Agnes swallowed hard and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Damn right, you are. First, you’re going to tell me what’s going on, and then you’re buying me lunch.” Agnes nodded. “And Chicago? Really? How are we going to explain this to Mom and Dad?”
Agnes frowned. “I don’t know.”
Gracie sank back in her seat. “Great.” Agnes reached over and patted Gracie’s thigh, and she batted her hand away. “Spill.”
Agnes took a deep breath. “There are… things… you don’t know about me.”
Gracie made a face. “Duh! You don’t say?”
“I can… do things… that other people can’t do.”
Gracie feigned surprise. “Really? Because I heard that people are teleporting all over the place. The airlines are pissed.”
“This is hard for me to explain, Gracie. Don’t be mean.”
She crossed her arms. “Fine.”
“Marc’s in trouble. I’m not sure what he’s involved in, but whatever it is, it’s bad.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I can’t control it when I… travel. I can get us back home, but I don’t always know where the path leads that calls me.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to be marooned in boring-ass Chicago.”
“Marc called me the other day.”
Gracie flinched. “He what, now?”
“Except I don’t think he meant to call me. Or maybe he did. I still can’t figure it out.”
“What did he say?”
“Well… he wasn’t exactly speaking to me, it was more like, he was speaking about me. And I found myself in his apartment.”
“About you? To who?”
“To the light.”
Gracie rubbed her temples. “Agnes, I’m not in the mood for your weird crap. Where’s Marc now, at work?”
“I don’t think so. I think he quit.”
Gracie’s jaw dropped. “Quit?” Agnes nodded. “And how do you know that?”
“I was at his office, and saw his desk packed up like he quit.”
Gracie’s jaw dropped again. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You were at his office? Sheeze, Agnes, for someone who never does anything, you sure get around.”
“Well, I wasn’t there physically…” Agnes sighed.
Gracie eyed her sister suspiciously. “Are there some sort of drugs I should be taking to help me understand this better?”
Agnes seemed to have an epiphany. She pulled her knit bag out from under her seat belt and rooted around, looking for something. Gracie looked bemused. “Drugs? Really?”
Agnes removed her hand from the bag and held up Marc’s cell phone.
Gracie snatched it away from her. “Gimme.” Her thumbs rapidly swiped and tapped all over the screen. “Sheeze.”
Agnes leaned over, trying to see the screen. “What?”
“You’re right, he quit. From the looks of it, he stormed out with no notice.”
“That’s on his phone?”
Gracie angled the screen momentarily toward Agnes. “Email.”
“I’m not following you. He quit over email?”
Gracie groaned with exasperation. “No, genius, his co-worker emailed him asking why he didn’t say goodbye.”
“Oh.”
“Now, what about this girlfriend of his? Get ready for some steamy texting.” Her thumbs swiped and tapped again in rapid succession, only to be followed by a disappointed grunt.
“Hm?”
“Nothing. No calls, no texts, just… nothing.”
“That’s odd.”
“Yeah.” Gracie tossed the phone on Agnes’s lap and removed her seat belt. “Let’s eat, I’m starving. You better have money in that thing.” She jerked her thumb at Agnes’s knit bag.
Agnes nodded and removed her seat belt.
CHAPTER 52: EXTRACTION
Bess was dead. The countess, posing as Aunt Barb, was inconsolable. She wept loudly over the body, raising her arms heavenward and calling for her baby to return. Nurse Fran thought the whole show was a bit much, but she figured this was how they did things down south. The fabric curtains weren’t going to afford her much privacy, and more to the point, other patients and their families were subjected to it as well.
Nurse Fran called for an orderly to move Bess to another room where she and Barb could have a bit more privacy. Aunt Barb objected at first, but Nurse Fran used her people skills and piled on loads of empathy, assuring her that she was sorry for her loss, the doctors and staff did everything they could, and one of the doctors had some questions when she was ready, no rush. Aunt Barb sniffled and nodded, responding in a miserable yet sugary tone.
“Ohhh, bless your heart, they surely did, bless those doctors.”
Nurse Fran steered Barb into the room containing Bess’s newly minted corpse. Barb let out a high wail, and Nurse Fran led her to a black padded chair. She got Barb to sit, while giving her assurances and consolation.
“This young lady is very lucky to have you for an aunt. We’re all so sorry for your loss. Take all the time you need. Just let either myself or Nurse Donna know when you’re ready for the doctor to visit with you.”
The countess nodded and sniffled. “Bless your heart, she was a good child. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t.”
“Can I get you anything? Water?”
“No, bless you for asking. Just leave us be. I’ve got to say prayers.”
Nurse Fran nodded and stood in the doorway, making sure Barb was settled. “I’ll make sure nobody bothers you. I’ll tell them this area is off-limits. There’s a restroom around the corner to your right if you need.”
“That’s mighty thoughtful of you, darlin’. I’ll pray for you too.”
Nurse Fran gave her a thin smile. “I appreciate it.”
The countess pulled her chair closer to Bess and gripped her arm. “Oh, sweet baby! The Lord keep you and bless you!”
Nurse Fran closed the door quietly. She walked back toward the central hub of the ER and pulled a gurney sideways as a makeshift road block. Nurse Donna walked past her down the main hallway, then slid to a stop. “Is that five?”
Nurse Fran nodded. “Yeah, she’s in there praying. Make sure she’s not disturbed.”
Barb’s voice emanated from down the hall. “Lord Jesus, bless this child.”
Nurse Donna smirked. “We’ll steer clear, no worries there.” The nurses tended to other matters.
Inside her private room, the countess squeezed Bess’s arm, and loudly recited religious-sounding phrases, making liberal use of “heavenly” and “Jesus”. While she spoke, her eyes were transfixed on a diagram on the wall. It was labeled simply: DISORDERS OF THE HUMAN DIGESTIVE SYSTEM. It contained not only graphic photos of various maladies, but a cut-away drawing of the components of the human digestive system. The countess thanked her lucky stars. To anyone else, it was an educational poster. To her, it was a treasure map.
She removed her coat and draped it over the chair. She crept over to the door and cracked it open slowly. She peeked down the hall. The sideways gurney discouraged foot traffic. She slipped off her shoes and kicked them aside, just inside of her grief chamber. She did her best to tiptoe around the corner, in search of the restroom. On her way, she found a room that was defined by two oversized swinging doors, with a round window in the center of each. She pushed one of the doors open and made sure it stopped swinging quickly by pressing her rump against it. The countess looked around the room. She had stumbled into an operating suite.
Mercy Hospital wasn’t known for surgery. The ER had it available truly for emergencies, but as a surgeon usually had to be called in from Trinity, patients were routed to that hospital as a matter of course. From time to time, however, the room was needed, and as such, the staff took care to keep the room ready for use.
The countess swayed over to a metal tray covered with a thick plastic sheet. She picked the plastic covering up by one
corner and glanced back and forth at the implements. She selected a scalpel with the longest blade and palmed it as furtively as she could without cutting herself, then she laid the plastic cover back down over the tray. She lifted her gown and stuffed a pair of blue exam gloves into the waistband of her underpants and slipped out of the room.
Next, she was off to the restroom. For the benefit of any security cameras, she made a show of being confused, and even saying, “That ain’t the bathroom, no sir!” in case they had built-in microphones.
The restroom was a one-seater, and the countess thanked her lucky stars yet again for the boon of privacy. She set the scalpel down on the sink and crouched down to the short black wastebasket on the floor. She pulled the edges of the trash bag away from the lip of the wastebasket and pulled the bag up and out, setting it aside. As she had hoped, the cleaning staff stored extra bags at the bottom of the wastebasket. She helped herself to one, then thought better of it and took two. She stuffed the bags into her waistband and covered it with her gown. She dropped the prior trash bag into the wastebasket, without bothering to anchor it around the edges.
She washed her hands and fluffed up her hair in the mirror. After drying her hands, she picked up the scalpel again and headed back to Bess’s room. The door clicked shut behind her, and she padded over to her daughter’s body.
She lifted Bess’s hospital gown, exposing her left side. She laid the scalpel down on Bess’s bare skin and pulled the exam gloves and trash bags out of her waistband. She draped the trash bags over a rail on the gurney, then turned her attention to the exam gloves. She slid each one on, flexing her fingers until they reached the end of the glove.
The countess smiled at Bess. “Heavenly father, we accept your blessings as your humble servants, and we go forth and prosper, Jeshua begat Jehoosephat.”
She plunged the scalpel into Bess’s pasty flesh, just below her rib cage. She held her breath for as long as she could, working quickly in-between breaths. She pulled her right sleeve up and rolled it as best as she could with her left hand. After a few more slashes with the scalpel, she made a hole big enough to reach into.
“Just like stuffin’ a turkey, baby... you’ve got this.”
She gripped something slimy and hard, and squeezed. She struggled to pull the object out, and the room was filled with a foul odor and a sickening gish sound as she worked her hand free from the newly created orifice. She gasped a sigh of relief as Bess’s stomach slid out of the opening. She picked up the scalpel with her left hand and awkwardly hacked it free. She set her bloody prize down on top of Bess and set the scalpel beside it.
She pulled her left glove off with her teeth and picked up a trash bag from the gurney. She waved it around until she got the opening to separate, then used her teeth again to open the trash bag. She scooped up Bess’s stomach and dropped it carefully into the bag. The bag dropped to the floor heavily with a sickening thud. She peeled off her right glove and tossed it aside carelessly. “Better double-bag this one.”
She used both hands to open the second trash bag and managed with some difficulty to wrap it around the first bag. She picked up the package with both hands and heaved it into her purse.
“Finished at last. Whew! You really made me work for this, Bessie.”
Blood pooled under Bess’s gurney. The smell of her violated corpse was going to attract attention soon. The countess slipped on her shoes and put on her coat. She heaved her purse up over her shoulder and tried not to buckle. “Good lord!”
She left the room and pulled the door shut with a bang. She clip-clopped down the hallway and pushed past the sideways gurney. Nurse Fran and Nurse Donna were discussing what to do about the new arrival in seven and didn’t notice the countess make her escape out of the ER.
The countess found a wheelchair parked inside of the main entrance, dropped her purse onto the seat, and pushed it urgently toward her car. Minutes later, she was on the road, patting her purse as it sat on the passenger seat. She pulled over a couple of miles later and moved it to the trunk. A trio of police cars zoomed past her, lights flashing, sirens off, heading toward Mercy Hospital.
CHAPTER 53: STRANDED
Gracie ate a loaded sub, gripping it with both hands. Agnes picked at a side salad. Gracie took a slurp of her fountain drink. Agnes hadn’t removed the cap from her bottled water. Gracie bobbed in her seat and looked around at the sandwich shop and out the window at the weekday traffic. Agnes sat still and looked down at her fork, mostly. After swallowing a big bite of her sandwich, Gracie spoke while staring out the window.
“Are you sure you can get us home, like, today?” Agnes frowned, and nodded. “But we can’t go to wherever Marc is.” Agnes shook her head. “Why not?” Gracie took another bite of her sandwich.
Agnes sighed. “I don’t know where he is, and even if I did, he would have to be somewhere that I had been before or was familiar with. Sometimes I can project myself places to see things instead of going there. It’s kind of complicated.”
Gracie chewed thoughtfully. “Did you ever look in on… me and Lace—I mean, Aimee?” Agnes shook her head. “But you knew about… us.”
“I told you, you’re not very clever. I saw the way you acted around each other, and the way you acted when you two broke up.”
Gracie turned pink. She grabbed her soda cup with one hand and took another slurp.
Agnes reached across the table and patted Gracie’s arm. “You’ll find somebody.”
She shook her arm free. “I don’t want ‘somebody’.”
“Sorry.”
Gracie lowered her sandwich. Something out the window caught her attention. Whatever she saw was behind Agnes at an angle. Gracie maintained eye contact with it and spoke again.
“So, if you get us home… are Mom and Dad going to notice anything?”
Agnes shook her head, hesitantly. “I’ll aim for my bedroom. We can take turns walking out.”
“Can you… get us someplace close to the house? Like, a few blocks away?”
“I suppose so, why?”
“I have an idea.” Gracie dropped the remainder of her sub onto her tray. Agnes set her salad bowl on there as well and carried the tray to the trash bin while Gracie headed for the exit. Agnes dropped her unopened bottled water into her knit bag and followed her sister out the door. Agnes headed toward the car, but realized that Gracie was standing near the curb, waiting for a break in the traffic. She glanced over at Agnes when she walked up and jerked her thumb at Agnes’s knit bag.
“Still got money?”
“Some, why?”
Gracie ran across the street. Agnes tried to keep up and managed to cross safely before a delivery truck roared past without so much as tapping the brakes. Gracie pushed past a glass and metal door with a SORRY, WE’RE OPEN sign on it.
Agnes followed closely behind. Gracie had led them into a hair salon that catered to a more adventurous clientele. A woman dressed in all black with shoulder-length jet black Bettie Page hair, a tight-fitting black dress, tattooed shoulders, and stiletto pumps was deeply involved in the process of applying the third of five hair dyes to a chubby-cheeked woman who sat impassively in her chair.
“Welcome,” said the hair stylist. “Got an appointment?”
Gracie gulped. “Um, no. Quick cut?”
The stylist gave a withering scowl, and her shoulders sagged. “Does this look like WonderKuts? We’re booked.”
The customer looked up in the mirror and smiled apologetically.
Agnes intervened. “She means a derby cut. She’s got a bout this weekend.”
Gracie looked at Agnes like she just spoke Swahili.
The stylist looked Gracie up and down and nodded approvingly. “Roller derby? Nice.”
Gracie mussed her hair, sheepishly. “Yeah, Vixxxns. I’m Crotch Rocket.”
“Jammer?”
“Totally. Always looking to score.” She winked playfully.
“Okay, for you, I’ll do a walk-in. She has to set fo
r a little while when I’m done applying this color anyway.”
Gracie thanked her and sat in the small waiting area with Agnes. Gracie leaned over and whispered, “Who taught you those words?”
Agnes smiled thinly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Gracie gasped when she looked up at the tote board. A quick cut was going to run $80 plus tax and tip. She nudged Agnes and gestured furtively at the board. “Um, when you say you have ‘some money’, is that like, a hundred bucks?”
Agnes frowned and shook her head. She reached into her knit bag and rooted around. She had one $20 bill left, plus some smaller loose bills. Tip was covered, but little else.
Gracie looked crestfallen. Truth be told, she came in because she saw the stylist step out front for a cigarette and she thought she looked hot. Definitely not uptight and closeted like Aimee, assuming she went that way. Maybe she had a sister. In any case, her brilliant plan was foiled.
Agnes rooted around some more and produced Marc’s wallet. Gracie’s eyes bulged. “Dude!” Gracie swiped it away from her and rifled through it. She found $40 in cash and one credit card. It was worth a shot. She pulled the card out of the wallet and held it up. “You take plastic?”
The stylist nodded while brushing hair dye on a long strand of hair. “Sure do.”
“Sweet.” Agnes shot a concerned look at Gracie. “What? He hasn’t been reported missing, has he? Besides, I’m sure he can afford it.”
Agnes sat back and closed her eyes. Now was as good a time as any to search for Marc, she thought, or seek guidance. Or something.
The stylist set her hair dye cup aside and carefully pulled a shower cap over her customer’s head. Then she pulled off her plastic gloves. “Okay, derby girl, you’re up.”
Gracie shoved Marc’s wallet into her back pocket. “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER 54: ROUTE OH-ONE
“Come on, Meier. Let’s get back to the office and we can figure things out there.” Gene sat on the passenger side of the company car. Sharon made him fork over the keys and was very much in the driver’s seat. She leaned forward as she drove, paying minimal attention to the road, and as much as possible to the sidewalks. Rather than chase loaded shopping carts on foot, she decided to let the car do the work. Plus, there was heat.
The Spaces Between Us Page 20
