by M. J. Labeff
Angel looked so much like the girl in her visions the girl she couldn’t remember. The dead girl and Angel shared an uncanny resemblance. They both had long, unkempt blonde hair, thin lips, and startling, pale blue eyes with a faraway look of despair. They drove through the gates and toward the sprawling estate where she’d grown up. Déjà vu hit Sparrow.
“This isn’t exactly how I imagined you meeting my father and mother. But Daddy says Mother was asking for me, and he’s convinced she’ll only rest after she sees me.”
“Sparrow, relax. We’re not kids. This may not seem like the best circumstances,” he said, and nodded toward the back seat. “But life happens. I’m sorry your mom’s not well. Are you going to be okay?”
Derrick rested his hand on top of her knee. She twitched. The gun had her jumpy. It shouldn’t. He was still the same Derrick. Wasn’t he? The confrontation with Camo-boy had messed with her mind. The nasty name he’d called her reminded her about Dana, and how physically and mentally abusive he’d become throughout the course of their relationship. She ran her hands along her arms. Would she recognize another man’s potential for violence?
Derrick rotated the car around the circular drive. Her stomach fluttered. Derrick’s dark side, the side that carried a gun, had her worried, and meeting Angel on the beach flooded her head with another strange memory. She’d been there before, when she was about Angel’s age.
Derrick stopped the car. Sparrow unfolded her legs. What about Angel? Should they leave her sleeping in the car? She didn’t like the idea of inviting the girl into the house. Derrick would insist he look at Angel’s ankle. Here. She was stuck.
Derrick opened the door and stepped out of the car. He flipped the seat forward then reached in and nudged Angel.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Sparrow’s parents’ house. Her mother needs her. I’ll take a look at your ankle here.”
The house gradually lit up like Disneyland with each step they took along the brick-paved walk and up the wide, glossy steps dotted with flowering pots. They approached the double red doors, complete with brass lion-head doorknockers. The final set of lights popped on.
Not much had changed about the house. Topiaries stood at attention in gold pots at the opposite sides of the double doors. Sparrow turned back at the lush grass and intricately cut shrubs lining the property. Her mother could no longer tend to the flower gardens she had admired and toiled over in earlier years. Now her father had taken over caring for it all.
Aside from her parents living there, they employed a personal assistant for her father and a fulltime chef and housekeeper. Occasionally, her father would have a nurse available to her mother, depending on her state. When Sparrow lived with them, her mother had employed a personal assistant to manage her overflowing social calendar, and a fulltime nanny to watch over Sparrow. The nannies changed if her parents, especially her father, had thought she’d grown too close. By the time she turned eighteen, she’d probably had a different nanny every year.
The door swung open and her father stood larger than life in the wide frame. “Sweetheart, thanks for coming. Come in, come in.”
All six feet of him stepped back from the door. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Even with his thinning black hair, graying at the temples, her father was a handsome and distinguished-looking man. He carried himself in such a way that everyone trusted him.
The sound of his deep even voice lulled people to listen to what he had to say. Corporations paid small fortunes to have her father as a guest speaker. Aside from his other distinguished credentials, in his later years, he’d become a life coach. Even the big TV networks approached him about his own show, but he preferred some anonymity. He’d leave the TV world to Dr. Drew and Dr. Phil. Instead he’d agreed to serve as a consultant to the various networks and their numerous morning and evening news shows gaining in popularity. The average public clamored to see celebrities rise and fall and squirm in their own sordid addictions.
Derrick stepped back and allowed her and Angel to go in first. She noticed how Derrick hesitated to step on the Persian rug. The pricey surroundings had little effect on her. She wiped her sand-covered shoes against the fine rug.
“Daddy, I’d like you to meet Dr. Derrick Sloan. You might remember his father was the lead engineer on this development?”
Derrick extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Well, my goodness, Derrick. I remember you when you were just a teenager. And who’s this young lady?”
Angel recoiled from them. “Daddy, this is Angel.”
“Dr. Von Langley, I run a mobile health clinic in Los Angeles. Angel had an accident. I’d like to make sure she doesn’t have a broken ankle. We were on our way to the hospital when you called, sir.”
“Ah, yes, I read about your practice in the Times. I believe the reporter referred to it as a health clinic on wheels.” He pressed the intercom and called to the chef. “We’ve got guests. Please bring a cup of herbal tea for my daughter, a cup of hot cocoa for her friend, and a plate of oatmeal cookies.” He took his finger off the intercom and turned to Derrick. “What can I get for you?”
“Tea sounds good. It was cold on the beach.”
He pushed the intercom again and summoned another cup of tea.
“Sparrow, I must ask that you go up and see your mother. She’s been asking for you. I think Dana’s death has had an effect on her. How was the service?”
The contents of her stomach knotted. She recalled his lifeless body in the casket. The rise and fall of his chest, his eyes peeling open, the warm pink color filling his pale lips and his mouth opening, and the final words he’d spoken to her. Stop him. She tapped her foot against the marble floor. Her father placed his large hands over hers and startled her. He’d picked up on her anxiety.
“I’m sorry. I know you two were close,” he said, sincerity shining in his gray eyes.
“Yes, Daddy. The service was nice. It’s just hard to imagine him gone.”
He dropped his hands from hers, and she shoved them inside the pockets of her sweat jacket, pawing at the soft lining. Her lips twisted. She wasn’t sure what else she could say about the funeral.
“He was so young. I only wish I could have helped. Well, your mother is waiting. Derrick, you and Angel can use my office. I’ll come with you. I’d love to hear more about the work you’re doing to help kids like Angel.”
Sparrow didn’t want to leave them alone with her father, especially Derrick. She twisted bunches of fabric in her hands. Her overbearing father psychoanalyzed everyone. She’d recognized the subtleties in his conversations with people and lines of questions he’d employed years ago. Derrick would not appreciate it. Maybe, since they were both doctors, her father would show him some professional courtesy and respect. That didn’t make her feel any better. However, her mother would feel uncomfortable having guests in her private chambers. She turned to Derrick and said, “I’ll be back soon.”
He nodded and smiled. “Spend as much time as you need with your mom.”
Great. Daddy was going to grill Derrick. From the look on Angel’s face, you’d think she’d died and gone to heaven. Her eyes were wide saucers, looking around the foyer at the large paintings, crystal chandelier, and heavy marble-topped tables. Angel ran a finger along the red velvet of the settee. Her father smiled at Angel admiring his priceless possessions, and that eerie feeling of déjà vu settled over Sparrow again.
She sucked in a deep breath and climbed the spiral steps to her mother’s quarters. Her fingers continued to knead the insides of her jacket pockets. The sound of Derrick’s voice echoed behind her. He filled in her father on the unfortunate circumstance Angel met with. Her father invited them to use his office to examine Angel’s ankle. She wondered what Derrick would think of her father’s private medical office and treatment facilities.
Chapter 11
Derrick found the Von Langley estate beyond impressive. He
laughed inside at how Sparrow had thought his family could afford to live in such a luxurious mansion. Not that his family was destitute, but they certainly didn’t have this kind of fortune. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Angel was thinking as Dr. Von Langley maneuvered them through the house to his private office. When they reached the set of elevator doors, Angel’s mouth gaped. But the opulence didn’t impress him.
They stepped into the elevator, and he was surprised when they descended. Basements were an uncommon feature in California homes. Angel scooted closer to Derrick. She fidgeted with her ratty hair. He gave her a reassuring smile.
“So, Derrick, tell me more about this clinic on wheels.” Dr. Von Langley’s robust voice shattered the silence.
“I have various locations around Los Angeles where I park it and wait for kids who need medical attention. I run the same schedule every week and provide routine care. Much is basic hygiene. I have general pain relievers, antiseptics, toothpaste, toothbrushes—mostly stuff for simple ailments. I can only treat routine illnesses: colds, flu, toothaches, cuts and scrapes, and some infections.”
Dr. Von Langley cupped his chin in his large hand and stroked the sides of his jaw.
“Can I ask how you fund such a thing?”
“I’m a concierge doctor and lucky to have patients who can afford a private doctor. And then there are the volunteers like your daughter. They help make it possible.”
“I see.”
The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out. A thick set of double glass doors greeted them, and Derrick could have sworn they were bulletproof. It struck him as odd. A ring of keys rattled. Dr. Von Langley clicked open the lock and pushed one of the doors. He motioned for them to go in. Derrick and Angel went into the office.
Dr. Von Langley stepped around them so they could follow him. He whisked them past his main office area, complete with an organized desk minus any papers and a long, harsh-looking, tufted burgundy leather couch. Several dark wood filing cabinets lined the wall. Derrick wasn’t familiar with the layout of a therapist’s office, and he was impressed with the ordered and sterile environment. Angel hobbled beside him. Why didn’t Dr. Von Langley stop so he could check her ankle using the couch in his office? He offered Angel his hand.
“How’s the ankle?” Derrick asked.
“Hurts.”
Dr. Von Langley looked back at them. “We’re almost to the exam room.”
Exam room?
Derrick was startled to find an examination table and patient room, the mirror image of one found in any doctor’s office. Clear containers, filled with tongue depressors and cotton swabs, and a box of tissues sat on a low cabinet. A black medical bag was perched on top of a round stool. Dr. Von Langley pulled a fresh sheet of white paper over the exam table, crumpling the previous one and tossing it into a nearby receptacle. Derrick’s eyes widened at the red biohazard container near the trash can. He didn’t think Dr. Von Langley was a medical doctor. He didn’t want to be rude and ask.
“Have a seat up here, Angel. May I?” Derrick motioned toward the stool with the black medical bag. Dr. Von Langley removed the bag and rolled the stool his way.
Angel climbed up on the exam table, crossing her hurt ankle over the top of her thigh. She removed her filthy tennis shoe, and sand scattered across the floor. She handed it to Derrick. He set it down next to the stool and waited while she hiked her jeans above her ankle and rolled down a dirty, sand-covered sock. The white tissue paper sheet crackled beneath her. She set the sock next to her.
Derrick glanced down at her swollen purple ankle. “That doesn’t look pretty. What do you think, Dr. Von Langley?”
“Oh, I’m not a medical doctor. I wouldn’t know for sure. You’re the expert.”
Derrick’s curiosity about the medical examination room got the best of him. “Oh, I just assumed since you had this room…”
“I only treat the mind. And, occasionally, a simple ailment,” he replied, resting a hand on the handle of a closet door. For someone who didn’t practice medicine, Dr. Von Langley certainly had an elaborate office.
“Angel, can you move your ankle for me?” Derrick watched while she carefully wiggled it from side to side. “Can you rotate it around in a circle?”
“Ouch, it hurts.”
Dr. Von Langley drew closer to them.
“Wow, it’s really swollen,” Dr. Von Langley said. “Do you think it’s broken or sprained?”
“Hard to say without an X-ray. Let me try some manipulations.”
Derrick reached for a pair of surgical gloves on the top of the cabinet. He snapped the gloves on, wondering what a therapist had surgical gloves for. He wrapped his hand around Angel’s foot and slowly moved it. “I think it might be a sprain. The best thing we can do is wrap it, and you should take some pain relievers to help keep the swelling down. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to elevate and ice it, either, and stay off it.”
“Sure, doc. I’ll go home and take it easy for a while.” Her sarcasm didn’t get past him.
Dr. Von Langley glanced at his watch. “You know, Dr. Sloan, it’s getting late. Why don’t you leave Angel here? She can get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll have the chef make her whatever she wants. You and Sparrow can check on her tomorrow.”
Derrick was surprised by Dr. Von Langley’s offer, but grateful. The man was a doctor. Perhaps his compassion for Angel had spoken. He searched Angel’s face to see her reaction to the offer. “That’s not such a bad idea. Angel?”
She rolled her pale blue eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever you want. Remember, you paid for me.”
Dr. Von Langley raised his bushy brows at Derrick.
“I did what I had to do because I feel responsible. I probably shouldn’t, considering you and your boyfriend attacked me,” Derrick said, not happy with her snotty answer.
“Whatever.”
Dr. Von Langley stepped up beside Derrick. “Miss Angel, please be more respectful. I’ve offered you my home for the night. You should be grateful to the good doctor.”
She rolled her eyes at Derrick and then batted her lashes at him. “Fine. I’ll stay.”
“Well, now that that’s settled, I’m prescribing RICE treatment,” Derrick said, pulling the plastic gloves from his hands. He tossed them in the trash receptacle.
“That’s an excellent remedy, Derrick. Let me show you the mind therapy room,” Dr. Von Langley said, pulling open a door to the left of the examination table.
Derrick’s curiosity pulled him to take a look. Dr. Von Langley ushered them into the room. Derrick had never been inside of a padded room. He poked a finger into the thick pillowed wall. Angel did the same.
“One regret I have is putting this padded cell here. Come through, there’s a hidden door in the far corner.”
They followed Dr. Von Langley to the left corner of the room. He pressed a spot on the wall, making the invisible pocket door slide into itself. He ushered them into the next room. Things couldn’t have gotten more bizarre, until Derrick found himself moving beyond the white room to a laboratory with gray concrete floors. Angel kept in close proximity to him. The sight of a peach-colored mannequin lying on a hospital bed with its plastic mouth agape and brain exposed came into view. Derrick recognized the high-fidelity human patient simulator. Why would Dr. Von Langley have such a thing in his home? Cords hung near a hospital bed and computer monitors. The simulator worked. Derrick took in the space. Everything here would be found in a patient’s room in a real hospital.
Beyond the mock hospital setting was a chalkboard wall, numerous books, several school desks, and a plasma-screen TV suspended from the ceiling. Derrick felt something gritty under his shoes. He swiped the bottom of his sole. Granules of rice covered the floor.
“Well now, Angel, you’ll need to put on this before we get started,” Dr. Von Langley said, handing her a hospital gown. “Once you’ve changed I’ll have you kneel on the grains of rice. The pain in your ankle will subside as I teach y
ou the technique of focusing on the rice digging into your knees. It’s replacement therapy.”
“Um, Dr. Von Langley, I mean no disrespect, but when I was talking RICE, I was referring to rest, ice, compression, elevation, not food rice. I suppose it’s a contradiction of terms between the medical and psychiatry communities?”
Dr. Von Langley’s face reddened. He cleared his throat and appeared distressed. He ushered them out of the room. “I’m quite embarrassed by my oversight. Well then, let me show Angel to her room.”
Derrick did a quick search of the room they were in. This area of the room was like a classroom. But why? They walked back from the direction they’d come. Derrick paused at the patient simulation lab. What kind of high-definition mannequin was in the hospital bed? He opened his mouth then closed it. Dr. Von Langley appeared agitated and anxious for them to leave. Derrick scraped the rice from his shoes before entering the white padded cell, and found relief beyond the large door and the examination room. Dr. Von Langley locked the large glass doors, and they rode the elevator in silence to the main floor.
Chapter 12
“Mother, it’s Sparrow. Daddy says you wanted to see me.”
Her mother, Cora Von Langley, sat at her vanity brushing her bobbed blonde hair. The ends curled in a flip. She wore a pale pink silk peignoir set with pink ballet slippers. She dabbed cream around her eyes and applied balm to her lips. Sparrow waited for her mother to acknowledge her.
Little had changed about her mother’s suite over the years. The creamy walls of the nine-hundred-square-foot master bedroom reflected a soft glow and shadows made possible by the fireplace flames. At the foot of her mother’s king-size bed was a low table where her mother had insisted a fresh bouquet of flowers be kept on the breakfast tray. A blue silk blanket cascaded off the side of the table and matched the glacier-blue floral motif patterned throughout the room in the fabric of the accent chairs and heavy drapes. Several pillows were strewn across the bed’s numerous layered linens. The sheets on her mother’s side of the bed were pulled back, and Sparrow assumed she had gotten out of bed to make herself more presentable.