The Night Visitor (20 page)

Normally unflappable Leland was rattled. He stood. “I’m going to push off too. Good night, Richie. Paige.”

Hector and Rosario looked at each other and at the last two guests.

Richie said, “Well, I’m hungry.”

Paige shrugged. “A shame to let it go to waste.”

They headed toward the dining room.

“I probably shouldn’t say this,” Paige said for the second time that evening, “but Evelyn drinks too much.”

“Gee, Paige, ya think?” Richie said.

41

“Let me call your doctor. There has to be a medical explanation.” Tom steered toward the side of the road, preparing to turn the car around.

Rory sounded frustrated. “And tell her what? There’s no medical cure for what’s happening to me.”

He moved back into traffic. “Look. I’ve seen enough since the night of the ball to concede that something strange is going on, but Junior and you having some paranormal connection…Seriously?”

A car behind them honked. Tom realized he was so distracted that he was going well below the speed limit. He sped up. “Ro, it’s too crazy. I can’t believe it.”

“Please believe me. I need your help.”

“Why are you wearing the engagement ring Junior gave you?”

She twisted it on her finger and looked out the side window. “I…To remind me to give it back to Junior’s family.”

He shot a glance at her and set his jaw. He took a minute to calm down. More softly, he said, “I think going to see Junior is a bad idea. Let’s say that Danny had this paranormal connection to Junior. Junior could have told Danny to kill you. When Danny didn’t do it, Junior decided to lure you to him, to kill you himself.”

“You’re patronizing me.”

“I’m not. I’m proposing ideas for the sake of argument. Assuming this mind and body connection is real, why are you convinced that Junior doesn’t want to harm you?”

“He tried to warn me about Danny. He
saved
me from Danny. Our physical connection is a side effect. It’s out of his control.”

“He killed your sister.”

“I never believed that. Not in my heart. I just mouthed the family line. Junior was a peaceful soul. He loved life. And he doesn’t think that I murdered Anya and shot him.”

Tom turned his attention to getting on the freeway and merging into traffic. After a few moments, he said, “Why are you convinced that Junior had nothing to do with Anya’s murder? Can you read his mind?”

She turned to glare at him. “Why are you so invested in that scenario? Do you think I’d marry someone who’s capable of something like that? Do you think I was blind? That I didn’t know him? Do I not know you either?”

Tom’s hands on the steering wheel tightened. “Of course you know me. I don’t have secrets from you.”

She tilted her head and arched an eyebrow.

“The fact that I didn’t tell you about having been to your sister’s house is trivial. It doesn’t merit discussion.”

She faced forward. They drove the rest of the way in silence, until Tom exited the freeway. “Great neighborhood, like Leland said.”

Rory closed her eyes. Junior was awake. She could now tell the difference. She was completely open to him. His room was as vivid as if she were already there, lying in his bed. Even clearer than that, with colors and textures beyond anything she’d experienced before. Sounds were extraordinary, making her prior hearing seem as if she’d been listening to a scratchy vinyl record. Her prior reality was insipid by comparison.

The sores on her back chafed. She felt a dull pain in her kidneys, and her breathing was shallow. She hadn’t told Tom any of that. She had secrets from him and they were building. There was so much she couldn’t tell him, especially that being with Junior was starting to feel like coming home. Beyond her feelings of warmth and home, there was something else in the background, hazy but becoming clearer, like a brightly lit room or passageway. Her eyes flew open.

“We’re here.” Tom parked in a white zone in front of the hospital. He turned and held both her hands between his. “Rory, I don’t want to fight anymore. I love you more than anything in the world. I would do anything for you. The thought of losing you…I can’t even comprehend it.”

Her eyes welled. “I love you, Tom. So much.”

“I’m begging you. Please let me take you to a doctor.”

She pulled her hands away. “So, you have been just humoring me.”

“Rory, I—”

“Look, I don’t know much for certain anymore, but I know this. Junior Lara is dying soon, and unless I find a way out, I’m dying with him.”

42

Evelyn roamed through Rory’s rooms, going outside onto the loggia and back in again, looking but not seeing, her mind racing, not focusing on a single thought. In the sitting room, she dropped onto the desk chair and put her head in her hands. She was too upset to cry.

On the desk were sheets of the Crane stationery and the spiral notebook she’d bought for Rory. Evelyn looked through the stationery. Rory had started a couple of thank-you notes, but her work had disintegrated, dropping off in mid-sentence, even mid-word. In the notebook, Rory had started a wedding guest list and made a few notes about possible locations. Following that were many pages of drawings in pencil, ink, and the colored pens that Rory had asked her to buy.

Evelyn was transfixed as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. Many of the drawings were of a sparsely furnished room, done from an odd angle, almost from the perspective of someone who was lying down. There was a side view of a bed with a figure in it, an old man on his back, his arm outstretched.

The walls were decorated with what looked like two bulletin boards covered with photographs and newspaper clippings. A sign tacked to one said:

Hello

I’m Guillermo Lara (Junior)

Other pages had drawings of people: an African American woman, a man with stringy hair, and two dark-haired women, one younger and one middle-aged. All wore masks over their noses and mouths. A drawing of the African American woman showed a nametag on her smock: Corliss.

There were drawings of Rory: laughing, pensive, and whimsical. There was one of her nude, stretched out on a couch set against a background of brilliant yellow and blue sun rays. There were renderings of Danny Lara, Sylvia Torres, and Fermina Lara. There were children, angels, and saints. There was one of a purple toucan with a multihued beak.

Evelyn paused at a drawing of a woman standing, wearing an evening gown. It was rendered with quick strokes, but the outline bore Anya’s unmistakable features.

Evelyn quickly turned the page and recoiled. There was a series of small drawings, like a comic strip or storyboard, showing a darkened room, the walls lined with arched windows set into brick. Two easels stood in front of the windows, the paintings on them slashed, the ribbons of canvas flying in the wind. White birds soared.

There was a drawing of Anya, lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Anya’s right eye was a bloodied cavern. Her left eyelid was lowered. Her full lips were seductively parted.

Evelyn’s hands involuntarily opened and the notebook slid to the floor.

43

The hospital’s front door was locked. Through the glass, Rory and Tom saw an older Latino security guard sitting behind a wooden counter. He was chewing the end of a pen, looking down at something. He took the pen from his mouth and started writing before he looked up at the sound of knocking at the door.

The guard walked to the door. His nametag said: T. Cordero. He looked Tom over, dressed in Brooks Brothers business casual, and Rory, in her silk dress and diamond jewelry.

“Can I help you?”

Tom said, “We’re here to see a patient.”

“Folks, visiting hours are from nine to seven.”

Rory stepped forward, leaning to speak through the door. “I know it’s late. We’re in town for a short while, and this was the only time we had to see my uncle, Robert Patyk. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back in town before…you know.”

Cordero frowned. “He’s in the subacute unit, right?”

She nodded.

“Well, okay. They’re not too concerned about visiting hours there. Those patients don’t mind, if you know what I mean.” He unlocked the door.

Tom pulled it open.

“You’re not reporters, are you?” Cordero returned to the chair behind the counter. He moved aside the crossword he’d been working on and typed on a computer keyboard. “Mr. Patyk is in subacute room 1.” He turned around a clipboard with a sign-in sheet in front of them.

“Reporters?” Tom signed them in, using the name of a former boss and his wife. “That’s an odd question.”

The guard opened a felt-tipped marker and took adhesive-backed labels from a stack. He pulled the clipboard from the counter onto the desk and copied their names onto the tags. “It’s that Junior and Danny Lara business. The brothers. Danny tried to shoot that rich chick in Pasadena and got himself killed. Junior supposedly murdered this chick’s sister, Anya—you know, the supermodel?”

“I heard about that.” Tom peeled the backing from his tag and stuck it to his jacket.

Rory held on to Tom’s arm and drank in the hospital’s unpleasant odor, which was now as familiar to her as the aroma of cut grass or brewing coffee. It smelled like home.

Cordero seemed to welcome having someone to talk to. “Ever since Danny got killed, we’ve had paparazzi and such trying to sneak in, but you look like you’re okay.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Through the double doors, take a right down the long hall, left where it ends, then the first right. Room 1. Just don’t stay too long.”

“Thank you,” Tom said. “We won’t.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Cordero asked about Rory. “She don’t look too good.”

“She’ll be fine,” Tom said. “Just a little too much partying tonight.”

Rory smiled sheepishly.

“I know what that’s about.”

They pushed through the double doors and headed down the hallway.

Tom asked, “How did you come up with Robert Patyk?”

“He’s the old man in the other bed in Junior’s room. His name’s on the bulletin board.”

Tom didn’t comment. He no longer knew what to say.

They made their way down the brightly lit corridor. At the end, Tom paused, forgetting which way the guard had told him to go. Rory pulled him on, turning left without hesitation.

They reached a wall at the entrance to the subacute unit where the corridor split into two. The wall was decorated with cardboard palm trees, hula girls, and sand toys on a beach. A banner announced: Beach Party This Friday.

Rory entered the unit. Her breathing was labored and her legs felt weak. She stopped near the doorway to the first room.

Tom saw the Quarantined sign by the door and the cart with the protective garments. From the doorway, he saw the signs with the patients’ names. Robert Patyk was in fact Junior’s roommate, just as Rory had said. Then he saw Junior. He looked worse than Tom had imagined. He struggled with his instincts to grab Rory, carry her if necessary, and leave that place. Leave now.

A man with long, stringy hair and wearing a blue uniform looked over the counter of the nurses station. “Hello. Can I help you?”

Rory stayed in the doorway, looking at Junior.

Tom went to the nurses station and saw that the man’s nametag said Keith. “We came to see my fiancée’s uncle, Mr. Patyk.” Hoping that Keith would make them leave, Tom added, “If it’s too late, we’ll come back another time.”

“No problem. Sometimes we get visitors in the middle of the night. Family members can’t sleep, come down, and sit by the patient’s bed. Always happy to see folks visiting their loved ones in this unit.”

Keith opened a three-ring binder on the counter. He flipped through pages of filler paper until he found where the signatures had left off. “Sign in, please. We just want to know who’s visiting the unit.”

Tom scanned the day’s visitors. Sylvia Torres and Fermina Lara had been there early that morning. He also saw the signatures of Henry Auburn and Leland Declues.

He picked up a ballpoint pen, which was tied with string to one of the binder’s rings, and signed in with his and Rory’s aliases.

“I’m glad you’re visiting Mr. Patyk. No one’s come to see him in ages.”

“Really.”

“That’s usually how it goes. When patients are here for more than a few months, the visitors drop away. Everyone except the moms. They always come.”

Tom looked toward Junior’s room. He didn’t see Rory. He felt a surge of panic.

“That’s a quarantined room,” Keith said. “Gloves, masks, and gowns are in the cart. It’s important, especially if you’re going to stay for a while or touch the patient. It’s for your own safety and to keep from spreading infectious bacteria all over the hospital.”

“I see. Thank you.” He quickly went to Junior’s room. Inside, the yellow privacy curtain was pulled around Junior’s bed. He heard Rory murmuring to her former lover in a way that was both urgent and affectionate. Tom hurriedly put on the protective garments.

He skirted Mr. Patyk’s bed and slipped past the nylon curtain. What he found made him stop short. Rory was leaning over the bed, cradling Junior’s face in her hands. Tom saw Junior’s gaze briefly focus on Rory’s before roaming around the room. Rory’s face was streaked with tears. She wasn’t wearing protective clothing.

Tom wanted to take her far, far away. Instead, he called her name quietly, not wanting to startle her, like one is warned not to startle a sleepwalker. “Rory.”

She didn’t budge. She seemed to have forgotten about him. Her tears dripped onto Junior’s face.

Random thoughts flew threw Tom’s mind. He was touched by Rory’s tenderness for Junior, who seemed barely human. He was jealous of the adoration in her eyes. Cold fear blotted out everything else, as Rory’s unmasked face was almost touching Junior’s. She was clasping his cheeks between her bare hands.

He said more loudly, “Rory.”

She closed her eyes, slowly exhaled, and tipped back her head. Her lips parted, curving into a small, knowing smile. Her face, which had been troubled and strained since she’d come home from the hospital, was smooth and serene.