Vienna (12 page)

She makes a better martyr than I do.

Davy smiled. “Broken in an extraordinary way. Most notable is hypoplasia of the corpus callosum, which means—”

“Fewer connections between the hemispheres of the brain,” Justine said. “Vienna was born prematurely?”

“A full month, according to the heavily redacted records left with the orphanage's medical staff. It made her susceptible to asthma, among other things. How did you know?”

“Hypoplasia is often caused by premature birth. In more extreme cases, often associated with third trimester injury to the fetus, periventricular leukomalacia can be found. This does not seem to be the case here.” Chew on that, Lord London Hotshot.

Davy's left eyebrow arched, but he calmly continued. “So I've been told. Vienna's physical neurology is often associated with prodigious feats of memory, though no one knows why.” He paused. “Unless there has been some discovery on the far side of the pond?”

“None that I know of,” Justine said. “It's a complex situation, accompanied by irregularities of the forebrain. Perception poorly filtering stimuli. Subjects often display unnatural focus to the exclusion of emotional awareness.”

“Which explains why Vienna has an extraordinary facility with geometric patterns. She would be the devil's chess player.”

“Chess is boring,” Vienna said, her voice forecasting an increasing chance of downpours.

“What else?” Justine asked.

“Two further medical items. The first is a complex partial seizure preceded by an aura of depersonalization. The effect lasts minutes or in bad cases an hour. Vienna's thoughts depart while her body carries on a familiar and highly repetitive motion. It's frightening, but transitory.”

“Also found in some autistic cases. Has the trigger for these episodes been discovered?”

“Vienna has tried to explain.”

“The world doesn't fold together the right way.” Vienna spoke over an absurdly long sigh. Best get this finished.

“What else?”

“A physiological condition related to involuntary retinal scanning. The explanation is fairly technical. Saccades happening too frequently, which I gather results in a visual stutter of sorts. When Vienna was young, it pushed optometrists to distraction. It amounts to an unconscious, obsessive stall over written words. She can't not look at them, so to speak.”

“And once she sees them—”

“She memorizes them, apparently forever. I believe that for the first six years of her life Vienna was drowning in sensory overload. It's a miracle she conquered her environment at all.” Davy set his hand on Vienna's shoulder. “There was, as you guessed, much discussion of autism spectrum disorders.”

Justine shook her head. “I did work in the field. It doesn't fit. There are symptoms though.”

Vienna's patience evaporated. “Are you finished yet?”

“I haven't even started. But I know enough to see that our knighted guest is full of horseshit.”

“Justine!”

“It's quite all right,” Davy said. “While I take issue with Yankee vernacular, I understand the essence. The question is if she knows why.”

“I don't,” Vienna said.

“This was not your test to take,” Davy said to her. Looking at Justine, he added, “Let this go, for now.”

“For the sake of your snobbish East Finchley client?”

Davy's eyes hardened. “You're a woman around whom men make mistakes.” He brushed an imaginary wrinkle from his slacks. “I said too much, but then, not many Americans are familiar with London neighborhoods.”

“East Finchley is the richest section of London. It may yet be the wealthiest locality in Europe. Is your client embarrassed by Vienna?”

“I assure you this is not the case. We have only Vienna's interests at heart.”

“Then we're finished here.”

“Almost.” Davy stood up. “An offer was delivered to Vienna's patron, requesting rights for a video staring Justine and Vienna.” He turned to Vienna. “You can guess the theme of this film?”

Vienna shook her head.

“They want to tape us having sex,” Justine said.

Vienna crossed her arms in front of her. “Derpy. According to Austrian law, two women are incapable of having sex.”

“Nonetheless, they are willing to pay three million euros to see you try,” Davy said. “Would you do it if Justine asked you to? If she needed the money?”

“She has a lot of money. She would never ask.”

“That was not the question.”

“And I am not very good at it. No one would care. She knows.”

Davy's face flushed, the razor scar showing white. “That was not the question either.”

Vienna looked at Justine, and nodded once.

“Now we are done.” Lord Davy stood.

Vienna stood behind him. “Are you taking me away?”

“Do you want to leave Justine?”

Vienna kicked at the floor. “The pattern on the bedspread doesn't matter.”

“Perhaps you can explain with a touch more clarity,” Davy said.

“She gets in the way,” Vienna said.

Davy looked at Justine. “Are you satisfied with that?”

“I want to fly back to Georgia,” Justine answered. “She gets in the way.”

“I'm worried that I almost grasp the feminine logic involved.” He reached out to shake Vienna's hand. The girl responded out of reflex. “I will not lie. Your guardian has a more traditional view of relationships. But it seems we have little choice.” He turned away. “Should you have any further insight concerning the death of David Andries, contact me at once. Given Vienna's choice in partners, I want the issue resolved.”

Justine spoke as Davy reached the door. “The white picket fence and the two-and-a-half children were never going to happen.”

“I suspect not.”

“Anyway, she lied.”

“Lied?”

“She's soft rain in the spring. Quiet in all the noise.”

Davy raised an eyebrow.

“Vienna is no longer a child,” Justine continued. “Her guardian needs to know that.”

Davy nodded. “We feared she would never find…” He took a deep breath and opened the door. “I will speak on your behalf.” There was a trace of a smile. “Godspeed.” And he was gone.

If nothing else, it was clear that Lord Anson Davy cared deeply for Vienna.

That makes him one of the good guys, right?

 

10

Vienna stomped across the room. “Why did you talk about me like I wasn't here?”
Who wouldn't be pissed right off the end of the pier?

“I had to show him I could be with you.”

“You could have just told him.”

Justine walked over to the bed, putting her hands on Vienna's waist and easing her down to sit side-by-side. “He had no reason to believe.”

“Believe?”

Justine raised her hand to Vienna's cheek. “You don't get half the world to love you. Only one.”

Vienna studied the words; pieces from a thousand different puzzles. She tried to think of something to say, but as usual messed up. “Why?”

Justine shook her head. “No clue. But I dealt with your nasty lawyer; that must mean something.”

“I'm sorry.”

Justine smiled. “I know what you want to say next.”

Was that true?
Vienna changed course. “What was the porno yack?”

“I need to start writing down British slang.” Justine brushed Vienna's tears away. “When someone in my line takes a dive, the next step is usually nudie pictures.”

“But why ask me?”

“Because he wanted to show me you would do it.”

“Because I am still like half the world.” Vienna grabbed at the bedspread. “But it's wrong because you're so frustrating and anyway one of us is supposed to be male and I don't know…” She let her voice trail off, embarrassed.

“That will do, for now,” Justine said.

“But it was wrong. I can tell.”

“Not wrong for you.”

“At least I try to answer. Why did Uncle Anson ask if I would have sex with you on video? Answer me.”

“He asked so he could show me that you would follow my lead.”

“Because I'm broken.”

“Ah, you said it anyway,” Justine said.

“That's borked. Most people would love to have sex with you, video or not. Why am I different?”

“Because you're broken.”

Vienna wanted to scream, but somehow this was one of those tests her doctors made her take. “You're just as bad as I am, only with people instead of numbers. You turn them inside out.”

“Then we're broken together.”

Vienna considered this before discarding it as evidence of Justine's callousness. “How do you know so much about autism?”

Justine looked down.

She looked away when something bad came up.
Did everyone do that?

“Tell me.”

Justine paused. “You already know the answer. Foosh.”

Vienna blinked. “Fall on outstretched hand.”

“Father's tennis career was cut short by a compound fracture of his right wrist. It happened eight years before I was born, but I was inconsolable when I understood what had happened. It wasn't fair. Daddy was the most greatest man in the whole world. I decided I would become a doctor and fix his wrist so he could play tennis again.” A short exhale. “By the time I was old enough to realize how irrational that was, I was too invested in the idea to back out. Being a doctor was a good thing even if I couldn't help Father.”

“Okay.”

“So I was the perfect student all through school. Got bumped up two grades. Collected pre-med credits from UGA. Went to Stanford. I was going to be the best.” Justine's right index finger drew fitful circles on the bedspread. “My first semester in med school, I was following a friend to a party. A utility truck burned a red light and sideswiped her Audi. By the time I reached her, there was blood everywhere. Handfuls of her hair had been ripped out by the headrest.” Justine looked up. “She was laughing. Can you believe that? I knew it was shock, but it was so wrong. Her body was still there, but her mind was gone. We feared brain damage. She turned out fine—though she never remembered what happened. Post-traumatic amnesia. It scared me so much. I had nightmares about losing the ability to think. Of being trapped inside my own skull.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I decided to face my fear. Isn't that what they always tell you to do? I went to work with severely autistic children.”

“Did it help?”

“No.” Justine barely breathed the word. “They cried so much, and they couldn't tell me why and I couldn't help no matter what I did. I was terrified, but I had to bottle it up and pretend everything was okay.”

“You see some of this in me, that I am trapped inside myself?”

“Much worse.”

“How can it be any worse?”

“I began to think it was contagious, that I would become trapped as well. Absurd, but I couldn't stop the fear. What was I supposed to do?”

And this couldn't be love because lovers would never make you feel so hurt and angry.

“I never told anyone that before,” Justine whispered.

That only made Vienna more angry. “Of course not. Is it hard being perfect?”

Justine turned away, tears in her eyes for a change. “It is, but as you can see I'm very good at it.”

Vienna knew she'd missed everything important. Why was Justine so upset? She wasn't the one with the problems. It had to be more than kids crying. Something deeper. Vienna tried to work it out, but it was impossible how Justine said one thing and meant something else. Was this something beautiful women did, or just Americans? She gave up and went back to Davy's visit. Tears or not, that's what they were supposed to be talking about.

“Why did you slander Lord Davy? He's a member of the peerage.”

“Because he avoided the most important aspect of your childhood.” Justine pulled a small mirror from her nightstand and gently daubed her fingers around her eyes.

“You're wrong. I was there, yeah?”

“So girls who are suspected of being at least mildly autistic are pulled from orphanages in Austria and moved to country estates? They are important enough to warrant house calls from language experts?” The pocket mirror was returned to the nightstand and Justine looked the same as she always did. “And these girls go on to live in East Finchley, where they are represented by one of the top barristers in London? Oh, yes, I looked into Lord Anson Davy. He is a man of considerable power at Ten Downing as well as Buckingham. Does that sound normal to you?”

Vienna blinked. “But that's how it happened.”

“It's very Dickensian, don't you think?”

“Like Pip. I remember…” She trailed off.

“Then you remember that Pip's having a hidden benefactor wasn't all frosting. I'd love to see your family tree.”

Was my childhood a lie?
Unfamiliar pathways and shadow worlds never considered. Reasons and purposes lost in the white noise of physical reality.

Blood seeping across a bathroom floor.

“It can wait until we find out who is trying to kill you.”

“Kill me?”

“Your boyfriend was in the bathroom because he was looking for your BlackBerry.”

“The cops would have seen it.…” Justine paused. “Wait. I thought I might need to call a taxi.”

“It wasn't there for the police to see.”

“You can't know—”

“Where is your BlackBerry now?”
Why is she being so slow?

Justine looked to the empty nightstand on her side of the bed. “In the bathroom.”

“The focus of where he was. You told me he had gone to the sink, like he was brushing his teeth, yeah? But the killer thought he was stalling when there was nothing there.”