NUMB, Judy Colella [i am malala young readers edition .TXT] 📗

together with his knowledge of how to use them, he could easily go to America, get close to her family, friends, and that idiot husband, and inject them with something deadly. Once free of their presence, she would be his again.

But where –

“Doctor?”

“Come in, Fedor. What is it?”

“May I sit?” The lab assistant pointed at the chair in front of Kobienko’s desk. He was flushed and appeared to be a little short of breath.

“Of course. What has happened? Are you well?”

“I am, thank you, but something – I don’t want to get your hopes too high, doctor, but my cousin told me a very strange story this morning on the phone. I was at the store when she called, and our conversation continued as I was driving home. When I got here, I ran from the parking lot because the more I thought about it, the more possible it seemed that what she told me could be what you are looking for.”

Kobienko frowned. “What in the world are you talking about, Fedor? Make sense.”

“I’m sorry. Here is what she told me. She said that a while back, a young man came to her door. He looked pale and barely able to stay conscious as he asked in broken Russian if he could come inside to get warm. Of course, she didn’t trust him, but was curious. He was tall, about six feet, and rather…pretty for a man. But he was dressed in hospital scrubs and didn’t have a woman’s figure, which confused my cousin. With curves, this man would make a very attractive girl, she said. So thinking he might simply be gay, and thus not a threat, she let him in. He sat at her table in the kitchen and gulped down nearly an entire pot of coffee and a great deal of her bread, some potted meat, and cheese, and said nothing more. Then he put his head down on his arms on the table and fell asleep. She left him there, it being late, and since she had nowhere for him to sleep anyway. The next morning he was gone.”

Kobienko leaned back in his chair, smirking. “I hope this gets more interesting, my friend, or I will have to ask you to leave. I have a lot of things to do today.”

“Sorry. Yes. Of course. About a week ago, my cousin was shopping in St. Petersburg, and saw a woman pushing a child in a stroller. You see lots of that, of course, but she was struck by the height of this woman. So she watched her, and when the mother turned, my cousin was shocked to see the face of the young man who had fallen asleep at her table all those months ago. At first, she thought maybe this was the man’s sister, but a second later, the woman made it clear that she recognized my cousin, and quickly went out of the store.”

“Did your cousin follow this woman?” Kobienko had leaned forward again, eyes wide, no longer bored.

“Yes, she tried, but by the time she went outside after her, the woman was nowhere to be seen. She told me the girl’s hair was longer now, but only about as long as it would have gotten in the same number of months since that visit to her house. I wasn’t sure about all this, because as far as I knew, your patient wasn’t pregnant when she was here, and the age of the child makes me think she would have had to be – ”

“She was about three months along when she was here.”

“Oh. It fits, then.”

“Yes. Fedor, thank you.” Kobienko stood and put out a hand. “You have given me hope once again. And an explanation as to how she escaped unseen.” He shook his head, smiling at the girl’s ingenuity.

“Es-escaped? What do you mean? I thought she left because she was confused, or so you said. Why would you now say she ‘escaped,’ if everything was all right?” He’d ignored the doctor’s proffered hand.

Kobienko stared at him for a moment, then sat again. “I’m sorry. There were details of her case I couldn’t disclose because of the sensitive nature of her situation. Here – let me show you something.” He reached into a side drawer, took something out, and raised it.

The shot was muffled by a silencer attached to the barrel, and the thud of the body hitting the floor was muffled by the thick, dark blue carpet.

“Idiot.” The doctor put his gun away, locked the drawer, and came around to the front of the desk. As he stared into the blank eyes of the lab assistant, he said, “Oops. I wasn’t supposed to use the word ‘escape.’ Sorry.” He sighed. Now he’d have to dispose of the body, but not right away. The clinic was busy at this time of day, so he’d wait until later. In the meantime…

Once the door to his personal supply closet was shut and locked, he took a towel from beside the sink near his desk and ran it over the carpet. Nothing. Good. The bullet was apparently stopped by the man’s spine after tearing through his heart, and he’d been moved before the blood had a chance to soak into his clothes.

Ah, my friend. I will miss your efficient help, but what choice did you give me, eh? You aren’t the first, though, and won’t be the last, I’m sure, so you needn’t feel that you were singled out in any way. He washed his hands at the sink to be sure there was no odor from the gunpowder on them, and went to lunch, pleased.

Finally, a breakthrough – the love of his life was alive and still in Russia. After he'd discharged his obligation to Dr. Chevon - a month to "play" with the sculptress was the agreement - Atarah would be his alone, forever. It was a good day.

 

*******

 

Jax stared up at the warehouse-like building, its turn-of-the-century architecture an interesting contrast to the more modern structures on either side up and down the block. “That’s it? Impressive.”

“Looks like someone’s there, too.” Celia pointed up at the massive bank of windows along the front of the second floor. A mellow light illuminated the arched frame, barely discernible in the early evening sunset. “I’m going away now. Call me when you’re done.”

Since Jax didn’t know where this building was, Celia had volunteered to drive him there – but nothing more. She didn’t want to see Ondine if in fact the French girl was there, because she didn’t think she could maintain the lie-by-silence that would be necessary in a conversation.

“Where are you going?”

“Still haven’t decided. Maybe clothes shopping.” She shrugged, leaned up, and gave Jax a kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t forget to get that book for Jett. If you do, he’ll know we were lying about where we went.”

She nodded. “Indeed. I just hope that even with the book as evidence to the contrary, Jett won’t sense that we’re not telling him the truth.” As she got back into the car, Jax crossed the street and climbed the steps to the shiny black door. No one was around from what he could tell, but he could protect himself if any trouble arose. And after all, he was almost six-foot-five, and nearly as strong as Jett.

Jax got no response after pressing the bell several times. He tried knocking instead – not too hard or loud, since he didn’t want to alarm whoever was inside. He was about given up when he heard the distant sound of another door opening and closing, followed by what sounded like heavy footsteps. And then the footfalls ended right on the other side of the door.

“What do you want?” asked a male voice.

That surprised him. “Uh, may I come in?”

“You want to tell me who the hell you are?” A deep bark accompanied these words.

“My name is Jax Kinsley. I was looking for Ondine St. Michele, a friend of my brother’s deceased wife; I was told she might be here.”

“Were you. And why would she be here?”

“Because this was my former sister-in-law’s studio, and she and Ondine were best friends – I met her at their wedding.”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove it! Slip some I.D. under the door. And keep in mind that if you try anything, I have a well-trained German Shepherd and my trusty AR-15 to greet you.”

Taken aback, Jax stopped in the middle of removing his license from his wallet. What kind of whacko said, “trusty” outside of the old movies? “Damn, dude! Chill! I…here. It’s my license and I want it back.” He stooped and slid the card under the door.

Whoever was on the other side took it, and a moment later it reappeared. Picking it up, Jax put it back in his wallet. “Well?

A moment or two of silence was followed by the sound of locks being undone. The door opened a crack, and then was pulled aside the rest of the way. He stepped in and found a person holding a dangerous-looking rifle, but no dog, and that person was certainly not the deep-voiced male to whom he thought he’d been speaking.

Ondine. She shrugged, giving him a weak smile, and held up a voice recorder. The name of the famous company that made the world’s most realistic-sounding speaker systems was displayed across its dark surface, explaining why he hadn’t realized it had been a recording. “I’ve been getting harassed by the media,” said Ondine, closing the door and locking it. “One reporter in particular has been a problem, since the day Atarah…since her plane…would you like to come up and tell me why you’re here?”

Astounded, he nodded and followed her up the stairs and into the studio loft.

“I’ve been living here,” she explained, gesturing at a metal folding chair and small love seat. A pock-marked coffee table took up the space between these, and an upturned wooden crate next to the love seat held the only lamp – the obvious source of the mellow light visible from the street.

That was it. No trace of Atarah’s work or sculptures, no sign that she had ever been here. Stark, echo-producing space with blank walls and one huge set of windows. Outside these, the day had become much darker, giving the sparse grouping of furniture the feel of a lamp-lit cave.

As he sat, he caught Ondine staring. He questioned her gaze with his eyebrows.

“I still can’t get over how much you look like Jett. Lots of us were talking about that at the wedding.” She lowered herself to the love seat, Jax having parked himself on the metal chair. “I’ve seen twins who look less alike.”

He nodded. Because he didn’t feel like getting into the whole, we’re-less-than-a-year-apart explanation, he said, “How long have you been here?”

“Close to a year. When I heard about the, um, accident, I needed to be close to her, if that makes sense. At that point, everything was still as she’d left it, but one day I came back from a trip out of town, and it was empty. I assumed it was her family who had taken everything, and hoped it hadn’t been the media or crazed fans. It didn’t seem as if that had happened, though – the place would have been torn up, not swept clean and washed down. So it had to be her family. The next day the Landlord came by and found me here. I told him I would pay the rent from now on if he’d let me stay. He had no problem with that, and here I am.” She shrugged and leaned back into the dark blue cushions.

As he listened, Jax kept going back to the way she’d hesitated over the word “accident.” Why had she sounded like she’d wanted to say something else? “Tell me – you don’t seem too upset. I mean, when you mentioned the accident, you made it sound like you thought it was something else. Why is that?”

She didn’t answer for a long time, like she