Arsenic for the Soul Page 11

  To Vivian’s relief, Milo lied about the circumstances of his injury. None of them wanted to explain to the police about their capers in a sanitarium. Instead, Milo weaved a story about how he accidentally cut himself with a power tool and fainted at the sight of his blood. For the purpose of his story, Vivian didn’t discover him until several hours later.

  “What a tragic end to a date,” Vivian chuckled as she stroked his hair.

  He looked peaceful as he slept soundly in the hospital bed. She was almost tempted to kiss him while he dreamed. He would be none the wiser if she leaned over his face and planted her lips on his. The succulent taste of his kiss in the rain only whetted her appetite, after all.

  “Vivian!”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Bryan’s voice. The nursing program director stood in the doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to talk to you in private… about the incident last week.”

  Why did the tone of his voice unnerve her so much? Was he referring to the time she left a suicidal patient alone in a ward?

  “We can talk in here. He’s out cold,” she said, nodding toward Milo. “He won’t hear a thing.” Bryan settled into a chair. The meeting almost felt like a preliminary hearing before a court arraignment.

  “You aren’t on clinicals today. Is this a friend of yours?”

  “Maybe more than a friend,” Vivian smiled. Bryan’s eyes twinkled in his reassuring way.

  “Anyway, I hope I didn’t alarm you. That’s not the purpose of our chat. In fact, I dropped by to thank you. Last week when you confronted me with your theory about tuberculosis, I thought you were either out of your mind or this was a foolish attempt to impress me. It took a while for me to come around but I eventually looked into the two cases you brought to my attention.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “After running some tests, we concluded it is tuberculosis. But this isn’t your average strain… We identified several more cases among the in-patients. We have no idea how it’s spreading because skin tuberculosis isn’t contagious.”

  “What makes you think it’s spreading?”

  “The symptoms are appearing among patients who have spent extended time in the hospital, either in surgery or rehabilitation. My theory is the incubation period is just wearing off and we’re going to see a rapid uptick in cases. This is bordering on epidemic. You saw what we all failed to see.”

  “The incubation period is anywhere from two to three months. Maybe if you look back, you’ll find the source. In the meantime, what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not up to me. If more cases are identified, an epidemic may be declared. My guess is we’ll see a press conference before the media gets wind of it and spins it. The only thing we can do now is safeguard the patients’ wellbeing. You’ve already done a fine job of that by bringing this to my attention. I’ll make sure the Head of Nursing finds out about what you did.”

  “That almost sounds like a threat,” Vivian laughed. “Would he find it in his heart to forgive me? For last week’s incident during suicide watch?”

  “I can’t promise anything… but he just might take it into consideration.” With nothing more to add, Bryan nodded and headed for the door.

  “Thank you for trusting my intuitions,” Vivian blurted. Bryan paused with his hand on the door.

  “We should all be thanking you. Keep up the extraordinary work. I could use a dozen more students like you.” With those parting words, he slipped out of the ward. Vivian beamed at his praise, yet she wasn’t thrilled about the tuberculosis outbreak. This affirmation only spawned more questions than answers.

  She wondered if Milo heard any of their conversation. He showed no sign of waking as he shifted restlessly in his bed. She wondered what horrors he witnessed in the sanitarium—and if they haunted him fiercely in his sleep.

  She kissed him on the cheek and Milo seemed to calm from his nightmares.

  Thank God he’s still alive. It won’t be long before he’s discharged and I can see him again. Hopefully he doesn’t remember any of it. She turned off the lights. With a final look at her love, she left him in the ward.

  As the door shut, a voice hissed over her shoulder.

  “You just don’t know when to keep your mouth shut.”

  She spun around and saw Crenshaw leaning against the wall. His arms were folded in a menacing fashion and his sharp features looked even more haunting in the dark.

  “You were listening to us?”

  He stepped out of the shadows, but they seemed reluctant to part from the hideous contours of his face.

  “Does it matter? You’re incredibly obstinate for a student a few weeks into her program. Are you feeding him thoughts about an epidemic?”

  Vivian wanted to snap that she had been in the program for a few months but that was beside the point.

  “I don’t know for sure if we’re facing an epidemic or not. I just think we should look into this. Isn’t it our duty to ask questions as medical professionals?”

  “You’re not asking questions. You’re sniffing for trouble. As I said before, this is a public relations disaster waiting to happen. Keep spreading rumors and I’ll see you out of this program before you drive this hospital into the ground—which is where we’re all headed if you keep this mess up. I’ll be having a chat with the director about you.”

  “That seems pointless now that we’ve confirmed cases of tuberculosis.”

  “Bryan has no clue what he’s talking about. Besides, I still have some say over your punishment for last week. Don’t hold your breath for any favors from me.”

  His eyes roamed over the curves of her breasts and hips.

  “And least none you can gain for free.”

  Vivian clenched her fists so tightly that bled welled around her nails. She would have liked nothing better than to punch him, but she would probably be playing into his game. Give in to the rage and he would find a way to boot her even faster from the program—all because she didn’t grovel on her knees like the other suck-ups.

  Venom coursed through her as Crenshaw shambled away with his vulgar smile. She wasn’t about to let it go this time.

  “Crenshaw.” The surgeon halted in his steps. “There’s nothing quite as sad as an adult who still bullies like a child. But frankly, the term ‘bully’ gives you too much credit. You have no power over me or anyone else. You’re just a miserable, withered man. The truth is your students either fear or despise you, but they certainly don’t love you. As for me? I pity you.”

  Crenshaw only stared at her without a rebuttal.

  Vivian walked away, feeling proud for regaining control of the situation.

  Crenshaw would never victimize her again. If he crossed the line, she would give him a reason to regret it.

  * * *

  Camilla was still driving through the streets of Prague as the red dawn bled over the horizon. 5 A.M. had come and gone and she was still gunning the engine an hour later. She couldn’t sleep after the terrors she witnessed in St. Ignatius Sanitarium.

  She wanted this night to end but the darkness was perpetual. Sometimes the night lapsed into a crimson twilight with scintillating colors on the horizon, hinting at a new day that was never born.

  Adding to the eerie beauty, Prague seemed devoid of life. The city dwellers may as well have fallen into a comatose sleep. Her car jerked as she turned a sharp corner, shaking Camilla in her seat.

  A storm of bone-grinding noises signaled an end to her journey. Her tire had run amok of disaster and was rapidly deflating. She sighed, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel. When she looked up with sleep-deprived eyes, the Florenci Apartments loomed above her.

  What a mocking coincidence. She drove for hours only to end up at the doorstep of her apartment, where this nightmare first took seed. Maybe it was a sign that she needed to show resolve and confront this.

  Feeling more bitter than fearful, she trudged inside the
complex. Perhaps she would scavenge a few more valuables and keepsakes from her apartment while she was here. An ambience watered down the air like melancholy rain as she ascended to the third floor. The self-perpetuating melody tugged on her, urging her to turn around and leave the way she came. She knew precisely where that feeling stemmed from when she stepped out of the elevator.

  A lone wisp of a woman was standing outside of her apartment. Tendrils of dark hair fell from her head and curled over her shoulders. The skin on arms and hands was fair as though she rarely ventured under the sun. Even the clothes on her rail thin figure hung like a veil. Everything about her struck Camilla as phantasmal, ethereal, and unreal.

  This moment seemed like a grandiose lie. The pale woman soon realized she was being watched.

  She slowly turned to face her daughter.

  Camilla fought down the fear that constricted her chest. She was surprised by the terror gleaming in her mother’s eyes. In spite of the shock, Camilla’s rage more than compensated.

  “Were you expecting me?” she hissed. “The element of surprise isn’t on your side this time.”

  Her mother quickly backed away. She studied Camilla as one might watch an approaching predator, sizing up her strength and ferocity. Her eyes nervously darted back and forth.

  “How can you kill your own daughter?! How does it feel to stalk the child you gave birth to?!” Camilla screamed.

  Her mother opened her mouth in reply but no words issued forth. Camilla’s rage boiled over.

  “Why don’t you show me what it feels like?!”

  She whipped out her gun and put her mother in its sight. Her mother bolted toward the stairwell and Camilla squeezed the trigger. The explosion of gunpowder deafened Camilla as the bullet bit a chunk out of the wall. Again, she was shocked by the raw power of the firearm. She was also terrified by how easily pulling the trigger came to her.

  The scent of gunpowder seemed to waken something primal and desperate in Camilla. She just wanted to live, nothing more—but her mother refused to share the world with her. Camilla raced after her without any thought for the peril lying ahead. Her knuckles glowed white as she clutched the gun. She couldn’t reconcile the anger she felt in that instant.

  How could a mother ever consider killing her child out of spite? Only a monster could calmly go about stalking and taunting her daughter before putting her in the grave.

  As Camilla turned a corner on the stairs, a silhouette lunged at her with a demonic shriek. She seized Camilla’s hand gripping the handgun. Her nails dug into her skin, weakening her hold on the weapon. To Camilla’s credit, she blocked out the pain and tried to turn the barrel on her.

  For a moment they grappled on the stairs, staggering closer to the banister overlooking the gardens. Suddenly, the gun roared and a bullet pierced the ceiling. Camilla screamed at her mother as hot tears ran down her face.

  “I didn’t ruin your life! Just because I was born! Just because I exist!”

  The gun slipped from her hands and clattered against the floor. Her mother was no longer there. In the frenzy of battle, she pushed her daughter away and fled.

  Camilla surrendered to the tears that broke free of her emotional prison.

  She didn’t want to her kill her own mother. Camilla fantasized about the day when she would walk into her embrace. She imagined a reunion where her mother never let her go and promised to remain at her side from this day forward. They would recapture all the precious moments that had been stolen from them. She wanted to feel her mother’s arms around her as she inevitably broke down sobbing.

  She never expected to encounter a woman hell-bent on murdering her.

  Camilla punched the floor. The thought of attacking her mother, nonetheless killing her, brought the taste of vomit surging to her lips. She wasn’t a violent person by nature. It clashed with her desire to avoid conflict and please others.

  Maybe her mother would realize her error and try to amend it. However, given the nature of their reunions, that scenario was unlikely. One of them was bound to die sooner or later.

  She dreaded and longed for the next encounter.

  * * *

  Vivian didn’t have to wait long for a press conference from the University Hospital. Over the course of the week, twelve cases of lupus vulgaris were confirmed. What surprised her was the possibility of an additional 100 in-patients who may be afflicted with skin tuberculosis but weren’t showing any symptoms. She listened to the press conference avidly over the radio in the living room. One excerpt from the announcement bothered her more than a little.

  “The mutation that has occurred has changed the structure of the tuberculosis-causing bacteria. This strain has shown itself to be particularly drug-resistant, which leaves the effectiveness of vaccines in question. We are collaborating with the Ministry of Health to create a buffer around the index case to prevent further spread of infection. We would like to stress that this isn’t a public health crisis, but we encourage the community to take all necessary precautions when it comes to their safety and wellbeing.”

  “In other words, your relatives and loved ones in the hospital stand a good chance of dying,” Vivian muttered, switching off the radio. One always had to read in between the lines when it came to these contrived public health announcements.

  As with any emerging disease, mass hysteria was only a stone’s throw away. The implied risk to friends and family in the hospital only added media fuel to the fire. Everyone was looking for someone to blame.

  There was no shortage of theories concerning the outbreak as the media painted a clearer picture of this narrative’s scapegoat. Over the next few days, one theory gained public favor with rabid zeal.

  More headlines about immigrants spreading disease began to circulate. Notwithstanding the fact that this disease didn’t spread like airborne tuberculosis, the public didn’t seem to connect the dots. After all, logic often falls flat in the face of terror.

  Vivian first sensed something amiss in the community when she was walking home on a rainy afternoon. As she strolled through the drizzle, she spotted a crowd protesting outside of a housing project known for harboring immigrants. That wouldn’t have been too extraordinary were it not for the xenophobic chants and signs. When she looked at the gathering of protestors, her gut dropped. Their faces were twisted in hatred and their mouths never seemed to stop moving. Some of the men spewed obscenities while others demanded a travel ban be imposed on the Czech Republic.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Vivian was proud to belong to a family of immigrants and no one could shame her into feeling otherwise. When she thought about it, shame was often applied to her throughout her life. Men like Crenshaw tried to shame her for being a woman in a man’s profession, the community at large tried to shame her for belonging to a dark cybergoth culture, and now this. No one could tell by looking at her if she was an immigrant—unless they based assumptions off her non-European heritage. After all, the Chinese formed one of the smaller immigrant communities here.

  She caught herself mid-stumble when she noticed a few older women staring at her.

  Even the youngest daughter among them ogled Vivian as though she was a wicked creature.

  She didn’t want to fathom the thoughts in their heads. Something to the effect of “filthy immigrants” was most likely being whispered among them. Of course, they were too cowardly to say it to her face.

  Disdain curled on her tongue. How many people thought they were better than her because of her race or gender? How many bigots wallowed in their deluded supremacy, believing themselves to be mightier because of their skin color?

  She thought wryly of her first interracial relationship. Her boyfriend’s family believed their son should date strictly within his race. Consequently, she never earned their approval, and her boyfriend’s mother and sister sabotaged the relationship every step of the way.

  First, they slandered Vivian as an immature girl who suffered from depression and anxi
ety. Somehow this put her on the same level as violent criminals. They had the nerve to convince Vivian’s boyfriend that she was controlling and abusive. How ironic, considering the mind games they put him through.

  If he stood up for Vivian, his family wouldn’t speak to him for weeks. They treated him as if he didn’t exist.

  The last and most devastating phase entailed the lies they spread about Vivian. They gossiped that she was sleeping around with numerous men. The doubt was enough to drive a wedge between Vivian and her beau.

  The breakup was just as brutal, a whirlwind of confrontations with her ex’s family and drinking to numb the depression.

  She vowed to never date again after the horrendous experience.

  A smile creased her lips. Somehow Milo changed those sentiments in recent weeks. Now she found herself charmed—no, intoxicated with the thought of him.

  She could only imagine how far their relationship might take them. Was this just a short term fling or could he be the man she always imagined marrying?

  Maybe an adorable son or daughter waited in her future as well. She beamed at the thought of a beautiful child with her Chinese heritage and Milo’s European features.

  But those fantasies would have to wait, she reminded herself, as more watchful eyes from strangers followed her.

  It never bothered her before when people sent curious glances her way. She was quite used to it given her bold fashion tastes.

  However, something felt entirely different about the stares leveled at her this time. She was being monitored like quarry for hunters.

  One lone man in particular glowered at her from the curb. She had never seen him before, yet the look he cast her was reserved for a mortal enemy—simply because of a media narrative about dirty immigrants spreading disease.

  Vivian deliberately passed within a hair’s breadth of him. She expected a kick or slap but the coward did nothing. Of course he wouldn’t. Bullies could only summon the courage to act when they were surrounded by their foul ilk.