Contents
Title Page
The Departure
Chapter One - Pamela's Bedroom, Vancouver Suburbia — Morning
Chapter Two - Ryerson United Church, Kerrisdale
Chapter Three - Capilano View Cemetery, West Vancouver
The Interrogation
Chapter Four - Capilano View Cemetery — The Next Morning
Chapter Five - Interrogation Room, Undisclosed Location
The Escape
Chapter Six - The Interrogation Room — Moments Later
The Torture
Chapter Seven - The Warehouse, North Shore
The Hunt
Chapter Eight - Capilano Regional Park Forest
The Nightmare
Chapter Nine - The Bungalow, Kitsilano
The Dead End
Chapter Ten - Medical Prison, Undisclosed Location
The Union
Chapter Eleven - Ryerson United Church, Kerrisdale
The Code
Internal Report - DO NOT COPY or REMOVE
Chapter Twelve - An Office, Yet Another Undisclosed Location - Weeks Later
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
A excerpt from After The Virus
HER
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Love Lies Bleeding
— A Novella —
Meghan Ciana Doidge
Published by Old Man in the CrossWalk Productions
Vancouver, BC, Canada
www.oldmaninthecrosswalk.com
THE DEPARTURE
CHAPTER ONE
Pamela's Bedroom, Vancouver Suburbia — Morning
Rain relentlessly lashed the normally pretty city. Majestic mountain and ocean views were completely obscured by heavy cloud. The sky’s endless weeping dampened joy and drained despair down street corner storm drains. Snow would have been a relief, a comforting blanket, but today, there would be no quarter. Today, love would be tested.
And how could love triumph against such a bleak onslaught?
•••••••••
Pamela, her shiny, light-brown hair pulled back in an elaborate French twist, stared out the paned-glass of her bedroom window. Rain speckled the glass, creating shadow tears on her creamy, otherwise unblemished cheek. Pamela was thirty-one years old, but looked to be at least four years younger. She was a Taurus, but didn’t know much about astrology beyond the fact that she supposedly had a predilection for artistry. To that end, she used to be a graphic designer, but today she felt like she wasn’t anything at all.
The gray day did very little to illuminate the pretty pink and white space behind Pamela. Even the silky fabric twined around the canopy bed was lackluster and drab. A mournful song by Sarah McLachlan, Hold On, played from a laptop situated on a white-painted antique makeup table to Pamela’s left. The music — a song she’d heard played live at the Royal Theatre during her university years — only emphasized the heavy though resigned mood surrounding Pamela. The concert had been a date early on with Grady. Pamela had been so tired she’d slept through the opening act, but once Sarah started to sing, she’d been wide awake. The same couldn’t be said now, as she stood unblinking, statue-still until the song finished.
The silence was heavier than the music.
Pamela shifted her gaze, her movement sparse and precise, to the DVD tray of the laptop. A disc titled, Pamela & Grady Are Getting Married sat in the tray. The laptop was decorated with a pink-flowered, japanese cherry tree inspired skin. Grady had burned this particular DVD for his mother, but Pamela doubted anyone would ever watch it now.
Pamela pressed the tray ever so lightly. It closed, swallowing the DVD within it.
A video began to play on the laptop. A lightly graying, but more elegant for it, woman appeared on the screen. The woman, Valerie, who happened to be Pamela’s mother, smiled for the camera and enthusiastically began her narration. “So this is the story of how Grady and Pamela met and came to be married. To hear Grady tell it, it was love at first sight …”
A blood-red rose bouquet, long ivory gloves, and a silk chiffon veil were laid out on the frilly double bed. A heart-shaped, ruffle-edged pillow bearing the initials P&G occupied the center spot of the mound of white-cotton-sheathed pillows lining the head of the bed.
Pamela turned away from the window, away from the laptop. Carefully raising the skirt of her ivory wedding gown, she crossed to the bed. Her dress also happened to be decorated in Japanese-inspired cherry blossoms. In fact, three pink poof flowers were tastefully clustered at the waistband. Pamela was in no way Japanese; she just had a thing for pink flowers. She slowly, painfully slowly, dragged a glove off the bed. Even more slowly, if it was at all possible, she pulled it onto one arm.
On the laptop, Valerie continued to tell her story. “Pamela was on a blind date at a hockey game, and the date wasn’t going well. Grady and a couple of friends were seated in front … was it in front or behind? Behind, then he would have had a clear view of Pamela.”
Pamela fumbled with the pearl buttons at her wrist. Her hands weren’t shaking, just uncooperative. She was aware on some deep, almost unacknowledged, level that she wasn’t exactly doing well. She couldn’t even really feel the fabric of the glove, though it was a slim fit. This wasn’t at all how any of this was supposed to be. She’d spent years planning for this day. Practically enacting the sequence of events, collecting pictures in a wish box, and generally dreaming. She’d known the first moment she kissed Grady that he was hers forever. She reached for the second glove.
The door, also white and paneled — Craftsman-style construction dominated this part of the suburbs — opened. Valerie-in-the-flesh looked in, obviously dismayed. “Pamela, pumpkin, are you sure you …”
Pamela continued to do up the pearl buttons of the second glove.
The video continued to play and Valerie-on-the-DVD continued her story. “Grady couldn’t stand to see Pamela with … what was his name? Not important, I suppose, but not the man for Pamela anyway.”
Valerie, deeply distressed, eyed the video on the laptop. Her lips pursed, she stepped into the bedroom. A dark, perhaps charcoal-gray rather than true black, two-piece sleekly tailored suit emphasized her well-kept body. She was neither skinny nor fat. It was obvious in more than genetics that she was Pamela’s mother. They shared a graceful demeanor. “You don’t have to do this,” she practically pleaded, but Pamela’s focus was only for the silk chiffon veil as she reverently lifted it off the bed.
Valerie had much more to say. But, momentarily distracted by the video, she instead watched herself on the laptop screen, where she continued to narrate the story of Grady and Pamela’s first meeting. “So, Grady deliberately dumps his beer all over what’s-his-name.”
“I … your Father and I …” Valerie, attempting to pull the focus back to the immediate present, tore her eyes off the laptop.
Pamela, having turned to the mirrored closet doors, tried to secure her veil comb. Valerie’s eyes welled with tears that she quickly blinked off, as she then crossed to her daughter to help place the comb in the bottom knot of Pamela’s hair. She then took a moment to just look at Pamela in the mirror. Pamela smoothed her hands over the skirt of the dress.
Valerie-on-the-DVD laughed and finished her story. “The guy absolutely loses it and takes off to the bathroom. And Grady takes the opportunity to meet Pamela.”
“You used to love to twirl and twirl to see how far you could spin your ski
rts. The dress is … perfect.” Valerie sighed and reached to touch Pamela, but then seemingly thought better of it. “All right, then. I’ll be back.” Having come to some difficult decision, Valerie quickly exited the bedroom.
Pamela picked up her bouquet, held it in front of her torso, and further studied her reflection. The blood-red roses were harsh and incongruent against the soft ivory and pink of the dress. Almost like splattered blood. Where every other one of Pamela’s choices for her ensemble was classic, this bouquet was completely out of place.
“And he’s never left her side since,” Valerie-on-the-DVD-mused. “Not if he could help it.”
Karli, with nary a knock or polite query to announce her presence, abruptly entered. Her very long, blonde hair was contained in a twist. Even swathed in a black suit and nylons, she was still sexy, dirty sexy. She was approximately twenty-nine years of age, though this had never been confirmed, just assumed. A Scorpio, of course, and obvious to any who laid eyes on her.
“Your Mom said …” Karli trailed off as she zeroed in on Pamela in the mirror. “Oh. Pom-Pom.” Karli was the only person who got away with calling Pamela by anything other than her given name, except Grady, of course, but their amorous whispers in the dark didn’t count for anything anymore.
Valerie-on-the-DVD took this moment to interject. “Of course, with the war, you go where you are told, no questions asked.”
Karli plastered on a painfully cheery smile, and, avoiding looking too closely at Pamela in the mirror, said, “You look beautiful.” But following her forceful entrance, she now seemed at a loss as to where to place herself in the room. She crossed to Pamela and brushed a kiss on her cheek, but the bulk of her attention was for the video on the laptop. “Anything you need?” she half-heartedly murmured.
Pamela continued to stare at herself in the mirror, so Karli, as was her intention all along, simply continued to wander toward the desk. She ran a finger across the top of the laptop, which now displayed a montage of Pamela and Grady. The montage included a shot of Pamela, and then the two of them, twirling with their hands linked on a sunny, sandy beach.
Pamela continued to fuss with straightening her gloves and dress. The veil placement also seemed to be bothering her. Her movements were languid, dream-like.
“I … I … perhaps,” Karli murmured, and then suddenly darted a hand out to snap the laptop closed. “That’s better.”
Valerie hustled back into the room holding a pearl necklace. With any sign of tears a distant memory, she was all business. “Your grandmother’s. I always intended for you to wear it. Karli, will you hold her veil?”
Karli, always eager to be in action, quickly crossed to hold Pamela’s veil out of the way. Valerie fastened the necklace around Pamela’s neck. Once it was secure, Valerie touched the necklace lovingly. Then they paused, a trio of women reflected in the mirror — an ivory statue bookended by dark guardians.
“I can’t remember why we waited. What was so important about this particular date?” Pamela spoke as if addressing her own reflection.
Valerie and Karli locked eyes in the mirror, and Valerie pursed her lips once again as if not to cry.
“I’ll pull the van up. I’m driving. I’m going to drive,” Karli announced.
“Thank you,” Valerie sighed.
Karli nodded and exited as quickly as she had entered.
Valerie ran a hand down Pamela’s arm. “Ready, baby?”
Pamela nodded.
Valerie turned to leave. After a moment of further reflection, Pamela followed.
CHAPTER TWO
Ryerson United Church, Kerrisdale
Unlike its contrast to Pamela’s perfectly pink bedroom, the bleak mid-February day flawlessly complimented Ryerson United Church, a Gothic Revival-style stone building with a steeply pitched gable roof and prominent corner tower.
People darted from cars or taxi cabs, perhaps weary of circling for parking, across the green, perfectly trimmed lawns and into the church. Umbrellas did nothing to protect dress shoes or nylons. Nary a cherry blossom was to be seen. Spring was late, even in this sheltered residential neighborhood.
•••••••••
Within the sanctuary, dreary daylight filtered in slits through stained-glass windows. A large gold cross dominated the otherwise tasteful decor. A portrait of an army medical officer sat on a table. This was Grady, as he looked in uniform; an immaculate version of himself. Grady embodied everything a doctor or soldier should be — clean-cut, straight back, strong jaw, with honest, crystal-clear eyes. Handsome, but not intimidatingly so. This was not actually as everyone would remember him, but it was his perfected public image. Not that it remotely mattered anymore, but Grady, Pamela’s beloved, was a Capricorn.
A large flower arrangement filled with love lies bleeding occupied the other half of the photo table. The red flowers hung over the frame as if weeping for, or perhaps just trying to kiss, the photo of Grady.
The pews were filled with a multitude of mourners, all of who were dressed in dark, somber clothing.
Valerie, trying to contain tears, hurried up the aisle to sit at the front with an older couple who were obviously her parents.
Karli followed closely behind Valerie, and, midway down the aisle, locked eyes with a clean-cut man in a suit who sat next to a slightly dumpy man. This was Erwin and Phil. For Karli, their presence at the church was obviously disconcerting and unwanted. Suddenly terribly grim, she shook her head and frowned in their direction. Erwin dropped eye contact, choosing instead to peruse his hymnbook. Karli, her back stiff and her gait now stilted, continued a few pews farther and slid into a middle seat.
“Who is that?” Phil’s whisper was in no way subtle.
“Someone we’re not supposed to know. Just keep focused on what you’re here to do.” Erwin caution came with a bit of an edge, like he was already tired of directing his companion.
“I’m getting everyone as they come in.” Phil, with a pleased grin completely at odds with his surroundings, indicated a University of Victoria Alma Mater pin on his lapel. “Have you seen this new —”
“Some stealth would be nice,” Erwin hissed through clenched teeth.
“You bet! And the resolution is fantastic,” Phil continued, completely undaunted.
Karli twisted in her pew to glare and shake her head at Erwin again. Erwin simply shrugged his shoulders in response, and avoided further eye contact.
This caught the attention of Karli’s companion, a dark-haired, sour-looking man. Dwayne slumped farther into his seat with a mumbled, “I still don’t get why I have to be here.”
“What are you, teething?” Karli snapped back.
“You know I hate these things.”
“Until everything is resolved, you’ll continue to put out with a smile.”
Dwayne offered up a grimace of a smile. Karli was unimpressed.
A batty-looking organist hammered her fingers on the church organ, startling the congregation. But then she began to expertly tease a dirge out of the instrument.
An emergency-only side door that led to the church parking lot, opened. A brutal-looking man, Shep, stepped through. He scanned the space, then nodded to an elegant older man, Mr. Doyle, over his shoulder. Mr. Doyle entered the church, and Shep courteously shut the door behind him.
“I cannot decide whether it is highly appropriate that this was to be their wedding day, or not,” Mr. Doyle said. He took a moment to survey the sanctuary and remove his leather gloves.
“Sick,” Shep agreed.
“Granted. Though not the class of perversity you prefer.”
Shep grinned, rather like a rabid hyena, in response. Mr. Doyle tapped his enforcer’s shoulder with the gloves and indicated an empty back pew. They skirted the last of the stragglers and took their seats.
The main doors opened, and Pamela, still in her wedding gown, stepped through.
Everyone swiveled in their seats, but no one stood
as she traversed the aisle wedding march-style toward Grady’s photo.
“So this is her?” Dwayne asked Karli. “Hot. A little damp around the edges, but —”
Karli stamped her rather pointy heel into his foot and ground down. Dwayne whitened, looking faint with the pain, but made no further noise.
After a moment of staring down at Grady’s photo, Pamela placed her bouquet by the picture. The Minister, who’d been hovering nervously off to one side, approached his podium. He then fussed with his Bible and notes, while he continued to wait on Pamela.
Pamela took a deep, solidifying breath and turned towards the front pew. Valerie, tears freed, held her hands out to her daughter, and after stepping to take them, Pamela sat beside her mother.
Through all this, everyone kept their eyes averted from Pamela. They allowed for her grief even as they obviously questioned her choice of mourning gown.
“While it is a grave and unfortunate event that gathers us here today, we must remember to celebrate Grady’s life and cherish his memory,” the Minister’s voice rang out as he referenced his notes. “He was a brave and loyal man, loving and devoted to his fiancée Pamela, and dedicated to making this world a better place one patient at a time. To know him was to love him.”
A sigh floated through the mourners. An acknowledgement of the beginning of the ritual of saying goodbye. A slump of acceptance.
Except from Pamela, who continued to sit ramrod straight and barely heard a word of what the Minister preached.
CHAPTER THREE
Capilano View Cemetery, West Vancouver
Two gravediggers put the final touches on a fresh site at the Capilano View Cemetery in West Vancouver. The cemetery spread its inset headstones and meandering property along the base of the mountains, which were still snowcapped enough to entice local skiers. Southward, the city of Vancouver spread out beyond the inlet. It was a beautiful and — at least externally — restful place for the dead. A pricey but quiet plot.
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