“You must be Janie, right? The nurses have told me all about you.”
I felt another rise of bile threatening to spill all over the floor. But my legs were too weak to move.
She leaned down and held out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Kristin, Daniel’s new doctor.”
“But you look like—”
She handed me a glass of water. “I know, I know.” She laughed, her gleaming teeth so white they matched the hospital sheets.
“Who are you?” I managed, wondering why Daniel wasn’t saying anything; maybe the drugs they’d just given him were making him woozy. I glugged the water down but my throat still felt dry. My tongue was so thick in my mouth I could hardly get my words out.
“I’m Daniel’s sister-in-law, Kristin. Natasha’s sister. I’m a neurologist, you know, highly trained and experienced in all things to do with traumatic brain injury; it’s my specialty. Here, let me help you up off the floor.” She pulled me up, my sneakers squeaking again on the linoleum.
This wasn’t right!
“His new doctor?” My voice was barely a squeak. “Where’s Dr. Bellow?”
“Dr. Bellow has been transferred to another hospital, to another state. I’ll be handling Daniel’s case from now on. Who better than his very own sister-in-law, after all?” She smiled at me again. All sweetness and light. On second glance, I saw that she was different from Natasha. Her mouth less lush, her lips harder. Her eyes more feline, too. And she looked several years older than Natasha. But still, they were so alike it was uncanny.
I turned my attention to Daniel. “Daniel, baby, Kristin’s here.” I squeezed his hand. He didn’t flinch, and his eyes remained closed.
“He can’t hear you,” she said coolly, snapping her pen into her clipboard. “He may never come out of this, you need to be prepared, Janie.”
“He’s just sleeping,” I assured her. “He was awake just five minutes ago, before you all came in.”
The other doctor, a slim young man, whom I’d never seen before, prized open Daniel’s lids and shone a light pen in his eyes. “No, he’s out cold,” he confirmed. “The patient is in a full coma.”
“He was awake! I swear it!” I cried. “Just before you came into the room we . . . we were talking and joking and we . . . we . . . ” I broke off, stunned.
Natasha Jürgen’s sister looked into my eyes, a pitiful gaze that told me how sorry she felt for me. “Janie, I can give you something, you know. A sedative, something to help you relax, take away the anxiety, take away some of the pain.”
“What is wrong with you all? He was talking to me! More than talking!” I didn’t want to get into details about the blowjob. “You have to believe me. The nurse . . . Barbara . . . where is she? She’ll tell you . . . Daniel has already snapped out of the coma twice, but slipped back again! But he’s on the mend!”
“Nurse Mendez is on leave—she won’t be back for a long while. And I can assure you, there is no evidence of lucidity in Daniel’s medical file. No notes to that effect.”
“What?” I screeched. “This is insane! Where are all the doctors who know what’s going on? Daniel is pulling through. Daniel is—”
“Calm down, Janie.” Kristin clinched me by the crook of my arm. “I know this is hard to accept, but Daniel—to put in layman’s terms so you’ll understand—has brain damage from internal bleeding, which resulted in a lack of oxygen to the brain. I have studied his case in depth—unless a miracle happens, he will never recover.”
“No, no, that’s not what the nurse told me! And if that were true he wouldn’t have been able to communicate. He was speaking! There is nothing wrong with him!” I started to shake Daniel vigorously. “Daniel, Daniel, baby, wake up! Tell them you were talking to me! Tell them what happened!” But he wasn’t responding. I turned to the doctors. “He was awake just five minutes ago, what did you just give him? He was awake!”
She shook her head.
“Why won’t you believe me?” I bellowed. “We kissed, we did more, he just had an orgasm, you can check for yourself, we—”
“Give her a shot, she’s out of control.” Kristin’s voice was cool but stern. Unemotional. Calculating. Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. “She needs to calm the hell down. We can’t have this kind of commotion going on. Prepare the syringe, I’ll hold her.”
I started thrashing, yelling and screaming. “Let me go! You have no legal right to do this! Let me go! What the hell are you doing? Let me g—” I could feel the needle sliding into my vein.
And then I blanked out.
I WOKE UP several hours later, according to the time on my watch. My head hurt, I ached—I felt like I’d run a marathon, or was just recovering from a bout of heavy flu. Then I remembered. I jolted up and rubbed my eyes. That bitch!
I was still in Daniel’s room, lying on a reclining chair. Everything was the same: the vase of lilies Pearl had brought, the roses Star had sent. But Daniel wasn’t there! My eyes roamed around the room frantically: they’d taken him away! I jumped up from the chair and raced to the phone on Daniel’s bedside table. Not “bedside” anymore because there was no bed—they’d wheeled him out of here. I dialed the extension where the nurses’ station was.
A bright voice picked up.
“Where’s Daniel Glass?” I demanded. “He was here, in Room 313, but now he’s vanished!”
“Just a moment I’ll look at my chart. And you are?”
“His fiancée,” I said. I was his fiancée—he’d proposed to me—and no, I hadn’t been dreaming.
“He’s been transferred,” she told me.
My pulse was thundering in my head, in my stomach, my heart; so much so, I thought I’d black out again. I needed to eat something. “Where?”
“I’m sorry, I do not have that information at this time.”
“Don’t have it, or won’t give it?”
“I do not have that information, ma’am, you’ll have to speak to his doctor.”
“Dr. Bellows?” I said hopefully.
“No, ma’am, Dr. Bellows left us yesterday. He is no longer working at this hospital. Dr. Jürgen is in charge of Mr. Glass’ case—you’ll need to speak to her.”
“Can you tell me where Dr. Bellows has been transferred to?”
“I’m sorry, I do not have that information at this time.”
“What about the nurse who was looking after him? Barbara. I think her last name is Mendez. Can you tell me where she has gone?”
“I believe she is on leave.”
“How can I contact her? Do you have her phone number? Address?” I didn’t need to hear her answer; I knew what it would be.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I do not—”
“Have that information at this time,” I finished off. “At this time? Or any time? How can I find out?” I begged, my voice a desperate plea.
“I’m sure Dr. Jürgen will be most helpful, she’s a very respected neurologist; we’re lucky to have her with us. I can arrange an appointment with her tomorrow, if you wish.”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
I tried to put down the receiver but my hands were trembling so badly, I didn’t manage to get it on its cradle. I needed back up. It was dangerous for me here. What Kristin Jürgen did to me was unethical, illegal, and insane, but she was in her own environment, a star in her neurological world, obviously. Doctors were bad enough at the best of times—always backing each other up, even when it came to malpractice. I could sue the bitch for what she did to me, I thought, for what she was doing now to Daniel . . . whatever, I needed to get away from here and organize backup, not be here alone. I glugged down an entire glass of water, grabbed my purse, then made for the door, half expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t.
I wanted to run around the hospital, screaming for Daniel, demanding his whereabouts, but I knew that would be crazy: I’d end up sedated again. No, I needed to come back, armed with an attorney, and maybe even a police officer. Somehow, I had to
find another expert, another neurologist who could offer a second opinion about Daniel’s condition. Subpoena Dr. Bellows, Barbara, and all the original medical notes they took. Whatever was going on was ominous, like something out of a psychological horror movie.
This Kristen Jürgen was a coldhearted, scheming bitch and, for some strange reason, she wanted Daniel to stay in his coma.
A light bulb flashed in my brain . . . duh, how could I be so slow on the uptake?
Natasha Jürgen didn’t come out of her coma, either. A coincidence?
I don’t think so.
I HAILED A CAB and started to dial the numbers of everyone I knew, starting with Pearl, kicking myself that I had never asked for the nurse’s personal cellphone number. With all Pearl’s contacts and her husband’s money, they were bound to know the most powerful attorneys in the country. Not to mention the fact I needed to let her know that her pearl necklace had vanished along with Daniel. Her phone went to voicemail. Then I called Star. Damn voicemail. I left a frantic message. And when I finally tracked down Pearl’s PA, she told me that she and her husband were on their “no email, no cellphone vacation.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, bewildered. Who went without their cellphone these days? Apparently they did. For two whole weeks a year, Alexandre Chevalier had a no contact rule, except for direct members of family, his dogs, or if one of his houses was burning down, strict instructions not to be disturbed. The PA gave me numbers of all their lawyers, but Star had once told me that Alexandre Chevalier had “underground methods,” to deal with “severe problems”—her kidnapping, I remembered Star telling me, was solved in part because of him.
I thought of Daniel’s marriage proposal just a few hours earlier, and wondered if he was aware of what he was doing. For that short minute, before Kristin psycho Jürgen and her team entered the room, I entertained images of our future together: walking down Fifth Avenue, arm in arm, maybe ice skating in Central Park, the lake frozen in winter, or diving into glittering turquoise waters in the Mediterranean on his island hideaway in Hydra. Me pregnant, maybe. Collaborating on plays, always the husband and wife team; an everlasting marriage, growing old and gray together.
And now, all this seemed impossible.
I paid the cab driver and made my way through the revolving doors to Daniel’s apartment. I needed to shower and change, and cash in that $25,000 Bellagio chip. I walked into the shiny marble lobby, forever fearful now about too-polished floors. Daniel never kept a key for his apartment, because there was a twenty-four hour concierge.
“Hi, Ethan,” I said, my elbows plunked on the counter, as I waited for him to give me the key to the suite. I expected him to ask after “Mr. Glass” as they always did, but he stared at me, his face unsmiling, his stance brisk.
“May I help you?”
“Hi Ethan,” I said, ignoring his rudeness, “I need the key please. I’m pooped!”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to let you up there, Miss Cole.”
Miss Cole? What the hell was going on? “Ethan! My stuff is up there. I need a shower, something to eat. You know Daniel wanted me to be here. He told you to give me anything I needed. And right now, I need a shower!”
“Just one moment.”
“Thank you,” I said, still stunned by his suddenly cold behavior. But he didn’t give me the room key. He bent down, picked up a suitcase and wheeled it out from behind the desk. My suitcase!
“Your things have been packed, Miss.”
“Miss? My name is Janie! What the heck is this? Why are you suddenly not letting me into Daniel’s apartment?”
“Just following orders. I’m sorry, this is out of my control.”
“Whose orders?”
“My boss.”
“Your boss?”
“The person who owns this hotel.”
At first: confusion. Then: delight. I got it now! The reason Daniel hadn’t been in his room in the hospital was that he had recovered! And he’d spoken to Ethan. But why didn’t Daniel want me to stay? Maybe he was planning a surprise for me.
“You’ve spoken to Daniel? Like, recently?” I asked.
“No, I believe he’s still ill, isn’t he? Still in the hospital?”
This was surreal. “You said just now, ‘your boss’.”
“Mrs. Glass.”
“His mom is here? She arrived from Geneva already?”
“No, not his mother.”
“But you just said ‘Mrs. Glass’.”
“Yes, Mrs. Glass. The wife of Daniel Glass.”
“But his wife died last year.”
“I wouldn’t know about his late wife, miss, I’ve only been working for Mr. Glass for four months.”
Blood was pounding in my ears. I felt faint. Weak. I hadn’t eaten properly, not taken my iron pills or had a proper hot meal in days, and whatever drug I’d been injected with was making me feel hung over and dizzy. My hands and legs were trembling; I could hardly stand. I leaned against the desk for fear of falling.
“What’s his wife’s name?” I croaked out, somehow knowing what the dreaded answer would be before Ethan even opened his mouth.
“Her first name is Kristin. I believe her name before she married was Jürgen.”
Part Three
Hearts of GLASS
1
Daniel.
THE HORROR OF what is happening to me is beneath my fingertips, but I cannot move them. It is on my breath but I cannot speak. It is before my eyes yet I cannot even blink.
I am immobile.
But my brain is alive. Very much alive. I want to jump up and grab them by the throats—these gatekeepers who are forcing me to be imprisoned in my own body. I was awake. I was well. Janie was with me and it was a matter of hours—yes, hours—before I knew I’d be up and running again. I could taste recovery. But then they medicated me. Medicated me back to oblivion.
This is déjà-vu. I have seen this before. How could I have been so blind? I should have seen it fucking coming. I should have been on my guard.
I cannot move.
I hear her sugared voice. I smell her cloying scent, hovering above, her white coat a reminder of the power she wields over me.
I guess this is it.
I never thought I could be snuffed out so easily, like a flickering candle.
Encased in a tomb of frustration and internal anger, my mind wanders back to Janie. If I could shed tears, they would be for her. I think of her beautiful fragile frame in my arms. Her lovely lithe body spent and sated after I have given her my all. The way she likes to be dominated by me but won’t admit it. And now I lie still, dominated by another, someone I now know is pure evil. I am a shell. A soul. I cannot protect myself. I cannot protect the one person I love. I imagine the soft timbre of Janie’s voice, Her innocent yet fiery brown eyes, the love pouring from her gaze.
I will never see her again.
I am as good as nothing.
A Year Earlier.
“DANIEL, WAKE UP!”
“What?” A voice that seemed only vaguely familiar lifted me out of my sleep. I rubbed my eyes. My neck was stiff and felt as if someone had cranked it sideways. I’d fallen asleep and, in a brisk moment, remembered where I was: at Natasha’s bedside in the hospital in New York. The nightmare flooded back to me; the reality of where I was, the choice before me.
“We need to make a decision, Daniel.”
“I . . . I need time,” I rasped, my voice barely a whisper. I looked up at Kristin, my sister-in-law. Not just my sister-in-law, but Natasha’s neurologist. I barely knew the woman and here we were sharing this horrible fate. There was camaraderie in the misery we were about to endure. Because, even though I had long since given up on my marriage and knew Natasha was in love with another man, she was still my wife, goddamn it, still a part of me.
Kristin leaned over and pushed a wayward lock of my hair from my sweaty brow. “She’s brain dead, Daniel. There’s nothing anyone can do for her. She’s no more than a vegeta
ble. The oxygen—”
“Please stop,” I shot back. “I can’t do it, alright? I simply can’t make a decision to end someone’s life!”
“It’s what she wanted, Daniel. It’s in her last will and testament.”
It was true. Who in their right mind would think of stipulating that sort of thing in a will? Well Natasha had, apparently. Drawn up by an attorney, with Kristin as her witness. Natasha had also made her sister the executor, should anything befall her. Kristin in charge of everything despite the fact so much of my own money was part of the various trusts Natasha had set up, including a charity, close to her heart, for orphaned chimpanzees. However coldhearted Natasha had been with me, particularly regarding her extra marital affair with her polo-playing lover Ricardo, she was kind to animals—something that warmed me to her from the beginning. I didn’t like the idea of this stranger—her sister—pushing her way into Natasha’s life, and wanting to end it just as quickly, yet taking over everything in her wake. Natasha had left her entire estate to her sister, not to me. Including a house I’d bought her in the Hamptons as a wedding gift. A cottage in Bermuda, before, of course, I’d got wind of the fact that she had married me for my money, and in love with Ricardo all along. Yes, I’d been a fool. And a generous one at that.
“What the hell do you want me to say, Kristin? That I’m okay with pulling the fucking plug? Because I’m not, can’t you get that?”
She held my gaze for a second, a tear sliding down her cheek. “You think this is easy for me? She’s my little sister. And I love her. But Daniel, it is what it is. I can’t change fate.”
I was beginning to regret that I’d insisted Natasha come to the very same hospital where Kristin worked, after her accident in the park. It seemed like an innocuous fall, when a bicycle in Central Park careened into Natasha as we were crossing the road. She even got up and laughed about it. Her leg was bruised, but she seemed fine. It was only later that evening she began to complain of a splitting headache, and I called Kristin. She was top in her field—it seemed the obvious thing to do. But I should have picked a doctor outside the family, someone more impartial. Because Kristin was invested in following Natasha’s wishes, to a tee. The will I never even knew existed was now being thrust in my face.
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