The Last Darling (2 page)

No one knew, nor would they ever know, that his $10,000 had paid for the two bullets used in the murder – nor did the police find, or exert much effort to find the assassin. Clover Collette knew nothing of these events and, in fact, remembered very little of the nipple sucking incident. She awoke in the hospital with a strong but gentle hand holding her own. It belonged to one Francis Darling who, after seeing his young brother mischievously flee from the Collette house, decided to investigate. Upon seeing the naked and seemingly lifeless body of the beautiful Clover Collette, he wrapped her in a blanket and immediately drove her to the hospital, waiting with her until the doctors could examine and stabilize her.

The capable doctors found no trace of venom in her body, but there was a contusion on the side of her head and five red stripes on her breast. She could explain neither and Francis Darling, suspecting his younger brother, said nothing. His omission came, not from a fear of his brother’s safety, but from a desire to avoid his mother’s grief, for though he loved his mother, he hated seeing her upset, which, given his troublesome brother, happened quiet often. In fact, the veins on her neck and forehead were in a perpetual state of excitation. Francis, unable to stand the barrage of yelling and thrown cutlery, was making his escape out the second story window when he spotted his rascal brother leaving the Collette house. He did not know, nor had he seen the stunning Clover Collette for work kept him outside the realm of rumors and romance, but upon seeing the pure and enchanting beauty of the young Clover Collette, he made a silent oath that she would one day be his wife. This thought, like all his future thoughts, came out immediately and without hesitation, though the words were not in the order he had intended.

The abruptness and volume of his voice startled her, but something about his proximity made her feel extremely good. This sensation, which she later described as love, did not originate from the awkward Francis Darling, but from the Vicodin in her IV drip which the doctors had just then administered.

When Clover smiled and clutched his hand tighter, Francis, thinking his gibberish to be the equivalent of the greatest sonnet, kissed her – her first kiss – then she drifted into a euphoric sleep. She would forever associate her euphoria with the touch of his lips.

The doctors, seeing the intensity of their intimacy, assumed the two to be married and proceeded to treat them as such.

Clover’s contusion would require seven stitches and regular doses of antibiotics over the next two weeks. The attending physician was one Dr. Shivani Kapur, a beautiful and forward thinking Indian woman who had excelled in all facets of her medical education. She came to America hoping her paycheck would match her underappreciated intelligence. She was, however, very disappointed. Though her skills were unmatched, she never managed to catch the attention of her superiors. She did not understand why until she examined the red marks on Clover Collette’s voluptuous breast. Perfection is not the right word, but it’s the closest approximation of what Dr. Shivani Kapur felt. She had never regretted having small breasts, and in fact, her breasts were of ample size, but she suddenly realized that her breasts should match her ego, which meant at least one cup size larger.

She would have her breasts augmented and acquire two promotions as a result. Her surgical career, however, would end shortly after a particularly delicate procedure went awry, her arm catching on her own unnaturally large breasts, the scalpel cutting the patient’s vein in a way that could not be sutured in time. The patient died and though Dr. Shivani Kapur did not lose her medical license, the insurance rates made it impossible for her to enter an operating room. Her career would advance, but only in a managerial capacity. With her ego crushed, she began to eat uncontrollably. Within a year her weight doubled. Her beauty waned and her speech became bitter.

Clover would not learn of these events, nor would she learn that her breasts were their cause. She only thought it a bit strange the way Dr. Shivani Kapur kept massaging her breasts during the examination.

The news of Clover’s incident spread quickly, reaching Ellie before her Bible study could end. She rushed frantically to the hospital fearing Clover had made the same unpleasant choice as her father. When sexual assault was mentioned as a possibility, Ellie was suddenly relieved. Happy at the thought of her daughter’s rape instead of death, her sensibilities were shaken and she directed her anger toward the only thing she could – someone else.

She pointed her sharp fingers at Francis Darling, shouting repeatedly that he was a rapist and a fiend. She became so adamant three nurses were needed to subdue her. Before she was carried out of the room, she swore that Francis Darling would suffer the wrath of God and a hundred angels would tear his body to pieces. She, of course, would never know how close her prediction was to the truth.

Francis Darling tried to explain his innocence, but his pleas were a dyslexic soup of vowels. Ellie interpreted his gibberish as a youthful and new age insult, which only infuriated her more. The nurses, still under the impression that Francis was Clover’s loving husband, forced the mad woman out of the hospital and didn’t let her back in again.

Ellie, fearing she might lose her daughter forever, devised a devious and desperate plan. When night came, she snuck back into the hospital and spied the dedicated Francis Darling from the room across the hall. When he left to use the restroom, she followed him.

He unzipped his pants and began relieving himself in the urinal. Ellie crept up behind him and struck him across the back of the head with the brick hidden in her purse. He fell to the tile floor clutching his head. She sat on his crotch and began sliding forward and back. When he remained flaccid, she groaned and tried using her hand. He pushed her away and staggered to the wall. She grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the closest stall. He fell against the toilet, hitting his head again. She spit in her hand and tried rubbing him once more, but, given his head injury and sudden fear, he would not stiffen. Ellie, growling with frustration, took the brick from her purse and began hitting herself with it – first on her inner thighs, then her vagina, finally her face, making sure the blood stained Francis’ clothes. She collapsed, overcome by her own strength.

Francis stumbled out of the stall baffled and nearly unconscious. He pulled up and zipped his pants unable to look away from Ellie’s unmoving body. He thought of himself as a good looking man, but his looks had never driven a woman, his future mother-in-law no less, to such madness. He had managed to resist her enthusiasm, but he might not have the strength a second time. He decided to avoid women from that point forward – specifically Ellie – his love for Clover would, against all odds, remain greater than his libido. He and Clover left that night to find a place void of people and temptation.

Ellie would wake up in a hospital bed surrounded by police. She would explain how Francis Darling had first violated her and then ruthlessly beat her. She demanded police protection and immediate justice. When she led the police to Clover’s room, it was empty and Ellie’s fears were realized. She filed a missing persons report and cried for three full days. After months had passed, she knew her daughter would never again return. Ellie walked to the train tracks where the love of her life had died. She laid down there until a train tore her body into tiny bits. The police, unable to identify the pieces, cremated them unclaimed and unmarked. She died gratified by the thought of Francis Darling being found, arrested, and later raped in prison.

Clover and Francis would never learn of Ellie’s death, nor would they learn of Francis’ arrest warrant, for two days after Ellie’s death the police, investigating an unrelated case, discovered a hidden video camera in the hospital’s restroom containing footage of Ellie’s self-mutilation. The video camera belonged to a young male nurse by the name of Ron Wallace. His crimes included blackmail, extortion, attempted murder, and an assortment of sexual harassment charges. The video camera was hidden in the hopes of catching Dr. Tara Collins in the act of coitous. Rumors of her explicit behavior had set the hospital abuzz though no evidence could corroborate the gossip, and Ron Wallace had taken an interest in her shapely figure and bloated paycheck. If she refused to pay him or at least gratify him, then the video would make its way into every employee’s mail box. When she refused to pay him, he demanded sex. A struggle ensued. She quickly overtook him due to her advanced skills in jiu-jitsu, krav maga, and kempo. His pride was damaged worse than his body and, after regaining consciousness, he immediately filed a complaint with the police. In his haste, however, he forgot to remove the video camera from the restroom vent and when the police investigated his claim, they discovered it and its contents. Ron was arrested and the rumors of Dr. Tara Collins continued to spread without validation.

Clover and Francis would never learn of these events and, in fact, after eloping at City Hall, never returned to the city. They placed their few belongs in a small bag and began walking as far from temptation as they could. Their path led them deep into an unexplored portion of the forest void of people, except for one.

After a full two days of walking, Clover and Francis came upon a small log cabin. They did not wish to disturb the resident, but their lack of food left them little choice. A skinny man with a long beard opened the door. He said nothing – his nervous eyes studying every part of their person. Francis, feeling emboldened as a new husband, attempted to explain the series of events leading to this unfortunate moment. The words were loud and sharp and utterly confusing. However, when the mountain man heard the grumbling of Francis’ stomach, he opened the door fully and motioned for them to enter.

Francis grinned with pride, feeling for the second time that his ability to communicate was unmatched. He squeezed Clover’s hand and secretly attributed his new vocal dexterity to her incredible beauty and positive influence.

The mountain man poured two bowls of soup and set them on the table, then returned to his desk to solder and pack wires into a small box. The box would be a gift – though not a pleasant one. Upon opening the cardboard flaps a thin wire would be pulled out of place setting off an explosive reaction within the box aimed upward at the intended recipient’s hands and face. Already five men and two women had lost their hands – three others had lost the use their eyes as well. The recipients, though different in almost every way, shared exactly one commonality – they were regional managers of national bank chains. The mountain man had once been a Wall Street mogul, making more money in a month than most families could make in three years. Despite his wealth he remained frugal, living off the interest his investments earned. He cared little for the world – breaking relationships into carefully measured equations, comparing the dividends and potential risk of investment, managing his emotions much like a stock portfolio. He was a mathematical genius and since the early age of seven came to the conclusion that all worthwhile commodities could be interpreted and described by a number.

He doubted this philosophy only two times in his life. The first time occurred during his second year of college – four months and eight days before his seventeenth birthday. Nine other students had discovered his intellect and began using his work as a cheat sheet for upcoming tests. One of the students, a senior, for reasons that not even she could explain, took him into an empty bedroom and made love to him while the other students vigorously studied in the adjoining space.

He could calculate the perspiration rate of her skin, the angle and velocity of her gyroscopic motion, her increased air consumption based on her elevated heart rate – he could measure the heat generated by the friction of their skin, the force exerted on the mattress as their bodies moved, the compressed wavelength of her voice as she climaxed – as he climaxed. The numbers he compiled were an exact representation of the event; though, somehow, they failed to describe what he was feeling. He buried this feeling as best he could for the next day the woman was gone and he never saw or heard from her again.

Exactly fourteen years, two months, and three days later a young girl stood in front of his door, claiming to be his daughter. She was bright, like him, though she carried with her a vibrant charisma that – he postulated – must have come from her mother. The only object she desired was the affection of a missing father. He tried to recapitulate her request into a manageable equation, but before he could finish his composition, her mother, full of worry and desperation, arrived to claim her. She was beautiful, even in her frantic state and he felt something wonderful – which he quickly calculated as a mixture of adrenaline, testosterone, and endorphins with a faint hint of caffeine.

She took her daughter and apologized. He told her not to and he gave her his business card. She took it and left in a hurry. Despite her speed, she and her daughter would not make it home that afternoon. A truck traveling at exactly 83mph (43mph over the speed limit) would fail to stop at a red light. The driver, intoxicated on pain killers and sleeping pills, would swerve at the exact time and angle needed to hit the car containing the woman and her daughter head on. The police would inform the Wall Street mogul of these events and he would spend the next three days calculating the measurements contained in the police report.

At the funeral he would explain how the velocity and angle of impact meant the woman and her daughter died instantaneously and given the bruising of the bodies and blood patterns in the car it would have been impossible for any nervous system to have processed the pain. The results would not provide any comfort. For the second time in his life, his precious numbers refused to explain the loss and pain that made his body ache.