ROUGE
ISABELLA MODRA
Copyright © 2013 Isabella Modra
www.isabellamodra.com
Cover art © Renu Sharma|www.thedarkrayne.com
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9922776-1-1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictiously. All respective quotes used in this book are for reference purpose only and their copyright belongs to their respective owners. The author holds all exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
D EDICATION
FOR MY HEAVENLY FATHER, WHO TAUGHT ME TO DREAM,
AND FOR CHARLLEY, WHO WAS ALWAYS THERE
A CKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My sincerest thanks goes out to my incredible self-publishing team of ‘experts’. To my publicity manager Caity, for helping me get tech-savvy. To my friends, for reading even the rawest bits of meat I threw onto the paper. To the wonderful people I met online that so graciously read and reviewed ARC copies, I am eternally grateful for your support. To Dad, for your insights and opinions that always made me rearrange the whole story. To those of you who encouraged me to do it my own way, I owe the motivation. To Renu for the beautiful cover art.
And my deepest gratitude I will forever owe to God, without whom this story would not exist at all.
‘ONLY PASSIONS, GREAT PASSIONS, CAN ELEVATE THE SOUL TO GREAT THINGS.’
- DENIS DIDEROT
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART 1 - A SPARK IGNITES
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
PART 2 - THE DARKNESS
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
PART 3 - TO BE A HERO
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
PART 4 - PROMISES
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
PART 5 - THE EMBERS THAT REMAIN
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
EPILOGUE
– PART 1 –
a spark ignites
one
As his heart beat its last beat and he collapsed on the operating table, Liz saw in his eyes an indescribable amount of pain before they went blank. It was not a physical pain, as you would expect of death, but pain of the mind.
The heart-rate monitor beeped a long, endless tone. Stepping back shakily, Dr. Elizabeth Phillips and the nurse gazed down at the mess of sweat, grime and blood slashed across the patient’s pale chest and suddenly, for the first time in years, Liz couldn’t feel her feet.
He shouldn’t have died. He should have caught his breath.
Pink circles like slices of ham marked the place where the electrode paddles had seared his chest. Pearly, glazed eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling and a line of froth moved at snail-pace down his scruffy cheek. Everything he wore – right down to the frayed fingerless gloves and tattered gray parka – reeked of pungent body odor, street sweat and homelessness.
But it was only a seizure.
Liz knew that seizures were rarely fatal, even for a person whose immune system would be weakened by the cold of the streets. What had gone wrong? More importantly, what had she done wrong?
The mask caught onto her deep mahogany curls as she ripped it away from her mouth and told herself to breathe properly. The putrefying odor was beginning to choke her.
Halfway out the emergency doors with thoughts of finally going home after a very long day in the ER, Liz had already signed out when the paramedic team burst out of the ambulance. On a stretcher they wheeled a man covered in blood, thrashing like a maniac and screaming for release. She was one of the only doctors on duty that night and although she was drained, her instincts kicked in. The symptoms were obviously epileptic, although his temperature was climbing and he had large bloody gashes in is arms. Ignoring this, Liz directed them into the operating room. There, she turned him on his side, attached a gas mask and waited for the fit to pass.
Only it didn’t.
His heart rate shot up so suddenly it was as if the sound of the monitor was a grenade about to detonate. Liz was good under stress, but this patient frightened her. She didn’t know what he’d been taking, therefore she didn’t know how to treat him. And no force of electricity could revive him. His heart simply stopped functioning.
“I’m calling it,” she sighed and turned to Olivia, who hooked the paddles back on the machine, switched it off and turned to face her. “Time of death?”
“1:29 am,” said Olivia. There was something else on the tip of her tongue, but she was clearly too afraid to voice it.
“Cover him up then. And can you print a copy of the readings? Just put them in my office, I’ll look through it on Monday.”
Olivia did as she was asked, drawing the blue sheet over the man’s legs, waist, stomach-
“Wait!”
Olivia froze with the sheet clamped in her hands.
Something glinted in the white fluorescent light dangling from the ceiling. Apprehensively, Liz reached into the patient’s coat pocket and retrieved a rusty Swiss Army knife, slashed with blood.
“I guess being homeless wasn’t the most fulfilling life choice.” Olivia indicated to the wide slices in his arms and paint-strokes of blood across his face and neck. Liz gave her a harsh look and she recoiled. “I mean uh… he mustn’t be epileptic. Anyone expecting it would put the knife away, right?”
She handed Olivia the knife and threw her gloves in the trash beside the operating table. “Put this in the report too,” she muttered.
“Should I also mention his ramblings?”
Liz dipped a nod. That had been the strangest part of this very strange emergency. Just when she thought the electrode paddles had slowed his irritated heart, the patient suddenly lurched upright on the bed – almost knocking Olivia clean out – and snatched at Liz’s arm as though he were grasping for his life. With spit flying from between his decayed teeth, he screamed, “It’s burning! Please stop it, it’s burning!”
Mortified, she’d wrenched his hand away, the patient’s nails ripping at her skin, and the moment she lost contact he fell back on the table and died. It would be a long time before Liz could forget that look of utter agony in his eyes just before his heart failed.
“Yes,” said Liz. “Everything. Make sure the body is sent off to examination for an autopsy. We’ll need to know for sure if he was epileptic. Can you handle this?”
“I sure can.” Olivia covered the rest of the body and began switching off the electrical appliances. As Liz turned, Olivia gave her what would have been her usual warm smile, were it not for the thick cloud of anxiety in her eyes. As an intern, Olivia had only seen the standard emergency procedures and usually worked the night shifts. But this… this was something entirely different. Which posed a challenging question in Liz’s mind: why was it different?
Knowing t
hat she wouldn’t be able to go home without the answer, she let out a loud sigh and turned to the supply drawer.
The doors to the ER opened and Dr. Mark – who had been watching from the other side of the glass – gave her a toothy smile as he strolled to her side.
“That was... interesting,” he noted. The regular dose of optimism seemed to radiate from his words, even if they were sarcastic.
If Liz wasn’t married, she would have fallen prey to his charm and good looks like most of the sexually available women at the hospital. That included Olivia.
“Schizophrenia is commonly an illness developed by epilepsy, right Dr. Mark?” Olivia beamed, clutching her clipboard to her chest like a schoolgirl.
“He may’ve overdosed on some sort of hallucinogenic drug,” said Dr. Mark, not even acknowledging Olivia. He took the fresh syringe out of Liz’s fumbling hands and ripped it out of the packet. Liz looked at him curiously. “Go home Liz. I’ll do the test and send you the results in an hour.”
“You’re sure? I was just taking blood samples-”
“Go! Olivia and I will take care of it.”
Liz wasn’t the only one delighted by this. Olivia was practically bursting with sexual tension. “Thanks Mark,” she smiled.
“Not a problem. God knows you of all people need a quiet weekend. You work too hard.”
“Somebody has to,” Liz grumbled good-naturedly.
As she crossed to the door, Dr. Mark pointed to her arm and said, “Might want to wash off that blood. I’m sure Leo’s looking for a less dramatic ‘Welcome Home’.”
Liz glanced down and compared her right arm with the other. It didn’t exactly bother her that someone’s dirty blood leeched into her skin. She always arrived home with blood somewhere on her clothes. What did make her frown was the memory of his pleas for release from whatever was torturing him. Was that why he cut himself? To tear out the pain? What kind of drug was he taking?
She shook her head quickly to get rid of the nauseating feeling swarming in her core and left the ER with a goodbye to Dr. Mark and Olivia. On her way out, she poured herself a black cup of coffee and signed the sheet at the receptionist desk again. Her shift ended an hour ago. She noted that down too.
The coffee was boiling, but she drank it anyway. As Liz unlocked the driver’s door, she made a mental note to wash the blood off everything tomorrow. Right now, she didn’t care.
Her eyes struggled to stay open driving along the Brooklyn Bridge, the flashing lights a blur amidst the black of night. Her hands clenched tightly to the wheel. She wound the window down to keep her cold and awake, the frosty New York air like sharp needles through her coat. It made her uncomfortable, but she grit her teeth and took another sip of coffee.
The familiar siren sounds of an ambulance blared past her along with the flashing red and blue lights, but all she heard was Leo – Leo – Leo. A shiver of excitement ran through her at the thought of what awaited her at home. Her husband of two years had been away for only a fortnight, but for Liz it felt like a lifetime. Not to mention how worried she was that he and his best friend Joshua Harrison – also a geologist – were travelling through Mexico into Cuba to explore a volcano. The two weeks seemed to drag, but she kept herself busy at the hospital, working more than her body could handle. She was exhausted and still shaken up from her most recent procedure, but altogether buzzing with warmth.
A car behind her honked sharply and the cup of steaming coffee slipped from her fingers and fell on her lap, spilling across her front.
“Shit!” She swerved dangerously close to the edge of the bridge and gripped the steering wheel in an effort to gain control. Ignoring the tooting of other cars behind her, Liz tried desperately to pull her wet shirt away from her skin. “Can this night get any worse?”
Once she reached the intersection, she turned left and continued along East River Drive. Their apartment was just before the Washington Market Park in a quiet suburb. Leo wanted a small place with cheap rent where he could study in peace. Liz just wanted a place with him in it.
As she pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of their apartment building, Liz became aware of a sudden burning across her forehead. Oh you’ve got to be kidding me, she groaned inwardly. Am I seriously getting sick again? Having worked so hard, the possibility of a flu didn’t surprise her, but it didn’t please her either.
As she locked the car with a mechanical click, her phone rang.
It was Dr. Mark.
“Hey. Got the results already?”
“He’s clean,” said Dr. Mark, “except for a substance called er… Feucotetanus.”
“Feuco-what?”
“That’s what I thought. ‘Tetanus’ is a disease caused by-”
“-Bacteria entering a wound, I know. He did show signs of rigid muscle attacks. I assumed that was a part of the seizure. Have you heard of it Mark?”
“Nope. I assume it’s a new recreational drug, though something as strong and rare as that would have cost a fortune. I have no idea how a guy like that got his hands on it.”
Liz rolled her eyes. Everyone at the hospital knew Dr. Mark became a doctor not because of his compassion for the sick, but for the title. “Okay… well if you have time, could you see if the hospital has any record of it?”
“I have all the time in the world, would you believe? This place is dead.”
Liz climbed the cracked stairs and fished her keys out of her pocket. “It’s a hospital, Mark, it’s never dead.”
There was an elated squeal on Dr. Mark’s end. He uttered a quick “shh!” and chuckled darkly.
Liz rolled her eyes. Typical Mark, she thought, taking advantage of the stupid new interns. “Do some real work, Mark,” she said.
“I am,” he replied. “Olivia is testing out the efficiency of this wonderful defibrillator. We’re using a low voltage, don’t worry.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” Liz groaned. “Make sure you clean it thoroughly. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Roger that, enjoy your night!”
Liz entered the dank lobby – which was more like a corridor – and felt a sweat break out across her forehead. Her palms were already sticky. What the hell kind of flu is this? Liz glanced at the scratch across her forearm and had a mini heart-attack. Relax, she assured herself. There was nothing wrong with the guy. It was just a seizure, and the cut isn’t big enough to draw too much blood.
Liz swung open the door to their apartment and dumped her bag on the swamp-green recliner. Leo had fallen in love with the chair when they’d found it in a garage sale downtown. She thought it was revolting.
The apartment was cluttered with junk Leo had collected over the years from expeditions with Joshua. Liz didn’t mind the artifacts, nor did she mind the messy feel that came with it. These ‘flaws’ just made it all seem more like home. A lot of it belonged to Joshua, who lived alone and often stayed with them when his apartment became too empty. Besides, Joshua couldn’t cook himself instant noodles let alone a nutritional meal.
But their worn-through maroon couch was as lonely as Joshua’s life, and relief washed through her. She wanted Leo to herself without their awkward friend listening in on them in the bedroom.
Liz crossed to the study, the familiar aroma of rich dirt mixed with Chai tea sending her heart into a frenzy of desire. She could hear muttering and the ruffling of work notes and suddenly the day – the entire fortnight, even – no longer mattered.
In the doorway, Liz gazed upon her husband’s disheveled office. Pictures of he and Joshua climbing mountains, hiking amongst forests and trekking through ancient caves were tacked all over the brick wall on the right. Liz never had time to go with him; work was too demanding. But when they were younger and she was only studying, Leo packed their bags and they went travelling together through the Inca Trails in South America and across the wintery mountains of Nepal. His backpack lay unzipped next to the desk and clothes, papers and miscellaneous objects lay spread across the wooden floor.
A warm feeling as though someone had trickled hot water onto the tip of her head spread throughout Liz’s body. Leo was bent over a sheet of paper, scribbling away, so immersed in his work that he didn’t hear the soft creak of the boards beneath her feet. Damp, curly brown hair hung over his glasses, which were slipping to the edge of his nose as he tried to get the last few words down on paper.
“Hey stranger.”
Leo glanced up at Liz in the doorway and a smile spread through to his amber eyes. He crossed the room, embraced his wife and swung her around in circles across the dimly-lit study. She laughed, clung tightly to his thickly muscled arms and kissed every inch of his face as he lowered her down.
“I missed you,” she murmured. Her hands gently brushed through his hair.
“Me too,” he said. “Joshua’s not enough for me. I need a real woman.”
She laughed and kissed him again. Leo became slowly more passionate, his hands moving down her back to her hips. She pulled them away.
“What’s wrong?” He joined his hands and locked her between his arms. “Lizzie, I’ve been hiking up a volcano for the past week, living in this dodgy shack with Joshua to keep me company. You have no idea how much I want you right now.”
“I can imagine,” she muttered, her fingers tracing his cleanly-shaven jaw line. He smelled so fresh. A shower, she thought, that’s exactly what I need. “I’m really tired Leo. I was supposed to finish an hour ago but the hospital was so busy. And this last patient was…” she sighed and shook her head. “I can’t even explain it to you.”
“Is that why you’re covered in blood? And-” He sniffed her shirt just below the breast pocket and she chuckled. “-Is that coffee I smell?”
“Long story.” She pulled out of his grasp. “I’m taking a shower.”
“Can’t we talk? I have so much to tell you. Joshua and I found this incredible substance formed in a volcano.” He reached for something on the desk and held up a deep-black stone, rough and inaccurately round. Liz started at the stone with as much enthusiasm as a tree, listening to her husband’s jumbled words topple in a rush of excitement out of his mouth. He’s so damn cute when he talks about rocks. “I’ve never seen anything like it before Liz, seriously it’s out of this world. Here-”
Rouge Page 1
