The Lazarus Effect

by H. J Golakai

  She slipped back into her clothes and wandered to the kitchen. Fresh coffee was in the pot, and on the counter a red apple lay on top of an envelope. She grinned and sank her teeth into the crispy, sweet flesh, grateful she didn’t have to trudge to the shops to buy her own.

  She opened the envelope. ‘I’ve had better, but thanks,’ read Joshua’s note. Next to it, a hundred rand note.

  ‘Asshole,’ Vee giggled, and tucked the cash in her pocket. Even if bread money was all her passionate efforts were worth, she wasn’t going to turn it down. Times were hard.

  After a huge sandwich, she tracked down her phone. A missed call from the office and an email from Chlöe. The latter bore positive news: Rachelle Duthie, the nurse acquainted with Sean’s case, had returned their call. She could squeeze in a quick chat over tea or lunch as her shifts were less hectic this week. Vee checked her watch. If she made for home now to freshen up she wouldn’t make tea, but she would just about make the lunch option. It was time to call on Nurse Duthie.

  *

  ‘There was some talk.’

  The view through the window was depressing. It looked out onto the WI’s west-facing lot, the centre of the construction work. The misshapen hole in the ground – it wasn’t a swimming pool yet, though that appeared to be the objective – looked like the site of a meteor crash. It was half finished, the aqua tiles rimming the circumference in stark contrast with the basin, sloshing with muddy water and debris. Flimsy metal fencing and strips of orange plastic mesh cordoned off the perimeter. Either the WI’s construction team had forgotten how unpredictable the weather was or time was pressing and they’d chosen to hedge their bets. Vee’s eyes hurt looking at it, and they’d had their share of pain to deal with already.

  She turned her attention back to Rachelle. ‘Sorry, you were saying?’

  They were sunning themselves on the terrace of a second floor café, the café itself tucked into a building dwarfed by the glittering WI across the road. Vee knew this area was an enclave for private hospitals and practices, for some odd reason; Kingsbury Hospital was a stone’s throw away. Looking around, it was obvious that the café was making change from its prime location. Vee estimated that half the customers sipping lattes and munching chicken wraps were in the healing business. Doctors were as easy to spot as cops: billboards on foreheads.

  Rachelle eyed Vee’s blueberry muffin, so she pushed it towards her. Duthie wasn’t much older than Vee, but her chubbiness indicated it had been many kilos and a significantly lowered restraint since she’d been the slim nurse in the old photograph.

  ‘You said there was talk going around. What kind of talk?’ Vee asked. Duthie hadn’t told her anything new yet, recycling the Ian–Carina–Adele saga that had been an open secret on the ward, fully wrung of all its juices by now.

  ‘The medical community here isn’t so big. We know each other’s business. Dr Ian’s a prominent guy and whispers can take a long time to die down. Years ago, there was an incident when I was still at Claremont L&M.’ Rachelle took her time to finish the muffin, pausing for dramatic effect, then wiped her mouth. ‘Not long after Sean passed on, questions started flying around about how he climbed the transplant list so quickly. It usually takes months, years even, so naturally it drew some attention. CLM was tanking fast by then, so a lot of doctors were under fire or investigation for something or other. Most of it was bogus, noise generated in the panic. We were bleeding money and clients, and administration needed to point fingers.’

  ‘What exactly was Dr Fourie accused of?’

  ‘Oh, no, no, no,’ Rachelle pumped her hands, slow down. ‘He never got accused of anything, not formally. I’m talking rumours. Admin started a witch-hunt, saying it was quote unquote ‘highly questionable and unethical that a doctor would use his power or connections to turn favours for next of kin.’ Hospital policy.’ She shrugged. ‘It died down. Far as I know they had no hard evidence and there were bigger issues – who had time to chase whispers? The staff thought it was bloody cruel and we let them know. They’d just buried their child, where was the harm in dropping it?’

  Vee took a sip of carrot and orange juice. The Fouries were well respected; only a mob of monsters would’ve harassed them until they got their pound of flesh. CLM had made the sensible choice. Or … Vee cocked her head. The heat from the peanut gallery may have died a natural death, or someone may have pissed all over it. Damning allegations didn’t disappear magically. Who, again, had the power to kick the legs out from under a thoroughbred, make it all appear groundless? Philemon ‘The Man’ Mtetwa, no less.

  ‘They’ve put all that behind them now. They’re both doing fantastic at WI. Ian’s aiming for head of the cardio unit, and from what I hear, and know, he deserves it. When the rest of us bolted from CLM, he broke his back to build it up again.’

  ‘You sure he’ll be the lucky man for the job?’

  ‘If ever there’s a man, he’s it. Though it might be a woman,’ Rachelle smiled at her gaffe. ‘That’s possible, too. It’s a brave new world, Miss Johnson. Women are up for everything now. Except maybe the things we used to be up for before, which are now suddenly beneath us.’ She gave a cynical turn of the mouth before picking up her chai tea. ‘Sorry, recent divorce. I find myself quoting my ex-arsehole too often.’ She sipped and cleared her throat. ‘But Ian’s the prime candidate, no question. He’d have to really mess up this time to get passed over.’

  Vee leaned closer. Maybe there was an angle there. ‘So he doesn’t automatically get the division head appointment? He has to work for it.’ And make sure he doesn’t work against himself. Keep that past in the past.

  ‘Oh, yes. WI rounded up the finest staff and the competition’s hectic. Ian’s a shoo-in, he’s local and all that, but it’s not a given. The selection process involves a CV assessment, board review and performance evaluations. Colleagues can weigh in … You don’t want a black mark on your record, even in your private life.’

  Sounds like a presidential race, Vee mused. For a man so upwardly mobile, Ian’s children were weights around his ankles. The rumours surrounding his son’s death, his extramarital affair, Jacqui’s disappearance … A lot of bad luck haunting one guy. No wonder he looked fit to pop a blood vessel every time he saw her. How far would a type-A achiever go to protect everything he’d worked for? And compared to that, what was Carina willing to do to save her family?

  31

  ‘Please wait, my sister.’

  Etienne Matongo read uncertainty on the young woman’s face as she broke her stride. He also saw curiosity and weariness. Girls like her had men pestering them all the time and he knew the look well. He could tell she was different, though, because curiosity was winning out. Her eyes flicked over his security uniform, and instead of hissing her teeth and walking off, she paused and studied him. He imagined she was deciding if his age and bearing excluded him from chasing young skirts. She seemed to relax a little.

  ‘How are you?’ He extended a hand. ‘I am Etienne Matongo. I work with security.’

  ‘Yes, I can see. Afternoon, Mr Matongo. I’m Vee.’ She shook his hand, dipping one knee slightly as a sign of respect. He smiled, moved by the gesture.

  ‘I want us to talk. Please sit with me,’ he urged.

  They walked and perched under the metal canopy of a bus shelter situated on a stretch of no-man’s land between the hospitals and the highway. The cavernous mud pit that was soon to be a pool assaulted their eyes through the chain-link fence. Workmen knotted together over lunch near the makeshift plywood sheds. Vee scrunched up her nose at the sight of the sprawl of dirt and gravel.

  ‘It is very dangerous,’ Etienne said, voicing her thoughts. ‘They must cover it. Someone could fall inside.’

  Vee nodded. ‘Very true.’

  Etienne kept his gaze fixed ahead. ‘You have been asking many questions.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are you trying to find out?’ She smiled and didn’t reply, so he added: ‘Are you working
with the police?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure? You behave like the police. So many questions.’

  ‘Do I? You askin’ plenty questions yourself.’

  ‘I have a reason for my questions and a right to ask them. I am in charge of security.’

  The wind whipped a section of hair across her cheek. Vee turned her gaze towards the WI grounds, looking past the work site. Her eyes came to rest on the front entrance of the institute, where another guard stepped out of the cubicle at the gate to point directions and usher a visitor’s BMW onto the grounds. Etienne understood the point she was wordlessly making: close as they were to the WI, they were not actually on its premises. Therefore the deputy chief of security was a few steps out of his jurisdiction, so to speak, to press her for answers.

  ‘I’m not police. I’m a journalist, working on an investigation.’

  This time it was he who wrinkled his nose. This was just as bad, if not worse.

  ‘What are you investigating?’ She answered with another smile, this time of disappointment, and he bristled. ‘The Fouries are good people. They’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Even good people can do wrong. It happens every day. Anything is possible.’

  ‘Anything is possible.’

  She looked at him. ‘Can you help me?’

  ‘I have no information.’ He stood. ‘I can’t help you.’

  She went through her bag and brought out a business card. ‘If you change your mind or think of anything you might know, please call me. No one will ever hear about it if you talk to me.’

  ‘What I know is my job,’ Etienne replied. ‘And I know the Fouries. They are good doctors. You bother the wrong people.’ He scratched the fleshy lid under his eyebrow with a finger. ‘Your job is dangerous, no? It’s a bad job for a woman.’

  He touched his eye again, then his forehead. Her expression cleared; she understood he was pointing out her bruises. Dangerous jobs led to injuries, unacceptable in an upright woman. He noted with pleasure that her smile was gone. Her eyes grew dark.

  ‘Can I ask you not to come here again? You bring bad trouble when you come here to ask your questions.’ He delivered the advice with resignation, knowing full well she wouldn’t listen. He had a young daughter like this one.

  ‘What kind of bad trouble?’ she said.

  ‘Enjoy your day, mademoiselle.’ He squeezed her hand quickly and walked away.

  32

  A seizure gripped her right hand and shook it, making it wobble like a boneless thing. Vee squeezed her eyes shut, willing the spasms to stop. The wave undulated through her arm and crashed into her chest, setting her pectorals off in involuntary jerks. Keeping her eyes closed, she sucked in huge breaths and focused on the finger clamped on her pulse. Ninety-five beats per minute and climbing. One hundred and five. She kept breathing, forcing her mind to drown out the soft patter of rain outside, the music coming from the stereo and whir of the fan heater circulating warmth in the bedroom.

  Ten minutes and she eased closer to normal again. I can’t have a seizure now, she thought, going back to folding clothes out of her closet. It had been weeks since so much as a whisper of the fits. Her confidence in the workings of her body was back and she’d got slack with the medication. In truth, she’d stopped altogether. A brain on drugs wasn’t for everyone.

  The white box of Cipralex taunted from the night table. Vee shuddered at the strip of blue-and-orange-striped pills. She’d done her homework on the vile concoction: prescribed for forms of major depression, in her case it targeted generalised anxiety disorders. Two genial chats with a doctor was apparently enough to write her off as a moody head case. She thought of the sweet Dr Neethling and wondered if he still had an opening. After her performance at the party, probably not.

  I will not have a seizure today. She folded another shirt, fighting to keep her hands steady, and flung it into the box designated for charity. Her body replied with a jolt that had her swaying like a drunk for several painful minutes. The fit unclenched, and she hobbled to the dresser and snatched the box. Fingers shaking, she grappled with the pills. Just one for today, before the fury rolled in and swallowed her whole.

  The doorbell screamed, its chime a stab in her ear. She started and her finger popped a tablet out of its foil casing. Ripples tap-danced down the back of her neck and shoulders as she watched the pill arc into the air, spin and roll under the dresser. Vee groaned and got to her feet, relieved the lower half of her body was still functional. Visitors weren’t welcome on Sundays, but she didn’t have the energy to pretend to be out.

  ‘Hi,’ Joshua said cheerfully.

  ‘Hey.’ Can’t deal with this right now.

  It had been almost a week. She hadn’t called or made any plans with him, and he hadn’t forced the issue. Vee smoothed a hand through her hair, a huge, soft pouf of frizz she hadn’t bothered to blow-dry after she’d washed it. Her jeans weren’t the cleanest pair she could’ve thrown on either. Her breasts tightened and prickled as the chill in the air nipped through her sweater, reminding her she was braless. She crossed her arms over her chest, glad she’d at least showered and cleaned her teeth.

  ‘Thought I’d pass by and check on you,’ he ventured after a spell. ‘The new you. Y’know, the one who practically raped me and then vanished. Really classy.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. I didn’t …’ Tendons in her neck and shoulders spasmed. ‘I thought it was best if I made myself scarce for a while. I didn’t want to make it weird.’

  ‘Nothing’s weird.’ She said nothing and Joshua chuckled. ‘Can I come in, at least?’ Drizzle as fine as icing sugar settled like drift onto his coat and shaved head. She noticed a bag of shopping in his hand. She bit her lip. He said, ‘That’s not what I came for. Give me some credit.’

  Vee unlocked the security gate. ‘What’s all that?’

  ‘Food.’ He dumped the shopping bag on the kitchen counter and started unloading. ‘We went about things in the wrong order. First, you share a nice meal together, and then–’ He stared. ‘What’s up with your face?’

  Her hand flew up to cover the twitching. The skin was burning. ‘Sometimes it does that. I don’t think it healed properly,’ she lied. A hundred, maybe a hundred and ten beats per minute, without having to take a pulse. Any louder and her heart would drown out the thunder.

  ‘You got hit on the left side.’ He narrowed his eyes and walked over, held her chin and tilted it up to the light. ‘That doesn’t look good. You’re blinking like a Christmas tree. You talk to a doctor about this?’

  Vee wriggled away and rushed to the door. ‘Gimme one minute,’ she called.

  She closed the bedroom door, eyes watering as she scanned the room. The Cipralex box was nowhere to be seen. It had grown legs and walked away. She struggled to her knees, legs shaking uncontrollably. Where the hell was it? Was the box in her hand when she went to answer the door? Was Joshua picking it up now, reading the insert with mounting horror? Breath frantic, she gave up on the box and focused on the single runaway pill, peering and stretching her fingers under furniture as far as they could go. Nothing.

  Shit. The attack was in full swing. Sweat ran into her eyes and stung. She wrapped her arms around her body and fell against the charity box, taking deep lungfuls of air. The room reeked of male cologne. The muscles of her throat clenched violently and pain pummelled her chest. Cowering on the floor, Vee groaned long and low. The air thickened and closed in.

  It felt like the agony and disorientation of being born. Minutes passed unmeasured. Or perhaps hours – she had no clue. Sounds were squashed and far away, two-dimensional. The sound of frying – had to be rain. Whirring of the fan heater. Footsteps and a knock. Arms around her, trying to lift her. Words, no sense.

  A flash of silver and black came to Joshua’s ear. As he dialled emergency, Vee took a swig from the dregs of her energy reserve and lunged for his cell phone. She missed, tried again and missed again, her fingers slippery sticks of
butter brushing his.

  ‘What’re you doing?!’ Joshua asked. ‘I’m calling an ambulance.’

  ‘Don’t. Please,’ Vee begged.

  *

  ‘You’re right. You shouldn’t have told me. You should’ve taken this to your grave.’

  Vee buried her face deeper in her palms. ‘I really don’t feel like playing right now, Joshua Allen …’

  ‘Great, because I’m not. Hearing you’ve been dealing with these attacks all by yourself, thinking unicorn dust once a day and wishful thinking’s gonna make it stop? And oh, ha ha, my favourite part, hearing you’re being, what … fuck, I can’t believe I’m actually gonna say this …’ He scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Haunted? Stalked by the dead? What’re we going with here?’

  ‘Do you think this is easy? I heard myself say it. I watched your face as I heard myself say it. And …’ She hugged her arms round her midriff. ‘I’m glad I did. I feel like a fucking fly in a closed jar. I haven’t been able to breathe, in every sense of the word.’ She lifted her head. ‘Do you believe me?’

  He gave a long, aggravated grunt. ‘Of course I believe you. I have to. This is the part in the horror movie where the hot girl’s, like, “Do you believe me, Billy?!” and it goes one of two ways. Billy’s crazy about her so naturally he says yes, and they fight the dark forces together and live to see the end credits. Or he’s a loser and laughs in her face, and in the next scene the evil shitmonster rips his face off. I’d like to see our end credits.’ He smiled. Vee drilled him with a glare of diamond. ‘Yes, Voinjama Johnson, I believe you! You’re quite the imaginarian but even you’re not this preposterous.’

  Vee sagged, the stone rolled away. She kissed his shoulder and leaned on him for a few minutes, then moved back to the dresser where her plate was. Pancakes, bacon, sausages, eggs. The skidmark of hormones left behind by an episode made the comedown less than pleasant. She’d zonked out and woken up to food and more tenderness than she was used to getting from Joshua. Breakfast in the afternoon and sandwiches were his specialty … more like the only things he knew how to make.