Waking Rose: A Fairy Tale Retold

by Doman, Regina

  Once again he had to pause to sniff and try to shake away the discharge from his eyes. This was certainly cramping his style.

  Dr. Prosser shook her head. “This is a very interesting story you’ve cooked up about traffic in body parts. I have no doubt you wiled your way into our hospital laboratory on some insane story similar to this one. Your anti-choice friends probably gave you all sorts of ideas.”

  She leaned towards him. “But the fact is, Mr. Denniston, your motives in coming here are clear and simple to me. You came here to assault a woman, and you found Dr. Murray alone in the laboratory. She’s described to me what you said to her and what you did to her, and if that’s not a premeditated rape, I don’t know what is.” There was almost a smile on her lips.

  She had him trapped by circumstances, as surely as she had him tied hand and foot to this blasted chair, and she knew it. He was sure that the evidence of the camera and the tape recorder would have disappeared by now into oblivion.

  “You think you can make it stick?” he said mildly, nevertheless.

  “Not only can we make it stick, we’ve got a psychological profile roughed out on you already.” Dr. Prosser leaned an elbow on the table and grinned at him. “Since you were such pals with that Kovach girl, Dr. Murray did a little research of her own, and she tells me that you have a pretty twisted past. That a few years back, the dirty old man at your high school kidnapped and forced himself on you.”

  His face burned now, and not just from the poisonous chemicals.

  “It was in the court records,” Dr. Murray said, and was silent again.

  Dr. Prosser nodded. “It’s the commonest thing in the world for victims of violence to turn and inflict violence on others. Tons of cases every day in the courts proves this. And we’ve got great lawyers, and great psychologists, and they’re going to bring it all out, Mr. Denniston, they sure are. And another thing,” she pointed at him. “You say you’re so concerned over your Miss Brier. What I want to know is—where were you when she fell off that hayloft in a deserted barn far from help? What’s your alibi?”

  Up until now, he hadn’t realized that he didn’t have one. He had been out rock climbing, alone, and sitting in his car in a solitary place in the park doing his “Eve of St. Agnes” paper. No one could vouch for him.

  “I wonder if maybe this Rose Brier was your first victim—or maybe intended victim. We’ll leave that to the courts to decide. And if they find out something else unpleasant about you after they start going down that path, it’s going to make your despicable assault on my colleague here more understandable. Guilty consciences seldom rest. Why would you have a gun in your hand when you talked to Dr. Murray if you didn’t have some kind of evil intent? It’s obvious that you could have shot her and it would have been pretty easy for you to escape back onto that street before anyone caught you.” She leaned back in her chair. “How’s that for asking questions, Mr. Denniston?”

  He had listened to all this without moving a muscle, but his insides were sinking. At the back of his mind, Freet was laughing.

  “Will you look at that?” Dr. Prosser said to Dr. Murray. “Cold-blooded as a fish. He’s a psychopath, this one. Good for you, girl. You caught this kook all by yourself, too.”

  Dr. Murray’s face was uneasy, and she wasn’t looking at him.

  Her fellow doctor wasn’t disturbed at all. In fact, she looked quite satisfied.

  “I think it’s time to call the police,” she said.

  22

  ...the king’s son approached the hedge of thorns, on which many other young men had failed...

  HIS

  Now that she was apparently sure of herself, Dr. Prosser had Fish wheeled on his chair into the hospital corridor for display. “Make sure he can’t get out of that tape, nurse,” Dr. Prosser said authoritatively, as doctors, nurses, and other curious onlookers drifted nearby, shocked and whispering as they passed.

  The humiliation was deliberate, and effective. He could hear Dr. Prosser, in supposed confidential tones, detailing his lurid encounters with Mr. Freet to all interested ears. He kept his eyes down, almost thankful for the irritation of the mace that disguised his burning face.

  But he hadn’t been arrested three times previously for nothing. When the police came, he looked up and met the eyes of the first officer he saw, blinking back the fluid from his eyes. He recognized the man from his dealings with the police during the time of Rose’s accident, and guessed that it was possible the man recognized him.

  “Officer, there’s no reason for them to have me tied up like this. I didn’t do what they’re accusing me of. And I didn’t resist them once they apprehended me. This is pure malice.”

  Dr. Prosser snorted. “Oh, sure. Officer, this is one sick young criminal we have for you here.”

  “Leave that for the courts to decide,” Fish said, attempting to wipe his eyes with his shoulders again. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about the rest.”

  “I assure you that we wouldn’t have done this to him if he hadn’t fought us tooth and nail,” the hospital director said to the officer huffily.

  “Nevertheless,” Fish said, with a bare touch of a smile, “I think you should untape me. I won’t fight you. As you can see, I’ve gotten mace in my eyes.”

  “Actually, Dr. Prosser, he’s right,” the policeman said. “I can’t take him in tied up like this.”

  “Oh! Certainly, now that you’re here, I’m sure you can keep him under control,” Dr. Prosser said.

  Even so, it seemed like forever before they cut his hands free. When his arms were released, he didn’t move from the chair, but began methodically wiping his eyes and massaging his arms and forearms, waiting for the arrest. He barely paid attention to the overblown charges that Dr. Prosser made against him, although he was mildly surprised to hear Dr. Murray lie so believably. Her demeanor was so reticent that she could convince anyone, particularly a jury. But she had slipped up once, and that was enough.

  He was arrested, and sat quietly, holding his hands out in front of him for the handcuffs. As they shackled him, he looked up at Dr. Murray.

  “You made a mistake,” he said to her. “A big mistake.”

  That was all he could say about her dragging up his past for prurient and malicious eyes to feast over. But he wondered, as he was led away between two policemen, if even that had been too much to say.

  They turned a corner away from the crowd and down a long hallway. Fish walked along compliantly, as the police opened a door and took him into a side stairwell.

  Nevertheless, he knew he couldn’t remain arrested. Once he was in jail, he would be too late. Charles was a darned good lawyer, but even he couldn’t get him out soon enough under these kinds of charges. There was no way out of this by going the cooperative route. So, he thought to himself briefly, I’ll have to make my own exit.

  The stairwell was narrow, and as they started down the steps, the officer to his left stepped a bit in front and tugged his arm to draw him down the stairs. Fish seized the moment, knowing that going down steps put both men slightly off-balance. He threw himself forward and leapt down the steps.

  The policeman to his right, whose grip had been relaxed, lost hold of him. The other policeman attempted to keep a hold on him but failed and stumbled forward down the steps, grabbing the railing to keep his balance. Fish landed on his feet like a cat and tore down the steps.

  They might have another policeman stationed at the exit, but he had to take a chance. He sprinted down a deserted lower hallway towards the red exit sign at the other end, then down another set of stairs with an exit leading into a back alley. He pushed open the door and saw the police down at the far side of the alley, their backs to him. The other end of the alley was free.

  It was getting dark. Breathing heavily, trying to hide his manacled hands beneath his jacket, he pounded down the alleyway outside the hospital, praying for a miracle. If he didn’t succeed in escaping now, he would probably not get another chance. He ha
d destroyed his credibility as a falsely-accused victim as well, but he figured he would have to make the sacrifice if he was to save Rose. Miracle, God, I need a miracle.

  He got one. Just as he reached the street, he saw Alex pulling slowly around the corner.

  He dove, grabbed the back door with his cuffed hands and threw himself inside. “Get out of here, but not too fast,” he gasped, closing the door and leaping onto the floor.

  Alex looked over the seat, amazed.

  “I should warn you, you’re harboring an arrested suspect, and if you do drive away, you’ll probably be liable for part of my crime,” Fish said with his next breath.

  “Figured that when I saw the handcuffs,” Alex said placidly, driving. “Well, Ben, I’m amazed to see you. I saw the police go in. You’re a mess. What happened to your eyes?”

  “Mace. As soon as you get off the main street, drive fast,” Fish said. “Quickest back road you can find.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “To see Rose. Tell me when you’re on the back road.”

  Alex turned. “I am now.”

  “Anyone following you?”

  There was a pause while Alex scanned his rearview mirror. “No.”

  “Good.”

  Fish got up and slid onto the seat. He grabbed with his cuffed hands for the miraculous medal around his neck, kissed it with a heartfelt prayer, and slid the chain over his head. Then he fiddled with a piece of wire that hung next to it. His vision was better now.

  “How are you going to get those cuffs off?” Alex asked.

  “I’m working on that now,” Fish said, the wire between his teeth. He maneuvered his way to the lock. “Fortunately—they cuffed my hands in front—as I hoped they would.” He began working.

  “Out of curiosity, is this why Rose always calls you Fish?” Alex asked.

  Fish didn’t answer until he heard the right click and the lock slid open. The cuffs slid off, and he thrust them in his jacket pocket.

  “That’s one of the reasons,” he said, kissing his miraculous medal again.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Well, don’t be too impressed. I seriously bungled that episode, and if something in this case doesn’t crack very soon, I’m in deep trouble.” He shrugged off the heavy leather jacket he had been wearing and heaved a sigh. “My lawyer is going to have a hissy fit. Breaking away after being arrested is a pretty hefty offense.”

  “So why did you do it?”

  “Because Dr. Murray blundered.”

  “What did she do?”

  Fish had started to clean his face of the ruined makeup, but made himself look at Alex to see his reaction. “After they’d gotten me, she revealed to Dr. Prosser, who revealed to all present the hitherto-unknown fact that when I was kidnapped, I was assaulted.”

  “Were you?” Alex said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  Fish took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

  “So how would Dr. Murray know that?”

  “She tried to pretend it was on the court record, but that’s a lie. It happened, but I never charged my kidnapper with it, because I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “So how could she have found out?”

  “Only one way that I can think of. She’s been talking to Rose. And that tells me that Rose isn’t in this deep coma like Dr. Murray’s been telling us all along.”

  “Really?” Alex’s voice changed. “That does put a new light on things. So you want me to take you to Rose?”

  “Yes. I’m going to wake her up.”

  “You’ll need help.” Alex said meditatively a few minutes later as they sped down the country road.

  Fish paused in taking off the jingling metal jewelry his character had been wearing. “Alex, I’m serious that you should be weighing your choices carefully now. They arrested me for violent assault and attempted rape, and they’ve got this great prosecution already lined up to cook me. You’re already liable for aiding and abetting me. This is not going to look good for you, for Mercy College, for Catholics, for anyone involved they can take down along with me.”

  “Ben, I told you I understand that. I also know that you didn’t do it.”

  Fish smiled a bit at Alex’s naiveté. Obviously he had never been falsely accused and arrested before. “That means little just now. You realize the penalties could be—”

  “Ben, I’m in this—and Cor is in this—to help Rose, no matter what the cost, and that means helping you,” Alex said. “We promised that to her a long time ago. I’m just following through. So—what do you want me to do?”

  Fish was touched, despite himself, and tried to formulate a plan. “Okay. Drive to Graceton Hall, and hope that the police don’t meet us there.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to come inside with you?” Alex asked again as they turned onto the road that led to Graceton Hall.

  “Positive,” Fish said. “You’ve been aiding and abetting me, but so far no one knows that. If they catch me inside, you can drive away, a free man. I don’t mind sharing success, but I’d rather fail alone. Why don’t you stop here?”

  Alex shook his head. “Let me bring you a bit closer.” He pulled off in another culvert hidden by bushes a short time later. “That’ll make for an easier escape.”

  “Thanks,” Fish said, pushing open the door and getting out.

  “See you soon,” Alex said, pulling the rosary off his rearview mirror. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Fish turned and plunged into the trees. To get to the facility, he would have to hike up through the woods. At least he was still in black.

  He stole up the hill in the rapidly-darkening evening. All those times that he had wandered aimlessly around Graceton Hall were coming in handy now. He remembered the French doors in the back that sometimes were left open by nurses who wanted to go out and smoke.

  He crept around the back. There were two smokers standing outside on the flagstone patio, talking. He hid behind a tree and watched. The door was propped open a few yards behind them.

  Choosing a fallen walnut from the ground, he tiptoed towards the door where the smokers stood. Just as he approached their possible line of vision, he threw the walnut so that it landed on the far side of them, knocking against a branch and startling them. Distracted, they looked towards it, and Fish slipped inside the building.

  He made his way up the back staircase to Rose’s floor, and waited in the shadows for the hallway to clear before going down to her room. As it was getting towards the end of the day and visiting hours were ending, for some time the floor was very busy. On edge, he nevertheless remained still, waiting.

  At long last, there was no one left in the hallway, and he hurried silently down the tomb-like hallway and passed into her room.

  When he stepped inside the room, the lights were out. The room was empty, except for the sleeping girl.

  Her face was turned towards the window, and the dim tree-splashed moonlight bathed her pale white skin, ran rivulets through the dark red hair spread out on the pillow. Although her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ventilator, her eyes, with their sweeping eyelashes, were still as if her features were carved out of pure white stone.

  She seemed so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint

  To his surprise, he saw that restraining straps now bound Rose’s arms, legs, and chest to the bed. But her expression was as calm as though she were a Madonna with flesh that could slip through bonds and walls as easily as her Risen Son.

  All the same, he unfastened the straps and moved her limbs to more comfortable positions. He touched her hand, which lay half-open on the bedspread, its fingers delicately uncurling like a half-bloomed flower—the fingertips that brushed his were warm, living, fragile. He grasped the hand in his and gently chafed her wrists.

  “Rose,” he said to her. His voice sounded strange in that dark shadowy clinical place, as though he had spoken aloud in a tomb. The stillness captured it, smothered it. It had no effect.

  “Rose,” he sai
d softly, insistently. “Rose girl, I know you’re awake in there.”

  There was still no response. He waited, molding her hands between his own, rubbing them quietly. Her skin was smooth and soft, and warm.

  His eyes traveled over to the IV equipment, and he suddenly spotted the bag of milky white fluid he had seen months before. He could see the liquid was dripping down the IV tube into Rose’s veins.

  Suddenly, he had a strong suspicion that this was not cold medication. Reaching for the bag, he checked it. No markings. Making a sudden decision, he switched the IV off and gently pulled the needle out of Rose’s arm, massaging it to numb any pain. He held his breath, but nothing seemed to happen.

  “Rose, I’m sorry we took this doctor’s word about what happened to you so readily. I know now that you’re really not in a coma, but in some sort of drugged state. But it must be wearing off, if they have to guard you this way.”

  Rose lay there, only her chest going up and down with the ventilator.

  He ran an exploring hand over her face. It was warm, but impassive. No stirring, no reaction.

  But if the technicians had had to tie her down… “Rose, please wake up,” he said, allowing a pleading tone to creep into his voice. “If you can wake up now, before Dr. Murray gets back, there’s a chance I can save you. Otherwise, I’ll be separated from you, maybe for a long, long time. I have this one chance. Please—there might be other chances—but I would appreciate it,” he had to smile at himself, “if you could respond now. Rose, please, please wake up.”