Fugue State

by M. C. Adams

  Alexa hung on the words of his drunken melody. Could my suffering really be due to Marcum’s need for a scapegoat?

  Appleby continued, “Defending you should have been easy, but you made my job difficult. I had to make them believe you never intended to kill Jamar, that you were a victim of circumstance. The problem, Alexa, is that we all saw through you. I did. The jury did. Everyone saw through you.” He reached over and clenched her thigh with his hand. “Christ, Alexa. That mightier-than-thou look you wore on your face told them you could bludgeon a baby seal to death without thinking twice. You were so proud you killed that man, without an ounce of remorse for what you did.” His grip tightened. “Innocent and not guilty are not the same thing.”

  “You’re drunk, Jacob.” She struggled for a defense.

  “I’m drunk, says the alcoholic prude?” he mocked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sober in the morning.” He tore his hand from her leg and shuffled his body to the side of the seat farthest from her.

  And terribly hungover, I hope! She fell silent. No. He can’t be right. Is there some truth to his outburst? The tension that’s developed with my family — is it because they see the darkness their golden girl is capable of? I took the life of another human being and didn’t regret it for a moment.

  “Your actions helped get you to this point, Alexa. Think about that as you decide where to go from here.” A limp handshake departing the plane sealed their goodbye.

  Back in Austin, Alexa packed up her belongings, moved out of her apartment, and headed back to the Four Seasons. She sold her Mercedes at the local dealership and took a cab to say goodbye to Joe. She met him at the shooting range. Knowing Joe got a kick out of a woman all dressed up with a gun in her hand, she grabbed a pretty pale pink chiffon blouse with a silver leather pencil skirt and python T-strap stilettos.

  “Hello, Joe.”

  “Hey, there. It’s good to see you. I have something I want you to try. I think you’ll like it.”

  “You do? I’m intrigued, Joe. Is it a handgun?”

  “Yep. It’s lighter than what you’re used to. It fires faster than the one you have.”

  Alexa beamed. They both knew this was goodbye.

  “Okay, Joe. Let’s try it.” She watched him pull a little silver handgun out of a drawer. It sparkled like bright chrome. Her smirk grew bigger.

  “You done with all that TV stuff now?” he asked.

  “Yes, Joe. No more trial talk for me.” Alexa allowed a moment of reflection before revealing her plans. “I’m leaving for Paris tomorrow.”

  He loaded the gun and handed it to Alexa. “Isn’t that the city of love?”

  Alexa shuddered. She took the gun from Joe and aimed at the target. “I like to think of it as the city of lights.” She whispered into the air, “Levende lys,” and fired eight times with amazing accuracy. “I love the gun, Joe. Thank you for letting me try it out. I can’t thank you enough for everything.”

  Joe shrugged. “It was just nice for an old man like me to have something in common with a pretty young lady like yourself.” He put out his hand to shake hers. Alexa grasped Joe’s hand tightly with both of hers and pulled him close for a heartfelt embrace. “I hope you find whatever it is that you are looking for,” Joe stated, his expression serious.

  Her arms fell to her sides. “Me, too,” she said.

  The next morning, Alexa boarded her plane for Paris.

  CHAPTER 13

  The fourteen-hour flight allowed plenty of time for meditation, and Alexa became lost in her own thoughts. She found excitement in her opportunity to escape her troubled past and looked forward to what a future in Paris might hold. What is my plan for Paris? Start over? Find friendship? Find love? Find a purpose? The vague ideas left much to the imagination.

  After the long flight, Alexa settled into a cheap, quaint boutique hotel a few blocks away from the Paris nightlife. It was a good fit for her, given her financial situation.

  She spent her first day indulging in espresso and French delicacies while perusing miles and miles of Parisian streets. That evening, she carved out an eight-mile running path that paralleled the north bank of the Seine. Alexa donned a swanky black leather shift dress with red heels for her Paris nightlife debut.

  Another Thursday night. Lights and music made a spectacle of the streets. Couples sipped wine at outdoor cafés. Men and women danced on patios that flanked the street. Alexa found a lively venue and ordered a glass of cabernet. She sat at a table by herself, watching the scene from afar.

  Halfway through her glass of wine, the waitress unexpectedly brought another. The woman didn’t seem to speak English, and when Alexa tried to hand the glass back, the woman simply pointed to a handsome man sitting at the bar. Alexa’s glance fell on the young man with glossy dark hair and tanned skin. He waved at her as his provocative glance seemed to undress her slowly. He rose from his chair and headed in her direction. She blushed and fumbled with her napkin.

  But his course changed, and he grabbed the hand of a red-headed girl a couple of tables away, and the two began dancing and laughing.

  Alexa’s blush turned to crimson jealousy. She wasn’t used to vying for a man’s attention. Her sips of wine turned to careless gulps. She wanted drunkenness to creep in and wash away the envy. She directed her attention to people-watching elsewhere, but she kept gravitating back to that handsome man. He had a sense of charisma and energy about him that enticed her.

  Another forty-five minutes passed before he approached her. He knelt down at Alexa’s side, grasped her hand, and pulled it close to his cheek.

  “You’re American,” he stated with an alluring French accent.

  “Yes. You speak English.” She had finished her second glass of wine, and her head spun.

  “You’re exquisite,” the Frenchman said. “Come. Let’s dance.”

  Alexa followed her handsome suitor to the dance floor, where he twirled her around. She kicked and dipped and shimmied on the floor. They danced for nearly an hour. He danced with such passion and seduction. Oh, to flirt again is amazing! Lust burned through her veins. As the night came to a close and the music faded, the Frenchman pulled her close for a long, wet kiss. He kissed with his lips, his tongue, and his teeth. His teeth caressed her lips, and the stimulation coursed through her body all the way to her toes. She wanted him. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts. She wanted to feel their limbs wrapped up in a steamy, knotted embrace.

  He led her out of the bar, and they walked the cobblestone streets, kissing and touching until they stumbled upon Alexa’s hotel, and she froze.

  “This is you?” he asked, and placed his hands low on her hips.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  The Frenchman placed his lips close to her right ear. “Do you want me to make love to you tonight, mon amour.” Then he kissed her ear and teased her by slowly nibbling on her lobe.

  She wanted to give in. She wanted to say yes to the nameless French suitor, but she couldn’t. In spite of the desire in her bosom, she reserved making love for when she was in love. She wouldn’t let herself go around screwing men precariously. Her mind instantly went to Britt, the only man she had ever loved. The only man who had ever made love to her.

  Alexa broke away from the man’s embrace, and he laughed out loud. “Not tonight, mon amour. Give me your phone. We’ll meet another night.” Alexa handed her cell phone to him and watched him type the name Serge across the screen.

  “Serge, I’m Alexa.” She was embarrassed they hadn’t introduced themselves before.

  A wide grin spread across his warm wet lips. “We’ll meet another night. We’ll go dancing. I’ll teach you to dance.”

  Alexa’s dancing didn’t compare to Serge’s. He had moves she couldn’t match. But she hadn’t realized he was scrutinizing her abilities. She scolded herself, wholly embarrassed by so many of the night’s events.

  “Another night, Serge. I’d like that. I like dancing with you.”

  “Tomorrow night?�
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  He pulled her close for one last kiss. He almost made her give in to him.

  “Tomorrow night.” Thank goodness he didn’t pursue things further. He let her go, winked, and walked away.

  She crept up the stairs of her boutique hotel in a mild drunken daze. She slipped off her cocktail dress and wrapped her naked body in the bed sheets. Alexa couldn’t get the thought of Serge’s teeth nibbling on her lips out of her head. She yearned for a man’s body. Her hands moved up and down her body, slowly caressing the sensitive parts. She massaged herself in slow little circles until waves of pleasure rippled down to her toes. Almost in unison with Alexa’s rhythmic ecstasy came moans of pleasure from another couple in the adjacent room. Alexa couldn’t help but laugh out loud over the coincidence. She drifted off to five blissful hours of uninterrupted sleep.

  She woke to a perfect Parisian morning. After a quick breakfast, she decided to spend the day at the Louvre. Alexa jumped in a cab outside her hotel, and they headed toward the museum. The skinny, pale, dark-haired cab driver appeared in his fifties and smoked cigars while he chauffeured his clients around Paris. What a horrid stench. Alexa put her window down as far as it would go, but she couldn’t get it to open all the way.

  The man sped through the winding streets at a rate that wasn’t safe by anyone’s standards. Alexa searched the crevices of the bench seat for a seat belt. Her hands scavenged across the stained upholstery to no avail. The car raced past a teenage girl on a vintage red bicycle. The tires of the bicycle were only about a foot away from the tires of the car. Alexa scowled at the cigar smoker’s carelessness and screamed, “Hey!” out loud.

  The cabbie answered with a nasal grunt and a wave of his hand. In that moment, another car pulled out ahead of the taxi, making the cab swerve hard to the left. The cab veered off the road and smashed through the short brick wall separating the road from the bank of the Seine.

  The accident happened quickly, but Alexa’s hands were already clutching the car door for stabilization. The cab plunged into the water below. Alexa turned the handle hard and thrust her shoulder at the car door, but she couldn’t get it to budge. The car sank rapidly, and water flooded through the open window. She scrambled to maneuver her arms and torso through the window opening, forcing one arm at a time through the small opening. When the second arm passed through the window, the glass gave way. It didn’t break; the glass merely separated from the window frame of the door.

  Alexa floated the rest of the way through the window and to the surface of the water. The rear of the car continued to sink slowly. Bubbles rose from where the front of the car was submerged. The front windshield shattered after the collision, and water covered both the hood and the driver-side window.

  Among the bubbles in the water, the unconscious body of the obnoxious cab driver bobbed along in the river. Alexa eyed the body. She held nothing but dislike for him, but she had to help him. She judged the distance to the shore and the current of the water. I’m an awful swimmer, but I should be able manage that despite the current. She swam to the cabbie and tucked his neck and shoulders under her right arm. She made slow, gentle strokes until she reached the bank of the river.

  A small crowd had formed along the shore. Onlookers helped Alexa pull the driver’s body out of the water and onto the pavement. She shouted to the crowd, “Ambulance!” in the best French accent she could muster. The words came out breathy. She knelt by the cab driver. His chest didn’t rise. She turned and surveyed the eyes of the French patrons, silently pleading with them. She wanted one of them to step up and take over. No one moved.

  Alexa grunted in desperation. She worried about liability, malpractice, and lawsuits. Rule number one in medicine — a physician should never render services outside of work, especially in emergency situations. Unlike other individuals who are protected by Good Samaritan clauses in emergent cases, physicians can still be held liable. It was a similar type of loophole that the prosecution had tried to use to hold Alexa responsible for Jamar’s death. Alexa remembered the bitter taste of Portia Willis’ lawsuit and silently thanked Jacob Appleby for his ability to make the charge go away with a meager settlement.

  This isn’t the United States; this is Paris. The lawyers don’t act as such vultures in France. That’s an American thing. Her eyes made a final search for a hero in the audience before starting basic life support.

  She pounded his back to try to clear some excess water from his lungs, and then she flipped him supine. She laid two fingers on the man’s carotid artery and felt for a pulse. Maybe. No. Nothing. She placed one palm on top of the other on his chest and began heavy, rhythmic chest compressions at the standard rate. She knew CPR to two rhythms: “Staying Alive,” by the Bee Gees, and “Another One Bites the Dust,” by Queen. Her BLS instructor had mentioned that everyone held superstitions as to whether the song that was chosen could influence the outcome of the CPR attempt. She upheld the superstition and chose the Bee Gees.

  She felt a snap once, twice as she compressed the man’s chest. She winced as his ribs cracked under the force.

  She looked down at the man’s gaping mouth, full of stained yellow teeth and amalgam fillings and considered mouth-to-mouth. No. Not yet. She closed her eyes and continued with compressions, humming the beat to herself. When she reopened her eyes, she saw his blue tinged lips and had no choice but to proceed with a couple of rescue breaths. She pinched his nose, tilted his head back, and covered his mouth with hers. She exhaled two long deep breaths into the man’s mouth and felt his chest rise. A small amount of residual river water seeped into her open mouth, and she could still smell the cigar when the air poured out of his lungs.

  After a second breath, she felt for a pulse. Nothing definite. Come on! Dammit! She continued with compressions, but started to fatigue. Another rib snapped. He’s dead, Alexa, a sour voice crept in from her subconscious. She cranked up the volume of the song lyrics playing in her head to drown out the voice. Press harder. Your hands are becoming limp.

  In the distance, a siren rang out. It grew louder. Alexa continued compressions until the emergency medical technicians pushed her aside.

  “I broke some ribs,” she stated, and walked away. She spoke English and doubted they understood her. As she broke through the crowds, she overheard one of the medical aides.

  “Je sens un battement de coeur.”

  They feel a heartbeat! Relief swept over her as she let out a meager laugh. Perhaps saving this life can make up for one I took.

  A police officer came forward and questioned her briefly about the accident. It wasn’t a very official investigation. He spoke to her mostly in English. He asked if she was American and if she had lost her passport and identification, and directed her to the American Embassy where she could get assistance. He handed her a piece of paper that would serve as documentation that her identification was lost in an accident. Then the officer left her.

  A second man approached Alexa. She thought he was another cab driver. Perhaps a friend or colleague of the man she saved. He didn’t seem that interested in the other cabbie, however, and he didn’t look French. Czech, maybe?

  “I saw it,” the man said in broken English. “You save him. You did good. You American?” She nodded. “American with money, no?” She froze in the awkward moment. “You lose your things?” The man motioned to the water where the car sank.

  “Yes. I lost my passport, my wallet, even my phone.”

  “You go to Embassy now?”

  She nodded again.

  “You have money. I have friend, cousin. Can get you passport easy. Fast.” He managed a dull finger snap that sounded like a thud. “Not like Embassy. You can be — anyone you want.” He made a motion with both hands to convey infinite possibilities. “His card.” The man handed Alexa a piece of paper the size of a business card with hand written information on it. An address and a name. That was all.

  Alexa accepted it. The man nodded and smiled. “You save him. Very good.” He walked away.<
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  She stood alone on the street in a small puddle where the water collected at her feet. The ambulance containing the cabbie drove away as the crowd thinned. She looked down at the card and knew what it offered her. His words repeated over and over again in her head. You can be anyone you want. She couldn’t help but succumb to the irony of the proposition. She had left Austin to start a new life, in a new place, and become a new person. Fugue state. I can change my identity and forget Dr. Alexa DeBrow forever. The forever part seemed to echo in her mind. In order for this to work, she’d have to disassociate from her former life altogether.

  CHAPTER 14

  Alexa pocketed the business card and walked the Parisian streets back to her hotel. The desk clerk recognized her and gave her a new room key.

  “Miss DeBrow.” He passed her the key with a deep nod that turned into a half bow.

  She accepted the key with a quick “Merci” and wondered whether or not she wanted to stay Miss DeBrow. She considered the possibilities, as well as the possible legal infractions. Fraud. Unless I legally change my name, this is fraud. It’s against the law. And I’d be living a lie. Her moral compass worked to sway her toward the straight and narrow, while her heart heralded other fantasies. Do I care if it’s wrong? Do I really care? I deserve this. I deserve to start over, a second chance of happiness. I can be anyone I want. . . . With her heart and her head pulling her in different directions, she came to a standstill. Yet something about the timing of the offer seemed too good to pass up. She thought about the debit card tucked away in her luggage. I have access to cash withdrawals. I have time to decide whether or not to go to the embassy.