by Daniel Kalla
I heard Emily’s voice from behind me. “Honey, it’s a celebration!” I smelled her perfume as her arms wrapped around my waist, hugging me from behind. “And you brought lilies! My favorite. God, you’re sweet.”
I spun to face her. I hadn’t seen her in three days, and her cropped blond hair came as a surprise. I’d never seen her with short hair. It framed her sharp features, full lips, and blue eyes, somehow changing the accent on her face, making it rounder. Softer. Sexier, too. The haircut, the tank top showing off her rippled midriff, and our time apart melded into a dizzying aphrodisiac. I wished away the guests. I wanted to take her right there.
Reading my face, she whispered one word—Soon—in my ear.
“What are we celebrating?” I was concerned she might have told my cousin about our engagement.
She understood immediately. Not that, she mouthed with a wink. “I heard from school today.”
“You heard!” I picked her up and spun her around. “And?”
Still in my arms, she kissed me full on the mouth. Her soft tongue slipped between my teeth, arousing me to the point that I ignored the faint taste of alcohol on her breath. She pulled her face back a few inches. “You just French-kissed an MBA,” she said, beaming.
“Cheers!” Kyle called out from the sofa, and drained the last of the scotch from his glass tumbler. “Now it’s official, Emily. You’re way too good for him.”
I laughed. “Kyle might have a point.”
She cupped my face in her hands and kissed me on the nose. “I’ll never be good enough.” Her smile flickered. “I love you.”
“An MBA, Em!” I kissed her on the lips again. “We’re gonna be rich!”
“We’ll see about that, tiger-boy.” She jumped on me, almost knocking me into the fridge. Her lithe legs straddled my waist. The pressure of her pelvis against mine was deadly sexy. She whispered in my ear, “We’ve got to lose these guys. I can’t wait much longer.” Her tongue darted in and out of my ear.
“You’re the one with the master’s degree in ruthlessness.” I laughed. “Cut the deadweight loose, while I go use the john.”
Washing my hands at the bathroom sink, my smug smile stared back at me in the cabinet mirror. I couldn’t fault myself too much for it. I was as happy as I could remember. Things had finally fallen in place for us.
Not for long.
Turning off the tap, I noticed the little red straw that had fallen behind the faucet. It looked as innocuous as a straw from a child’s juice box, but I knew better. I stared at the nasty remnant for a long time. Snatching it up, I crumpled it into a twisted mess. Fucking junk! I stomped out of the bathroom, squeezing the straw in my fist until it stung.
When I got back to the living room, Aaron and Emily were sitting on the couch with their feet resting on the coffee table. Aaron was drinking a beer, Emily a mineral water. Kyle and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen.
Emily thumbed at my brother. “He wouldn’t leave.”
Aaron shrugged. “Don’t know what Kyle’s rush was, either. It’s early.” He grinned. “And it’s not even a school night for his girlfriend.”
Emily patted the couch beside her, but I stood firm.
Aaron pulled out a wrapped package from behind his back. “Now that it’s just us, no harm in celebrating your hush-hush engagement.” He held out the gift, but I didn’t move.
Emily took it out of it his hands. “You’re too sweet!” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“What can I say?” Aaron shrugged. “Good-looking as he is, you picked the wrong brother.”
“You wish.” Emily tore open the package. Her forehead crinkled. Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Aaron…” She cradled the baby-name book in her hands, as if it were a baby.
Aaron gently reached into her hands and flipped the cover open to the page with his inscription. He tapped it. “No joke. I want to see some nieces and nephews. As in yesterday.”
They both looked at me for a reaction, but I stood stone-faced.
Aaron grinned. “Too masculine for you, huh, Ben? Knew I should’ve got something else. A tea cozy, lace doilies, or maybe those little frilly—”
I held out my hand and opened my fist, revealing the bent straw. Aaron stopped in mid-joke. The room fell into cold silence. Emily looked away.
“That’s mine,” Aaron finally said.
I stared at Emily. “You promised, Em.”
He stood up from the couch and stopped within arm’s reach of me, blocking my path to her. “You hear me, Ben? I brought the coke. She didn’t touch it.”
I eyed him ferociously. “You and Kyle, and your goddamn drugs!” I was as close as I’d been since we were twelve to punching him. “You bring this crap over to our place? To Emily, when you know…” I shook my head in disgust. “You had no right.”
“Are you listening, Ben?” His voice rose to match mine. “She didn’t touch it.”
“Don’t play me for an idiot!” It was as if I was yelling at my own reflection in the mirror. “Look at her bloodshot eyes. The dilated pupils. If I checked her pulse and blood pressure, they’d be up, too! Shall we run a urine drug screen and make it official?”
“Stop being a doctor for two seconds,” Aaron said. “You’re just reading what you want—”
“It was a celebration,” Emily said softly, cutting Aaron off in mid-defense.
I pushed Aaron aside. For a moment, he resisted and I thought we might end up in our first fistfight in sixteen years, but then he relented. He walked to the door. With his hand on the door handle, he turned back to us. He stood there for a long moment, as if he was about to say something, but he left without a word.
Emily sat on the couch, clutching the book in her hands and staring straight ahead. I walked over and sat beside her. Our bodies were inches apart, but the divide between us was expanding rapidly.
Emily cleared her throat. “It’s not their fault.”
“You don’t pour gas on a wildfire.”
“That’s how you think of me?” She turned to me, genuine hurt in her eyes. “Totally out of control?”
I shook my head. “It’s hard enough without them waving temptation right under your nose.”
“Ben, it was just a couple lines of coke.”
“And a couple of drinks, too.”
“Can’t you cut me a little slack?” she said. “Remember? We had my six-month cake last week.”
“And now we’re back to day zero.”
“No.” She took my hand in hers. “We’re going to get married next month. Remember? This…” She waved a hand dismissively over the scattered bottles. “It was just a slip. Like cheating on a diet.” She flashed puppy dog eyes at me. “Can’t we write it off as a moment of weakness on a special night?”
My hand lay flaccid in hers. She squeezed harder. “I’m going to be Mrs. Benjamin Dafoe soon. The mother of your kids. I wouldn’t let any chemical in the world screw that up.”
She leaned forward and planted her lips on mine. In spite of my passiveness, she kissed harder, her soft tongue caressing my lips and tongue. Her hand reached under my shirt and skittered over my chest before tucking into the waistband of my jeans. Her hand crept lower until it found the perfect spot. When she rolled on top of me and dug the warmth of her groin into my leg, the last of my resistance drained. I yanked off her skirt as I wriggled free of my jeans.
The angry sex we had was as intense as it had ever been. She fell asleep with me still inside her. I clung to her warm sweaty body, wanting to believe everything she said but sensing that we’d just rounded another curve in a downward spiral.
Three hours after I’d set out on the mountain-bike ride that was supposed to help me forget Emily, I returned home missing her even more, almost disappointed to have remained in one piece. By early evening, despite my exhaustion, I still wasn’t any closer to sleep.
At a loss for what to do, I showered and headed back to the hospital. There, I went directly to Lara Maxwell’s ICU room.
Despite the typical mess of machines and IV lines surrounding the sleeping patient, I was relieved to see the endotracheal tube gone from her mouth, meaning Lara was free of the ventilator.
Eyes closed, her sister Isabelle lay curled up in the chair beside the bed. With her face clear of all the tears and mascara, Isabelle looked like a normal teenager; a far sight from the drag princess of the morning. Compared to all that I’d seen this day, the two sisters were a wholesome and welcome sight. I turned to leave. Halfway to the door, I was stopped by a soft croaky voice. “Who are you?”
I looked behind me. Lara sat up in her bed.
“I’m Dr. Dafoe. I saw you in the Emergency Room.”
Isabelle roused at the sound of my voice. She stretched in the seat beside her. “Remember, Lara?” She yawned. “He’s the guy I told you about.”
Lara looked away. “Oh.”
Isabelle rose and stood at Lara’s bedside. “Mom and Dad will be here in the morning.” She sounded far more defiant than earlier. “And I already told them everything,” she said, as if stripping me of a weapon.
I nodded. “It’s none of my business.”
Arms crossed, Isabelle glared at me in full agreement.
“I just dropped by to see how Lara was doing.”
“My throat hurts.” Lara coughed harshly. “And it’s still not too easy to breathe.” She adjusted the nasal prongs running under her nose, but her eyes were fixed on the bedsheet. “I guess it could’ve been a lot worse though.”
“Much.”
She looked up at me tentatively. “The nurses said you saved my life.”
“There were lots of people who took care of you.” I shrugged. “What I do know is that Ecstasy and cocaine just about ended your life.”
She nodded solemnly. “I’m not going near that stuff again.”
“And I’m not going to let her,” Isabelle added with a huff. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”
I walked closer to the bedside. “Isabelle, I had no right to lay into you the way I did this morning.”
Isabelle held the icy stare a few moments longer, but then her resolve broke, and her eyes misted over. She looked at me pitifully. “No, what you said was true. I did almost kill my sister,” she wept. “Lara, I’m so sorry.”
Lara turned to her sister, confused.
I wavered, knowing I’d already blurred the line of professional conduct and was on the verge of stepping right over it. Screw it! I thought. “Listen, Isabelle, you don’t know why I was so upset this morning.”
Her throat bobbed. “Yes, I do.”
“It’s not what you think. When I was your age, I took my brother to a party. I gave him drugs. Encouraged him to take them.”
“What happened?” Isabelle choked out.
On the brink of tears myself, I looked away from the girls. “Once he got that first taste, Aaron was never the same. It ruined his life….”
Isabelle threw her arms around her sister’s neck, sending Lara into another paroxysm of coughs. When Isabelle looked up, tears streamed down her cheeks, but her jaw was clenched and her eyes burned with determination. “That’s not going to happen to Lara. I swear it!”
I forced a smile. “I believe it.”
I quickly said my good-byes and then headed for the elevator.
Stepping out, I almost slammed into my colleague and close friend, Dr. Alex Lindquist. At barely five feet, Alex was more than a head shorter than me, though her diminutive size was no reflection of her fiery personality. Most of the staff loved her. The few who crossed her inevitably regretted it.
Her hair pinned back, Alex wore a white lab coat draped over blue scrubs. I tried to ignore the impact of those expressive brown eyes, luscious lips, and high Slavic cheeks but failed as usual, and her proximity brought the expected stirrings.
“Ben!” she practically shrieked. “You look awful!”
I shrugged. “I told the lady not to cut my bangs so short.”
She grabbed me by the arm. “Coffee!” she commanded.
We sat in the corner of the hospital’s nearly deserted cafeteria with large cups of coffee in front of us. “Was your night shift that bad?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Remember Emily Kenmore?”
“Sure.” Her eyes narrowed, and I wondered if I spotted a flicker of jealousy. “The only serious ex I know of.”
“She was killed last night.”
Alex slammed down her cup on the table. “No!”
“Someone carved her up, Alex.”
Alex sat still, cradling the cup that looked massive in her small hand while I recounted what I’d seen at the crime scene.
“God, Ben, I am so sorry.” She reached over and squeezed my hand just once before withdrawing.
I nodded. “We hadn’t been together for a long time.”
“Doesn’t matter. To see that happen to someone you loved…”
We stared at our coffees in silence for a few moments. “I don’t get it, Ben. Why would the cops drag you down there?”
“To ID her, I suppose.”
She shook her head. “Don’t buy that for a second. That falls to the family. Besides, it’s done in the morgue when they’re tidied up. Not smack dab in the middle of the bloodshed.”
“Alex, I know the Homicide detectives involved. Helen Riddell and Rick Sutcliffe worked Aaron’s case. I’ve consulted for them on a number of poisonings and overdose deaths. I consider Helen a friend.”
Alex kept shaking her head. “Even more reason not to put you through that.”
“Plus, they wanted me to help identify the John Doe.”
“Did you?”
I paused. “No.”
“But you knew him?”
I’d forgotten how uncanny Alex’s intuition was. “I’d met him once, briefly. With Emily.”
Alex tilted her head expecting more, but I wasn’t forthcoming. “What now?” she asked.
“They investigate.” I sighed. “I should probably call Emily’s parents. God, she put them through a lot. Now this…”
“Give it a few days, okay?” she said softly. “It’s only fair to them. And you.”
“Alex, I lied to the detectives.”
She grimaced. “About?”
“I didn’t tell them Emily and I were engaged.”
Alex bit her lip. “I had no idea.”
“No one did,” I said. “We were going to elope. Only Aaron knew. And then, when it fell apart, we never told anyone else.”
Alex squeezed my hand a second time. When she pulled away, I felt the coolness of her wedding band slide over the back of my hand. “You okay?”
I tilted my hand side to side in a so-so gesture.
Her face lit up in a radiant smile. “Why don’t you let me take you out for dinner tomorrow?”
“What about Marcus?”
“Business. He’s back east again for a week.”
“And Talie?”
“Dad can watch her.”
“Very tempting…” Her understanding face lifted a bit of the load off my mind. But reason prevailed over emotion. “I’m not sure dinner is such a good idea,” I said, remembering the last fateful time we had gone out for dinner and drinks, a year earlier at a conference in San Francisco, and nearly wound up in bed together.
She took a final sip of her coffee and then put the empty cup down. “Good friends go out for dinner, you know.”
“I know.”
She smiled. “There’s no harm in a phone call, though, right?”
“None.”
She jabbed a finger at me. “You call me, Benjamin Dafoe. Day or night! Understand?”
I nodded. “Thanks, Alex.”
“I better get back to the pit.” She pointed in the direction of the ER as she rose to her feet. She crossed over to my side of the table and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Day or night,” she repeated.
She made it three steps from the table before she stopped and turned back. “Why?”
I fr
owned. “Why what?”
Her eyes bored into mine. “Why was Emily carved up?”
I broke off our eye contact and spoke to the table. “I don’t know, but something tells me it has to do with what happened to Aaron.”
Chapter 4
At first, I incorporated the ringing phone into my dream. But the second set of rings dragged me back into consciousness. I stared bleary-eyed at the clock radio whose fat red numbers read 5:35 A.M.
I groped for the phone. “Hello,” I muttered.
Nothing.
I’d barely crammed the receiver back into the base when it rang again. I picked it up. “Yes?”
Another pause, then “Benjamin?” spoken in a whisper.
“Who is this?” I asked, feeling a sudden cool rush.
“I was there.”
My skin crawled. “What are you talking about?”
“The fight. I saw it.”
My heart rate sped up. “What fight?”
“The fight, Benjamin,” the whisperer repeated. “You and Emily. And J.D. Let’s not forget J.D.”
I sat up in my bed. “J.D.?”
There was a soft chortle on the line. “It’s going to work out, Benjamin.”
“Listen!” My voice rose, in spite of myself. “You’re not making any sense.”
“I think we both know that I am.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“A friend.”
“Friend,” I growled, “You’re getting me confused with someone else!”
Another laugh. “Not if you’re the Dr. Benjamin Dafoe who I saw fighting with Emily and J.D. before they died. The one who—”
I clicked the END button and threw the cordless receiver across the room. When it rang again, I just stared at it. My hands trembled—part fear, part fury.
A good minute after it stopped ringing, I climbed out of bed and picked up the receiver. I scrolled through the call display with a still-shaky thumb. The readout read: CANADA.
Canada? And how the hell did he find my number? Like most physicians’, my home number was unlisted.
Confused and edgy, I changed into shorts and a drip-dry shirt. Grabbing my shoes, I headed out of the house through the basement to the attached garage. I unlocked the racing bike, which had cost almost as much as my car, and carefully pulled it off the ceiling rack. I saddled it up and locked my feet into the pedals.
