Arsenic for the Soul Read online

  “I never took you for a painter.”

  Vivian wheeled around to see Milo standing in the driveway. It took Vivian a moment to recognize the young man because she wasn’t accustomed to seeing him wear a jacket and jeans. Come to think of it, he cleaned up quite nicely when he wasn’t in scrubs.

  Vivian stood back and heaved a sigh as she viewed the house.

  “I know. It’s absolutely majestic.”

  “I’d offer to help but you see, I failed my art classes in school. You’ll thank me later if I don’t try my hand at it.”

  “Oh it can’t be too bad.”

  “All jokes aside, these people deserve no mercy for what they’ve done,” he said darkly. “If I got my hands on the cowards who did this, I’d choke the life out of them.”

  Steel-eyed, he stared at the words splashed on the house, imagining the perfect retribution for the racist scum.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, catching the surprised look on Vivian’s face. “It never ceases to amaze me how senseless people are; how divided we become over lines of race, sex, and religion. It’s beyond the pale of understanding. But I think there’s something seriously defective about the brains of people like that. I’m not sure whether to pity or hate them, in all honesty.”

  “I was wondering if you had any fire in you,” Vivian grinned. “I thought you were all smiles and sunshine. Nothing seems to faze sweet old Milo.”

  He sighed wistfully.

  “I suppose that’s what I project on the surface. To tell you the truth, I can be a bit moody at times. But who can hold that against me, considering my work? You’ve had a taste of it for yourself when you saw that young man in the ER.

  “Now imagine seeing a child suffering from an incurable disease while the parents weep and blame you for failing to save him. Imagine how it feels to see a battered women fighting for her life in the ER, perhaps someone you’ve treated multiple times… until there is no more next time. It takes its toll on you. I’m not ashamed to say it messes with my head. There are nights where I can’t fall asleep and the darkness strangles me.”

  “Well, I’m glad to know I’m not the only one. I thought I had thick skin, but this hospital is an entirely different beast… How do you deal with it?”

  “I read and write. Occasionally I try my hand at the piano or I sing to express the emotions so tightly wound up inside. It helps take the edge off for a while, but the anxiety always catches up to me. Forgive me for rambling. I don’t often go off on a tangent like this. It’s been too long since I found someone I can easily talk to.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Vivian slapped another coat of paint over the obscenities. “Come to think of it, my parents made me take piano classes in school. I’m no master composer, but maybe we can play together sometime. I’ll give you a few lessons free of charge.”

  She tossed him a playful wink as the copper sun cast an alluring glow in her eyes.

  Milo couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her.

  “That sounds lovely. Yes, I think that would ease my pain.” He patted her on the shoulder. “We’ve done a great deal of getting to know each other and I’ve come to realize something. It’s strange… but I care about you, Vivian.”

  She stared at him in awe. He could have knocked her over with a single breath if he so wished.

  Long repressed desires came so easily to her now. Perhaps his spark of affection gave her courage.

  “I needed to hear that… especially tonight. To be honest, I care a lot about you, too. I know it’s only been a few days since we’ve seen each other, but I miss you.” She gently scrubbed the offending paint from the house. “But you still have to make up for that debacle you called a date,” she teased.

  “Cut me some slack, you have to give me that much! I was knocked unconscious and someone painted pictures with my blood!” he laughed.

  “I’ll do much worse to you if our second date isn’t magical.”

  His eyes flashed dangerously as the sunset loomed behind him.

  “I don’t doubt it.” Vivian coveted him down to her blood. Her heart beat faster at the notion of inviting him inside while the house was still empty. Regrettably, this man seemed more apt to tantalize her fantasies than satisfy them. “Well, I should get going now,” Milo said, gliding away on the grass. “I have an early shift tomorrow.”

  “Enjoy your beauty sleep.”

  “There’s nothing remotely beautiful about waking up at four in the morning. But I suppose you’re used to the midnight hours with your Absinthe-catering clubs, aren’t you?”

  “I’m putting that behind me lately. I guess you could say I’m growing up.”

  “Glad to hear that. A nice change of setting would suit you, a little less of the face paint and garters. Personally, you’d look more irresistible in a red dress while you sip from a glass of Sauvignon at Restaurant Divina. Perhaps I’ll see you there this Thursday, say around at eight?”

  He walked away with a teasing smile. Vivian glowed at this victory handed to her. At last, she had her second date. If only Thursday wasn’t so far away.

  FOURTEEN

  Vivian was sleeping soundly in bed when she bolted awake in the middle of the night. 4:53 A.M. glowed from her alarm clock, shattering any hope of sleep before dragging herself to the shower and slipping into scrubs.

  “God, not again…” For the third night, she dreamt about Bryan rising from the autopsy table like a portent of doom. She couldn’t help but wonder what he learned about the outbreak that ultimately led to his demise. The quintessential question remained: How could a non-airborne version of tuberculosis spread from one unrelated patient to another? Perhaps her mind was firing off too many ideas at once at this late hour, but in the midst of her sleep-deprived brain, one half-formed theory stood out among the rest.

  For the first time since beginning nursing school, she was anxious to rise from bed for 7 A.M. clinicals.

  Once she reached the University Hospital, her fears were confirmed one patient after another. Her stomach churned as she reviewed each patient’s medical chart.

  “Vivian? Is everything all right?” She glanced up from the reports as Milo approached. One look at her face probably spoke volumes about how well she rested last night.

  “Milo, I need you to take a look at this. Every patient who came down with symptoms of tuberculosis has one thing in common. They’ve undergone a surgery of some kind within the past two months. That’s roughly the incubation time for tuberculosis. Not everyone comes down with a post-op infection but it’s becoming a pattern!”

  She didn’t share the rest of her thoughts with Milo. In order for this theory to hold up to scrutiny, Camilla’s mother would have to work in the hospital as a surgical technician or a nurse. Casting more shadows over this mystery, how would such a profession come easily to someone locked away in an asylum for over twenty years?

  “Who else have you told about this?” Milo asked, taking her aside.

  “No one, just you. But I can’t keep this to myself. I should go straight to the new head of the nursing program and share my findings.” The expression on Milo’s face soured immediately.

  “You didn’t hear, did you?”

  “About what?”

  “Your least favorite surgeon is coordinating the program between the hospital and the university now.” Vivian might have laughed if the notion wasn’t so ridiculously cruel.

  “Crenshaw? As if commanding the emergency room wasn’t good enough for that man’s ego. Oh God, he’d never believe me! If I name surgery as a common factor in the outbreak, he’ll burst a blood vessel.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. Sadly, even if he did believe you, it wouldn’t change anything.” Milo’s tone gave her pause.

  “Why?”

  “You can’t put a halt to every scheduled surgery based on a hunch. Think of the havoc it would cause for the hospital and the community. You need some concrete evidence to make your point. Even then, how could we possibly go wit
hout surgery when people are injured or dying?”

  “There’s not much of a choice for the patients. There must be another hospital where surgeries can be performed. I know it sounds ludicrous but I think that’s how the tuberculosis is spreading.”

  “Just think it over before you rush to any decision. You should also be aware that every employee needs to submit to a TB test in light of the outbreak. We’re not taking any chances with exposure. Needless to say, this mandate applies to students as well.”

  “It seems kind of pointless after you gave me the vaccine.”

  “I know, but what can I say? I promise it’s the last time you’ll see a needle in a long time.”

  Vivian sighed and marched off to the blood lab.

  “Very well.”

  * * *

  Vivian stroked the raised bump on her arm as she ambled home. Per the usual TB test procedure, a nurse inserted a small amount of tuberculin under the skin, causing a bubble to form. She wasn’t the least bit concerned with the results of her skin test, but she would still report to the hospital in two to three days after the injection.

  Her ears perked up at the sounds of protesters as she neared her neighborhood. More people seemed to gather each day outside apartments that catered to immigrants, clenching their fists and protesting their inclusion in Prague.

  “Immigrants brought this filth into our city!”

  She discretely slipped her hand into her pocket, feeling the smooth handle of her pocketknife. She had only purchased it yesterday for extra protection. Of course, Vivian didn’t particularly need a weapon to be considered dangerous.

  She sincerely hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. She didn’t relish conflict, though it might come easily to her. Too often it seemed like force was the only way to make people respect her existence.

  She watched the crowd undulating in front of the apartments. She presumed foreigners lived there and this was the public’s way of intimidating them to leave. They weren’t waving torches and pitchforks but their radicalism was arguably the most formidable of their weapons.

  Suddenly, a heap of trash landed at Vivian’s feet. She staggered back from the smell of rotten fruit mixed with human waste.

  “Look! Another one of them has come out! They’re like cockroaches—once you think you’ve seen the last of them but they’re just too cowardly to show their faces!”

  “Stay back from the foreign girl! You might catch something from her if she touches you!”

  Eyes flickering with rage, Vivian regarded the offending group of men. They smirked and slapped each other on the back as if there could be no better pastime than throwing trash at a fellow human being.

  “Fuck off,” she growled.

  “What did you say to me?” One man took a lumbering step toward her.

  His hate manifested so grotesquely on his face that Vivian barely registered him as human. He shared more qualities in common with a monster as he salivated for blood. He balled his hands into fists as primal violence consumed his brain.

  “We’ll see how tough you talk when I’m looking down at you,” he said, lips peeling back over his yellowed teeth.

  The crowd swelled forth with seconds to spare. Civil order was well past its expiration date. Vivian wouldn’t back down from a single man or a group. Still, she couldn’t shake her surprise that the crowd was complicit with the affair. They clamored at the prospect of a street brawl instead of intervening for peace. She didn’t need their saving anyway, but it unsettled her all the same.

  After all, she was just a foreigner in their eyes.

  The man seized her by the arm while another came in fast with a jab. Vivian tore her arm free and pumped her foot into the assailant’s gut, staggering him. Clearly he wasn’t incapacitated yet and he rushed in again. Vivian was occupied with two other protestors so she stood no chance when someone kicked her in the back and shoved her to the ground. Even before the dirt could find its way on her face, she pivoted her hips and aimed a kick for his knee, where she was rewarded with a satisfying crunch.

  He howled and went down, but not before his chin bounced solidly off Vivian’s fist. The crowd continued to jeer and hurl racial slurs as four men took turns trying to take on the Red Widow. The entire spectacle bore an uncanny resemblance to gladiator games. There was something indisputably primal and savage about their lust for destruction.

  Suddenly hands grabbed her from behind, but it was mingled with a gentle touch. Instead of fists battering her, she was pushed out of harm’s way. To her surprise, Milo stood before her like a shield.

  Four men shifted anxiously around the newcomer. They reminded him of rabid animals drinking in the scent of their prey before executing the kill. The tension exploded and Milo moved impossibly fast to fend them off. Vivian was mildly taken aback by how aptly he broke through their punches and whittled them down one man at a time.

  Not content to be a spectator, Vivian charged back into the fray. She managed to hold her own and trip up an attacker who came chillingly close to putting her in a chokehold. Another man barreled into Vivian and threw her to the ground.

  Her eyes flared as one of them pulled a knife on the unsuspecting Milo.

  “No you don’t!” Vivian snarled. She reached into her pocket and whipped out her pocketknife. She couldn’t believe this was what human society looked like under the surface. Strip away the illusion of laws and common decency and they were merely beasts in human skin.

  Just as she rushed toward the armed thug, an elderly man stepped out from the crowd. Vivian barely saw him raise a weak arm with a gun clutched in his hand.

  A sound like no other ripped through her mind. Blood misted the air like a flower bursting into bloom. Vivian’s existence knew only pain.

  She didn’t even scream. She clapped a hand to her side, where her shirt felt soaked with liquid warmth. Time slowed to a crawl as she fell to the concrete. Her world faded into a black and gray quagmire.

  * * *

  Vivian faintly construed shapes passing in front of her. She reached out to the void and something reached back, clasping her hand.

  When her sight returned, she found herself in a room ornamented with worldly trinkets, statues, maps plastered on the walls, and shelves brimming with books on every obscure subject. A fireplace in the corner breathed new life into her skin and chased after the shivers in her bones. Handwoven tapestries from Nepal hung on the walls, glistening in the scarlet caress of the flames.

  “You’ve finally come to your senses. Welcome to my home.” Milo stood over Vivian, relieved to see her green eyes pop wide open.

  “Your home?” she murmured.

  “You’re somewhere safe, that’s all that matters. I brought you here after you fainted. I didn’t have much time to tidy up the place so I hope you don’t judge me too harshly.”

  “What happened to me?” Vivian massaged her sore head as she reared up from a couch laden in pillows. She barely remembered the fight with violent radicals in the streets, nonetheless being kissed by a bullet. Instead of burdening her with the details, Milo handed her a steaming bowl of soup.

  “Here, this should make you feel better.” Even as she protested, he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

  “I’m not sick, you know,” she chuckled. “How long have I been out? What happened?”

  Milo stirred the coals in the fireplace, releasing a fresh gasp of heat into the dim but otherwise exotically furnished chamber.

  “You’ve been unconscious for five hours. You were shot in the scuffle outside the apartments. Your memories might seem a little jostled while you’re still coming around, but everything will be okay. You’re safe here.”

  Vivian looked down at the bowl of soup in her hands.

  “We have to stop meeting like this, where one of us is injured or passed out. I take it this is date number two?”

  “I’d say this is a hell of a lot better than our first date. You had a nice nap and woke up to a warm home-cooked meal from yours tr
uly.”

  He winked.

  “Well, you have a point there. This is better, I’ll give you that much.”

  “Fortunately the bullet only nicked your side. The most it will do is a leave a scar, but the pain must have sent you into shock. I did my best to dress the wound and disinfect it.”

  Vivian couldn’t muster the words to speak. He was bold enough to undress her and clean her wounds? Milo only smiled, but his expression darkened for a moment as he remembered the circumstances that led to their meeting.

  “They think immigrants brought tuberculosis to Prague. They’re thinking the same thing as the rest of the public.”

  Vivian bunched her fists in rage at the thought of the rioters frothing in the streets. Of course they would blame immigrants for their problems. Anyone different was always to blame for situations they couldn’t accept or understand. Her anger dissipated when she looked at Milo’s soothing face.

  “You fought them off?”

  “Like any bully, they only stand tall when they have others to back them up. In the end, they all fall down without any spine of their own. Humans are weak when alone and weaker still with each other.”

  His eyes glittered like spitting embers and Vivian sucked in a breath. She immediately took a liking to this darker side of Milo.

  He quickly sublimated the anger and looked the part of the gentle caretaker once more. His fingers ran through Vivian’s hair, bringing her more comfort than she cared to admit.

  “I need to check the wound again for signs of infection. It’s been a few hours since I bandaged it. Do you mind?”

  Vivian shook her head and held her breath as he unbuttoned her shirt. Her heart bounced painfully off her ribs, straining against the sudden outpour of excitement and fear.

  What would he say when he looked upon her body? Would he desire what he saw or be mildly disappointed?