Dark Angel (22 page)

‘Nobody told me he was here,’ she said with the first break in her voice – the one I was looking for.

I seized my chance. ‘Of course they didn’t! The last thing they want is for you to meet the guy who truly loves you, has loved you for two whole years and will do anything to get you back. Are you still listening to me, Grace? Am I finally getting through?’

‘Where’s Jude now?’ she whispered with tears in her eyes.

At last, a glimpse of the old, empathetic Grace. ‘He had an asthma attack. Cristal drove him to the hospital.’

As she closed her eyes, the tears brimmed over and trickled down. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘He was here – literally here – and they didn’t tell you. How does that make you feel? What does it tell you about what these people are trying to do to you?’

She swayed and took a step closer to the edge.

‘And Oliver – did you hear what they did to him? He died, Grace. He had a major breakdown then he walked out of here and he died on the mountain. And guess what – they don’t even care!’

‘No! They—
We’re
not responsible!’ she cried. ‘People choose their own courses of action.’

‘So Oliver wasn’t brave enough and that’s why he died?’

She nodded, choked back the tears and stepped away from the edge. ‘It’s down to you, what you choose to believe, Tania. I was hoping I could explain, but obviously it’s going to take more time.’

‘
You
wanted to convert
me
?’ I gasped, following her back down the side of the pool and laughing at the irony of the situation. Only this wasn’t funny and my old Grace was disappearing fast. ‘Won’t you meet with Jude? Please – just once!’

She kept her head turned away, looked up and saw Ezra coming down the steps to join us. Quickly she dipped her hand into the pocket of her robe. ‘I found something that belongs to you,’ she said quietly, handing it to me without letting Ezra see. ‘I know it means a lot.’

I glanced down and saw my gold cross nestling in the palm of my hand, glinting gold and red. I closed my fingers over it and thanked her.

‘I found it on the floor of the chapel,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t tell Ezra I gave it back.’

So Grace had a secret too – a tiny doubt, an area of mistrust. It was the one hope I still held out for her as I said goodbye, left Black Eagle Lodge and made my way back down to Bitterroot.

I
 walked down from Black Rock at the same time as Zoran rose above it. At least, it was his private helicopter taking off from the helipad and so I assumed that he was in it, rising into the sky and gazing down on us mere mortals crawling like ants across the landscape. The force of the churning blades flattened the feathery grass, a wind whipped through the silver aspens as the machine gained height and banked off to the south.

I pictured Zoran at the controls, a co-pilot at his side, swooping off the mountain into the valley below. And a heavy weight lifted. I felt I could breathe easier now that he was gone.

‘Hey, you found crucifix!’ were Dad’s first words when I went into the house.

I’d hung the family heirloom back on its gold chain, next to Orlando’s heart, soon after Grace had smuggled it from her pocket into my palm. It felt cool and smooth at my throat, back where it belonged.

Dad’s next words, spoken emphatically and with a serious expression, were, ‘Facebook news. Come see.’

So I followed him into his small office at the back of the house and waited while he clicked on to an exchange in Romanian with a friend listed as Dr Stefan Bibesco.

‘Who’s this doctor guy?’ I asked.

‘Cousin,’ Dad replied, busy finding the right click to translate the entries into English for me. ‘Father’s sister’s kid. Works at Spitalul de Urgenta Floreasca in Bucharest. The Emergency Hospital. Now read.’

I stooped to read the screen.

Hey, Stefan,
Dad had begun.
Long time no speak. Say hi to your father, mother and sisters. Hope all is good with you. Do you still work in the Floreasca hospital? If so, I want to ask you a few questions.

Hey, Andrey,
came the reply.
Look who crawled out of the woodwork! How is life in the US? How are Karen and Tania? And yes, I’m still at the clinic, overworked and underpaid. Anyway, feel free and ask away.

OK, Stefan. The question goes back a couple of years. You remember when big star Zoran Brancusi smashed up his Porsche and came to your hospital? Were you on duty that day? Do you recall any medical details?

I stood back and exchanged glances with Dad. ‘What are you up to?’ I asked.

‘Read!’ he insisted.

Unexpected line of questioning, Andrey – Sure. I was there. Crash happened on mountain road. They airlifted Brancusi out of there – multiple injuries to skull, spine and internal organs. X-rays of head and full body scan, then emergency surgical procedure to release build-up of pressure from bleeding inside the skull. Why do you ask?

Thanks for the detailed reply, Stefan. Recently Brancusi came to live in America. He built a home near us – did you know?

I read about it. How do you like your new neighbour?

Not a whole lot. But here’s my main question – what happened in the operating theatre? And how come there were rumours that he died?

More than rumours, Andrey. The surgeon, Mihail Cantemis, is a friend of mine. The bleed out into the brain was massive, and there were other complications. Cantemis told me they lost the heartbeat then attempted to resuscitate for thirty-five minutes before they finally declared Brancusi dead.

I shook my head, reread this part at least three times:
they finally declared Brancusi dead.

Dad had sent one last Facebook message:
Hey, Stefan. So what exactly are we talking about here? Was this a medical miracle, or what?

And my Romanian relative came back with one more enlightening reply:
Immediately on declaration of death, corpse was taken by a member of Brancusi’s personal staff in helicopter to private clinic. Any miracle performed took place there.

But I tell you, at Floreasca we were more shocked than anyone by the reports that he was still alive. In medical terms it was considered impossible – the guy who left our operating table had definitely bled out. His lungs, his heart, his brain, had ceased to function. End of story.

I sat down at Dad’s desk and put my head in my hands. ‘Oh my God!’

‘I know. Wasn’t end of story, was it? This guy on mountain came back from dead.’

‘Dad, don’t! I can’t handle it.’ I was shaking all over, feeling dizzy and my palms were clammy with sweat. ‘There has to be some explanation, some technique they didn’t try in the main hospital.’

‘Such as?’

‘I don’t know – freezing the body until they found a specialist surgeon who could stop the bleeding into the brain. Cryonics or whatever.’

‘We can send man to moon but not deep-freeze whole human being and bring back to life again, not yet.’

‘OK. What about keyhole techniques? A neurosurgeon? They can do amazing things.’

‘Lungs, heart, brain – all dead,’ Dad insisted.

I breathed out loudly, emitting something that sounded like a groan. ‘So who is the Zoran on Black Rock? Is he a double?’

‘Secret twin,’ Dad murmured.

‘Or a guy who was prepared to have surgery to change his face and look like Zoran. There are plastic surgeons who would do that.’

‘But why?’

‘To fool everybody into thinking that a rock star, an actor, a politician, a world leader is still alive. If you have enough money, I’m sure you can do it.’ I was clutching at straws, trying to find a reasonable scenario, but inside I was riddled with fear. Who or what exactly was the guy on Black Rock with all the power and the Satan-complex, with the ability to make you think you were crazy whenever you visited?

‘So they make Zoran double so he can make more records, sing more concerts?’

‘Yes,’ I insisted. ‘He’s a cash cow; he can still earn them millions.’

‘But Zoran stopped singing, remember.’ Dad leaned over my shoulder to log off and I watched the screen go blank. ‘He didn’t make more records.’

‘Then he’s a ghost,’ I sighed. ‘He’s something supernatural, and let’s stop right now because I don’t even want to go there!’

That night I couldn’t sleep, of course. I lay awake and heard the woman’s voice, felt her spine-tingling presence in my room.

‘Sleep,’ she sighs. Her fingers brush my forehead
.

I gasped then held my breath, felt myself melt and become one with the child who had died.

The walls of my room are pink, stencilled with lilac butterflies – a baby girl’s nursery. There is the scent of soap, the tinkling of a mobile toy above my bed
.

‘Go to sleep,’ the woman murmurs as she leans in to stroke my cheek.

I lie until the sun rises and shines through the slats of the blind, wrapped in silence and love.

‘Did you sleep well?’ Mom asked when I went down for breakfast. Obviously Dad had told her his cousin’s news from the Bucharest clinic and she already knew I’d been on the mountain when they discovered Oliver Knight’s body, so she was on edge as she cooked bacon, watching me like a hawk.

‘Actually, yes!’ I said.

‘No nightmares?’ She flipped the bacon from the pan on to a plate, put it between two slices of bread and handed Dad his usual start to Sunday.

‘No. My dreams were good for a change.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Her hand trembled as it hovered over the loaf of bread, knife in hand. She doesn’t express her anxieties, she bottles them up. That’s the problem with my mom.

In this way she and Orlando are pretty similar – great when the going is good, but distant and withdrawn when it gets rocky. I guess it’s why she hasn’t especially warmed to him.

‘What did I do?’ Orlando asked me after he’d come to the house on his mountain bike and we’d set off for the lake together. His face and arms were tanned, his hair newly washed. One quick glance and I knew just why I adored him. I gave myself a short lecture – remember this, OK? Don’t let Daniel happen!

‘Nothing. What do you mean?’ I said.

‘Karen hardly talked to me the whole time I was there.’

‘That was because Dad was too busy telling you about his cousin in Bucharest and Zoran’s rising-from-the-dead trick. Mom couldn’t get a word in edgeways.’

‘So it’s not that she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her daughter and she wishes I’d get the hell out of your life?’ he quipped.

‘Ha-ha, no. Don’t exaggerate.’

‘I’m not. Your mom is one scary lady, did you know?’

We cycled for a while in silence. ‘I could talk to her, ask her to be nice,’ I suggested.

‘No thanks, I can handle it.’ Picking up speed, Orlando zigzagged across the narrow track then carried out a tricky one-wheeled manoeuvre as if he needed to boost his macho image.

‘Stop – I’m impressed already!’ I laughed. ‘Did you finish reading about Coco Chanel?’

‘Yeah. And I got a date for an interview.’

‘When?’ This was big news, dropped in like a small pebble hardly breaking the surface.

‘End of this week. Friday the twentieth.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I just did.’ Back by my side and cycling sensibly, his blown-back hair and rosy cheeks made him look younger. ‘I heard yesterday, but you’ve been busy.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. You should have texted.’

‘No signal on Black Rock, remember.’ He rode ahead again, head down, staring at the dirt track.

Here was an ego that needed massaging, I realized, so I cycled hard to join him. ‘I’m happy for you – you know that. And you’ll be great at the interview, with your fabulous portfolio and all the theory to back it up. They’re so going to want you!’ Inside, part of me was thinking, So ask me how it was to identify a dead body! Ask me what a corpse looks like and explain how it feels. I’ll tell you – scared, shook up, confused; coming up against Death face to face.

‘Yeah well, I’ll still be nervous,’ he confessed. ‘I fly out to Dallas Thursday.’

‘Cool. I can drive you to the airport.’

‘Mom already offered,’ he cut in before I’d finished. ‘You don’t mind about that, do you?’

‘No, it’s cool,’ I lied. OK, so if you don’t want to talk dead bodies, at least ask me how Jude is. He is your buddy as well as mine! ‘I called the Medinas,’ I said. ‘This morning, early.’

‘How’s Jude?’

Result at last! We’d reached the edge of Turner Lake where a few fishermen’s vehicles were parked and we got off our bikes and leaned them against a fire-hazard warning notice. I slid my arm around his waist. ‘He’s in hospital. They kept him overnight again.’

‘Yeah, I bet the Medinas really love you, taking him up Black Rock.’

I stepped away and frowned. Why are you doing this to me? Why are you blaming me and making me feel bad? ‘I didn’t take him – he took me. And we didn’t know the Forest Service would be up there digging firelines until the smoke started coming down the mountain.’

‘Bad timing.’

‘Very. And you’re right – Dr and Mrs Medina made it clear they didn’t want me to help Jude try and contact Grace again.’

‘No one wants anyone going near Zoran’s place until the cops clear up the body-in-the-sink-hole story,’ Orlando pointed out. ‘They think it’s linked to bad stuff that goes on up there, and who can blame them?’

‘I know. Imagine how the Montroses must look at it.’ This lakeside conversation was making me feel like I was engaged in an awkward ballroom dance where neither of us quite knew the steps and the rhythm was jerky and slow. We’d covered the topics of Oliver and Jude without showing a glimpse of how we really felt. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this any more!’ I faltered and turned away.

‘What?’ Orlando stepped round in front of me, caught me by the arm. ‘What, Tania? What can’t you do?’

‘I need you to ask me how I’m doing,’ I cried. ‘I can’t bear it when you push me away.’

‘Because!’ he said, staring fiercely at me. ‘Because you went up the mountain without telling me, why do you think? And because that guy, Daniel, lives up there! How do you think that makes
me
feel?’