Death Waits in the Dark

by Julia Buckley

  “Do you think I should come over?” he asked.

  “Give it half an hour. I’ll text you,” I said. We both knew that Camilla sometimes needed silence, especially after a draining experience.

  I joined Camilla on the steps; we walked to the parking lot and I opened the passenger door of my car so that she could climb in. I ran around to the driver’s side and started the motor, flipping on the air conditioner. I tossed my purse and my leftovers in the backseat and turned back to study the sky through the windshield. The gray cloud that had obscured the sun had grown into many gray clouds, and the sky seemed to be descending into evening rather than early afternoon. Camilla and I sat in silence for a time; I let the cool air fill the car. In the rearview mirror I saw that the party had broken up and the various members of the old group were all moving back toward their own vehicles. Moments later Luke and Star came out, too. He was looking at his phone again, and Star was saying something, trying to get his attention.

  “Camilla?” I finally said. “Are you okay?”

  Her voice was strong. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? This gives us something concrete to look for in James’s letters. Any reference to Carrie, or how he might have helped her.”

  “Yes. Good idea.” I pulled my seat belt across my chest and tucked the metal into the plastic sleeve. It seemed more difficult to get it in than usual. I put the gearshift in reverse and said, “Adam seems a little worried about you.”

  “He worries too much,” she said.

  “He loves you.”

  “I know.” Her face was averted; she seemed to be watching the scudding clouds in the sky across Green Glass Highway.

  “I love you, too.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m glad of you both.”

  I adjusted my seat, then scanned the sky. “It looks like there will be a storm. Yesterday Belinda told me that some people can sense storms before they come. I was feeling so out of sorts. I still do today, actually.”

  I pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road that would take us home. “Lena,” Camilla said.

  “Hmm?”

  “Don’t you find it interesting that everyone at the table claimed to not remember anything about those days, or about the night that Jane confronted them? But by the end of our meeting they all shared some very specific details.”

  “Huh.” I did find that interesting. I looked both ways before turning left onto Juniper Road and accelerating.

  “I don’t care for this street,” Camilla said idly. “Too twisty, and the speed limit is too high. I sound negative, don’t I? Perhaps I’m out of sorts, too.”

  “It’s because the restaurant felt surreal, like there was a malevolent ghost watching over us. And the day went from sunny to—this—in a matter of minutes.”

  “Belinda is quite right; it does affect the mood,” Camilla said.

  I turned my wheel to accommodate the curve in front of St. Elizabeth’s, a small church nestled into a green meadow along Juniper, and I looked in my rearview. “Oh! Where did he come from? It’s—Aaggghhh!”

  I think Camilla turned when I cried out, just before the impact, and then confusion: an explosion of my air bag, a flash of white and green and gray. Motion and sound, screaming—mine? Camilla’s?—and a jarring thud.

  Then pain, and blackness.

  8

  When you come, Camilla, things will be different. I know that things will be better if I can just touch your hair, hold your hand, look into your clear and honest eyes.

  —From the correspondence of James Graham and Camilla Easton, 1971

  I OPENED MY eyes and then squinted them shut again, misty with pain. Vaguely I knew we had been in an accident. My foggy thoughts finally went to Camilla. I tried to call her name, but only a strange croaking came out of my mouth.

  Her voice: “Lena? Oh, my dear girl, you’re hurt! Where is your phone? I have to call someone, quickly, before he comes back.”

  “What?”

  “Here it is. I’m dialing—oh God. Doug? It’s Camilla. We’ve been in a wreck on Juniper. By the church. Lena is hurt, badly, I think. Yes, I think I’m all right.” She said a few more things but I drifted away, perhaps into sleep.

  I came back to awareness what seemed to be seconds later and looked into the gold-brown eyes of Doug Heller. “Lena, we have to get you out of there. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” Again, my voice was unlike itself.

  There were other voices, hands pulling. I screamed; it was terrible to hear the sound and know that it emanated from me. I thought I might be crying, but I realized the moisture on my skin was a light rain that had begun to fall.

  “Hang in there, Lena,” Doug said.

  “Lena!” a voice cried; it was distant, urgent, but other voices intervened, a confusion of sounds.

  I heard Camilla, near tears, angry, shaken. Then she seemed to be in conference with people unknown, and the assembled saints and angels who hovered in the air around St. Elizabeth’s. I was on a stretcher, staring at the gray, misting sky through a cloud of pain, but I could see their faces, those saints and angels, weeping for me and warning, with gestures from their long, graceful hands, that I should not return to the road.

  A demon waited there, his expression full of hate in my rearview mirror . . .

  “The road,” I croaked. “The driver!” but no one heard me.

  I opened my eyes again to watery, fluorescent light and a constant wailing sound. People in white sat with me, their faces benevolent.

  “Angels,” I whispered.

  A voice I knew. “Lena. Are you in pain?”

  “Yes,” I said. The angels looked remorseful, and the rain outside seemed to come in, running in rivulets down their faces, and before I closed my eyes I saw that one final face, a face wet with rain or tears, belonged to Sam West.

  * * *

  • • •

  WHEN I WOKE again I was lying flat, moving down a narrow hallway in a hospital, past other stretchers and poles with dangling IVs. A woman in pale pink scrubs ran toward me: it was Allison. “Lena,” she said, her voice unnaturally calm. “You’re okay.” I would have expected Allison to weep, to scream, to throw herself on me, but I had forgotten that she was very good at her job, and she must have seen that I was afraid.

  “What’s happening?” I rasped.

  “You’ve got a badly broken arm. I know it hurts. Soon we’ll have you stabilized in a room, with some lovely ice around that injury. But I need you to be brave a little longer, because we have to take some X-rays.”

  “I don’t want to,” I said without thinking.

  “I know.” She leaned close to me and kissed my cheek. “They’ll be very careful, but it will hurt. They have to position your arm a certain way to get a good look at the break. Oh, my poor Lena.”

  She could see that I was trembling. It wasn’t a conscious response; my body was doing it without my permission.

  I tried to reach out with my good hand. “Will you stay with me?”

  She nodded. “I think I can arrange that.”

  “Is Sam here?” I asked.

  “Yes. Furious with me because I wouldn’t let him in. It’s hospital policy.”

  My face must have been pathetic. “Can he come in, Allie?”

  She hesitated, then nodded once. “I’ll be right back.”

  A minute later she was at my side, along with Sam, whose face was as white as the sheet that covered me. “What can I do?” he said.

  “Just give her moral support,” Allison said. “Okay, Lena, we’re going to wheel you to X-ray now.”

  I closed my eyes as the cart moved along, but it felt good to hear Allison’s light footfalls beside the stretcher, to feel Sam’s warm hand on my good shoulder. Allison spoke briefly to someone in the X-ray room, and she stood beside me as a nameless man in blue scru
bs helped me off the stretcher and lifted the broken thing that hung from my side. I had planned to be brave and not to scream, but the sounds I made were entirely out of my control, and I saw my pain reflected in the faces of Sam and Allison.

  “Make him stop,” Sam shouted to Allison, but she put a hand on his arm and whispered in his ear, and he was quiet, his wide eyes on me.

  Finally, the man in blue left me alone, and Allison and Sam helped me into a wheelchair; she tucked a supportive pillow beneath my dangling arm. Allison murmured to me as though I were an infant, and I heard nothing but the word “surgeon.”

  “Surgeon,” I protested, though I knew there was no other way to repair my broken bones.

  “Don’t panic. She’s the best there is—Dr. Salinger will take good care of you, and of course I will. I’ll be right here whenever you need me, and so will Sam.”

  “Okay.”

  A man appeared in the doorway, and Allison said, “This is Dan. He’s going to wheel you to a room and get you set up in bed, okay? And when you’re all set the surgeon will come and see you.”

  Pain is its own dimension; I was there by myself, but sometimes I would emerge to hear bits of conversation or see a face that came close to mine.

  My foggy thoughts cleared for a moment as we traveled down a hallway. “Is Camilla all right? Where is she?”

  Allison’s voice. “She’s fine. She’ll be in your room soon to hear what the surgeon has to say.”

  “Okay.”

  “Lena? You’re in shock right now. That’s why everything seems a little bit weird.”

  “It hurts, Allie. I can barely concentrate.”

  “I know. We’ll take care of that pain very soon. I love you, sweetie. You know I’m going to take good care of you.”

  “Yes.” My teeth began to chatter, echoing in my head like castanets.

  * * *

  • • •

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER I did feel slightly better; my arm had been stabilized and packed in ice, and the pain had receded slightly. I had an IV attached to my good arm, and a nurse had put in some painkiller that she told me would be working soon. Doug Heller sat next to my bed, looking grim. “Several people are waiting impatiently at your door, but we need to talk alone for a minute,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Lena. Can you tell me anything about the car that hit you?”

  “I think it was blue. Maybe gray. It came up so fast, and I was so surprised—”

  “And did you have any indication that they weren’t paying attention? Someone texting and driving?”

  I thought back. “I don’t know. I was telling Camilla that he came out of nowhere, going fast. I know I screamed. He plowed right into us, on the curve, and I think we rolled over.”

  His mouth became one straight line. “You did. Camilla somehow came out of it unscathed. We think your seat belt wasn’t properly latched, because you slammed against the door when you rolled.”

  “I can’t remember much.”

  “Did you see anything? How many people were in the car?”

  “One. That much I remember. Just one. I guess he was just going too fast. An accident, right?”

  He shook his head. “If so, it’s a hit-and-run. The guy who hit you didn’t stick around.”

  “Oh.”

  “Any chance you recognized a face?”

  “I didn’t see a face that I can recall—” A fragile memory—something I had noted just before impact—but it was gone. “Sorry, Doug.”

  He burst out of his chair and came to stand beside me. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He bent to kiss my cheek. “I’ll let your fans in now. You’ll be okay, Lena. But you gave me a real scare.”

  “Me too.” I managed a tiny smile.

  He nodded. “If you remember anything else, you let me know.”

  “I will.”

  He opened the door and several people rushed in: Sam, Camilla, Belinda, Adam, and Allison. I almost laughed.

  Sam was at the side of my bed in an instant, holding my good hand. “Hi,” he said, still looking pale and rather sick himself.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  “I will be, when you’re out of here. What do you need?”

  “Just you. And I guess whatever surgery will put my arm back together. Did anyone call my dad?” I puffed out my cheeks, trying to breathe evenly through the ache.

  Sam nodded. “I did. He wanted to come out, but I told him to wait. I said we would take good care of you. He’s going to call tomorrow.” He managed a smile. “He’s already texted me three times. I’ll keep him in the loop.”

  “Good.” I looked at the others. “You didn’t all have to come here.” But of course I was glad that they had.

  Sam pointed at my damaged arm and murmured to Allison. “The bruise gets worse and worse,” he said softly, perhaps thinking I wouldn’t hear.

  Allison patted his arm. “She’s bleeding in there. It’s not unusual. I know it looks frightening, but that’s what happens when bones break. Belinda, would you grab that little brush and run it through Lena’s hair? I find it can be very relaxing to patients.”

  Belinda did it, smiling at me, and once again I felt that I was in a play, or a surreal painting called Soothing a Friend on Her Sickbed.

  While they stood beside me, saying gentle words and touching the edge of my blanket, I saw Camilla had detained Doug and was having a quiet conversation in the hall; I had never seen Camilla look so angry. She practically hissed something at Doug, and he nodded with a dark expression. I wanted to ask them what was happening, but the pain was making me woozy; for the first time I thought I would faint.

  Allison was suddenly shooing everyone out of the room and ushering in the surgeon. Sam managed to remain, but he sat in the corner while the doctor came in, looked at the X-ray, and winced. “Oh my, Lena, is it? You’ve got a bad fracture of your humerus here, but in a day, you won’t even believe that it was broken. I’ll make it good as new—you’ll just have a bit of a scar. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, closing my eyes. “Can we do it now?”

  She made a clucking sound. “Well, someone named Camilla informed me that you had a meal at around one o’clock, so we won’t want to anesthetize until that is fully digested. So we’re going to aim for early tomorrow morning. Until then the nurses will keep you stabilized and give you some morphine for the pain. The super painful stuff is behind you.”

  “I’m glad,” I said.

  For some reason she laughed at this. She asked if I had questions, which I did not, but Sam followed her out, apparently with questions of his own.

  When he returned he pulled the chair by the window closer to the bed and sat slumped beside me like a man who has just heard his own death sentence. His skin was pale, his eyes clouded with anguish or desolation. “I’ll be here all night. If you need anything.”

  “Maybe you can get some sleep.”

  “I doubt it.” His face was solemn. “I can’t believe this happened to you. Your poor arm—and the pain they put you through! I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “The worst is over, she said.”

  “Thank God.”

  I closed my eyes, then opened them. “What were Camilla and Doug talking about?”

  He smoothed some imaginary wrinkles on the knee of his jeans. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  I didn’t argue. I fell asleep quickly.

  * * *

  • • •

  I WOKE BEFORE dawn; my room was illuminated only by the light of the hallway. I could hear the muted beeps of machines and the occasional ringing of a phone. Distant voices of the nurses on call drifted in now and then. I almost fell back asleep, but the room became suddenly darker. I squinted and realized that a figure was in my doorway, blotting out most of the light. It moved fo
rward slightly and I recognized blue hospital scrubs. I was not fully awake, but it seemed strange to me that this nurse or doctor just hovered there, not bustling in and taking action. I opened my mouth to speak; I wanted to ask for more of the painkiller. I said, “Doctor?” and the figure stiffened. Whoever it was did not respond. Then, in the hall, one of the nurses said, “Roxanne, could you answer the call on Room Twelve? I just want to check on our car accident.”

  At this the figure turned and moved swiftly out of the room.

  A nurse appeared ten seconds later and moved about, checking equipment. Then she came to stand beside my bed. “Oh, you’re awake,” she said.

  “Yes—I was trying to tell the doctor that I need a little more painkiller.”

  “What doctor?” she said.

  “He was just in here. A man in blue scrubs. Or it looked like scrubs. Definitely blue. Maybe a woman in scrubs. I didn’t really see.”

  “There’s no one else working this floor except for me—I’m Nurse Annie—and Nurse Roxanne. And she’s all the way down the hall.”

  “Someone was just in my room. A doctor.”

  “I would have seen him, hon. There’s no one else here but me. You were asleep, maybe.”

  I studied her as she took my pulse. “Where is Mr. West? He was on the cot there, and he’s gone.”

  “Hmm? Oh, I think he said he was taking a quick walk. He couldn’t sleep. He was texting or something.”

  “Can you stay here until I call him? And can you tell security that someone was in my room?”

  She leaned in. She was taking me seriously now. “What description should I give?”

  “I just—someone in blue scrubs.”

  She gave me a pitying glance. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Okay, hon. I’ll get you those meds, and I’ll notify security to come check our floor.”

  “Thanks.” I grabbed my phone with one hand and sent a voice text to Sam, asking him to come back.