The Gifted (28 page)

Regina General was only minutes from our house. Zack drove, and locked in our own thoughts, we were silent until we arrived in the
ER
. Easily 90 per cent of the wounded in the waiting room were wearing Roughriders garb. The room was a sea of green, but the celebration was over. Alcohol and adrenalin had taken their toll, and reality was setting in.

Vince was waiting for us. “Follow me,” he said. He pushed through double doors and down a corridor where cubicle curtains separated patients on hospital beds waiting for
further treatment. He stopped at the last cubicle in the hall. “I won’t come in with you,” he said. “This is an awkward situation. Julian is the patient. He apparently entered your condo this afternoon and slit his wrists.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

“He lost a lot of blood. Taylor and Declan did the right things. Taylor called 911 and Declan ripped up an old shirt and made tourniquets, but I don’t know. If you need me, someone on staff will have me paged.”

“Can we go in?”

“Yes. It would be probably be wise to get Taylor home.”

I pulled the curtain so Zack could push his wheelchair in. Taylor was covered in blood. When she saw Zack, she collapsed into his arms. Declan was beside her, also bloodied. Julian was on the bed, hooked up to the machines that measure our mortality. Under the clinically bright light, Julian’s always pale face was alabaster. He was alarmingly still. A nurse entered the room behind us. “Are you his parents?”

“No, that’s our daughter. Julian is a … a friend.”

The nurse was brusque. “There are far too many of you in here now, but if any of you can help with next of kin, we’d appreciate it. On the card in his wallet Julian lists his emergency contact as Kaye Russell. He included Ms. Russell’s telephone number, but when we tried it the operator said the line is disconnected.”

“May I see the number?” I said.

The nurse copied it from Julian’s chart onto a piece of scrap paper and handed it to me. I scanned it. “The last digit in the number is wrong,” I said. “The number here is 7. It should be 1.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Now you can all clear out.”

Taylor went over and touched Julian’s hand. “He’s so cold,” she said. “Is he going to live?” Her voice was small
and scared and when the nurse responded, her tone was kind. “Your boyfriend’s young and that’s a plus. Is there a relative we can get in touch with?”

Taylor shook her head.

“There are none,” Zack said. He took a business card from his wallet and handed it to the nurse. “I’m a lawyer. You can call me if you need a signature.”

The corridor throbbed with the muted sounds of suffering and fear. As the four of us pushed through the double doors to the waiting room, no one paid us any mind. Taylor and Declan looked a mess, and Zack was in a wheelchair. We were clearly fellow sufferers. When we got to the door, I turned to Declan. “Have you talked to Margot?”

“No. And she’ll be worried. I said I’d call and tell her how Taylor was doing.”

My arm tightened on Taylor’s shoulders. “You weren’t feeling well?”

Taylor shook her head. “I was upset about Julian. I thought the party would help, but it didn’t, so Declan took me home.” Her voice was a whisper. “If Declan hadn’t been there …”

The thought, rife with possibilities, hung in the air. “Let’s just be grateful Declan was there,” Zack said, and his tone, firm and convincing, put an end to speculation.

Our family doctor, Henry Chan, once told me that when an accident involving a number of people arrives in the
ER
, the directive is always the same: “Salvage what you can.”

That night, we tried to salvage what we could. Margot was waiting for us when we got back to Halifax Street. Silent, she shepherded us into her condo. Zack stayed in the hall to wait for the police; I led Taylor down to the guest bathroom to shower, and Declan went upstairs to shower there.

When Zack came inside, Margot pointed to her liquor cabinet. “Help yourself,” she said.

“Thanks,” Zack said. “Ms. Shreve, what would you say to a martini?”

“I’d say, ‘Where have you been all my life?’ ” The situation was beyond terrible, but exchanging the lines of our old joke was comforting. Zack made our drinks, poured Margot a ginger ale, and the three of us went into the living room.

Zack took a large sip of his drink and sighed. “Well, let’s see. The police wanted to talk to Taylor and Declan, but I said no dice till tomorrow. They’re checking out the condo now.”

Margot frowned. “The police don’t suspect foul play, do they?”

“No,” Zack said. “Julian knew what he was doing. Apparently, he’d kept the security card for the condo Taylor gave him when they were working together. He came equipped with a box-cutter. He slit both wrists.”

“Was there a note?”

Zack didn’t have a chance to answer. At that moment, Taylor came down the hall. She was wearing a white terry towel robe, and she had a towel tied round her hair. She looked frail but better. Zack held out his arms to her, and she went to him. “How’s it going?” he said.

Taylor’s face was buried in Zack’s neck and her voice was muffled. “Not good.”

When Declan came downstairs, he opened a beer for himself and a soft drink for Taylor and joined us in the living room. Small talk was impossible, and for a few minutes we sat around, occasionally glancing at one another like guests at a bad party.

Finally, Taylor broke the silence. “I want to talk about it,” she said. Her voice was flat. “After we left the Wainbergs, I kind of fell apart. When we got back here, Declan came
into our place with me. He said I should go up and get into bed, and he’d stay downstairs and watch the post-game shows until you came home.

“When I went upstairs, the door to my studio was open and I saw Julian. He was lying on the floor. He has a robe that he wears when he’s not posing.” She touched the sleeve of her own robe. “It was soaked with blood. I guess I screamed. I got down on the floor to see if Julian was still breathing, but I couldn’t tell. Then Declan was there. I called 911 and Declan ripped up a shirt and tried to stop the blood.”

“It didn’t do any good,” Declan said bleakly.

Like Taylor, Zack and I were not eager to spend the night in our condo. Margot offered us her guest bedrooms. When I went across to get toiletries and clothing for us all, the police were just leaving.

A young female officer addressed me. “Taylor Shreve is your daughter?”

“Yes, but we don’t want you questioning her tonight. She’s talked to us about finding Julian. I can tell you that much.”

“That would be a start.” She pulled out her notebook and I relayed Taylor’s account.

“Poor kid,” she said.

“Poor all of them,” I said.

She nodded.

When I got back to Margot’s, there was a semblance of normal life. The television was on – still post-game talk. Live reports from the Green Mile and of the crowds downtown.

“I tried to order pizza,” Margot said. “The Copper Kettle said there’d be a three-hour wait.”

I opened the fridge. “How would everybody feel about bacon and eggs?”

No one said no, so I pulled out the frying pan.

——

Zack and I sat with Taylor until she was asleep. I was glad our bedroom was next to hers so we’d be able to hear her if she awoke in the night. I hadn’t thought that way in years. As he turned down his side of the bed, Zack said, “God, what a day.”

“One good thing about this day is that it’s over,” I said.

Then my phone rang. I checked the caller
ID
. It was Kaye Russell. I picked up and my ear was seared by the terrible primal mourn of a woman keening. There was nothing to do but listen and wait.

When Kaye was, at last, able to form words, the toxicity of her rage tore at me. “Julian’s dead. Taylor did this,” she said. “Like mother, like daughter. Sally destroyed people. Taylor’s just like her – using people – then throwing them away. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how Sally treated you. She was a selfish bitch and the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”

I’d had enough. “Kaye, I’m going to hang up now,” I said. “We’ll talk later.”

When I hung up, Kaye was sobbing.

Zack and I spent the next few minutes lying side by side staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. Finally, I broke the silence: “Julian’s dead and his suicide has driven Kaye over the edge. She hates Sally and she hates Taylor. I know Kaye has suffered, but so has Taylor. I don’t want Kaye anywhere near our daughter, Zack. After we tell her about Julian tomorrow morning, I think we should go to the lake.”

“Fine with me,” Zack said. “I’ve got a couple of meetings, but nothing I can’t handle by Skype. The grand opening of April’s Place isn’t till Friday. Apart from that, I can do everything from Lawyers’ Bay.”

“Good,” I said. “We have to deal with some things before we go. Taylor and Declan have to give statements to the police. I’d like Henry Chan to check Taylor out, and I should call the school and arrange for homework assignments.”

“You’ve covered the bases,” Zack said. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The horror of Julian’s death seemed to hit us both at the same time. “God, this is terrible, isn’t it?” he said.

“It is,” I said. “But we can’t let this destroy Taylor’s life, Zack. We have to get her through.”

The next morning Zack and I waited till we heard Taylor stirring, and then we went to her. We’d brought Willie and Pantera and Taylor’s cats over to Margot’s, and Taylor was in bed stroking Bruce and Benny. One look at our faces and her lips began to quiver. “Julian didn’t make it, did he?”

“No,” I said. “He didn’t. He died last night.”

Taylor didn’t cry, but she seemed to shrink into her robe. “It’s my fault,” she said.

“That’s not true,” Zack said and his voice was steely. “Julian made a decision. It was the wrong decision, but it can’t be changed. Your mother and I are very sorry that Julian is dead – believe me, we really are sorry, but, Taylor, Julian’s death was not your fault. He died by his own hand.”

Taylor nodded. “He was always so alone. It’s terrible to think that he was alone last night.”

“He wasn’t alone,” I said. “Kaye Russell was with him.”

“She loved Julian,” Taylor said. Her eyes had been downcast, now she raised them to me. “Do you think I should call her?”

“No,” I said. “And, Taylor, if Kaye tries to call you, don’t talk to her. She’s very angry right now.”

“At me?”

“At everybody.”

Taylor had a studio at the lake, and determined to complete the painting of Julian, she created a schedule for herself. She rose early, finished her schoolwork, and then went to her
studio, coming back to the cottage only to eat or make tea. It was difficult to read her mood. She was quiet, but Taylor was often quiet when she was absorbed in making art.

Zack and I had our routine, too. In the mornings we walked the dogs and took care of Racette-Hunter business. After lunch we had a nap, took another walk, then worked again till it was time to get dinner ready. Every night just before bed, we sat down together and at Taylor’s request we listened to the Pogues “Fiesta” and watched
Taylor Throughout the Years
. She never explained the significance the ritual had for her, but it appeared to give her comfort.

We were living day by day, and it seemed to be working, but at the end of the week a new and ugly possibility had presented itself. When the police searched Julian’s home after his death, they’d found a suicide note, buried under a pile of art magazines in his basement. It read,
I did it for you
. Short and sweet.

Debbie Haczkewicz had good cop instincts and the wording of Julian’s suicide note had troubled her. There’d been no salutation and no signature – just five words:
I did it for you
. And the note had been hidden. Debbie’s reasoning was sound. If Julian were leaving a message for Taylor, why would he have deliberately put the note in a place where she was unlikely to find it?

And there was the troubling use of the past tense. According to Debbie, most suicide notes are written in the present tense. “I am doing this for you” connects the writer’s action directly to the loved one. Debbie confided to Zack that her gut was telling her that when Julian wrote
I did it for you
, he was referring not to his plan to commit suicide but to Lauren Treadgold’s murder.

Debbie had instructed her officers to look more closely at Julian’s activities on the day of Lauren’s death, but the search had barely begun before the police handwriting expert
determined that the note was not in Julian’s hand. The police were now focused on finding the person who had written those five fatal words, but so far they had been unsuccessful.

Julian’s funeral was Thursday morning. Kaye Russell was making the arrangements, and although Taylor wanted to be there, Zack and I vetoed the idea. Taylor was painfully vulnerable, and Kaye Russell had become vindictive. She continued to bombard our daughter with poisonous telephone messages that I deleted at the end of each day. After Zack listened to a few, he bought Taylor a new cell and suggested that we consider harassment charges. Knowing Kaye’s history, I couldn’t bring myself to take that step.

Taylor spent the morning of Julian’s funeral in her studio. When she didn’t come back to the cottage for lunch, Zack and I went to get her. She seldom let us see any piece she was working on until it was finished, but that morning Taylor led us to her easel.

The portrait of Julian in the rain forest was far from complete, but I could already feel the piece’s nascent power. Julian stood naked, facing the viewer directly from the picture’s centre line. With his flawless alabaster body and his black curls spiralling against his slender shoulders, he was unsettlingly erotic, but there was an innocence about him that touched my heart. Except for his haunted, hostile green eyes, Julian’s face was without expression.

He was surrounded by other creatures of the rain forest: a golden lion, a tamarind monkey, a toucan, a jaguar, a poison dart frog, a Bengal tiger, a harpy eagle. All were extravagantly beautiful; all had eyes that carried the accusation I read in Julian’s eyes.
We are moving inexorably towards extinction. This is what you have done to us
.