by Clea Simon
‘Please, Dr … Kranish,’ Dulcie squinted at the name tag as the doctor removed the dressing. ‘I promise I won’t overdo it. But I’d like to get home. See my cat.’ As she said it, she realized how true it was.
It also seemed to be the right answer. Dr Kranish lit up, those wrinkles compressing to reveal a smile. ‘Well, the wound is small, and you seem to be alert and well oriented. I guess we can let you go. Though I’m going to want you to come in for a follow-up.’
Dulcie agreed with all the proscriptions – no drinking, no contact sports – only half listening. Yes, she did want to see Esmé. And Chris. But it was close to nine. Griddlehaus would be opening the Mildon soon. Three minutes after the doctor left, she was dressed.
‘You’re leaving us?’ The aide came in as she was lacing up her sneakers. ‘That’s funny. I thought there was someone you would want to see.’
‘There is,’ said Dulcie, flashing him a smile as she headed for the door. ‘Just not here.’
FIFTY-TWO
Jogging made her head hurt, so Dulcie held herself to a fast walk. She’d probably take a sick day today, anyway. Chris would insist. She’d have all day – but after so long, she didn’t want to wait any longer.
‘Ah, Ms Schwartz.’ Mr Griddlehaus looked up from his ledger. It was two minutes past nine by the time she arrived, and the punctual clerk had the security gate already up. ‘Good to see you so bright and early this morning,’ he said. ‘We are popular today.’
‘Excuse me?’ She handed him her bag and tried not to fidget as he locked it up and signed her in. ‘Has someone been asking for me?’
‘Not for you, Ms Schwartz. You’re simply not our first visitor today.’ He leaned over with what could only be described as a conspiratorial grin. ‘I believe the university community is finally beginning to recognize what a treasure we have here.’
‘Another visitor?’ Dulcie tried not to feel disappointed. It wasn’t as if the Mildon were her private playground, after all. She and Mina just might be approaching the same woman from different angles, but right now Dulcie was too excited to feel threatened. She – they – were on the brink of something. Something nobody else – with the exception of Renée Showalter – even had a clue about.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Griddlehaus was almost purring. ‘She’s new, but she has clearly read the rules.’ He put the ledger away. ‘And she’s quite respectful. Asked me very nicely for the Philadelphia bequest.’
‘For the – what?’ It couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense. Could Mina have recovered so completely? Had she talked to Showalter?
‘The Philadelphia bequest.’ Griddlehaus looked vaguely annoyed. ‘A package of letters and family histories that were left to the Mildon several years ago, why—’
‘Excuse me.’ Dulcie barged past him, ignoring his startled protest. Back to the reading room. There, behind the long table sat not Mina but Emily, looking positively green with fatigue. In front of her was a box; one of its documents, spotted and dark inside its polypropylene folder, lay on the table top before her. Now that she was used to the writing, Dulcie thought she could make out the words: Worth such risk.It was that curious question; the one she’d first deciphered four days before.
‘Ms Trainor, please excuse Ms Schwartz here.’ Griddlehaus was right behind her.
‘Emily. What are you doing here? Where have you been?’
She blinked up at Dulcie, her large eyes set deep in her bruised-looking face. With one gloved hand, she brushed the hair back from her face. The other was in her sweatshirt pocket.
‘You’re wondering why I’m not in custody?’ Her voice was soft, but clear over Griddlehaus’s protests. ‘Why your detective friend hasn’t taken me away?’
Dulcie nodded, and Emily shrugged.
‘I had something to do first,’ she said. ‘Something I had to see for myself.’
Dulcie couldn’t help herself. She approached the table. ‘What is it?’
Emily reacted quickly, reaching around the page to shield it. Her other hand, Dulcie couldn’t help noticing, stayed in her pocket. ‘I think you know.’
‘I think, maybe I do, too.’ Dulcie was getting worried. ‘But it doesn’t mean what you think it means.’
‘Because it lies?’ Emily blinked up at her, something almost like hope lighting up her incredibly thin face.
‘Because it’s fiction. A story, that’s all.’ Dulcie took a step closer. ‘Just because a story says that a woman was abused and had a baby, doesn’t mean that the author went through anything similar. It doesn’t mean that anyone is at fault, or that anyone’s family is to blame.’
‘It’s got to be. It’s the only reason.’ Emily’s face went dark as she scowled. ‘And we’re not talking about a story here. These are letters, from a woman to her daughter, about a nobleman named Trainor, Esteban Trainor.’
It happened so quickly, Dulcie almost missed it. Emily’s other hand came out, holding a lighter. Even before she registered what it was, she heard Griddlehaus gasp. The Mildon had a remarkably advanced fire suppression system, but that one page … Emily flicked the thumbwheel.
And Dulcie lunged. Throwing herself over the table, she reached for the page. Shoving the box to the side, she scooped the clear plastic envelope up in her open palms, and let her momentum carry her into Emily, onto Emily’s lap. Holding the paper aloft, Dulcie felt herself tumble to the floor as they both fell backward. Heard a grunt as she realized she had landed on Emily.
‘Mr Griddlehaus! The lighter!’ Dulcie called. She looked up, and the mousy clerk was standing above them, the plastic Bic in his hands and an expression of sheer horror on his face.
FIFTY-THREE
‘We may have to start searching patrons.’ Griddlehaus was shaking his head. Even after the police had taken Emily away, he had sat there, slumped in his chair, despondent. ‘Install detectors of some kind.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’ Dulcie, sitting beside him, used her softest voice. ‘Do you?’
‘I don’t think you can ever really stop the crazies.’ Rogovoy had remained to take their statements. His gruff voice wasn’t the tonic Dulcie had hoped for though, and she shot him a look across the reading room table. ‘There’s always some element of risk,’ he added, sounding mildly apologetic.
‘Thanks a lot.’ Dulcie gave him her best glower. ‘And for telling me you had her in custody last night.’
‘I said we’d sent a car for her.’ Rogovoy was a little defensive. ‘One girl, how hard was that going to be?’ He snorted, in confirmation that Emily had, in fact, evaded his officers overnight. ‘I sent you an email alert. You were in the infirmary. I wasn’t going to bother you to tell you any more.’ He paused. ‘Besides, we had eyes on you.’ That aide. ‘Plus, we knew it was about the room-mate. We’d heard enough from other sources by then. We didn’t know how you figured in, except that you’d talked to the boyfriend. Nobody’d said anything about some old letter.’
‘Some old letter!’ Now it was Dulcie’s turn to scoff. She hadn’t had a chance to really study the document. It was enough that she’d saved it, but the bit that she’d seen was promising. A letter in a familiar hand, addressing a young woman. Telling her of a troubled family history, of a father left behind in another land. There was no guarantee that the letter was authentic; she’d only glimpsed at the handwriting. Nor was there any guarantee that the letter was being honest. Her author was known for her fantastic fictions, after all. But Dulcie was hopeful.
She was also, she realized, a little dizzy.
‘Ms Schwartz, are you okay?’ Rogovoy was leaning toward her, and she blinked up at his big face. ‘You look a little pale.’
‘I’m not feeling great,’ she admitted. ‘In fact, maybe I should lie down.’
‘I’ll get an ambulance.’ Griddlehaus jumped to his feet.
‘No, I’ll be fine … I just.’ Moving fast for a man his size, Detective Rogovoy was suddenly behind her, cradling her as her legs gave out.
/> ‘Back to the infirmary,’ he said.
‘Didn’t I say, “no strenuous activity”?’ The doctor leaned back, shaking her head. ‘You can’t heal if you don’t give yourself time.’
‘I know.’ Dulcie resisted the urge to nod. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘She’s a heroine,’ protested Griddlehaus. ‘You shouldn’t talk to her that way.’
Dulcie smiled at the little clerk. He had insisted on accompanying her, even though it was primarily Rogovoy who carried her out to the cruiser – and drove her the roughly five hundred yards to the infirmary.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘The doctor’s right.’
‘Head injuries are tricky.’ The doctor had lowered her voice, but Dulcie could still hear her ushering her guests out. ‘And rest is crucial.’
So she was rather surprised to see Chris’s smiling face above her. ‘Good morning, sweetie.’ He was holding flowers. Drugstore carnations, but they still smelled sweet. ‘Or should I say, good afternoon?’
‘Good afternoon?’ Dulcie sat up without thinking, and only then realized that her headache was gone.
‘Yeah, I was watching you sleep for a while. I know you said you were ready to leave, but I guess you needed the rest. And I was thinking.’ He paused, as if uncertain, and Dulcie nodded, a bit tentatively, to encourage him. ‘The whole literary-theory thing that you were trying to explain to me? I didn’t realize how much sense it made, before. But now I do, especially that bit with narrative being relative. In fact, this is kind of the perfect example. Emily Trainor was the author of her own narrative. Or at least trying to be, only she kind of got the context wrong.’
‘Huh.’ Dulcie wasn’t sure if she wanted to tackle that one. Not yet, anyway. ‘Hey, is the doctor around?’
‘Why, are you feeling dizzy?’ Worry creased Chris’s face.
‘No, I’m actually feeling good.’ She looked at the cabinet. ‘Would you see if my clothes are in there?’
Chris was too law-abiding to spring her, however, and it took another hour for Dulcie to be discharged – with strict warnings against overdoing it.
‘Wow, they’re tough on you.’ Chris wondered aloud. ‘I mean, they’ve had you here overnight.’ Dulcie smiled; he’d hear the rest of it soon enough.
‘Hey, may we make a detour?’ Dulcie didn’t really need to lean on Chris’s arm, but it felt nice, and so she looked up at him as they approached the elevator.
‘Sure,’ he said, and let her lead him away from the elevator and toward another patient’s room.
‘I just want to see if maybe …’ Dulcie left off. The seat outside Mina’s room was empty now. The guard gone, but Dulcie sensed movement inside. ‘Do you mind?’ She asked her boyfriend.
‘Ah, sure.’ Chris looked a little confused, but took the seat, leaving Dulcie to walk in on her own. As before, the bed at the far end was the only one occupied, the sun illuminating a pale girl with red-gold curls.
As Dulcie drew close, those curls moved. A pale face turned toward her, and brown eyes opened. ‘We have some work to do,’ Dulcie said softly. ‘Together.’
‘We do,’ Mina replied. ‘Cousin.’
FIFTY-FOUR
‘I don’t know,’ Dulcie was shaking her head. ‘There’s something special about this kitten.’ Now that it was time to relinquish the marmalade kitten, Dulcie found herself reluctant to do so. Thorpe, she knew, had nothing more sinister going on than a bad case of anxiety. And her friends had even agreed to support her white lie – that she had had to investigate the possibility that another owner had been located. And while Esmé hadn’t been openly hostile to the little newcomer – her most royal Principessa Esmeralda was much too imperious to deign to such behavior – she had made it clear, through the withdrawal of purrs, that she did not approve of the little one’s continued presence. And as soon as the carrier – that same ventilated cardboard box – had come out, she had made herself scarce.
‘There’s something special about every kitten.’ Chris spoke gently, but from the way he was looking at her, Dulcie knew he wasn’t going to allow her to argue this one. He knew about what had happened at the Mildon by now. She had even told him about the night on the Common – about the roar and the shadow. She couldn’t tell if he believed her, though. Truth was, she wasn’t entirely sure what she had seen or what had happened out there, in the dark.
Before Dulcie could agree, or start to explain, the doorbell rang. Chris opened it to let Raleigh and Lloyd in, trailed by Martin Thorpe, looking smaller and more tentative than usual.
‘Ms Schwartz, I’m sorry to intrude,’ he started to say.
‘We thought that since you aren’t at your best, we’d save you the walk.’ Raleigh finished the thought. The look that accompanied it let Dulcie know that, even if the younger woman was sticking with Dulcie’s story, she wasn’t going to brook any delay. ‘And let Mr Thorpe take the kitten back with him.’
‘Of course.’ Dulcie bowed to the inevitable. ‘We were just going to put him in the carrier.’ They’d been standing outside the bathroom, where the kitten had been quarantined. ‘One moment, please.’
Without waiting for a response, she let herself in, closing the door behind her. ‘Hey, Tigger.’ She looked around, spying the kitten under the cabinet. ‘Your new person is here. Is that – will that be okay?’
She held out her hand. If she was right, this little animal had extraordinary powers. Would Thorpe appreciate him? Would anyone else?
‘We’ll be fine.’The voice, deep and a bit rough, startled her, and she smiled as the kitten emerged. She scooped him up and emerged. Raleigh was already holding the box.
‘Bye bye, little Tigger,’ Dulcie said, her voice soft. Then, on a whim, rather than placing the kitten in the carrier, she handed him to her adviser.
‘Take good care of him,’ she said.
‘Oh, I will,’ he said, smiling for the first time that she could remember as he cuddled the small orange tiger to his cheek. ‘And I suspect he will take good care of me, as well.’
With that, he reached to place his new pet in the carrier. But before he could, the little kitten turned back toward Dulcie. He opened his pink mouth, exposing tiny fangs, and mewed what Dulcie knew was a nearly soundless mew. Still somewhere, in the back of her mind, she heard a tiger’s roar.
‘How are you doing?’ Chris came into the kitchen, where Dulcie was standing by the window. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ She’d been watching the party walk down the street, Martin Thorpe hugging the box to his chest. ‘And you?’
‘Now that things are back to normal,’ he chuckled. ‘Yeah. I’ve been meaning to tell you: I got a senior tutor position, starting next semester. I’ll still do some overnights, but I won’t have to do as many. We’ll get to spend more time together. Have some adventures, even. But please, Dulcie, let’s stay out of trouble for a bit, okay?’
‘Oh, that’s great.’ Dulcie leaned into his arms, even as she realized that she had avoided answering. After all, she still didn’t know what had howled that first night, and she had other questions, as well.
‘Well, I’ll keep doing what I can.’The soft voice surprised them both, as Dulcie felt the velvet fur against her legs. ‘Sometimes, a little risk is necessary,’Esmé continued. ‘For the right reason.’
‘A little risk?’ Dulcie asked her own pet as she scooped her up. Esmé nuzzled a wet nose against her cheek, and Dulcie closed her eyes. The headaches were almost gone. Soon, she’d be able to get back to work. To explore this new story – and the connections that linked her to Mina and maybe farther back, as well. It would be a gamble – a hazard, as her author might have put it, though she’d have said it a little differently.
‘What prize is worth such risk?’That was the question, the curious one from the text, and it echoed in her mind as Esmé began to purr. She had never deciphered its meaning. Maybe she never would. Thorpe had reason to pressure her, she knew. He was a conscientious ad
viser. But she was going ahead into this next phase of exploration – and discovery – anyway, with the support of her friends, of Chris, and maybe of some new-found family as well. Somehow, she was no longer scared.
‘Because you know.’ She felt, rather than heard, the deeper voice. Chris must have, too, because he reached toward Dulcie and Esmé, wrapping his arms around them both. ‘You know the answer,’the voice said, its warmth enveloping them all. ‘Love is worth such risk.’