“Each of us has heaven and hell in him—I read that once.”
“Maybe. But your proportion is probably ninety-nine percent heaven and one percent hell. And I’m likely more the opposite.” He smiled, shaking his head. And I had to smile too. He looked at his watch and pulled himself up, dusting himself off. “Wow, I guess I should go.”
“Me too,” I said, even though I could have been content to stay there indefinitely, letting time slip away. It felt as if we had been talking about other people all night, not the horrors I would now be left to face. I rose to my feet, shaking out his rumpled suit jacket, which I would have secretly liked to keep as a memento of our night. But instead I handed it back with a thank-you.
“Are you okay climbing back on your own? I’m going to head to the Vault I think . . .” He trailed off and made no motion to leave. I just nodded. He turned to go but then spun back to face me again, his hand holding my arm for a moment. “You have to make it through this so that you can undo the damage I’ve done.”
“I will.”
“I know you will.”
His eyes searched mine once more and then he planted a kiss on my forehead, letting his lips linger there. He combed one hand through my hair and then let me go.
He walked down the hall toward the Vault, so slowly, as though he didn’t want to ever arrive where he was going. I watched, unable to completely turn away until he was swallowed up in that winding path to the club. I could still feel the twisting sting from that dagger of heartbreak even when I knew the boy I sent away wasn’t really right for me.
29. Rendezvous at the Library
Lance and I spent the entire morning talking, before heading to our office where we vowed to keep our conversations strictly business, just in case. He sat rapt as I recited it all from beginning to end, every bizarre fact Lucian had told me.
After bombarding me with questions, he said, “It’s just mind-boggling, right?”
“Yeah.” I had to agree. It was a lot.
“And you’re sure this all checks out?”
“I guess so.”
I couldn’t blame him for asking. I would have questioned it all too, but I had the advantage of that book of mine. I had peeked at it after climbing back up to my room and it had confirmed what Lucian had said.
What you have heard is correct. You are an angel in training. It‘s a position of strength and power and should be treated as such. You are here now because you are being tested. The only way to test good is to immerse it in evil and force it to find its way to the top. Trust the knowledge you have been given and continue seeking further enlightenment.
I didn’t tell Lance any of this angel business—I was still trying to digest it all myself. But I wondered. I mean, he had some sort of powers too, whatever they were. With our scars, our childhoods, of course, I had to wonder. I just let it float around my mind for the time being. For now, I needed him to flex his equally impressive, though much less mystical, powers.
“Hey, by the way, I have kind of a project for you. I don’t know if it’s possible, but if anyone can figure it out it would be you.”
“I’m intrigued,” he said. “Try me.”
Just as dusk was setting in, I was at the front desk picking up the stacks of menus for the prom when I saw her. She was walking up from the Vault elevator at the back of the lobby. I thought I was imagining it at first, but no, it really was Dr. Michelle, here in the Lexington Hotel. Relief swept over me, the way it always does when you spot a friend unexpectedly just when you need her. Maybe I could get her to duck out with me for dinner or something. I really just needed to spend some time with someone from my old world. And I certainly didn’t want her dining here. What was she doing here anyway? It was too early to be hitting the Vault. I noticed now that she was walking beside Mirabelle and wore a black cocktail dress. I called out before thinking, walking toward them:
“Michelle! Dr. Michelle!” She didn’t seem to hear me but Mirabelle did and our paths met under the chandelier. “Hi!” I gave her a hug and noticed she didn’t quite hug me back. I was gushier than usual but I didn’t care. “What are you doing here? Another wild girls’ night at the club? Wow, you look amazing, this is so pretty!” She wore sky-high heels and her hair, usually in a ponytail, now fell across her shoulders in soft waves. “How’s everything? Joan came by recently and said you were the hero of that school bus crash.” I was talking so fast, I couldn’t help it, but as soon as I stopped, I saw it: that look. She just stared at me with those empty eyes that everyone here seemed to have. I looked straight into them, through them, searching for life. My stomach lurched and my blood ran cold. “Michelle?”
She smiled, a hollow smile. “I’m sorry,” she said in a perfectly sweet, dull tone. “You must’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
I opened my mouth to speak but had no words. Mirabelle draped her hands on Michelle’s shoulders like a shrug. “Come, Evangeline,” she said to her.
I could only stand there, frozen, as they walked away.
Rattled as I was, I tried, with Lance’s help, to spend the rest of the day focusing on what good I had to look forward to: the rendezvous with Dante. We were ready and waiting for him a good half hour before our appointed time. There had been only one guest browsing the library when we arrived and soon we were left entirely alone. At five minutes after ten we heard the squeak of sneakers slapping at the part of the lobby floor not covered by carpeting. I looked out the door to see Dante running, as fast as I’d ever seen him run, in his chef’s uniform, straight for us. His expression, the pain of his eyes and grimace that overtook him, told me he was running away from something, someone. He glanced quickly back over his shoulder as he crossed the lobby.
Just a few paces from the door . . . he dropped. Fast and hard against the ground making a dull smack. Every part of him seemed to give out simultaneously. I hit the ground with him, leaning over him, and I heard myself shouting his name, shouting for someone to call an ambulance. I checked his pulse and felt it there, fast.
His eyes fluttered and just before passing out he gasped: “Under the floorboards, my bed, a box . . . find . . . Please. So much to tell you.” And then he was out.
Two paramedics slid him onto a stretcher and wheeled him out the front doors, causing something of a scene. Lance and I followed; I held Dante’s limp hand as we rushed to the awaiting ambulance. After they loaded him in, the brusque male paramedic barked at Lance and me, “No room in here, gotta go.”
“Please. I can’t leave him.”
“It’s okay,” said his female partner. “One of you can come.”
“You go,” Lance said kindly. “Call me with updates, okay?”
I nodded. I couldn’t speak.
I climbed in to join the EMTs in back. As soon as the siren came on, rousing me, I piped up: “How is he?”
The man took a blood sample while the woman hooked up an IV.
“Stable,” she said. “We’ll get some fluids into him. They’ll run some tests.”
“Do you think he would last okay if, I mean, I know it’s out of the way but could you possibly take us to Evanston General?” I pleaded with them. “I know it’s a longer way but my mom is there . . . she’s a nurse, please, can you, please?” I felt the tears welling up.
“I don’t think it’s prudent,” the man said.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said the woman. She yelled to the driver, “Hey, Lou, any chance we can hit Evanston GH?”
I looked to the front and saw the man’s eyes in the rearview mirror; he must’ve caught my tears.
“Sure, if you say it’s okay!”
“Thank you so much, thank you!” I called out to him.
***
I had the attendants at the ER front desk page Joan the minute we got there. I was seated at Dante’s bedside—he was still out cold—when Joan came in.
“Honey, what happened? What’s going on?” She was frantic. She’s never like that at work. I stood up and she g
rabbed me into a hug, but kept her eyes on Dante.
“It’s hopefully nothing. Dr. Joe said he’s stable, but I just wanted you to check him out, make sure he’s okay.” What could I tell her? I couldn’t tell her what I wanted to.
“But, Haven, what happened?”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth at least. “He’s just . . . he’s been working hard and I think it’s just exhaustion. He passed out.”
She gave me a skeptical look but she nodded anyway and kissed me on the forehead.
“I’ll check everything out.”
“I’ll wait out here.” I squeezed Dante’s hand as I left. And then I had to ask, fear rising anew: “Hey, is Michelle working tonight? Thought I might say hi.”
Joan was looking over Dante’s chart, barely paying attention. “Oh honey, I thought I told you—she just got a position with a hospital in Oregon. She’s got family out there or something and had been waiting for it to come through. Happened so fast. She said she’d e-mail you to say goodbye. Poor thing was so overworked at the end, she was like a zombie or something.”
“Thanks.” That was all I could muster. As I walked away, Joan was speaking to Dante, as if he were awake.
“Now, Mr. Dennis, I just saw your mother the other day. She’s not going to like this at all.” She whipped the curtain closed around them.
I had a few minutes and went up to pediatrics. There, I scanned that bulletin board and found it easily. It had been layered underneath so many other faces. She was just on the edge of the picture of Jenny. Michelle’s arm was around her, a hint of her face in the frame, but I could see it had indeed started to change. Her skin had grown scaly and taken on a greenish tint, her features all tugged downward as though in a few days’ time they would slip off her face. I snapped it off the wall where it had been pinned, folded it, and tucked it in my dress pocket.
“So he’s going to be okay?” It was now after three in the morn- ing and Dante had been given the green light to go home as soon as he woke up from his deep slumber. Ruthie had arrived to sit with him. Joan sat beside me in the waiting area—coffee in her hands, cocoa in mine.
“He’ll be fine, honey. I’m so glad you came here, that was good thinking.” I leaned my head on her shoulder and yawned. “He’s very weak. He really hasn’t been sick or anything that you’ve noticed? His levels are just all out of whack.”
I wanted to tell her everything but I couldn’t. It would probably just put her in danger too, and I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t live with myself if any harm came to her.
“Not that I know of, but you know, Dante’s tough and doesn’t like to complain so maybe he just didn’t say anything.” That, at least, sounded plausible.
“Honey, are you okay? Are you working too hard? I know how you can get about things. Even though it’s such an exciting place, and I do love it there, I have to ask.”
“No, I’m fine, I’m great.” I nodded and smiled. “It’s really . . . great. I’m just worn out from today, that’s all.”
She kissed my forehead. “Of course, dear.”
I dozed off in the lounge with Joan and when Dante finally awoke, around seven in the morning, I went in to say hello and goodbye before heading back to the Lexington. The minute Dante saw me, his heavy eyes did their best to light up, but he was still groggy: “Happy birthday, Haven,” he said, smiling. I looked at Ruthie, confused.
“He doesn’t seem to remember that he’s spent the past several months interning,” she said shaking her head. “They say it’s temporary, I just don’t know. We’ll get him home. You’ll visit, Haven? Maybe that’ll help?”
“I’ll come by tomorrow. Promise.”
She gave me a hug.
Joan drove me all the way back to the Lexington. When I arrived, I asked around and found “Evangeline” in the spa folding towels. It was still early enough that there wasn’t anyone in the waiting area yet, but I wouldn’t have cared if there had been.
“Hey,” I called out as I neared. She looked up, blankly. “If you did ANYTHING to Joan or any of those kids at the hospital—or if you ever do—” I couldn’t quite finish. “Stay away from my friends and stay away from my family.” I couldn’t control myself. I swung my arm out and knocked over the stack of towels she’d just folded and stomped away. She didn’t say a word.
I headed for Lance’s room next. He answered the door, it seemed, even before I knocked. He had followed Dante’s directions and pried open the floorboards beneath their bunk beds. Nestled in among the wood beams, he’d found one of the chocolate boxes we always delivered and opened the lid. Inside it was empty except for a handful of brittle crimson quarter-size stars that had the texture of cinnamon, a handful of dried black bell-shaped flowers, and turquoise pods resembling vanilla beans. A recipe printed in Dante’s script on a sheet of Lexington Hotel stationery urged “In case of emergency, take one of each of these herbs, crush to fine powder, dissolve in water, and drink.”
The next day, Lance and I smuggled Dante’s box out of the hotel on our usual chocolate delivery run. After making our rounds, we took the L all the way out to the end of the line, Evanston, to pay Dante a visit. He smiled warmly at us and was his typical friendly self, but he was far from recovered.
“How are you feeling?” I had nestled myself onto the bed next to him. Lance sat nearby at his desk chair.
He shook his head. “I feel like I’ve been run over. I mean, I’ve never actually been run over but I imagine this is how it would feel. Just like all achy and I’m beat.”
I felt his forehead with the back of my hand. “You’re still feverish, Dan. I don’t like that.”
“Yeah, neither do I. And I’m exhausted, like, all the time. I’ve just been sitting here and watching reruns of the trashiest TV I can find.”
“Well at least you’re back to normal in that respect.” I smiled and he elbowed me in the arm. But I could see him thinking.
“So, tell me again,” he tried. “I was a chef at the Lexington Hotel?” He still didn’t remember anything that had happened since the morning of my birthday.
We tried to tell him again all that we had witnessed and come to learn about the hotel, hoping it would jog his memory, but it was too much—he couldn’t even remember who Etan was. And really, it was so wild, who could blame him? Finally Lance pulled the chocolate box from his bag. “You probably don’t remember, but you told us to find this.” Lance held it out to him and Dante took it in unsteady hands. He opened the lid and touched each of those odd items as though it was the first time he’d seen them, holding them up and studying them. Lance and I traded concerned glances. I’m sure he wondered, like me, whether our friend would ever be returned to us.
I pulled out the sheet of paper inside the box.
“Dan, do you remember writing this recipe out?” He took it from my hands and read it, shaking his head. He looked defeated.
“This sucks, guys. It feels like this stuff belongs to someone else. I know that’s my handwriting, but I’m just drawing a giant blank.”
Lance fidgeted with the mousepad on Dante’s desk. “Well, it says ‘In case of emergency,’” he proceeded gingerly. “I’m not an advocate of totally blind trial and error with these strange herbs or whatever, but it kinda seems like this might qualify as an emergency. What do you guys think?”
“Gotta say, I think you just might be right,” Dante agreed.
“Really, D?” I wasn’t sure I was entirely onboard.
“The man’s got a point, Hav. I mean, I have no memories of months of my life. I still don’t have any idea what they gave to me that knocked me out. There isn’t much I trust anymore, but I do trust myself. And if I wrote this out and collected these things, then maybe it was for a reason like this.”
“I’ll grab some water,” Lance said, already up from his seat.
“Are you sure?” I asked after he’d left the room.
“I promise, Hav, I am. I’m just sick of feeling this way. I know there’s stuff l
ocked up in my mind somewhere that can help us. I just have to get to it.”
Lance returned and Dante followed his own instructions, taking each of the odd ingredients, crushing them to dust between his hands, and sprinkling the powdery remains into his glass of water. “Cheers!” He hoisted the glass in the air and downed it in one long gulp. Seconds later, we watched silently as his eyes registered confusion. “Whoa,” he said finally, slowly. “Okay, so I’m gonna sleep now, but it’s fine, it’s all good. I’ll be back. I bet I will. We’ll see . . .” He trailed off as sleep overtook him. I checked his pulse and found it perfectly normal. We stayed with him until Ruthie came home and then asked her to please call us as soon as he woke up.
On our way to the L, we noticed a stunning creature—a young man with a model’s bone structure and an athlete’s physique— following us those few blocks, boarding our train and then trailing us back to the hotel. We kept our conversation dull and we overexaggerated certain points—“What a shame he has no memory at all,” “doesn’t even know who we are”—but despite our fairly smooth performance, we were chilled to the bone. Our stalker was in the Outfit, and he was obviously there to remind us there really was no escape.
30. You’re Next
Back at the hotel, Lance was eager to show me the work he’d done on that assignment I’d given him. Just as I suspected, he not only had a far nicer cell phone than I did—very slim and full of tricks—but he also happened to know a thing or two about how to take it apart and put it back together again. First, he had me change into the cowl-neck short-sleeved sweater (which I had never liked anyway, but Joan had forced on me) and jeans I had sacrificed for our experiment. He had made a few key alterations to both. For one, he had anchored his cell phone on the inside of the extra material at the sweater’s neckline, sewing a little flap made from one of his old T-shirts as a pocket for it.
Illuminate: A Gilded Wings Novel, Book One Page 38
