The Colours of Death

by Patricia Marques

  ‘No. I know that NTI was involved at some point; they were part of the team being asked to supervise the trials. As for HS Pharma, they had their newest talent involved.’

  Anticipation skitters over her skin.

  ‘And who was that?’

  ‘Gabriel Bernardo.’

  Chapter 59

  ‘Gabriel Bernardo was in charge of trials being conducted by HS Pharmaceuticals to produce enhancers,’ Isabel says.

  She thinks back to their conversation outside his workplace. Had he been trying to tell her then?

  Jacinta stops in the process of taking off her coat. She looks between Isabel and Voronov. Voronov is by the door, stooping down to play with the dogs.

  ‘What?’ Jacinta says.

  ‘I was going through Gil’s notes.’ Voronov sets the bag of takeaway on the counter and Isabel starts taking down plates. ‘I know we combed through the whole thing and it didn’t seem relevant. But I found something. He referred to E5.’

  As they plate up, she fills them in on the rest.

  When she’s done, they’re both quiet. She sets her plate aside. ‘Look, I know this is still a vague connection, but it could lead to something. We need to follow this up.’

  Voronov shares a look with Jacinta.

  ‘Daniel kept digging after the Chief called you in,’ Jacinta says, ‘and we were able to get a warrant for the Registry to show us Luisa’s actual test results. Given that Patient 2 was an identity that Gil, Armindas and Julio were keeping under wraps, we were looking for the actual paperwork; the assessments, the scores, everything that would’ve been completed before it was added to the system.’

  ‘What did they find? Did they make a mistake with Luisa’s classification?’ Isabel asks. Because if a mistake had been made then they had a near-solved case on their hands.

  ‘No. They don’t have any of those records.’

  Isabel stares. ‘What do you mean they don’t have the records?’

  Voronov finishes the food on his plate, shaking his head as he chews his last bite. ‘There’s nothing. None of the files are in the Registry, they can’t find them. They’re not there.’

  Isabel shoves up to her feet. ‘Wait. Wait. So where are the files? Who the hell was responsible for the files?’

  ‘That’s the other thing,’ Jacinta says, and she looks grim. ‘The year logged for Luisa’s testing is the same year that both Célia Armindas and Gil dos Santos began working at NTI. At the time they were overseeing individual tests.’

  Isabel remembers the smiling Dr Carvalho who had taken her through each test, always there, always watching and recording. ‘Do we at least know who administered the tests? At least one person would have had to have been in charge, would’ve actually gone through the results with the parents.’

  ‘Nothing. All we have as proof that they were even there to do the test are the log dates. The Registry doesn’t have anything else.’

  ‘This is insane,’ Isabel says, ‘what does Armindas have to say?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jacinta says, ‘she’s been putting her PA to good use and dodging us.’

  ‘Don’t we have a watch on her? We need to corner her. She’s kept her mouth shut from day one. Threaten her with obstruction.’

  Jacinta says, ‘I’ve got Carla hounding her. We’re thinking of going down there next. What we really need in that room with her, though, is you.’

  Isabel looks up. She has to tread carefully here. ‘There are two problems with that. First problem, I’m suspended. Second problem, we’d still have to get her consent. She’d have to let me actually look in her mind.’

  Not true. Being in the same room would be enough. Just as in this room she can sense Voronov and Jacinta’s thoughts. She can’t hear them clearly, but only because she’s actively working not to.

  But she can’t tell Jacinta that.

  ‘Even if she does consent, none of it will be admissible if it’s taken from someone who is suspended. And then the Chief will have all our asses. I can’t afford to be reckless here, none of us can.’

  Jacinta sighs.

  Isabel paces over to the window, beyond frustrated. ‘There has to be something to make Armindas talk.’ Something that doesn’t require her to be there personally, or at least that won’t mean she has to use her Gift.

  Something occurs to her. ‘Soares is making a lot of noise about this. He’s gone as far as getting me suspended.’ She turns to look at them. ‘How does his son’s death fit into all of this?’ She understands that Gil and Armindas were working on something shady, something that looks as if it dates back to their start at NTI. But what about Julio?

  Voronov folds his arms. ‘Actually, we have found a connection there too.’

  ‘You have?’

  Voronov nods. ‘When we tried to check who oversaw Luisa’s tests we also looked at everyone who was working at NTI at the time.’

  She frowns. ‘Julio would’ve been too young—’

  Voronov shakes his head. ‘He was an intern.’ He smiles a little then.

  Isabel remembers about the higher levels. ‘If Luisa is the unknown subject at the centre of all this, those memory lapses she’s been having could be related. All three of them – Gil, Julio and Célia – were involved with testing the unknown subject. And two of them are dead. Célia Armindas is in the thick of this.’

  Luisa’s memory lapses also coincided with Mila Ferreira’s admission to the hospital. Mila Ferreira worked directly for NTI. They could have assigned her to whomever they wanted and she may be the only outsider who knows what really happened with Patient 2. Except that she’s currently unconscious.

  So, Patient 2 loses their Guide. Gil gets cold feet. Célia and Julio turn on him? And then Julio follows shortly after.

  She shakes her head, disbelieving. They have every piece. Now they just need to connect up the puzzle. ‘We need to figure out what happened during Luisa’s test.’

  If Julio’s notes were to be trusted, someone with dual abilities. God, the press would have a field day with this. They had a new monster on their hands.

  She looks at Jacinta and Voronov. ‘Célia Armindas needs to talk.’

  ‘So our next move is?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Except that’s not entirely true.

  There’s someone else who may be able to shed some light on this situation.

  Isabel finishes her coffee. She doesn’t share that thought with Voronov and Jacinta though.

  They’ll need plausible deniability.

  Chapter 60

  After Jacinta leaves for the night, Voronov lingers.

  It’s chucking it down hard enough that as they stand just inside the door to Isabel’s building, visibility isn’t great.

  She rubs at her arms, trying to warm the skin.

  ‘We’ll pick it back up first thing, speak to the Chief too,’ Voronov says. He’s got his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans and is staring out at the rain bouncing off the ground.

  ‘Okay. Let me know if anything comes up,’ Isabel says, ‘I doubt there’ll be much I can do until the Chief sorts this out but I want to stay in the loop.’

  ‘Of course.’ He’s watching her carefully and she hopes all he sees on her face is weariness. ‘You’re okay, though?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m good.’ She pats him on the shoulder and nods her chin at the downpour. ‘You better run.’

  Voronov gives the rain a dubious look and nods. He hikes his jacket up over his head and jogs to the gate. Isabel stands at the door and watches him, his shape made hazy by the rain as he heads up the hill to where he’s parked at the fork of the road.

  It’s not until she sees him drive off that she ducks back inside and then starts to get ready.

  She wants to make a move before she loses her nerve.

  At this time, the hospital ward’s sounds consist only of beeps, quiet scratches of pen on paper and the sound of the nurses’ steps. If Isabel listens hard enough, she can hear a TV from behin
d a door too.

  She isn’t experiencing the same quiet now as on her first visit here, though. Instead, they match the restlessness of the rain outside, like a living beat under the physical noises that fill the building. Agonised pleas and prayers, soft words that are looped on repeat. Isabel wipes a hand hard across her face, like she can brush them away the same way as she does the raindrops.

  Isabel’s wet boots squeak on the floor as she approaches the nurse at the front desk. After a token protest about visiting hours and her flashing her ID, she signs in.

  She pushes her hair back. The strands that escaped from beneath her hood in her dash from the car are wet and stick to her cheeks. The nurse at the front desk hadn’t looked too impressed.

  Isabel pauses by the door.

  The room is squeaky clean, and the bed looks recently changed. The machine at Mila’s side continues to beep, the rhythm steady and healthy. Everything functioning just the same. Apart from whatever is happening in her head.

  She looks smaller than last time, or perhaps it’s the darkness outside and the blankets drawn higher up to her shoulders that make her seem so.

  Isabel stops behind the visitor’s chair that’s positioned near Mila’s bed.

  She takes off her coat, winces when she realises how badly she’s dripped all over the floor. She pushes her sleeves up above her elbows and scoops her hair back, wiping a hand down her face to get rid of the little drops of rainwater.

  The door to the room remains open – she doesn’t want to draw any suspicion. It’s bad enough that she’s here. But the clock is ticking, she doesn’t know how long until the next patients’ round is made and she doesn’t want to be questioned about her presence here. This is the missing piece. This is it.

  Isabel perches on the edge of the chair, scrubs her hands repeatedly over her jeans. Her fingertips feel like ice points.

  ‘You’re really going to do this, Isabel?’ she mutters under her breath. ‘You’re really going to do this?’

  She stands as abruptly as she sat down and steps close to the bed.

  Glancing back at the door, she strains to listen out for footsteps. But even if someone does walk by, they shouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

  Isabel’s fingers are trembling when she reaches for Mila’s hand. She curses under her breath, rubs her hand against her jeans again and closes her eyes, head tipping back as she breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth. She calms the pulse she can feel echoing through her, as if her blood is making the veins swell and push against her skin all over.

  When she tries again, her hand is steady.

  Mila’s skin is warm when Isabel touches it. Isabel’s every muscle is stiff, ready to beat back any unwanted thoughts and emotions even though that’s exactly why she’s here.

  ‘Come on, don’t be stupid Isabel. You’ve done this before. Just do it. Just do it.’

  She closes her eyes again and drops the feeble wards barely keeping things out of her mind.

  And it’s—

  Goosebumps roll out over her skin and it’s like sinking into an abyss.

  Everything around her mutes and there is no sound, like she’s wrapped herself in a black curtain of silence and can’t see beyond it. She’s never felt anything like it and for a moment, she doesn’t know where to go from here.

  ‘Mila,’ she says, ‘can you hear me?’

  Nothing. There’s nothing here but Isabel standing alone, sightless and desperately sending her presence out to seek Mila’s.

  This quietness is so unnatural.

  This is a waste of time. Maybe this is why she hasn’t woken up. Maybe there’s nothing left of Mila Ferreira. Just a shell.

  Except Isabel is sure she’d felt something the last time she was in this room.

  ‘Mila.’ She tries to sink deeper into the darkness, to see if something appears, anything that’ll indicate what—

  Isabel blinks and brings up a hand to block against the sudden brightness. When she finally drops it there is someone in the darkness with her.

  Her back is to Isabel, her feet bare, thin hospital gown hanging off thin shoulders and lank grey hair curling at the tips where it stops just under the nape. The woman stands utterly still.

  Isabel is unnerved and almost withdraws from Mila’s mind completely, catches the reflex just in time to keep herself tethered.

  ‘So, you are here,’ Isabel breathes.

  No response.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Isabel says, ‘to come here without your permission.’ She takes a few steps, wary of the dark that remains around them. ‘There are some bad things happening. On the surface. Mila – I think the person you were a Guide to, Luisa, is the reason behind these things. And I need to know if you’re here because of her. Can you help me?’

  Nothing.

  ‘I think we can help each other.’ Isabel moves closer, feels the black around them pressing in and wonders what exactly this is, how deep she’s gone into Mila’s consciousness.

  In between one blink and the next Isabel finds herself an inch away from Mila and she has to control the urge to recreate the distance that had been there before. They’re so close that each one of Isabel’s exhalations disturbs the lank strands of Mila’s hair.

  She forges on, ignores the unsteadiness of her own voice. ‘NTI are hiding whatever your involvement was in their tests. Célia Armindas isn’t talking. Gil dos Santos and Julio Soares are dead. We know you’re involved somehow but not how. Help me. Help me so we can figure this out. What happened to you, Mila?’

  And then Isabel is on her back. The room she’s in is familiar and unfamiliar all at once. The chandelier blinds her, sunlight reflecting off the crystals and making it hard to focus on the face peering down into hers. Isabel can’t move. Her arms are pinned to her sides and it’s as if a giant paperweight is on her, keeping her from rising back up.

  That weight keeping her down is sinking her deep, dragging her away from the room around her. Isabel struggles to see around the blur of Mila’s eyes, knows that this is Mila’s memory that is being shared with her.

  A face resolves itself in front of her eyes but only for a moment.

  Green eyes under thick black eyebrows, and a snarling mouth that Isabel is all too used to seeing curved in a polite smile.

  The black swallows up that face and Isabel is alone.

  Fingers dig into the curves of her shoulders and the world whirls around her. She throws a hand out, clutching at anything that she can as she can’t make sense of up or down. She flinches with her whole body, expecting the ground to rush up to meet her.

  ‘Isabel, come on.’

  She recognises the voice that accompanies the words spoken into her ear with a warm whisper of air, and reaches up to clutch at the steadying hands.

  ‘Isabel, you’re bleeding. Merda.’ That’s followed by more swearing that Isabel doesn’t understand. Voronov has switched from Portuguese to Russian.

  She flinches again when something soft presses to her nose. It takes her a moment to realise it’s a tissue and she raises a shaky hand to hold it in place. She can feel blood now, dripping from her nose, warm and thick, onto her upper lip and chin.

  ‘What did you do?’ he’s muttering. ‘She’s a vegetable—’

  ‘Aleks? How did you— no, she’s not,’ Isabel says and her voice sounds choked and nasal from the blood clogging up her nose. There’s a fine tremble taking over her whole body and she lets Voronov lead her from the room. Around her the sounds change and she thinks that maybe they’re back out in the hallway.

  Voronov gently nudges her until her back is resting against a wall. The warmth radiating from him tells her that he is staying close. Isabel sags against it. Her head feels so slow, like it’s been pressured from all sides and then suddenly released. Her sight changes, going from a dark tunnel to spots that echo within spots. She feels herself slip and locks her knees at the same time as she reaches out to steady herself, her grip weak as she latches onto some
part of Voronov.

  ‘What did you do?’ He sounds strained.

  The spots fade and with it, Voronov’s clavicle comes into focus. He’s standing in front of her but he’s looking over his shoulder, back at Mila’s room.

  There’s a streak of red on Voronov’s T-shirt. The palm of her hand is covered in red too; it glistens on her skin. Her stomach turns and she turns away from him as her throat tightens, the underside of her tongue shrivelling. She struggles only for a few seconds before she breaks, bending at the waist, the acidic bitter taste of sick coating her whole mouth.

  A gentle hand pulls her hair back from her face and another rubs circles into her lower back.

  ‘Isabel. Come on. I’m going to call—’

  ‘Stop.’ She’s still got her hand fisted in his T-shirt and now she squeezes tight to keep him from going anywhere. She swallows and wishes she hadn’t. ‘I’m fine. I just-I’ve never . . .’ She looks down at the sick on the floor and quickly looks away again. ‘Have to get this cleaned up.’

  Despite her stomach still feeling unsteady, she’s going to need food as soon as possible. Whatever she did has drained her dry.

  ‘I need something—’

  Voronov hauls her up. ‘Food. I know. Let’s go.’

  ‘I know who it is. I saw him.’

  ‘How.’ The word is bitten out and Isabel side-eyes him. But she doesn’t have the energy to do more than that, not right now. She’s depleted and reeling from her own actions. Her hands are trembling but she’s doing her best to ignore it.

  ‘I managed to look into her mind.’

  ‘She couldn’t consent.’

  Isabel closes her eyes. ‘I know. It’s why I didn’t tell either you or Jacinta. Didn’t want to involve either of you. You followed me?’

  ‘Isabel—’ He cuts himself off and Isabel keeps her eyes closed. Doesn’t want to see the expression on his face. Doesn’t want to see if she’s just lost a friend. She has precious few of those. But now’s not the time for that. She has to focus.