrai. I am your mother.”

  Bella was dead, but she could be a ghost, like Gregg. Someone who no longer lived in human form. And wanted something. Someone who wouldn't stop being a ghost until she got what she wanted.

  “Bella?” LouLou asked. No, she had to get away from Bella. LouLou felt the ambulance stop. The doors to the ambulance swung open, and the antiseptic smells of a hospital invaded the bay. The other patient was unloaded first. Then LouLou.

  “Bella?” she asked again and again as she was being gently unloaded.

  “This one must have hit her head harder than we thought. She's pretty agitated. Take her straight for a CT scan,” someone said about her.

  “Oui, ma petite fille.”

  “Bella.”

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  About the Author

  Born in Venice, Italy, Adam Zorzi is the author of Blind Spot, Blind Trust, and Blind Rage that comprise the Blind Justice Trilogy. He lives in New York.

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