by K Larsen
“The CIA cooperates with its French counterpart, the DGSE. The countries collect information on one another, especially in the economic and scientific areas. I’m just a middleman really.”
“Dan. Layman’s terms, please,” she urged, frustrated.
“He was a brilliant biochemist, Celeste. I thought you knew that.”
She shook her head. Dan sighed. “CIA operatives here in France do good work, but there were times we needed Dr. Basle’s expertise to review some reports in return. He got his much wanted privacy. He was under one gag order or another most of his professional life.”
Celeste knew her sour expression couldn’t be hidden. “Operatives. Here. In France.” She pointed to the floor while trying to comprehend.
“Sure, the CIA has contracted scientists all over the world.” Dan shrugged.
“Scientists,” she repeated absently.
Dan cocked his head to the side. “Celeste, is everything alright?”
She shook her head again. “What was my part in all this?” she asked quietly as she thought about all the times she had run files to the embassy for Dr. B over the years.
Dan looked stricken and fumbled for an answer. “Nothing. You were just a courier.”
“No, Dan, I was more than that. Look at that file. Look hard.” She pointed and Dan looked.
She waited as Dan skimmed the contents further. He flipped a page, then another and another. His eyes stopped their movement. He squinted and shook his head slowly. “No way,” he mumbled. “No fucking way,” he breathed.
“Dan, it appears I’m Dr. B’s granddaughter.” Dan’s eyes snapped to hers, wide and disbelieving. “Start explaining what you’re reading to me because I’m starting to freak the hell out,” she ordered.
“I can’t say a damn thing, Celeste.” Dan inhaled and blew out a heavy breath.
“I don’t give a shit! This is my life!”
Dan held her eyes, clearly deliberating if he should share information. He got up, strode past her and shut his office door before returning to his seat. “What you found is a file on a covert project that involved biochemical warfare and human testing. The written reports covering the experiments in 1965 were supposed to be destroyed. Three scientists were secretly employed by the CIA. Spanish citizens were drugged without their knowledge or consent. He wasn’t supposed to keep this,” Dan said, scrubbing his face with a hand.
“What was studied? And why was it supposed to be destroyed?” Celeste pushed for more information.
“Because in the last experiment, the drug killed every patron at a small restaurant. And even more disturbing is that the extent of experimentation on human subjects is still unknown. They tested on unsuspecting people, without consent, Celeste. The drug failed miserably and the project was transferred back to the States where it was abandoned.”
“What killed them?” she asked.
“Myocardial infarction-heart attack,” he answered. Celeste paled. Everything came flooding back like a tsunami. “What if it wasn’t?” she asked.
Dan leaned back in his chair and furrowed his brow. “What if what wasn’t?”
“What if the project wasn’t abandoned?” she said, stunned, Gabriel’s late-night story, detail for detail, running through her mind.
“It was,” he stated definitively.
Celeste shook her head as nausea swelled within her. “No, no Dan, I don’t think it was . . .”
~***~
When she arrived home from the embassy, she couldn’t get Dan’s words out of her head. She knew the story already, but couldn’t wrap her mind around the truth of it all. Gabriel had told her a similar story years ago. Too similar. Celeste studied her husband as he reclined in his chair with a book. She mentally dug deep, to inspect the layers of him. She peeled each one away like gift paper. He glanced up at her.
“Mon amour, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, grinning at her. Raising a hand, he crooked his finger to beckon her.
Gabriel was an expert in deception—that much was clear. The small blushes he’d caused so many times toyed with her sensual side, the soft smiles he doled out over the years had appealed to her playful side and the knight in shining armor act had guaranteed her trust in him from the very beginning. She’d spent long nights making love to him, a man she had given her soul to, a man she thought had returned that precious gift. Now she had an inkling she’d been in bed with the devil.
Instead of going to him, Celeste wandered up the staircase to their bedroom and packed her things. She heard him call for her, a sound that nearly destroyed her heart right there. But she couldn’t stay. As she slipped out the front door, she heard her name called again. This time, tears spilled down her cheeks relentlessly as she forced herself to follow through with her plan. She needed a few days to clear her head, to sort this mess out. Celeste sank into the driver’s seat heavily and slammed the door closed.
Celeste drove for hours before ending up at the only logical place she could think of. Matteo’s. She wanted to be left alone with her wounds, with the absurd love she still harbored for her husband, and Matteo would allow her that without judgment.
She knocked harshly on the door. It swung open before her. Matteo took one look at her and pulled her through the threshold and into his arms.
“Fiore mio, tell me,” he said. She pulled back slightly to see his face. One hand released her waist and came up to her cheek, wiping away her tears.
“Not now, Teo. Please. I need time. I need to be alone. There was nowhere else . . .”
Matteo nodded. He helped her from her shoes and coat before showing her to his spare room.
Alone, she cried as she tried to stand up, but landed solid on her knees. Alone, she cried as she crawled to the guest bed and buried herself beneath unfamiliar blankets. Alone, she curled up into the fetal position and wished a hundred wishes that when she awoke the next day the past two months would be nothing more than a terrible dream-or that she wouldn’t wake at all. Alone, the next morning when she slumped into a dining room chair, eyes fixed on her best friend and worst enemy. Celeste snatched a bottle of wine from the sideboard and uncorked it. Alone, she lifted it to her lips and willed it to take away her thoughts. One swig. Then another and she smiled. Celeste swigged again and chuckled. She raised the bottle to her mouth, taking the wine down in great gulps.
Her body was on fire and she began to feel at ease. There would be no more hiding from Gabriel. No more fear. She was doing the right thing. Inside, Celeste felt happy, at peace, but her body was betraying her. The bottle paused at her mouth as her eyes rested on the photo from their wedding day again, propped on Matteo’s sideboard. Disgust settled in. A tear forced its way out and slid down her cheek. Celeste’s head dropped forward and tears dropped onto her cheeks, then fell onto her legs.
Chapter 43
Annabelle
“Try to wake up. Don’t have the power. I’m a daughter in the choir.”
~ Curbstomp, Meg Myers
The suspense was more than Annabelle could handle. She raised her hand to her mouth and mindlessly rubbed her bottom lip with the tip of her thumb. Disappointment coursed through her over their time being up but, for the first time in a long time, Annabelle couldn’t wait to get home. It was Tuesday-not only Jezebel day, but now father-daughter dinner night, and it was something that over the last month she’d grown to love.
“Jez, this story is cray,” Annabelle breathed.
Jezebel looked at her perplexed. “What in God’s name is cray?” she laughed.
“Short for crazy,” she explained.
“It’s not exactly any shorter than crazy. Cray, crazy, is the z really such a nuisance?”
Annabelle burst out laughing at Jezebel’s rant.
“No, I guess not,” she said when she finally composed herself.
“Take your ridiculous terms home to your father for dinner. What are you two making tonight?” Jezebel asked.
“Crepes, I think.” Annabelle slid her
feet into her flip flops and hoisted her purse up onto her shoulder.
“Mmm, make sure you have Nutella at home—a must for crepes.”
She smiled at Jezebel and nodded. “I’ll pick some up and surprise Dad.”
“Au revoir kid,” Jezebel called after her.
~***~
Annabelle’s week passed quickly now that summer was in full swing. Her dad even went to Madison’s family’s cookout with her—and enjoyed himself. She and Mark and Madison had spent days at the lake getting tan and swimming to keep cool. Over the weekend her father had brought her up to the college she’d be leaving for in just a few short weeks, and explored the campus with her. She couldn’t remember a time when things had gone this smoothly. A small part of her that she tried to keep hidden was waiting for something to give but she consistently shoved that niggling doubt, that naysayer voice in her head, to the dark recesses of her soul. She was happy. Things were falling into place seamlessly and she wouldn’t let her own insecurities or hang-ups ruin that.
“Someone is tan and glowing,” Jezebel greeted. Annabelle breezed into the room and plunked down into the seat waiting for her.
“Why thank you,” she answered.
“I rather like you looking all,” Jezebel waved her hand around in the air, “laid back.”
“I had a good week. How ‘bout you? How was your visit with your husband? By the way—what’s his name?” she rambled.
“Our visit was much needed!” Jezebel clapped her hands together. “He always renews my drive to stay on task.”
“Uh,” Annabelle breathed.
“You’ll understand someday, trust me,” Jezebel said.
“Okay. Whatever. You’re so strange sometimes.”
Jezebel winked at her and grinned. “Nothing wrong with that. Now let’s hop to it. We’re running out of visits and there’s much left to tell you.”
“Oh! Wait, I brought snacks for us to have while you talk. I made them myself,” Annabelle beamed and dug through the large bag she’d schlepped in with her today. She pulled out a Tupperware container and popped the lid off before setting it on the side table between them.
“These look scrumptious,” Jezebel said. She picked up a cookie and took a bite. Letting out a groan she swallowed and started. “Paris, nineteen ninety-four.”
Chapter 44
Celeste
Paris 1994
May
When she woke the world still spun, the truth still hung thick in the air and she still hurt deeply. Irrationally she scribbled Gabriel’s name on a scrap of paper. She stared at it for what felt like an eternity. She scratched it out, angry black slash marks, but it was still there, underneath, lingering. She hated knowing it was still there. She lit a match and smiled as she watched his name burn. Celeste shoved her hand into the pocket of her purse where she now kept the locket he gave her and rubbed the cool precious metal of the chain between her fingers. She couldn’t bear to throw it away so she resolved to carry it with her always-like a charm, like a burden, like a reminder.
Celeste had stumbled through the first three days, barely registering anything around her. She made the effort to seem aware and awake and cognizant of her surroundings. She sat with Matteo in the evenings. She chatted and ate whatever he put in front of her and she busied herself cleaning his house. But her mind ran solely on Gabriel and his unfathomable betrayal.
By day eight, Celeste was sure she would die. Her mind just couldn’t wrap around the scandal. The hows and whys circled ferociously in her thoughts. She couldn’t make sense of anything and she wasn’t sleeping at night. She knew she needed to present the information to someone else. To get logical feedback. She was too hurt, too angry, to find logic on her own. To know what the next steps were for her. Matteo was the only person she trusted. Her parents loved her, but had lied to her over the course of her entire life. Dan was loyal, surely, but to his position and government. Gabriel had used her for research. Research. Like a rat. Like a guinea pig. Monique and him probably laughed about it daily through the years and years of her blindness. She had only Matteo.
This game had an hourglass for a timer and she saw the sand running out. Gabriel had said so himself a thousand times and she just hadn’t understood. How could she? He was close. His work was drawing to an end. She’d been happy for him. Hopeful that once he accomplished his task, they’d have more time together. She was the task. Had he ever planned to stay with her once he completed his objective? She couldn’t know and she didn’t want to find out.
~***~
Celeste sat on the couch, listening as Matteo alternately asked questions and thought out loud. He scoured every last document she had. He had even run out to the estate to grab the rest of the scattered papers in the attic. And now, here he was, without question, without judgment, trying to make sense of what was in front of them. His lit cigarette rested in the ashtray on the table, smoke billowing up and dissolving into nothing. Celeste thought it ironic. She felt like the smoke looked. Fading. Dissolving. Ending.
Celeste pushed out of her chair and wandered to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea. Matteo followed Celeste and gave her a sheepish smile. He ran a hand over a day’s growth of stubble on his chin. “How are you holding up?”
“Me?”
She felt the fatigue in her limbs and heard it in her voice as she continued. “What do you want me to say, Matteo? Do you want me to go to pieces and break down and cry? What good is that going to do?” He raised both hands in mock surrender, pulled out his chair at the kitchen table, and sat. He gave her a weary look. She could see his worry every time he looked at her. Or when he lingered just a moment longer than he should, to make certain she wasn’t about to crumble.
“I told you if you called I would always come running, Celeste. Did you think I’d leave you at your highest or your lowest? I’m just checking in fiore mio. This is heavy shit.”
Celeste looked at him as she propped a hip against the countertop. Matteo, who took the trash out for his elderly neighbors. Matteo, faithful and loyal and compassionate. Matteo, who had always been there. Matteo, who was not a liar.
“I’m . . . I feel like I’ve been balled up, thrown in the road and driven over a thousand times, only to be kicked around afterward by some kids with nothing better to do. That’s what I am,” she grumbled. “All of this hurts, but you know what hurts the most?”
“Tell me,”
“Gabriel’s infidelity. How ridiculous is that?”
“Fiore mio, when we commit to someone, we promise to do our best to be aware of their needs and desires, to be sensitive to signs of distress and respond accordingly. We don’t promise to give the appearance of fidelity and sensitivity.” His words slammed into her with such force that her foot slid on the kitchen floor jarring her hip and sense of balance. Matteo leapt up from his seat, caught her in his arms and steadied her.
He squeezed her close and kissed her forehead. “Celeste, you and I were always with each other before we knew the other was ever there.” Celeste sniffled and nuzzled her face into his chest. He smelled of summer and cigarette smoke and earth. “We belong together, just like a breath needs the air. That’s why you’re here now. That’s why we’ve spent nearly a lifetime as best friends and that’s why I will help you any way I can.”
Celeste nodded her head as she took stock in his words. She let them sink into her soul and ease some of her pain. She wasn’t alone and with Matteo near, she never would be.
Releasing him, she grabbed her tea and ambled back into the living room. Papers were strewn everywhere. Matteo was worried for her safety and had voiced that concern a dozen times already. He narrowed his eyes as he read stacks of redacted papers and stroked his chin. He urged her to go home, grab her things and come back to his house while he attempted to sort things out.
~***~
Matteo left for work early the next morning, citing something about a llama with a sinus infection. Celeste had laughed at the serious tone in his
voice and sent her mouthful of coffee out her nose. Matteo joked that it served her right and let her know he’d call to check in on her later. In her darkest hour he was her light.
Celeste wandered the streets of Paris for hours that day. She stopped at cafés and picked up tasty treats for she and Matteo to snack on over the weekend. She bought some clothes and window-shopped to kill time. Walking back to Matteo’s she noticed a car parked on the street. Light rain had started to come down and she noticed that although it appeared no one was in the car the windshield had been cleared. Shaking her head she hurried the last few blocks to Matteo’s, the rain starting to collect on the ground and the wind picking up around her.
Celeste pushed through the front door, bags in hand. She dropped her things on the kitchen floor and started the kettle. Glancing at the clock she realized Matteo wouldn’t be home for hours still. Sighing she dipped her teabag robotically into the mug of steaming hot water.
Celeste stood for a solid hour in the shower, letting the hot water and the steam soothe her aching body and soul. As she stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself she wiped the fog on the bathroom window and stared out at the street below. She noticed the same car again, parked down the street—not the car so much as its windshield. It had been cleared. Once was odd. Twice was purposeful. Celeste looked to the other end of the street then back to the car. The car was gone. The hairs at the back of her neck tingled. She went to the front door, bolted it, and called Matteo home urgently.
~***~
From what they could ascertain, Celeste was being watched. Matteo grew more paranoid as hours ticked by. Afraid for her life.
“Cece, if he’s done this to you . . . if he’s been doing this to you . . . for years . . . I will punish him. I cannot stand by and let this happen. We need to talk to a lawyer.”
“Matteo . . . stop. Please. We just need to figure this out. What good is a lawyer going to do against the federal government?”