Immortal Love (17 page)

My heart pounding, I leaned against the wall and tried to follow Bécquer’s advice on how to block my feelings, while David walked to the door beside the study and knocked twice. There was no answer.

David looked back at me. “I told you he’s sleeping,” he whispered.

Bécquer, a human Bécquer, would have heard us outside his door. Were he immortal he’d have sensed me coming, even before I’d reached the house. Was he immortal and avoiding me or was he human and sleeping? In either case, I should be leaving. But what if … ?

Call me when you see him,
Federico had told me.

Ignoring David’s attempts to stop me, I grabbed the knob and pushed the door open.

Bécquer was sitting on his bed, propped against a pillow. Despite the darkness inside, I could tell he was wearing the dark shirt he had worn in the afternoon. Thus, I guessed, he was still fully dressed, although I couldn’t tell for sure because a dark comforter up to his waist concealed his legs. His arms fell lifeless by his side and, once I got closer, I saw his eyes were closed.

I called his name and, when he didn’t react, I took one of his hands in mine, and repeated his name louder and louder, until I was screaming.

“Ms. Esteban!”

David was by my side, pulling at my arm. I pushed him hard to free myself, and leaning over Bécquer, I shook him by his shoulders.

Again, David pulled me back. “Please, let me handle this.”

I turned. “What happened? What’s wrong with him?”

David picked up a prescription bottle from the bedspread, and showed it to me. “Sleeping pills,” he said, pointing at the label. “He took them all,” he added when shaking the bottle failed to produce a sound.

I gasped. “You left the pills within his reach?”

“Please move. I need to force him to get rid of them.”

David’s voice was calm where mine had been frantic and when I looked up at him, ready to argue, I met not the eyes of the careless boy I had found playing video games, but the pragmatic stare of a professional nurse.

“Call 9-1-1 and tell them what happened,” David prompted me. “Ask them to send an ambulance at once.”

He had unbuttoned Bécquer’s shirt while he talked and checked for a pulse on his neck where the scar from Beatriz’s vicious attack was still visible. Bécquer’s face was gaunt, his breathing, if he was breathing, too shallow for me to notice. Was he alive? Or were we already too late?

Fighting the panic that threatened to engulf me, I grabbed the phone from the bedside table and made the call.

By the time the paramedics arrived, Bécquer was still unconscious, but at least his breathing was regular. David had forced him to empty his stomach. Whether we had gotten all the pills from his system in time was too early to say, we were told. Without further reassurance, we were asked to move aside while they connected the IV to his arm, transferred him to a stretcher, and hurried him to the ambulance.

When they told us only one person was allowed to drive with him, David nodded to me. “You go. I’ve done all I can. Besides, I’ve to get things ready here before Mr. Bécquer comes home.”

I doubted that would happen that night, but David felt it was his responsibility to clean up before the ten o’clock shift arrived. At least, that is what he told me. My guess was that allowing me to go with Bécquer was his way of thanking me for agreeing not to tell his employer he had been playing games when I came in.

Like Federico, I believed that if Bécquer wanted to die, he would have found a way. David did not know about the pills, he’d told me, and he had reacted well to the emergency. Guessing that Bécquer would not have wanted David punished for his decision, I chose not to say anything that could incriminate him.

Chris, the paramedic who was to ride with us, helped me into the back of the ambulance then motioned me to sit by Bécquer. I had barely done so when the strident sound of the siren broke into the night, drowning the roar of the engines as the vehicle started.

Despite David’s efforts, Bécquer had never been totally conscious back at the house. But now he opened his eyes.

“Bécquer,” I whispered and leaned closer in order to hear him over the blaring of the siren.

He stared at me for a moment then frowned. “Carla?” His voice was hoarse, almost inaudible. “What are you doing here?”

He tried to sit as he spoke, but his arms gave way and he fell back.

“Don’t move.”

Bécquer moaned. “What happened? Where am I?”

“There was an accident. We’re taking you to the hospital.”

“An accident?” For a moment he looked confused then, as understanding dawned in his eyes, he grabbed the tubing from the IV and yanked it from his arm.

Immediately Chris was upon him. Bécquer fought back with energy I didn’t imagine he could have. But the fight didn’t last long. Soon, the paramedic had him restrained and bound to the stretcher. Once the IV was again dripping in his arm, Chris moved back.

“Don’t get him excited,” he told me, as if I were the one responsible for Bécquer’s reaction. But seeing no point in arguing, I nodded and sat again by Bécquer’s side.

“You have to help me,” Bécquer asked me in Spanish now, to keep the paramedic from following our conversation, I guessed. “I was supposed to die tonight.”

“I won’t let you die.”

“Carla, please, don’t make this more difficult for me. I can’t live. I don’t want to live.”

“I’m sorry, Bécquer. I’m so sorry.”

“So you know?”

“Richard told me.”

“Richard? Oh! You mean he told you about my legs?”

I nodded. “Is it true, Bécquer? Are you human?”

He didn’t deny it. He just stared at me with his dark eyes that seemed even darker now, sunk so deep in his gaunt face.

“The Elders … ” I hesitated, “did they make you human?”

“Yes. My punishment for making Beatriz immortal.”

“But you didn’t change her. She stole your blood.”

“That’s a technicality, Carla. I sired her, and the sentence was that I should die. I begged Cesar, the Elder’s messenger, for a week to finish your contract. And when he agreed he asked for my word that after the week was over I’d kill myself. So, you see, I’ve no choice.”

“Yes, you have,” I bluffed. “Federico will talk to the Elders. He will convince them to change their sentence.”

“Federico knows?”

“He’s coming tonight.”

Bécquer groaned. “Why did you tell him? There’s nothing he can do. The Elders have already decided. You must let me be.”

I shook my head. “I won’t.”

“Why not? You broke your contract with me today. You were not to see me again. What difference does it make to you whether I live or die?”

“I ended my contract with you to keep my children safe. I don’t want you to die.”

“Do you hate me so much that you want me to live like this, broken and impotent, a shadow of the god I was?”

“You cannot really mean that. You’re still you, Bécquer. No matter what has happened. Taking your life is selfish.”

“Selfish?”

“Yes, selfish. Are you really so blind that you don’t know you have friends who care for you and would be devastated were you to die?”

“Do I really?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know that Richard is totally smitten with you. He’s certain your clients will wait if you decided to take a break. And Federico is worried sick about you. And Ryan looks up to you. You can’t let him down.”

Bécquer closed his eyes while I rambled on, as if embarrassed by my barely concealed distress. He opened them when I finished and fixed his dark stare on me.

“And you?” he whispered. “If I die, would you mourn me for a day?”

My vision blurred by tears. I was still struggling to find my voice when the ambulance came to a stop, and Chris asked me to move aside.

Powerless I watched, as they wheeled Bécquer away.

• • •

Rachel was talking with the receptionist when I came into the hospital.

Even though Richard had insisted that Rachel and Bécquer were not in a relationship, her distressed behavior that afternoon and her already being at the hospital seemed to suggest otherwise. Yet, on the list of people who cared for Bécquer that I had just enumerated for him I had forgotten to mention her. A simple mistake or an unconscious wish that Richard was right?

The girl turned from the desk as I came in, and as our eyes met, she rushed to my side. She was wearing a short plaid parka over tight black jeans, a yellow scarf around her neck. In her perfectly made-up face, her eyes were no longer red, but the tension was clear in her voice as she asked, “Where is Bécquer? Will he be all right?”

Her face relaxed a little when I told her Bécquer had been conscious when I left him.

“David called me,” she explained as we walked to the waiting area.

I had guessed that much.

“So, he’s conscious,” she repeated when we sat facing each other in a corner of an almost empty waiting room. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it? He’ll recover.”

“Yes. But … ” I couldn’t tell her Bécquer’s life was still in jeopardy because the Elders wanted him dead. Not without learning first how much she knew. “He seems depressed,” I continued watching for her reaction. “Not surprising, of course, given his recent prognosis after the accident.”

“It was not an accident.” Rachel’s voice that had been subdued before was now so loud several of the people scattered around the room looked up. “A man came to see Bécquer last Monday,” she continued in a lower tone. “A man, tall and dark. ‘Cesar,’ he said, when I asked him for his name. He didn’t wait for me to announce his arrival. As soon as I let him in, he dashed past me to Bécquer’s study as if he owned the house. So I assumed they were friends. But I was wrong. Bécquer was not happy to see him, that much was clear, although he smiled at me and told me I could take the afternoon off.”

“I thought it was you who found Bécquer.”

“I did,” Rachel said, her eyes somewhat unfocused. “I didn’t leave as he asked me to. Cesar made me uncomfortable, and I didn’t want Bécquer to be alone with him. So I waited. And waited. But he never came out of the study. When I gathered my courage and knocked at the door, nobody answered, so I went in. Bécquer was unconscious on the floor and Cesar was gone.

“Bécquer told the doctors he had fallen down the stairs, but that is impossible. He was nowhere near the stairs when I found him. I think Bécquer and Cesar fought and Cesar is responsible for his condition.”

“You don’t believe me?” Rachel asked when I said nothing. “I knew you wouldn’t. That’s why I brought this.” She reached into a canvas bag hanging from the back of her chair and produced a manila envelope. “Bécquer gave me this in the morning and asked me to mail it to you, even though you were coming in the afternoon.”

“It’s addressed to you,” she explained as I frowned. “My guess is that he wrote to you to explain what happened.”

I took the envelope she offered. Inside I found a leather-bound journal filled with Bécquer’s florid handwriting. A letter-size envelope was concealed among its pages.

My heart beating hard, I tore open the envelope, unfolded the letter, and started reading.

“Does he mention Cesar?”

Rachel’s voice startled me, bringing me back to the hospital room.

I nodded. “Yes, Cesar caused his ‘accident’ last Monday.”

“Then we have to tell the police. He must pay for what he did.”

“No. I don’t think we should interfere. The decision must be Bécquer’s.”

Rachel hesitated.

“Please wait, at least until we talk to him. There is no last name in the letter. No way to trace this Cesar, or prove he’s real. It’s our word against Bécquer’s.”

“And the notebook?” she said pointing at Bécquer’s diary sitting on my lap. “Maybe he tells more about Cesar there.”

I knew the diary would not help us locate Cesar either because Cesar was an immortal, thus beyond human reach. Yet, curious to know what Bécquer had written, I opened it to the first page.

I was eleven when I met Lucrezia on the patio of my aunt’s house. The year was 1847 and Sevilla was in spring, but not my heart, for my heart was still frozen in the winter morning, two months past, that had seen my mother die.

“She’s in heaven,” the priest had said, “because God had need of her.”