Curing Doctor Vincent (The Good Doctor Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

His eyes grew wide and he rested his hand on my leg. Just a friendly
gesture.
Stop reading more into it.

“What exactly do you appreciate?” There was a teasing tone
to his voice.

I smiled to myself, thinking of all the possible answers,
but settled on, “That you saved my sister. She almost died of that horrid
disease. But you…you finished the cure just in time. She was one of the first
patients to take the drug. I can’t thank you enough.”

He clutched my hand in his. “Oh, Elaine, I don’t know what
to say, but I’m so thankful she’s going to be OK. So thankful we got it to her
in time.” He looked away.

He still held my hand, but there was an obvious discomfort
with my words.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He turned back. “Oh, I’m not. It’s just my turn to be a bit distracted.”

Out of the corner of my eye I caught an image that flashed
across the TV screen and my stomach heaved. Shit. I had been traveling so often,
the usual deluge of reporters banging of the door failed to alert me that it
was time again. They hadn’t caught up with me in time.

Before I could make a graceful exit, a bald-guy named Pete,
who worked in physician sales, hollered from several seats away, “Hey, Elaine, isn’t
that your dad?”

Fuck.
I grabbed the wine, took a large gulp and turned to the doctor.
“Thank you so much for the drink, Doctor. It was very nice to meet you, but I
have to go.” I pushed my chair back, stood and paused, along with everyone else
including the doctor, staring at the TV flashing images of my father. On the
screen in the closed-captioning—
the
country’s most notorious serial killer continues his game of cat and mouse with
detectives for the third straight year. In order to extend his stay on death
row, Daniel Simon Watkins reveals one victim per year to authorities, on the
anniversary of the murders. Tonight, police are still searching for the
complete set of remains belonging to Margaret Marie Smith of Omaha Nebraska, Watkins’
second victim, while family members of missing women from all over the world
gather outside the New York State Penitentiary awaiting the name of his third. Police
expect the “Basement Killer’s” announcement this week.

I didn’t answer Pete, but turned and headed to the host
podium. I spotted my coat on a rack nearby. I yanked it from the hanger and threaded
one arm into the sleeve as I pushed the door open with my hip. The uneven
sidewalk stifled my gait, but I wanted to get back to my room and lock the
door. How could the man who gave me everything—the perfect childhood—become
my biggest nightmare? He was the reason I could no longer have a career in
public relations. No company wanted a PR rep with my kind of baggage. What was it
with sales people and their nosey questions?

About three feet from the Marriot threshold, someone grabbed
my arm. Fear sent a rush of adrenaline through me. Ready to fight, I screamed, “Let
go of me.”

“Elaine, it’s me, Xavier, I think you’ve caused me enough
bodily harm tonight. You don’t need to try to kick my ass, too.”

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. I couldn’t face
him.

Finally I managed, “Thanks for checking on me. I’m fine. You
can head back.”

He grabbed my hand and laced his fingers between mine and
pulled me toward the entrance. He looped his arm around my waist and held me against
his body as we navigated the revolving door.

Once inside he guided me to a corner of the lobby with a
loveseat and a fireplace, away from the prying eyes of the hotel guests.

“Sit down. And note: it’s not a request.”

“Yes, Sir.” I begrudgingly followed his instructions and
hoped that appeasing him might end the discussion sooner. This is not how I
wanted him to remember me.

“Look at me.”

I stared at the fire. There was no way I could look at him.

He huffed. “Fine, have it your way.” He turned so that his
leg rested against mine. “You are not your father. Elaine, I was a practicing
psychiatrist for many years.”

I laughed, but the sound wasn’t formed of humor. “So I
finally get to meet the great Dr. Xavier Vincent and of all the embarrassing
situations I could ever dream up, having him provide
pro bono
psychiatric help in a hotel lobby has to top them all. Reality
really is more screwed up than fiction.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Another chuckle escaped and I turned to him. “Doctor, I really
do appreciate your offer. It’s very nice of you to come here to try to help me,
but this is not the picture of me I wanted you to leave with. I’m not frail and
I’m not weak. I am raw, and need to heal. As a shrink, you know that.”

“How do you want me to see you?”

I inhaled, considering, then on an exhale I said, “A
confident, decisive woman, who knows who she is. Not this mess you see tonight.”

“Done.”

I looked at him. “What?”

“That’s exactly how I’ll think of you. I always have.”

I buried my head in my cupped hands, and I peered out to the
world through my spread fingers, trying to not read more into his words than he
could possibly mean.

His hand moved to rest on my knee. “Answer one question for
me and I’ll leave you for the night.”

I sat up. “What do you want to know?”

“You said you know who you are. What I want to know is, who
you are going to be? I mean after all, shouldn’t we all strive for something
more? Happiness only leads to complacency. At least that’s what I was once told
by a very wise colleague.” He squeezed my leg, as he echoed back my words. “Tell
me, Elaine, what more are you striving for, what are your desires?”

I took a deep breath and sat up. “That’s hard to answer. It
changes. Some days, it’s simply to make it all go away. Others it’s to keep focused
on the good in things. Most times, it’s being able to dream like I once did. I
had a career, a future. Now I have a psychopathic dog and pony show that kills
my ambitions every three hundred and sixty-five days. And times like tonight…”

He leaned in closer. “What about tonight?”

“Sometimes…I wish the distractions were enough.”

“Perhaps you need bigger distractions.”

I took a deep breath.

He patted my leg. “I’ll keep my promise. Please, get some
rest. I’m happy that we got to meet.”

I chuckled, “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

“Trust me, the honor is all mine.” He stood. “I’m sure we
will see each other again. It’s a small world.”

He turned and walked through the lobby. I watched him until
he disappeared behind a pillar. What a mess of a trip. All I hoped for was a
good night sleep.

****

The next morning, I gathered my things and headed to the
lobby to turn in my room key and catch the shuttle to the airport. The
receptionist took the key. “How was your stay?”

I leaned my luggage against the counter. “Good.”

“Oh, Ms. Watkins, I have a package for you. One moment…”

The tall, blond gentleman set a small package on the
counter.

I figured I’d left something at the conference center. I
tugged on the brown paper and it revealed another package, this one wrapped in gold
foil. Careful not to tear the wrapping since it was so beautiful, I released
the tape and slid a small box from inside.

The silver box, adorned with tightly woven knotwork, was
empty.

On the inside of the lid were the words,

“When Pandora opened the
box and released evil onto the world, suffering became our burden. But in this
story, most fail to recognize her gift—hope. For if the box can be
emptied, it can once again be filled. Anything is possible if you believe hard
enough. Lock away all that haunts you to find all you’ve ever hoped for.”

It wasn’t signed. There was no author acknowledgement, but
the gift could have only come from one person—Dr. Vincent.

Chapter
Two

Favor

“Elaine.” Stanley Bergman smiled and waved
me to
a
black leather chair in front of his desk.

His suit was a drastic change from the
toga he wore at the last frat party we’d attended. But he had the same wide
smile and boyish features I remembered. “Stan…” I paused. “Or should I now call
you Vice President, Sir?” It was strange to see him sitting behind the mahogany
desk of one of largest pharmaceutical companies in the world—Chatum D.
Western Labs.

He lowered his head, revealing the
slightest tinges of premature gray in his dark strands of hair, but the move
didn’t hide his blush. “You saw me naked when they tied me to the light post
during Rush Week. We’re past formalities.”

I laughed. “Yes, and if I remember, that
cold night didn’t do you any favors.”

“Hey now, I had hoped you’d forgotten
that part.”

“Believe me, I tried.” I smiled, and took
the seat.

He fiddled with an envelope in his hand. “So…
you’re probably wondering why I asked you here, since you don’t even work in my
department.” He folded his arms across the desk; cufflinks gleaming in the
sunlight entering through the Venetian blinds.

“I am.” I studied his deep brown eyes for
any hint of anxiety. Why was I here? It had been months since my career died at
that podium in Kansas City and it had been almost a week since my strange
encounter with Dr. Vincent. I would never work in public relations again, but
the marketing position they’d hidden me in since the incident had started to
grow on me, even all the unappreciated staff presentations I was tasked with
giving. I would hate to lose it. Was he leaving? Restructuring perhaps?

He took a long breath and his short,
chestnut curls bounced when he sighed. Over his tented fingers he asked, “Have
you done something different with your hair?”

“My hair?” Why would he ask about my
hair? Whatever his issue, it couldn’t be good. “I pulled it up today, but other
than that, it’s the same as it was in college—long and reddish-brown.
What’s going on, Stan?”

He turned the envelope end over end, and
adjusted a notebook so that it covered the morning’s newspaper on his desk.
Before he obscured the headline, I read—
World’s Most Prolific Serial Killer to Release Name of Victim Number Three
.

“Is that what this is concerning? Him?” I
pointed to the paper. “You don’t need to hide it. Do you honestly think I haven’t
seen it? Every year the media crawls out of the woodwork to chase me down and
hash it all over again. I had to dodge them this morning, barely made it to my
car.”

“I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”
He gave me the look everyone always did—sympathy laced with morbid
curiosity.

I crossed my arms, trying to hide my
irritation. “You know what? Neither can I. It’s been three years, and it still
doesn’t seem real. And the sad thing is I don’t know how long it will go on. No
one knows the real body count, but him.”

I hadn’t talked to Stan about it, but
everyone knew the story. It was something I avoided and foolishly thought
everyone else would too. I don’t think anyone can ever come to terms with the
fact that his or her childhood was a farce—some kind of perversion of the
perfect fairytale. The white house, the picket fence, two children, adoring
parents… It all crumbled three years ago when the nightly news flashed the
missing persons photo of Abigail Evans.

“It must be difficult.”

I leaned toward him and fixed him with a
penetrating stare. “Stan, difficult is your dog dying. Finding out your father
is a serial killer…well…that’s beyond difficult. I sacrificed my childhood for
truth and justice…I’m lucky I’m sane.”

He cleared his throat. “Do you still talk
to him?”

“Who? My father? No, my childhood and my
career were payment enough for the fantasy he gave me. I don’t owe him anything
else.”

His brow furrowed. “Your career?”

“Come on Stan.” I slammed my hands
against the chair arms. “ I have a degree in public relations from one of the
most prestigious universities in this country yet the first time my father is
brought up at a public event, the company sticks me in an office, never to be
heard from again, except to regurgitate information to employees. You can’t
have a PR Rep. with my kind of baggage. I’m a distraction.”

“Why do you stay?”

I took a deep breath. “He’ll still be
there for me to answer for no matter where I go. This company saved my sister’s
life. Without that cancer drug, she would be dead. She is the last thread I
have to a normal life—the only person who can understand how I feel. And
at least I’m doing some good, even if it is behind a desk, instead of
representing Western to the public.”

“Speaking of that,” he paused and rubbed
his hands on his pants. “When you were in Chicago…”

Why did he seem so nervous?

“After the presentation you gave a few
weeks ago, I heard you spoke with Dr. Vincent. What happened?” He rubbed his
jaw while maintaining eye contact.

I shifted in my seat, sitting forward. This
was a line of questioning I didn’t expect. “Nothing big. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing is small regarding Dr. Vincent.
Come on, what happened?”

I raised an eyebrow. “He asked if I was
happy with my job.”

“And?”

“If you’re worried I told him that the
company relegated me to the dungeon, I didn’t. I simply said that I had an
important job.” I shot him a suspicious glare. “
Why?
I was so nervous speaking to the man I could barely form
words
. I really wish someone would have tipped me off that he would
be there.” Stan didn’t need to know about our private conversation, or the box.
Besides, I wasn’t one hundred percent certain it was from the doctor. I just
had no other suspects.

“No one expected him to be there. That’s
the kind of man he is.” He tapped the envelope against the desk again.

I wondered if Stan had developed a
nervous tick. I didn’t understand his behavior. Nothing I’d done warranted
retribution. The experience had been much like meeting a rock star. My brain had
pretty much checked out and I’d made a fool out of myself. The main thing I
remembered about the good doctor was how good he smelled and… “Did I say
something wrong? I swear, I didn’t say anything about you or the company.”

“OK.” He sighed. “Dr. Vincent is very
important to this company. He’s the icon. Hell, since he discovered Lyenstat
and revolutionized oncology research, no one even remembers who Chatum D.
Western is, and
he founded the damn company
. Dr. Vincent might not directly manage anything, but don’t
think he doesn’t call the shots.”

“Of course. Vincent put Western on the Fortune
100 list. Trust me, I understand how important he is, beyond all the lives he
saved.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Yes. And there are rumors that he is
very volatile and decisive.”

I gasped. “Shit. He didn’t fire me, did
he? Those stupid morons from sales. Son of—” I grasped the arms of the
chair, squeezing, and tried to keep my cool
. I might not have been
happy with my banishment,
but
I needed the job. My father wasn’t in a position to finish paying off my
college loans.

“No, he didn’t fire you.
Settle
down. What morons
from
sales?”

“That idiot from Kansas City. If he had
just stuck to the talking points. Instead he brought up how it must have been
terrible having a father like mine when I was growing up. Instead of agreeing,
I told the truth. I said my childhood was as close to perfect as one could get
and my father was loving and kind. He accused me of condoning my father’s actions,
and they removed me from the podium before I could set the record straight. Then
bam
I’m assigned to marketing
research.” I pulled at a thread on my shirt. “Then that Pete guy from Chicago…”
I ran my hands along the seam of my skirt. “What the hell is going on? Please
just say it. I can handle it.” I held my breath. This couldn’t be good.

Stanley cleared his throat. “Dr. Vincent has
requested your presence.”

“OK. That’s surprising.” I sat up
straighter. “Where and when?”

He handed me an envelope. “You leave tonight.”

“Tonight? Is he crazy? Where to?” I took
the thick white rectangle from his outstretched hand. Testing the seal on the
envelope with my thumb, I resisted the urge to tear into it like a kid on
Christmas Day.

“Maybe so. But please, Elaine, don’t
screw this up. Whatever you do is going to be a reflection on me. Not only
because he came to me, the VP assigned to his product operations, with his
request, but I was the person who recommended you to Western in the first
place.”

“Gee, Stan, thanks for the vote of
confidence.” I glared at him.

“No, you don’t understand. There are
rumors about Dr. Vincent, and with your hotheaded temper…”

“My temper?” The heat flooding my cheeks
made it difficult to deny his accusation. I shook my head. I took a strong
stance in one meeting and now I was the stuff of legends. In my defense
,
it had
been an ethical issue. But I had to admit when I picked my hill to die on, my
demise was theatrical.

“Yes. You can be rather…opinionated.”

The fact that he was right irritated me
more. “What kind of rumors?”

“You know, eccentric genius with control
issues and all that. He might ask you to walk his cat or something stupid. If
he does, just suck it up and go with it. Dr. Vincent is the reason I’m Vice
President.”

“Well, if the guy promoted you, why are
you so afraid?” I stared at the thick, white envelope in my hand.
Ms. Elaine Watkins
scrolled across the
front in elegant script.

“He didn’t promote me. He demanded the
old VP be fired. No reason. Just up and fired him. You’ve got to be careful. My
three kids are depending on you.”

“No pressure, huh?” I rolled my eyes.

“Elaine.” It almost sounded like a whine.

“All right. I’ll walk his cat with a
smile on my face.”

“Thank you.” He relaxed in his seat.

I stood, stuffed the envelope under my
arm and pointed at him. “You’re going to owe me. I don’t even like cats.”

He laughed. “You have a cat.”

“OK, I like cats, but they are a pain in
the ass to walk.”

Stan shook his head. “I’m sure Dr. Vincent
will make it worth the effort.”

It was my turn to laugh. “One can hope.
Have you seen him? Plus he saved my sister, so a little feline sojourn won’t
kill me.” I sighed. “This will be a good distraction from the drama surrounding
my father. I hope I can keep myself together enough not to say something
stupid.” I smiled and glanced over my shoulder. “I’ll call
and
let you know if you still have a job.”

He stopped laughing.
His brow furrowed.
“That’s not
funny.”

Making my exit, I pulled the door shut
behind me.

I tore open the envelope.

Oh my God!

“Paris.”