Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 02 - Elective Procedures (2 page)

Deeply in love? I understood her. A raw hollowness gnawed my gut. Why was it that, even though he’d been dead for thirteen months, even though I’d thrown him out and had been in the middle of divorcing him, everything reminded me of Charlie? I turned away, looking out past the neon sign at South Street. And, of course, there we were, Charlie and me, strolling past shops, his arm around my shoulder. Where were we going? Out for coffee? For a drink? I saw him lean over and kiss my forehead, felt the brush of his lips. But abruptly, a delivery truck pulled up, cutting off my view. Wiping the image away.

Becky turned to me, beaming. “Elle. Did you hear that?”

Oops. No, I hadn’t.

“I’m getting married soon.”

Really. Should I buy a dress?

“Actually, I see many men around you. But this man—this special one you are waiting for, he is different. He is not the man
you expect. Understand me? He might be—how I should say it? Someone you never thought about loving.”

“Why, is he a criminal? He’s not a drug dealer, is he?” She blinked. “Or wait—is he hideous?”

Madam Therese looked up. Her eyebrows were thick and black. Perfectly symmetrical. “These things I cannot tell you. Only that he is unlike the others.” Her gaze returned to Becky’s hand. “Also, you will travel very soon. You have plans?”

Becky shrugged. “No.”

“Well, you will make some. You will go someplace warm. I see water. Maybe someplace by the sea.” She released Becky’s hand. “You want more reading? Because this was five minutes. For ten more dollars, I can tell you more.”

Becky paused. Was she considering it?

I interrupted. “Becky, you already gave her twenty. She already has the extra ten.”

“No. That’s for you.” Becky stood. “Your turn, Elle.”

Madam Therese persisted. “Okay. But when you return from your trip, you will come back to see me again, you understand? I will tell you more.” Madam Therese turned to me, gestured for me to join her.

I didn’t move.

“Go on.” Becky took the seat beside me.

Madam Therese bent her head. Her bracelets jangled when she crossed herself again. She looked at me with tired eyes. “Come. Sit.”

I stood, took a seat at the table.

Madam Therese took my hand, stared at it. Her brows furrowed and her back stiffened. She met my eyes. Hers were dark and deep, like bottomless holes. “You want to hear the truth? All of it?”

Despite my doubts about palm reading, my heart lurched. Why was she asking me that? What did she see? “Why not? Is it bad?”

“Bad? Life isn’t good or bad. It’s a balance.”

Yes, she’d definitely used that word. Had it been a warning? An omen? Had she said it intentionally?

I hung onto the railing, tried to stay balanced. To remember everything she’d said. I saw her dark skirt and white sweater, her black eyeliner. Her rings. I smelled the roasting meat and the jasmine. Felt her coarse fingers holding my hand.

In a jolt, she sat back. “Who has died?” She looked from Becky to me.

Becky blinked at me.

“A spirit is with us. It isn’t resting.”

Becky’s eyes widened. “Oh God, maybe it’s Charlie. Her husband died—”

“Becky, please—”

“Okay, I understand.” Madam Therese touched her forehead, frowned. Concentrated again. “Okay, listen. I will tell you only some, you understand? But not all. What would be the point?”

Lord. Was it too terrible to say aloud?

“So.” She looked just above my head. “Your aura—the energy that surrounds you. It is stained.”

Becky whispered, “What?”

My aura was stained? How? I pictured a halo blotched with spilled wine—or with my second graders’ colored markers.

“The stains are blood.”

Oh. Wrong both times.

“And also darkness.” Madam Therese’s voice was hoarse, throaty. “I see around you a cloud. A cloud of death—yes.”

What? I felt a chill, said nothing.

Becky said, “Oh God.”

“This cloud means you must be cautious. The dead—their spirits are drawn to you. Some of them are harmless. But others—” she met my eyes, “surely, you already know this.”

Knew what? Were dead people out to get me? I looked
around. Was Charlie there? But Charlie wouldn’t hurt me. So was it some other dead person? I saw only Becky and Madam Therese. Nobody else.

“If you are wise, you will protect yourself.”

From what? The dead? How could I do that?

“You are stronger than you think. This is why they come to you. You have the gift.”

She let go of my hand. “So, do you have questions for me? Things you want to know?”

Questions? Seriously? I was surrounded by hostile dead people, death clouds, bloodstains and darkness. What questions could I possibly have? “No. I just came here with my friend.”

“Listen, then: You will also travel, like your friend. You also will meet a man. But be aware: this cloud—the darkness goes where you go. It surrounds you. Be careful because the dead are drawn to this darkness; to them it is a beacon. They will find you. You understand this. You know this to be true.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. She let out a breath. “And so, the five-minutes time is up. I am happy to go on, if you want me to.”

Want her to? God no. I let out a breath. “That’s okay. I’m good.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. “Thank you” didn’t cover it.

“Okay, no problem. You will come back to me again. Another day.” Madam Therese turned to the curtain, called a name. Stood.

A lanky man with gelled hair stepped out from behind the curtain. They exchanged words I couldn’t understand, and he ushered us to the door in a hurry as if we were bothering him. Or as if we’d brought with us a cloud of death.

At the time, I’d dismissed the reading. It was hogwash. There was no such thing as a bloodstained aura. And it was absurd to think that the dead were drawn to me.

But two weeks and two days later, clinging to a balcony six stories above the ground, I reconsidered Madam Therese’s predictions.
I called out again and grasped the railing, struggled to balance and closed my eyes, reminding myself not to look down at the concrete. Picturing the lifeless body of the woman I’d just failed to save.

Closing my eyes wasn’t the best idea. Charlie showed up again, this time in my den with my kitchen knife in his back. I saw not just Charlie in that terrible moment, but also all the other terrible moments that had ensued—the deaths and the twisted secrets came together in a montage—no, in a stark mosaic. A kaleidoscope made from shards of terrible memories.

“Elle!”

I opened my eyes. The kaleidoscope shattered, fell away. The sunrise greeted me, along with Becky, Jen, and Susan frantically reaching across the railing, jabbering and tugging at me. Had they heard me yell for help? When had they gotten there? They pawed at me, nearly knocking me over.

“Grab her thigh,” Jen said.

“No, wait. I think we should take her arm.”

“Her arm? I’ve got her thigh. You get her arm.”

“Careful,” I managed, but I doubt they heard me.

My legs were splayed around the brick wall between balconies. My left foot rested tentatively on the railing of ours; my right on the neighbor’s. My left arm hugged the wall; my right grasped the edge of the next-door railing. Behind my t-shirt and panty-clad backside, I felt the warmth of dawn and the calm of the ocean. And the pull of open air that extended six stories down.

Another pelican whooshed by. I glimpsed huge wings, a long beak. I wobbled, dug my fingers into the cement between bricks, closed my eyes again. And saw the face of Madam Therese.

“Take Susan’s hand, dammit.”

“She doesn’t hear us. She’s pulling an Elle.”

“Now? Are you kidding?”

“Elle,” Susan shouted.

“I can’t take your hand. I can’t let go.” Even talking seemed to throw me off balance.

The three of them held onto my left thigh and leg. I glanced down, disobeying my own advice, and saw a man kneeling beside the dead woman, taking her hand. He looked like Charlie. That was crazy. From up here, I had no idea what he looked like. He could have been anyone. Hotel staff gathered. Security officers. A lifeguard looked up, saw me. Pointed. People gaped up at me.

They looked very tiny.

Slowly, I tilted my head up, moving my gaze back to the sixth floor. The muscles in my legs twitched. I couldn’t stay straddled much longer.

“What’s her name?” I heard a man, a Mexican accent.

“Elle.”

“Come on, Elle.” He wore dark pants and a white short-sleeved shirt, and his beefy arms slipped under mine, around my shoulders. And lifted. I resisted, unwilling to release the railing. But he kept tugging, dragging me up and over, laying me down onto solid tiles of our balcony where I lay still, shivering, catching my breath. Hugging the floor.

Susan, Becky, and Jen hovered around me. The man knelt, put a hand on my forehead, my wrist. He spoke with Susan. She called him Roberto. A maid stood at the balcony door, bug-eyed. Becky brought a glass of orange juice. When I could stand, Roberto helped me through the sliding doors into our suite. Jen began pelting me with questions. What had I been doing out there? Was I crazy? Why had I been climbing on the balcony? Susan snapped at her, telling her to let me be. Roberto was on a cell phone or maybe a hand radio. Something. Speaking urgent Spanish.

I sank onto the living room sofa, shivering, watching. Roberto, it turned out, was a security guard. He greeted the police, introduced Sergeant José Perez and Juan Alonso, the hotel’s
general manager. Susan sat on one side of me. Becky covered me with a blanket and sat on the other. Jen sat on the floor at my legs like a guard dog. And then the questions began.

“What were you doing out there?” Sergeant Perez sat forward with the weight on his toes, as if about to take off in a sprint.

I explained that I hadn’t been able to sleep. Actually, Becky had been snoring like a chainsaw, but I didn’t think that was relevant, didn’t mention it. At about five thirty, I’d given up and gone out on our balcony to wait for the sunrise, and I’d heard voices from the balcony adjacent to ours.

Sergeant Perez interrupted. “They were speaking English?”

Had they been? “I don’t remember.”

“Well, could you understand what they were saying? Do you speak Spanish?” He was brusque.

“Sergeant, please.” Susan intervened. “She doesn’t remember. Let her tell us what happened.”

“Excuse me, señora.” Perez thrust his chest out. “A woman is dead. Your friend is, at the very least, a witness—”

“At the very least? What are you implying?” Susan’s back straightened.

Oh Lord. Did he think I’d been involved in the woman’s death? Again, I saw Madam Therese. So far, her predictions had come true: Becky and I had both traveled. We’d gone to Mexico with Susan and Jen. We were near the water, as she’d said we’d be. And Becky had met a guy: Chichi, one of the activity directors at the hotel. They’d been virtually inseparable since we’d arrived—Becky hadn’t come back to the room until after two a.m. If Madam Therese had been right about all that, maybe she’d also been right about my death cloud and the bloodstains in my aura. I thought of Charlie. Saw him wave.

Susan was nudging me on one side, Becky on the other. Everyone was staring at me. Damn. I’d missed something.

“No, she’s fine.” Susan insisted. “She does this. She wanders off sometimes.”

In fact, my mind did wander off sometimes. My friends called it “pulling an Elle.” A shrink had called it a dissociative disorder, usually triggered by stress. Which, right then, I had plenty of.

“She’s fine. Elle?” Susan’s elbow hit my rib. “Elle, go on.”

“Maybe she’s refusing to answer the questions. Maybe she’d prefer to come to the station.” The sergeant stood on his toes.

Roberto raised his hands. “
Por favor
, José. We all want the same thing: To hear what happened. Why don’t we listen and then ask questions afterward?”

Sergeant Perez replied harshly in Spanish, no doubt asserting his rank and authority. Roberto backed off, having made his point. The sergeant sat again, still on tiptoe.

“Go on, Elle.” Susan’s hand covered mine.

Where had I stopped? Never mind. I just began again. “I heard a man and a woman talking. They sounded romantic—soft giggling and cooing. After a few minutes, I heard the sliding door open and close. I thought they’d gone inside. Everything was quiet.” I looked from face to face. Everyone watched me. Waiting.