by S. L. LUCK
“Of course,” Troy acquiesced. “We’ll finish up here and walk her back from the tent. I have just a few questions. It won’t take long, Anabelle.”
Anabelle’s stomach turned as her parents dumbly, naively nodded their approval of Troy’s plan. Then she followed Dr. Huxley away from the table.
36
The late October morning was appropriately cool outside the breakfast tent, causing Huxley and Anabelle to pull up the collars of their jackets while they walked the short distance to the first-aid station in the small white tent near the middle of the field. The grass released its dew against their feet, and soon their shoes were glistening with moisture. Already Anabelle’s color had returned, and she again seemed the flourishing young woman Huxley knew her to be. Without turning to him, Anabelle said, “You didn’t need to examine me now, did you?”
“Not for the reasons they think,” Huxley said, shaking his head. “But I can’t discount that I felt you were uncomfortable there for a moment. Were you?” When Anabelle didn’t respond, he slowed his pace. “Look, I’m sure I’m not your favorite person right now, but you need to understand that we did everything we could to protect you. Between you and me, I think it’s good that you’re home now. I’d have preferred you not to force it on us, but it certainly expedited things, and I think for the better. I can’t see that there’s anything wrong with you, Anabelle, but I’m wondering if there’s something strange between you and those two that might cause you problems.” At this, her eyes swept to him. “I won’t try to convince you to not sue us. That’s completely your decision and you have the right to do that if you want to, but my instinct tells me your reactions at the table have nothing to do with that. Am I correct?” The tightening of her jaw confirmed Huxley’s suspicion. Quietly he said, “You know that everything you say to me is confidential, right?”
“To everyone?” Anabelle asked. “What about those guys in suits? I’m sure they’d have something to say about that.” She soured at the memory of the secretive agents who were more interested in her condition than even her parents.
“They’re not here, and I’m not recording this. In fact, let’s say I might just forget everything you tell me by the time it comes out of your mouth.”
She dismissed his offer. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“You should hear the things I hear sometimes, but you can’t because it’s private, like I told you. And nothing you say could make me think you’re crazy. After all you’ve been through, you’d have a right to be, but you’re not. You haven’t begun talking to chairs or anything, have you?” Huxley asked. Anabelle shook her head. “Well then, I’m all ears if you have something to say.”
The big red cross at the first aid station hung in front of them. A plastic window in the front of the tarp let them know that there were people inside. “If I ask them for privacy, what are the chances we’ll talk?” Huxley asked.
She hadn’t shared her secrets with anyone so far, so her doctor’s offer was beyond tempting, especially if he was legally bound not to share them with anyone. It was exhausting keeping her knowledge to herself, draining her almost as much as brain surgery had, and Anabelle felt that if she could release even a little of that pressure, she might finally be in a better mind space to solve her problems. Demons swirled around the doctor as she considered him. “What’s my guarantee that you won’t say anything?” she asked.
Huxley thought and drew his cellphone from his pocket. “Would it help if I showed you my NDA agreement? I might have a copy in my email somewhere.”
“It’s a good start,” Anabelle said, half-convinced.
“How ‘bout I tell you a secret of my own, then? Something that nobody else knows, and if it got out, it would end my career. Would that work?”
He hadn’t known he was going to say this until he said it, but Huxley surmised that it was the only way he was going to get her to talk. It wasn’t exactly true that no one knew his secret, for he’d told his wife in a middle-of-the-night confession decades ago—and though he’d spoken not a word of it since that day, he never forgot how good it had felt to unburden himself in that moment. Furthermore, he didn’t believe that Anabelle would divulge his secret to anyone, since he had saved her life in the operating room. After witnessing the peculiar duo, particularly the mother who seemed for some reason not of this world, sharing his secret was a chance Huxley was willing to take.
Anabelle said, “You don’t have to.”
“Are you going to tell?”
“No.”
“Then I will,” Huxley said and pretended to tie his shoe should Troy and his mother be watching their pause outside of the first aid station. “I watched another doctor remove the wrong kidney from a patient and said nothing about it. It was early in my residency, and I was on call. That means I have to be not only available but also sober. Back then I dabbled a bit with substances I shouldn’t have, so I was terrified that if I reported the doctor, they would find out that I was high.” His breath came out of him heavy and long and when he looked back up at her, Anabelle saw that color had flushed his cheeks.
“Did …” Anabelle started.
“He survived. The kidney was put back in before the guy left surgery, but there was a hell of a lot of coverup. I haven’t had a drop of anything since.”
Just then the tent flap opened, and a man with an official-looking lanyard stepped out. “Can I help you folks?” he asked.
Huxley drew out the documentation he’d received from Canada’s chief public health officer and explained his need for privacy inside the tent. Understanding dawned on the man’s face. He looked at Anabelle as would a young hockey player seeing Gretzky for the first time and immediately stepped aside. “Of course. We haven’t had any patients yet this morning, but that’ll come once the fair opens and those crappy rides start jiggling people about. It’s all yours.” He poked his head inside and called his three co-workers to join him for pancakes. They happily obliged. Huxley pushed aside the door flap, and he and Anabelle disappeared from view.
As Huxley performed a cursory examination behind one of the several partitions, Anabelle whispered, “It wasn’t your fault.”
“If I’d been clean, it wouldn’t have happened,” Huxley admitted honestly. “Are we going to talk, Anabelle? If we are, we don’t have much time.”
She bit her lip and revealed her memories of the fog. The doctor listened carefully, and because he didn’t ask her questions or betray any emotion besides interest, she told him everything except that she could obliterate a tree from a mile away. That was one secret she wouldn’t share with anyone.
Anabelle packed her story into the tidy space of a few minutes, and when she was done, Huxley was so overwhelmed he had to sit. “May I?” he pointed to the space beside Anabelle on a cot. She nodded and he slumped down, the invisible weight on his shoulders now making him crouch him like a much older man.
“Are you okay, Dr. Huxley?”
He sighed an affirmation and said, “I’m just trying to figure out how to report a murderer to the police without appearing like I’m still on drugs. I’m not saying this because I don’t believe you, Anabelle. There was something about that woman that didn’t sit right with me, more than even him, and my instincts have never served me wrong. But I’m not sure what to do with this information. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to call my friend on this one; he’s with the police department.” He held up his hands. “I promised you I won’t say anything, and I won’t, but this is a guy I can talk to about things without having to go into too much detail. I’d like to have him keep an eye on both of them. Is that okay with you?”
Anabelle’s ponytail jostled against her back as she nodded her agreement. “Thanks for listening,” she told Huxley, but before Huxley could respond, Troy was outside the door flap, asking for her. She had to concentrate to keep her bladder from releasing—and when she looked at Huxley, he saw not fear but outright terror on her face. “I can’t go with him. Please don’t
make me go with him. Please.”
His text message to Dan was instant. Need help quick. Come to first aid tent. I’ll explain later. Tell no one. Hux. He left Anabelle shaking on the cot, and went to the entrance flap, sticking his head out to see Troy and his mother waiting like two wolves for Red Riding Hood to start her journey. “Almost done. A few more minutes and I’ll send her out,” Huxley told them, and whether it was because of the wide dilation of their pupils or the obvious stifling of their anticipation, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“The poor dear isn’t sick, is she?” From the crumpled crevice of her grandmotherly mouth, Sylvia’s voice slithered outward, testing for traps, for truth; the way her knotted hands coiled around her wicker bag, constricting, suggested an underlying power far beyond her appearance.
Huxley seized on Sylvia’s remark. “She’s taken a bit of a backslide in her recovery today,” he said. “It’s possibly just exhaustion, but I’d rather rule some things out before I send her back. We won’t be long.” Then, without giving them the opportunity to protest, he closed the flap and returned to the cot. He checked his phone and saw Dan’s two-word response: Five minutes. To Anabelle, he said, “Here’s what we’re going to do. If I insist on walking you back, they’ll know we’re wise to them. See that space there?” Anabelle’s eyes followed the doctor’s finger to a sliver of light between the grass and the bottom of the tarp. “I’ll pull up the tarp and you slip out there. Keep going until you reach the parking lot. Here, take my keys. I’m the red Corolla in the nearest row beside a small black cargo trailer. Get inside and leave if you see them coming.”
“But—”
“If anyone asks, I’ll pretend you slipped out when I left you behind the curtain. I’ll tell them you’re overwhelmed, so it won’t be a hard sell.” He squeezed Anabelle’s fingers round his keys. “You have a cellphone?” When she nodded, he had her enter his number on the screen and send him a test message to ensure they could connect outside of the tent. Huxley eyed her with grave concern. “You’re going to be all right, you hear? Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.”
Anabelle hugged him, and if he felt the electricity pulsing through her body, he didn’t let on. Then Huxley peeked around the partition to confirm Troy and Sylvia were still on the other side of the plastic window, but when he turned to tell Anabelle, she was already gone.
37
It was only by luck that Dan saw Huxley’s message. On site since long before the sun had risen, he’d toured endless stretches of field, investigated every alley that fed onto the parade route, scrutinized every checkpoint, every obstruction, and every millimeter in between. Working with the Prime Minister’s security personnel, Dan leaned on their numbers to bolster his own team and ensure eyes were everywhere, so he was confident in his coverage during the parade. No one could so much as sneeze in Garrett while the Prime Minister was in attendance, but Dan knew that afterward would be a different story. The moment the man left, his contingent and every appropriated operative would abandon their little city to fend off a danger few people knew anything about, and it was this that had kept Dan awake long past midnight. His short sleep hadn’t even rustled the sheets before the alarm on his phone woke him, and it was the same alarm he was just about to set for a nap in his cruiser when he saw Huxley’s message.
Cursing Huxley’s timing, Dan flipped down his visor. What he saw in the mirror was a ghost of his former self. Not only had he lost the ten or so pounds he’d gained since Brandy left him, but maybe even a few more. The resulting thing in front of him was a blob of ashen skin as attractive as a punctured blister. He rubbed his eyes, slapped color into his cheeks, and exited his cruiser at the surprising clip of his younger self. As long as he’d known Huxley, the man had never distorted necessity, so his message caused Dan to call upon long-disused muscles to speed from the gravel road at the opposite end of the field to the first aid tent.
On his arrival, Dan saw Sylvia Baker and her son standing outside. Knowing what he knew and presently trying to hide it was the most difficult task of his entire policing career, but he hadn’t risen to his post by being inept. A master negotiator and as inscrutable as the Kryptos outside the CIA headquarters, Dan flexed his strengths as he explained to the scrutinizing duo that he had business inside the tent and asked that they move away from the door.
“Problem, officer?” Troy asked, hovering much too close for Dan’s liking.
“Wouldn’t tell you if there was,” Dan said sternly. “Step aside, please.”
The old woman’s eyes flickered black, and when her thin lips split into a smile, her corrupted teeth were the disinterred gray of another time. Then she was everyone’s grandmother again, with sweet half-moon eyes atop the friendly plump of smiling cheeks. “Of course. Thank you for your service, officer,” Sylvia cooed to him, and for a moment Dan suspected she was trying to hypnotize him, but he shook the feeling off and left them to find Huxley pacing behind a partition in the tent.
“Tell me,” Dan said without preamble.
“Are they still out there?” Huxley whispered. Dan nodded, and the doctor’s arms folded across his chest as he considered how best to warn Dan about Sylvia and Troy. He said, “I’m going to need you to not ask questions—”
Dan stopped him and tipped his head toward Sylvia. “If it’s about her, I already know.” Huxley’s eyes, so wide now that Dan could see all the tiny blood vessels around the doctor’s irises, beamed in disbelief. “I’m saying this so you’ll know I’ll believe you, whatever you tell me.”
Huxley, bound by his professional oath and his respect for Anabelle, told Dan he felt that Sylvia and Troy were a danger to Anabelle and asked if he had the capacity to monitor their movements, should they attempt to approach her. In turn, Dan summarized what he’d gathered of Sylvia from the Cardinal Family, Ed Norman, Father Pauliuk, and Father Bonner.
“I have nothing to report on her son, though,” Dan said as he concluded.
For a moment, Huxley thought back to his using days, when a whiff of sevoflurane would sweep his cares away. Given what Dan and Anabelle had told him, he almost wished for it now. He said, “Tammy Cormoran. You have that on him. I can’t tell you how I know, or even if it’s true, Dan, but I don’t suspect I’m wrong about this. You’ve got to keep an eye on him.”
In the silence that followed, the synapses in Dan’s brain made the connection. Dak was adamant there was more than just the devil-woman to contend with, but Dan didn’t think it was going to be the woman’s own goddammed son. Again, none of this could be officially reported, but Dan knew it would be wise to share with the rest of the group. He would have to designate an officer he didn’t have to Troy, someone experienced enough to keep the sharp-eyed lawyer from knowing. His overnight research on the family led Dan to understand that Troy wouldn’t be easy to fool, but who to designate with the task? He considered the few officers that wouldn’t ask questions, against his will settling on the only officer who knew the truth of the situation: Sarah Cardinal.
Just then, Huxley’s phone rang. “I thought doctors drove nice cars,” Anabelle said to him.
“Obviously, you’re okay,” Dan retorted, and checked his watch.
“I owe you one, Dr. Huxley.”
He said, “You can wave to me in the crowd. I’m going to send my friend Dan to come and take you to the Prime Minister’s team. He’s in uniform, so you’ll know it’s him. Call your parents and tell them they came and got you after your check up. They don’t need to be worrying about you.” Hearing Huxley’s instructions to Anabelle, Dan gave him a thumbs up, and Huxley added, “You’re going to be heavily protected during the parade, but you’ll need to listen to whatever Dan tells you to do afterward. Do you understand?”
“I’ll listen,” she responded.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Huxley assured her.
From the other end of the line, Anabelle asked, “Are they still there?”
Huxley held his phone to hi
s chest and stepped out from behind the partition to peer at the plastic window. When their presence wasn’t obvious, he went to the door flap and scanned the field outside. Sylvia and Troy were gone.
38
Pandora seethed. She had been a hair’s breadth away from the girl who’d stolen her power, so close she could smell the sugar from the girl’s latte on her breath. By now, Pandora should have regained her strength, but she was still the inferior version of herself because the bitch had parried Pandora’s every thrust, every lunge.
The thing inside Troy, as strong as a snowflake, stood oblivious beside her while she and Anabelle tested each other. Their forces locked, but it was Anabelle’s will over Pandora’s, fighting like a much bigger opponent, that settled their round. This was how Pandora discovered that what she had lost those few weeks ago was amplified in Anabelle. Worse, the bitch didn’t even break a sweat when she outsmarted them, concentrating her energy inside the tent while she escaped to make Pandora believe she was still there. Clever kids get killed, she brooded, wondering how the cop had arrived so fast.
Alarmed by the officer’s appearance, Troy dragged her away the moment the man went inside, and under the impression they were returning to the breakfast tent, Pandora went obligingly like a feeble old woman. When Troy marched her past the tent, however, it was clear he would not be taking her back. “Our visit is not done yet, Troy,” she allowed Sylvia’s infirm voice to say.
“She’s busy, Mother. The doctor is with her and then she’s in the parade. You had your time.” He picked up speed so that she had to take two steps for his every long one, and soon she was scuttling beside him like a maimed dog.
“Slow down, Troy.”
“I don’t want you to catch a cold, Mother. Let’s get you home,” he said, directing her toward his Mercedes, his grip tight on her arm.