Alexander Death(57)
Jenny smiled. “So what did you do?”
“I kidnapped you from your family and made you my wife. Those were rougher days.”
“You're such a monster.”
“You liked it. Your parents had promised you to some other boy you hated.” He took her hands and drew her closer. “You married me again and again, life after life. You killed me a couple times, too. But that's marriage. Mostly, we've been happy. I don't want another lifetime without you.”
Alexander began treading water, and he pulled her against him. Jenny drowned in the wet, salty taste of his lips, the electric touch of his body...and then she opened her eyes and swam back from him.
“I told you, none of that right now,” she said.
“Then I guess you'll have to kill me.” He swam toward her. “You said that would be my punishment.”
Jenny held up both her hands. Dark lesions ripped open all over her palms and fingers. “Try me.”
He took her around the waist and pulled her to him again. He kissed her harder this time. Jenny's hands smeared blood and gore all over his face and neck as she kissed him back.
This time, she let him kiss her as long as she dared.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
At Egleston Children's Hospital in Atlanta, Heather sat in the hospital room next to Tricia's bed. The four-year-old with the untameable brown hair was mercifully asleep for the moment. A bandage covered her tiny back, where the methotrexate had entered Tricia's spinal fluid through an intralumber injection.
A week of chemo had made the girl pale and gaunt. While Tricia had started acting tired before she was diagnosed, the chemo kept her sleeping all day. When awake, she only spoke in weak whispers.
Heather's phone buzzed again inside her purse, rattling against her sunglasses. Heather sighed and took it out. Her boss Schwartzman, for the fifth time in the past two hours. Heather walked to the window and called him back, looking out at the orange light of a late July afternoon. He answered halfway through the first ring.
“Heather,” he said, “How is she doing?”
“Sleeping,” Heather whispered.
“We have a bad situation.”
“I'm on family leave, David.”
“I know. And I'm sorry. But there's a small congressional investigation going on here. It's about Fallen Oak. And they want to talk to you in person.”
“Who wants to talk to me?”
“Investigators sent by the House Homeland Security Committee. It looks like Artleby doesn't have the lid screwed on as tight as he thought. They're asking a lot of questions about Fallen Oak, about Charleston—everything you've been doing.”
“They can read my reports.”
“I told them that, but nobody in Washington reads anymore,” Schwartzman said. “Nothing longer than a headline, anyway. They said they can do it here, or come to your home—”
“I'll come in,” Heather said quickly. “Is tomorrow okay?”
“It should be. They don't seem to have any intention of leaving soon. I'll let them know you're coming by in the morning. I'm so sorry to call you.”
“It's fine.”
“How are you holding up, Heather?”
Heather looked at her little girl, eaten up with cancer in the hospital bed, a stuffed Big Bird lying beside her. “I really don't know how to answer that, David.”
Schwartzman's office was, like the man himself, slightly unkempt, the bookshelves overstuffed with thick medical texts and heaps of research journals, all of it carefully organized according to a “right-brain-generated chaotic pattern,” according to him. Heather entered, looking at the Lord of the Rings figurines arranged on his desk so that they seemed to be stalking his telephone.
Schwartzman wasn't here, though—he'd sent Heather to meet with the chief investigator, who was borrowing his office. While a team of sharp-eyed young lawyers were pawing through the records, their leader was a pretty Latino girl who looked no more than twenty years old. From what Schwartzman said, she wasn't a lawyer, and she didn't appear to have any real qualifications to run a congressional investigation. Heather wondered who she was sleeping with.
“Hello, Dr. Reynard.” The young woman stood up behind Schwartzman's desk and held out her hand. “I'm Esmeralda Rios. I was sent from the House Homeland Security committee. We're just trying to clear up a few things.”
“Nice to meet you,” Heather said automatically. She took the girl's hand, and something came over her. Her resentment at being called in to work melted away—it was clear that this young woman, Esmeralda, was just an earnest person trying to do a difficult job. Heather's heart went out to her. “I hope I can help,” she added, sincerely.