Stages of Grey

by Clea Simon

  ‘Not I,’ the Stranger cried, and made to Leap across the dark’ning Void. ‘My Warning is Misread!’ Outside, the Horses screamed as Night flew swiftly by.

  Dulcie woke, startled by this latest development – the Stranger evil? Was he about to attack? No. She shook herself. This was a dream, not reality. Not even, she made herself acknowledge, something she was likely to find in the Mildon fragments. This was a creation of her subconscious, piling together the harrowing events of the last week and her own fears from the night before.

  Still, the nightmare, vivid as any waking adventure, had left her with the conviction that she had stumbled on something important. So important, in fact, that after checking the clock, she realized she needed to contact the police immediately. Her ankle was still tender, so she grabbed her phone and hopped into the kitchen. If she no longer had his private number, she would call the university police.

  ‘Detective Rogovoy, please.’ She spoke softly, so as not to wake Chris. If only the detective was at work this early.

  ‘Ms Schwartz. Why am I not surprised to hear from you again? Didn’t we have an agreement?’ The gruff greeting would have scared Dulcie, if she weren’t used to the university detective’s ways. As it was, she ignored his unmannerly greeting and dove right in.

  ‘Detective, this isn’t about theories any more. I have some leads for you to share with your colleagues.’ She spoke as clearly as she could while keeping the volume down. ‘I believe I have information about what Amy Ralkov was doing that may have gotten her killed, and I know who her accomplice was.’

  ‘You what?’ Even for Rogovoy, this was loud. ‘You know how that poor girl got herself murdered? What do you think this is, Ms Schwartz? Some kind of parlor game?’

  ‘No, I just—’ She didn’t get a chance to finish.

  ‘That poor girl didn’t get herself killed.’ He sounded genuinely angry. ‘She was murdered. Someone stabbed her – in the neck. The skin is soft there, and whoever did it by luck or skill hit an artery. It wouldn’t have been hard to do, physically, Dulcie. But it was still a brutal act of violence. Not something she did to herself. And not – definitely not – something you want to get involved in.’

  ‘I didn’t …’ She caught her breath, grateful now that she hadn’t wasted his time with the tool box or the pinking shears. ‘I didn’t mean that, Detective. Only that I may have found something.’

  Only the sound of breathing let her know he hadn’t hung up. She worked to clear her head of the images he had put in it. Amy’s throat, that tender skin …

  ‘She was studying computer sciences, right?’ Dulcie asked, her own hand straying to the underside of her chin. ‘Well, there’s something hinky in the theater emails – a virus program – designed to steal people’s financial information when they buy tickets. And the theater has been losing money, and—’

  ‘And you think she created this virus?’

  ‘I do.’ More heavy breathing. Dulcie felt her own pulse. It wouldn’t have taken much.

  Another pause. ‘Why would she do that?’

  It was the same question she had asked only the night before. His next one, however, surprised her.

  ‘How do you know she didn’t discover it? Maybe she was killed to cover it up?’

  ‘Because she was seen.’ Dulcie realized with a sinking feeling that she was condemning the poor girl’s memory. ‘Someone witnessed her at the box office computer.’ In the pause that followed, she tried to remember everything Heath had said. ‘And, well, I think her boyfriend kind of confirmed it.’

  ‘The so-called star, Heath Barstow?’

  Dulcie nodded, before realizing that she needed to articulate her response. ‘Yeah, I think he might have been involved too. He might even have, well … He says he didn’t. But he confirmed what the office manager said.’

  ‘And he’s Mr Reliable.’ Before Dulcie could respond, the gruff detective broke in. ‘Look, Dulcie – Ms Schwartz – I need you to listen to me. This is an active police investigation. There are elements here that you aren’t aware of, and you can’t keep inserting yourself in here. I’m glad you called me, rather than the city cops. But, really, please just let it drop.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Dulcie found herself looking up at the clock.

  ‘Excuse me?’ The growl was back.

  ‘I told Roni – she’s the office manager – that I’d go with her this morning to talk to the cops. I thought I’d take her in to talk to you, but I wanted to make sure you were there first.’

  A grumble like thunder came over the line. ‘You thought you’d take her in?’

  ‘She’s scared.’ Dulcie thought back to the scene she had witnessed the night before. ‘She might be in danger.’

  ‘Look, you’ve done the right thing, okay?’ Rogovoy didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You called me. Now, please just leave it.’

  ‘But …’ He had to understand. She was acting as a friend.

  He didn’t. ‘Look, Dulcie, I know you mean well. But really, kid, this is serious. Now go make a snowman with that nice boyfriend of yours, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ The line went dead.

  ‘What’s that about?’ Chris came into the kitchen. ‘No coffee?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to Rogovoy first.’ He nodded and reached into the cabinet for the filters. ‘He told me to stay out of it.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ He measured out the beans. ‘But you told him about the worm, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She nodded. ‘Hey, we should tell Jerry and Trista. Jerry bought tickets before we got comped.’

  ‘Oh, hell, you’re right.’ He turned from the coffee, then turned back. ‘He won’t be up for a few hours.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find out from Roni.’ Dulcie tried to hide her limp as she returned to the bedroom. ‘Maybe she can access the email list.’

  ‘I thought Rogovoy said to leave it alone?’

  ‘There’s nothing to leave. I’m not doing anything.’ Dulcie pulled on her warmest socks. ‘But I’m not going to stand her up. That girl needs a friend.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  Dulcie didn’t want to lie to Chris. Saying that her ankle was ‘perfectly fine’ was a bit of an exaggeration, that was all. And although it meant she had to turn down his offer to wrap it, she figured her boot would offer enough support as she trudged back into the Square. It wasn’t like she was going to jog anywhere: today the sidewalks were a little more cleared of snow, and more of them had some kind of anti-skid grit scattered across the icy bits. But slick patches remained and more than once Dulcie found herself leaning on the snow to the side of the walk for support. Two days in, the snow pack had developed an icy crust, too, but that only made it more banister-like as she made her way down the street.

  At least she had her phone back, and once she was again hands-free she dug it out of her pocket to see that several voicemail messages had piled up. These would help her rebuild her contact list, she told herself as she hit play.

  ‘Dulcie – you’ve got it all wrong.’ Lucy was, as usual, talking as if they’d been having an ongoing conversation. ‘I know you’ve been working hard at this, dear. Your rising moon has been shadowed by the trine of Mercury, which I am sure has made the past few days particularly trying.’ Dulcie looked down at the phone, her gloves making it a little tricky to hit ‘delete’. ‘But you’re wrong about his identity, dear. Please don’t let yourself be fooled.’

  It had to be coincidence. There was no way Lucy could know about her dream. Dulcie thought back to their last few conversations. Yes, she had probably told her mother about her latest paper. Maybe it had even been earlier. Since she had begun her thesis, five years ago, she had been intrigued by the anonymous author of The Ravages. Not only was it great fiction, it was a pioneering work of feminism. When she had found political writings that clearly used the same literary devices, she felt validated in her interpretation of the novel – and closer to giving the author a name. With the journal entries and the new nove
l fragments of the Philadelphia bequest, she was closer still. She knew it. Surely, she had chatted about something that had so consumed her.

  But her mother had said ‘his identity’. Not hers. And while Dulcie could not be sure, she had always acted on the assumption that the author of The Ravages was a woman, one of the unheralded ‘She-authors’ who built the Gothic genre.

  Was it possible that her mother knew that right now, at this point in time, she was dealing with another question of identity? That she was debating whether that one mysterious character, Monsieur Le Gris, was actually a villain? Was in some way related to the evil lord – the one who, it seemed, had imprisoned the heroine of this new book? She had always associated the enigmatic stranger with her own Mr Grey, not only because of his name but because of his sudden appearance – showing up with advice just when he was most needed. Had her prejudice blinded her to the reality of what was a fictional character? Surely, she hadn’t said anything to her mother about Le Gris.

  No, she shook her head. It had to be coincidence.

  At any rate, she now had the number for the arts commune on her phone again. She’d touch base later, she told herself, before moving on to the next message.

  ‘Ms Schwartz?’ It was Thorpe. ‘I don’t believe I’ll be able to make it in today.’ Of course, he had called her Friday morning before their proposed meeting. ‘But I will be working at home, so if you would send me your pages I will do my best to get to them.’

  Well, maybe the delay had done her a service. Yesterday morning, Dulcie hadn’t had pages for him. When she got through with Roni, she would send what she had written in her office. There was one more message, from a few hours later. ‘Ms Schwartz.’ Thorpe again. ‘I understand the desire to procrastinate, but I really do not appreciate having my time wasted. Contact me immediately or expect to face disciplinary action.’

  Dulcie paused, considering. The morning wasn’t as cold as the day before. Still, did she really want to stand here, on the street, explaining herself to her adviser? A police cruiser drove by – in the direction of the Square – and she decided. No, she’d call Thorpe afterward and explain. First, she had an appointment to keep.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  ‘Dulcie, I can’t,’ Roni repeated, her voice strained.

  Five minutes later, Dulcie had reached the URT and been happy to find it open. Cast members she vaguely recognized were chatting by the door, and Roni had grabbed her as soon as she stepped into the theater lobby, pulling her into her office. ‘I’m sorry,’ said the office manager, ‘but I just can’t go right now.’

  ‘You have to.’ Dulcie didn’t understand. ‘It’s not safe for you otherwise.’

  ‘But we have a matinee today.’ Roni looked over Dulcie’s shoulder. She’d left the door ajar, and the lobby beyond was filling up with the cast and crew. ‘I’m sorry; I’d lost track of the days. And I’m also trying to get through all of our ticket records. You know, get rid of that bad email before more of our patrons are infected by that virus.’

  ‘But what about …’ Dulcie dropped her voice. ‘Heath?’

  Roni shook her head. ‘He didn’t show up today. We’ve lined up a cover. You know, an understudy. So I’m fine here.’

  Dulcie would never understand theater folk, and the noise wasn’t helping. She leaned back to close the door, determined to push the office manager further, and stopped herself. Gus was standing in the doorway, looking up at her with those deep green eyes. He was trying to tell her something, she was sure. The question was: what?

  ‘Wait, Heath didn’t show? Are you sure he’s okay?’ Dulcie thought back to their confrontation. Had she left an injured man out in the cold?

  ‘Oh, Heath?’ Dulcie turned to see Avila pushing the door wide. Gus must have scampered off. ‘Probably had to touch up his roots or something. Roni? They need you at the box office.’

  ‘Coming.’ Roni turned toward her keyboard and began typing furiously. ‘Let me just finish this.’

  Avila stepped out, and Dulcie followed. ‘I’m serious,’ she asked the actress. ‘Have you heard from him? Has anyone?’

  ‘Aren’t you sweet?’ Avila smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry, Dulcie. We call it “matinee-itis”. I mean, who wants to do two shows in one day? I bet he’ll show up miraculously cured in time for the big Saturday night show. I mean, it’s not like he’s going anywhere else.’

  ‘Well, probably not.’ Dulcie mused over the possibility that the blond-haired actor had fled.

  ‘Check it out,’ said Avila, inclining her head toward the ticket window where a line had formed. ‘I think we’re here for a while.’

  Before Dulcie could follow up, her phone had rung again.

  ‘There you are!’ Despite the noise in the lobby, Dulcie recognized Suze’s voice. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you.’

  ‘Did you message me?’ Dulcie glanced down at her phone. What else had been lost when Chris had cleaned it? ‘Or email?’

  ‘Figured I’d just keep trying to reach you in person.’ Even through the din, her friend sounded harried.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ This wasn’t like Suze.

  ‘What? Oh, yeah. Just crazy busy.’ From the pause that followed, Dulcie got the sense that her friend was multitasking even as she spoke. Sure enough, she could hear Suze’s voice, muffled by a hand, speaking to someone on her end. A moment later, she was back. ‘Sorry, Dulce. I figured I’d keep trying till I got you in real time.’

  That was nice. ‘My phone’s been out of commission,’ she explained.

  ‘Hope you didn’t catch anything.’ Noise on both ends. Dulcie figured her friend hadn’t heard her properly.

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘It’s my phone that was out of order.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard. Hang on.’ When Suze came back, her voice was both louder and more clear, and Dulcie realized her friend had had her on speaker phone. ‘I meant, I hope you didn’t have anything cached. You know, saved.’

  ‘Well, actually, Chris had to clean out my directory when he rebooted me.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing then.’ Suze didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the problem. ‘I’m just glad you didn’t have anything of yours taken. And, hey, now you have my office number again.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Dulcie didn’t quite follow. ‘So what’s up?’

  ‘Besides wanting to touch base with my former roomie?’ Dulcie waited. Suze would have left a message if that were the case. ‘I wanted to see if you’d had any more run-ins with the law.’

  ‘Actually, I was hoping to talk to the cops today. Voluntarily,’ she added, before Suze could ask.

  ‘About your phone?’ More noise on the line.

  ‘No,’ said Dulcie. Suze must be distracted. ‘About the murder. You know, the girl at the URT.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ The line grew quieter. Suze must have closed her office door. ‘The city is handling that, right?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. But we’re going to talk to Rogovoy.’ Dulcie turned to face the wall, hoping to block out what sounded like an argument about exchanging seats. ‘Sorry, Suze. I’m right by the box office here. I’m in the URT now. But, yeah, Roni the office manager is coming with me.’

  ‘I don’t know, Dulcie. I wish you weren’t involved in this.’

  ‘I’m just helping out a friend, Suze.’ Dulcie was warmed by her concern. ‘And, hey, maybe I’ll get some free tickets out of it.’

  What Suze said next was obscured by loud greetings, as a new party came through the door. ‘What?’ Dulcie put one hand over her ear.

  ‘I said, there’s no such thing as a free ticket, Dulcie!’ Suze was yelling. ‘They always get you one way or the other.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Dulcie was itching to tell her friend about the night before, but not while standing in the URT lobby. ‘Talk soon.’ She got off the phone and turned to see Roni standing behind her.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.’ Roni looked around. ‘I was hoping you were still here.’


  Dulcie felt her spirits lift. ‘Can you get away now?’

  Roni shook her head. ‘No, after the matinee, maybe,’ she said. ‘Can you come back – around three?’

  ‘Yeah, I should be able to.’ Dulcie paused. She knew how hard it was to go to the cops. ‘And Roni? You’re doing the right thing. Don’t let Heath get to you.’

  ‘I won’t, Dulcie.’ Even as she said it, her eyes darted around the room. ‘And thanks.’

  Out once more in the cold, Dulcie considered stopping by the health services. Standing in the lobby, she’d been able to take the weight off her swollen ankle, but walking once again made her very aware that something was wrong. It couldn’t be broken, surely, or else she wouldn’t be able to walk on it at all, she figured. But with each step, she found herself wincing.

  ‘Hey, Chris?’ She’d gotten his voicemail, but talking to that took her mind off the pain. ‘I think maybe you were right.’ A beep alerted her to an incoming call. ‘Is that you?’

  She clicked over.

  ‘Ms Schwartz, there you are.’ It was Thorpe. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you, you know.’

  ‘I know, Mr Thorpe, I’m sorry.’ Dulcie stepped badly and felt a searing pain go up her leg. ‘My phone’s been out of order.’

  ‘And your computer has been out of order, too?’

  ‘No, though it did have a virus.’ She began talking before she realized he hadn’t meant to voice concern. ‘But I have those pages for you. I can send them over.’

  ‘Too little, too late, Ms Schwartz.’ His vehemence startled her. ‘If you had simply left your paper for me, I would have it read by now.’