Madeline descended the stairs with slow, quiet steps, at times wiping her eyes with the pads of her hands. Her back was straight and her chin up when she entered the dining room.
Arthur was standing near the mantelshelf, his face hard as steel, his hands linked behind his back. “Did she go to bed?” His loud voice rose as soon as he saw his wife walk through the door.
“Yes,” Madeline said, her gaze hurt and condemning.
“At least she will look presentable tomorrow, not like a beast.” She took a few steps toward the window and remained standing there for a long time without speaking.
“I am afraid you will be disappointed,” she said after a while. “All the clothes we bought will go to charities tomorrow. She will not wear any of them. It is not her style. She will do her own shopping.”
“I beg your pardon?” Arthur’s voice boomed from behind. Madeline whirled on her heels, turning to face him. “You heard me, Arthur. She will not wear any of them. Not even for the night.”
His face turned beet red under the spell of his fury. “Are you saying that she will sleep in that outrageous attire?” he spat at his wife.
She nodded.
“She will wake up stinking like a sewage rat. No, I will not I allow it.”
“You will let her do as she wishes, Arthur. She is your daughter, not an employee, not a company. You cannot run her.” Madeline’s voice thundered over his for the first time in their married life. “She is your daughter. You cannot make her what she is not. Give her time. There is no shame here in this, Arthur, only in your behavior.”
Madeline’s voice choked on the explosion of tears that started flowing down her cheeks in heavy streams. She suddenly found herself cocooned in his arms, her face nestled in the crook of his neck while he restlessly threaded his fingers through her hair.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her temple. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it to happen this way. I suppose I expected a different Elisabeth when the news came in. The Elisabeth I dreamt of so many years. But I love her with all my heart, with all her imperfections. It is just that it will be very hard for me to adjust if she keeps behaving like she did today.” He stopped to kiss the top of Madeline’s head. “I will try to control my outbursts, to be calmer in her presence.” His arms kept rocking her gently.
Madeline pulled away after a long while and looked up at him, a feeble smile shying on her lips.
“I am going upstairs to see if she is all right. I will be back in a couple of minutes,” she said.
Lizzie’s apartment was engulfed in darkness, but as Madeline made her way toward the bedroom a faint light shone from within splashing on the corridor’s carpet. She tiptoed her way to the door and peeked in. The bed was empty and a small lamp was lit on a bedside table. Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe the girl had tried to escape out the window? But there was no way she could reach the ground floor from that height.
Madeline stepped inside the bedroom and decided to check the bathroom and the walk-in-robe, although they both had the lights switched off. A lump of tenderness wedged at the back of her throat when she almost stumbled on the human bundle that lay on the carpet next to the bed, her head resting on a rolled blanket, another blanket covering her. She crouched down in silence and gently pushed away the mass of hair that covered Lizzie’s face, letting her fingers run down her cheek in a tender caress.
A hand of steel bolted through the air and clenched around her neck, squeezing as hard as a vise. Wide, merciless eyes as cold as ice met her panicked gaze for a moment. Then Lizzie let go and pushed a menacing growl through clenched teeth.
“What the hell? Don’t you ever sneak up on me again. Do you understand?” Lizzie snarled.
Madeline nodded, gasping for air. “I am sorry,” she managed to utter after a few moments. “I just wanted to make sure you are all right. Why are you not sleeping in your bed?”
Lizzie let herself fall back on the blanket. “It’s too damn soft, it feels like it’s gonna eat me up.”
“Do not worry, my dear, we will get you a firm mattress tomorrow,” Madeline said, reaching out to caress her daughter’s face once more.
The same hand that had strangled her before wrapped around her wrist like a steely jaw.
Madeline pulled her arm back as if stung by a wasp. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “Have a good night.”
The soft sound of Madeline’s sobs wafted into Lizzie’s ears. She strained to listen to her mother’s footsteps growing fainter as Madeline rushed away along the corridor.
“Here is the money, my dear.” Madeline pushed a fat pile of notes into Lizzie’s hand. “Are you sure you do not want me to come with you?”
“Nah.” Lizzie wrinkled her nose, squinting at the elevator’s buttons through her fringe. “I’m not a two-year old.”
“So, where do you want to go?” Madeline inquired. “There are some reputable shops not far from here on Madison Avenue. I can instruct your chauffeur to take you there.”
The doors of the elevator opened in the lobby.
Lizzie strode toward the exit with brisk steps without paying attention at what her mother was saying.
“I’m gonna go to Queens. Junction Boulevard.” She stepped on the footpath and drew up short, scratching the top of her head. “How the hell do I know about that?” she muttered.
“Your car is here, Lizzie. Gérôme will take you where you wish to go.” Madeline moved purposefully toward the chauffeur who was standing stiff next to the open backdoor. “Gérôme, take Miss Wilburn to Junction Boulevard in Queens,” she ordered him. “And make sure you do not let her out of your sight, do you understand?”
“Yes, Madame!” he bowed slightly and closed the door behind Lizzie.
Junction Boulevard in Queens? Madeline worried as she watched the limo pull off from the curb. Where had that come from? Had Lizzie started recovering her memory? She walked back inside shaking her head, a pang of alarm shooting through her.
The limo once again crossed the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge, leaving behind Manhattan’s majestic skyline. Then the road got sandwiched between Halal markets, a plethora of Russian grocery, British import stores and designer shops that offered products at half the usual price. Amongst them, adding to the cosmopolitan panorama, were too many Asian restaurants to count.
The limo stopped on the side of the boulevard and Lizzie bolted out the door before the chauffeur got a chance to get out. She began a leisurely walk along the footpath, twisting her head left and right to stare in fascination at the colorful mass of people who carelessly brushed past her, speaking in every language except English. An overcrowded, foul-smelling Thai restaurant made her wrinkle her nose as she walked past its open doors.
“Yo, Vanilla.” A Dominican guy smirked at her from a take-away shop’s door.
She turned her head in surprise, wondering why the words sounded so familiar. She didn’t know the man’s face. Her gaze briefly swept over the shop’s window. She caught the reflection of two tall, solid men dressed in elegant business suits who were walking a couple of yards behind her. A rush of panic flushed through her without warning. But why would she panic at all? Oh, yeah. Police was after her ass for something they said happened before a damn car hit her and almost cracked her head in half.
She hastened her steps, breathing hard, at times stealing furtive glances in every clean shop window she could find. There weren’t that many, but the thumping of feet behind her didn’t leave any doubt that the macho guys were on her tail.
A group of Koreans crossed the boulevard, unwilling to wait for the light to turn green. She took a deep breath and bolted forward, shouldering her way through them, oblivious to the swearing that trailed behind her.
“You, idiot.” An angry voice exploded as tires screeched in the middle of the boulevard and a car’s bumper brushed her leg.
“God dammit,” Lizzie yelled over her shoulder. “Pay attention when you drive, you stupid maniac.”
The thumpi
ng of feet behind her got louder, gaining on her as she ran for her life, blindly winding her way through the crowd.
She heard someone call from behind. “Miss, please stop.”
“The hell I will!” She panted.
Her feet started crashing faster on the hard concrete of the footpath. A savage drumming in her chest sent sharp shots of pain right up through her neck and brain and made her knees wobble. Faster, dammit! She poured the furious command into her mind as she turned into a side lane on her left. Huge trash bins lined the alley, waste overflowing from underneath their half open lids. The foul stench made her gag. Or maybe it was that vise that seemed to squeeze her chest, digging into it with a thousand claws.
The sight of a tall brick wall that blocked the end of the lane made her knees buckle. She wasn’t going to make it. It was way too high. And the thumping of feet was right behind her. Lizzie almost felt the men’s breath burning down her neck. She turned around without warning and with a big thrust planted the tip of her boot in the closest man’s groin. He crouched to the ground moaning in pain, his hands clutched around his hurt parts.
“Don’t you dare come near me, you bastard, or I’ll break your damn neck,” she spat the words out, raising her fists in the air.
The second man drew up short less than a yard away from her.
Then the claws that were digging at her chest started taking slice after slice off her heart. She propped her back against the nearest wall and slid down until she hit the ground, her knees drawn up and her forehead resting on them. Voices echoed somewhere in the distance, or maybe right next to her, but it didn’t really matter. She had to stop the claws from tearing her apart.
“Are you all right, Miss?”
She finally registered what was said to her.
“Are you all right?” Another voice echoed the first one.
Lizzie raised her head wearily and looked up, fixing her hazy gaze on one of the faces that leaned over her.
“What the hell do you want from me? Leave me alone. I done nothin’ to nobody,” she whispered.
“Oh, no, Miss, you got it all wrong.” One of the men shook his hand vehemently under her nose, staring at her appalled. “We are your bodyguards.”
The pounding inside her chest started to subside slowly but surely. “Bodyguards?” she snorted. “Why the hell do I need bodyguards for? What’d I do wrong, huh?”
The men looked at each other disconcerted. “You did nothing wrong, Miss,” one of them replied. “We are employed to protect you. The entire Wilburn family travels around with bodyguards. It’s the house rule.”
“The hell with their stupid house rules,” Lizzie muttered. ”They live in a damn tomb, they need babysitters to follow them around and servants to wipe their asses.”
The men’s lips started to twitch. “We are sorry if our presence inconveniences you, Miss, but we have to do our duty,” one of them said.
She raked a hand through her fringe. “Stop Missing me. Call me Lizzie. Until I remember my real name.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Miss. House protocol.”
“Oh, the hell with the house protocol,” she snapped. “If you want to have a damn life while you follow me around, you’ll call me Lizzie. Capish?”
They nodded in unison, fighting hard the urge to burst into peals of laughter.
“Hey, what’s your name there?” she asked, holding out her hands so that they could pull her up to her feet.
“I’m Ben.”
“And I’m Roy.”
She shifted her gaze from one to another. “You all right, Ben?” she tipped her chin down to his groin.
He shrugged a little. “I guess I’ll still be able to have kids someday, Miss. I mean, Lizzie. You have great reflexes.” He nodded with appreciation.
She landed a friendly slap on his shoulder. “Glad you’re okay. Let’s spend some cash then.”
Three and a half hours later the trunk of the limousine was full with dubious looking bags filled with heaps of questionable things. Heavy male boots and fake leather jackets, faded jeans and checkered shirts, graffiti-style printed T-shirts and a dozen pairs of fingerless gloves, all chosen with the cheerful approval of Roy and Ben, had eaten up half of Madeline’s money.
“We’re done.” Lizzie rubbed her hands in content and threw herself on the backseat of the limo, winking at Gérôme.
The privacy screen stayed down all the way back to Manhattan. She kept telling jokes until the chauffeur threatened to hit the first incoming car head on; he couldn’t see clearly as her jokes were causing blinding tears.
“We are home, Lizzie.” Gérôme voice turned serious all of the sudden. “Now you have to become ‘Miss’ again until our next getaway. It has been a pleasure.” He smiled over his shoulder before rushing to get off to open her door.
“Thanks, guys,” she said and slipped out of the limo.
“You there! Don’t move! You’re under arrest!”
Lizzie’s gaze snapped up to meet that of a policeman who stood only two yards away, his hand clenched on the grip of his gun. Another policeman was standing at his side, just as menacing.
She took a step back and hit the door of the limousine. Before she knew it the policeman had grabbed her shoulders, turned her around and twisted her hands behind her back.
“Hey! Let her go.” Ben’s threatening voice sounded somewhere at her side. She couldn’t see him, the policeman’s elbow was pressing her head down on the roof of the limo.
“You two, back away,” the other policeman yelled.
She suddenly started to struggle, blindly dropping down the sole of her boot hoping to crush the policeman’s foot. “Let go of me, you asshole,” she shrieked.
“Why are you arresting her for?” Ben shouted from behind.
“You are arrested for theft on October 19th, 2010, in Beverley Square and for assaulting a police officer and causing him serious bodily harm. Do you know your Miranda rights?” the policeman who was holding her asked.
She tried to thrust her head back to hit him hard in the face.
Roy ran around the limo on the side across from her and almost threw himself over the roof, vehemently shaking his extended hands. “Lizzie, listen to me. Don’t fight him. Because if you do, this is going to turn really bad. Be good and we’ll get you out of there in a couple of hours. I swear.”
She forced her chin up to stare at him with wild eyes. “What the hell are Miranda rights?” she shouted.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been said to you?” the policeman recited, forcing handcuffs around her wrists.
The claw started clenching and digging again in her chest, this time grasping her heart and draining blood. At least that was how it felt.
“912 to Command. We’ve got the 10-15. Returning to base. Over.” The voice of the policeman resounded next to her ear, reciting into his shoulder microphone.
“Gotcha, 912. Over and out.” Another voice wafted through a radio.
Two hands of steel wrapped around her upper arms and dragged her toward a police car that was parked behind the limo.
“Hey, don’t be rough with her, you bastards,” Roy yelled from behind. “We are going to lodge a complaint against you.”
“Watch your mouth, muscle head,” one of the policemen spat over his shoulder.
The same hands shoved her on the backseat of the police car and the door shut closed with a bang. Then her heart skipped a beat. And another one. The whole claw squeezing thing was doing it. Then everything went black.
The stale air in the courtroom was saturated with an unfortunate mix of odors; sweat, tobacco and cheap perfume. Arthur looked up for the air conditioning vents. They were definitely there. Not working though, he decided. Or maybe they were, but whoever had designed this r
oom probably never thought that it would ever have to house such an impressive number of people at the same time. Whether they were crooks, lawyers or good citizens, he couldn’t tell. Maybe they were just gapers who had nothing else to do with their time? One thing was sure though: whatever their status, they were here to stay throughout the proceedings and hear every word that was going to be said by his daughter’s lawyers.
True to her bodyguards’ word, Lizzie had been released on bail within two hours of her arrest. Arthur had secured an urgent hearing on Friday, five days later. He had the best team of lawyers in town; he didn’t need more time to prepare.
The judge was sitting in his chair, looking foreboding with the weight of the office he bore. He appeared oblivious to the heat, stench and all the wriggling around the room, long used to his surroundings.
“Mr. Bradley,” he called with a throaty voice, leisurely perusing the documents spread in front of him.
The Prosecutor stood up slowly. “Your Honor,” he greeted.
The judge spent another minute looking at the papers. “Mr. Bradley.” He suddenly looked up. “I understand from the medical evidence before me and from the Defendant’s submission that the Defendant is amnesic and has no recollection whatsoever of the events she is accused of,” he said.
“That’s correct, your Honor.” The Prosecutor nodded his acknowledgment.
“Then why are you wasting my time with this case?” The judge stared, his gaze severe as he gazed at the offending prosecutor over the rim of his glasses.
Follow the white pebbles Page 4