Messenger of Death (8 page)

“How’d you know
about feeling for a pulse in the throat?” he insisted.

“Because I am a
medical student. Next year I will be a registered nurse. Why do you
care?”

“I almost lost
my life chasing you,” he complained.

“I warned you,”
Camilla objected. She sat up, looking at him as a nurse would a
patient. “How do you feel?”

“My hip hurts.
But, I’m okay.”

“Can you get
down alone, or shall I call the paramedics?”

“No, no help at
all,” commanded Stanley decisively. “I’ll manage.”

“I’ll go get
your skis and poles. Sit here for now, okay?”

Stanley nodded.
She brought him his equipment and helped him get ready. The guy was
apparently in pain, but was trying not to show it.

She walked back
down the slope and put her skis on. In the meantime, Stanley slid
past her—this time with caution—and then turned left to the easier
run, disappearing behind the trees.

It was getting
dark. Camilla rushed down, consumed again by the thrill of the
dangerous sport, the blowing wind whistling in her ears. After a
few steep curves, she approached the first night lights of the ski
resort below.

Shelly stood at
the foothill, holding her skis and poles upright, waiting.

“What took you
so long to come down?” she asked. “I’m freezing here.”

A cold wind had
begun to blow from the top of the mountain as dusk descended on the
village. The projectors shed bright light on the twisting run as
the first skiers, complaining about the freezing temperature,
awaited the chairlift for night skiing.

“He followed
me,” explained Camilla. “The poor bastard fell. I wonder how he
managed to come down with his hip so badly hurt. I helped him a
bit.”

“His eyes are
pretty scary,” Shelly remarked. “Haven’t you noticed how scary his
stare is?”

“It’s all in
your mind,” Camilla said with the resolution of an experienced
woman. “He has a hard stare. That’s all right. That’s how a man
should be, but nothing is scary about that.”

Grasping their
swimsuit-filled bags they rushed to the building where the hotel
spa and swimming pool were. Camilla was not a bit surprised when
Stanley blocked their way in the lobby.

“Nice to see
you again,” he said, smiling.

“How’s your
hip?” she asked, returning the smile.

“Very bad. I
came here because I want you to take care of me.” The naughty gleam
in his eyes made it clear that there was nothing wrong with his
hip.

“I didn’t
notice you limping,” Camilla observed. “What do you want me to do
about it?”

Shelly shot her
a quick, sly glance.

“What are you
doing tonight?” Stanley asked, ignoring the question, and the look.
Camilla was about to say something when Shelly interrupted.

“What would you
suggest?” she asked.

“I’d like to
invite you to dinner. There’s a very nice restaurant about ten
minutes from here. The Eagle Nest. Have you heard of it?”

“You must be a
rich man to be able to afford an evening there with two girls,”
Shelly remarked, regarding him with renewed interest. She
straightened, waiting for confirmation that she was invited.

“I am,” Stanley
agreed.

“What do you do
for a living?” Shelly asked.

“This is
Shelly, by the way,” Camilla laughed as she introduced her
roommate. “She’s a very straightforward girl.”

“I can see
that. Nice to meet you, Shelly.” Stanley nodded. “I have a muffler
shop.”

“A muffler
shop?” Camilla echoed. “How boring.”

“Would you
prefer someone with a more interesting occupation?” Stanley
asked.

“As a matter of
fact, I would. I like adventures. I like interesting people.”

“With me,
you’ll have as many adventures in your life as you can handle.”

“What kind of
adventure do you offer us tonight?” Camilla asked mockingly.

“First, I’ll
impress you with the restaurant,” Stanley assured her
authoritatively. “Then—trust me. But I have just one small favor I
would ask before we go. Will you?”

“What kind of
favor?” Camilla exchanged glances with Shelly, asking silently,
Shall I go for it?

“I have a
friend here at the hotel, who is sick. He has a high fever. Would
you mind taking a look at him and helping him, if you can?”

“Well . . . why
don’t you ask for medical help from the hotel?” Camilla frowned. “I
haven’t earned my degree yet. There might be legal
implications.”

“I see what
kind of adventurous girl you are,” Stanley remarked contemptuously.
“You want adventures in the movies, not in real life. You’re afraid
of a very simple thing.”

“Okay. You got
me,” Camilla yielded. “I’ll look at him.”

“Very nice of
you. I have friends who can entertain Shelly while you and I are
upstairs with the sick one. It won’t take long. Right after that,
we’ll drive to the restaurant.” He gave them a broad, friendly
smile. “Deal?”

He made a nod
toward two men, approximately his own age, who were sitting in a
distant corner of the lobby. They instantly stood up and came
closer. Other than their quick reaction, there was nothing weird
about them. One might even say that they were handsome and friendly
looking.

“Shelly, I
trust you to my friends for 15 minutes,” Stanley said. “They will
take good care of you at the bar. Okay?”

Not really
waiting for her reply, he took Camilla’s hand and walked to the
elevator. On the fourth floor they stepped out, turned left, and
went along the narrow corridor. Once they reached the end of it,
Stanley unlocked the door, threw a suspicious glance over his
shoulder, and let her in.

On the
king-size bed inside, a man with thick, dark hair, round face, and
bushy eyebrows was lying on his left side. With his T-shirt stained
with blood, his grayish pale face, and his eyes closed, he seemed
dead. Suddenly his eyes opened; they glistened with unmistakable
luster of high fever and pain.

“This is a
nurse, Ogre,” Stanley said. The man blinked. Camilla rolled up his
shirt, uncovering a poorly done bandage, soaked in blood.

“What kind of
wound is it?” she asked the man. He had the huge muscles of a
bodybuilder.

“Knife,”
Stanley said.

“How long ago
did it happen?”

“About an hour
ago, may be more. Could you stop asking questions?”

“I ask only
what’s necessary,” Camilla snapped. “If it was more than two hours
ago, you’d better take him to the hospital.”

“I won’t take
him to the hospital, no matter what.”

Camilla
carefully removed the bandage and uncovered a long, but shallow
wound. Ogre groaned and clenched his teeth.

“Gosh,” Camilla
sighed. “He needs a surgeon. I’m not qualified to do the job.”

“You’re much
more qualified than I am,” Stanley insisted. “What should be
done?”

“The wound
should be cleaned and disinfected. Stitches must be put in—this
wound won’t heal without them—although, as I see it, the knife
didn’t penetrate the ribs and didn’t touch any vital organs.”

“What supplies
do you need to fix it?”

“But . . .
”

“Say it. What
do you need?”

All of a
sudden, fear gripped her heart. She realized that there was no way
out. She would have to do the job they wanted.

“First, I need
some 3 percent hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound. I need some
Sofra-Tulle to cover it, and a large roll of gauze bandages to wrap
around his chest. And then, if nothing better is available, I need
a needle and silk thread to sew the wound. Actually, you could get
all of these in any drugstore.”

Stanley nodded
and pointed at the bag on the table.

“Morphine,
syringes, and some other things are in that bag,” he said. “Someone
will bring Sofra-Tulle and peroxide soon from the drugstore behind
the hotel. Do whatever you can in the meantime.”

Stanly flipped
his cell phone and dialed.

“You are
insane,” Camilla objected emphatically. Stanley didn’t listen; no
doubt he was giving orders, but his speech was impossible to
understand.

“What if I do
something wrong?” insisted Camilla. “They’ll throw me out of
school. I might even be taken to court.”

“Bullshit,”
Stanley grumbled, putting the phone in his pocket. He’d grown
increasingly irritated, impatient, and menacing.

“I’m scared,”
she complained meekly, as if somebody could help her.

“Do it,”
Stanley demanded. “There’s nothing to fear. Ogre will never be
taken to any hospital, no matter what happens.” He put his hand on
her shoulder and smiled. “Don’t worry, Camilla. Everything is gonna
be okay. Do it. With me, you shouldn’t fear anything.”

Something
clicked inside her. As her fear vanished, her mind became cold and
clear. She removed everything that was inside the bag. As promised,
it held a remarkable supply of syringes, bandages, and whatnot.
Where did these people get all of this? she thought to herself.

“You’ll feel
better soon,” she promised. Ogre nodded, and then looked at
Stanley.

“Three of us
were in the bar when the two jerks came in,” he began speaking,
hardly moving his lips. “The barman is my man, you know. They came
to the bar and showed him a photograph. I saw him shrugging his
shoulders. Our guys went to the washroom, too much beer, you know .
. . ” He sighed. “I went to the bar, like, to order a beer, and
asked the barman what those two fuckheads wanted. He said . . . he
said that they showed him your photograph and asked if he saw you
in the bar. He said ‘no.’ When the barman spoke, one of the two
looked at me. We recognized each other. I saw the son of a bitch
two years ago in slumber. Claude’s his name, if I remember
right.”

“Doesn’t ring a
bell,” Stanley said.

“Please, lie
back and relax,” Camilla asked. “Try to stay calm. Moving your body
won’t do you any good.”

“Tell me
everything later,” Stanley demanded.

There was a
knock at the door, and Stanley returned with a plastic bag.

“Here’s
everything you needed,” he said.

Elevated to the
role of a surgeon, Camilla did everything with a calm, firm hand.
She cleaned the wound, inserted thread into the needle, and moved
the skin to close the wound’s edges.

“Now, this is
the unpleasant part,” she said to Ogre. “I have to stitch you up,
but I don’t have any local anaesthetic.”

“Go ahead,”
Ogre said weakly. Camilla inserted the needle into the inflamed
flesh. Ogre stiffened. She stopped for a moment, but he moaned: “Do
it. Finish it.”

Suddenly,
Camilla felt a chilling indifference to the man’s suffering. She
concentrated on her job, pushing away all feelings and thoughts
that could distract her. She stitched the wound, disregarding the
convulsive shakes of Ogre’s body; placed Sofra-Tulle on the scar;
and wrapped the bandage around his chest, making sure that it was
tight and firmly fixed.

“We can only
pray that there’s no serious infection,” she said through the open
door of the bathroom, while washing her hands. “Hopefully,
everything will be okay. When are you going to take him from
here?”

“Tomorrow
morning.”

“Are you
leaving with him?”

“No. I’ll stay
another two nights. Somebody else will take care of him. Let’s go
to the restaurant. We’ll talk there.”

Ogre slowly
turned onto his back, eyes closed, with a look of grim relaxation
on his greenish-pale face. Camilla tidied the blanket and sheets
and started to gather waste from the operation.

“He should be
able to sleep now,” she said gently, “and will be okay by tomorrow.
Do you have somebody to stay with him?”

“He won’t be
alone for long,” Stanley said. “Don’t worry about the garbage,
someone will clean everything up.”

He helped her
with her ski jacket, which still retained the aroma of cold, fresh
mountain air, and then led her out.

“Don’t tell
much to Shelly,” he asked.

She was quick
to respond.

“Of course not.
What I did may cost me my career. I’ll tell her that the guy had a
high fever.”

They sneaked
through the empty corridor and stepped into the elevator.

“How long will
it take for the two of you to get ready for dinner?” Stanley asked.
The elevator moved smoothly and quietly downward.

“About an hour.
We have to fix our hair and get dressed. Girl’s business, you know.
By the way, where did you manage to get all this medical stuff that
fast?”

Stanley dodged
the answer.

“Where are you
staying?” he asked instead of answering.

“Here.”

“Let’s meet in
an hour downstairs.”

The elevator
landed like a feather, and the door opened to reveal the lobby. Two
busy clerks stood behind the reception desk at the far end, while
Shelly sat on a cozy sofa a few steps away, conversing leisurely
with two men.

“What took you
so long?” was Shelly’s immediate reaction. She was pink from the
drinks and the warmth of the hotel. With a sly smile, she added, “I
think you were having a good time by the bed of that sick man.” Her
sly, mischievous but pleasant grimace was the reflection of her own
intriguing suspicion.

Camilla did not
respond, giving a brief glance around.

“Now, let’s
rush. Stanley and his friends are gonna pick us up in an hour.”

Shelly leapt
up. With ringing laughs, see-you-soon promises, and eyes shining,
the girls departed. Shelly was excited; so was Camilla. She,
however, was hiding her mood beneath a quiet demeanor.

“Weird guys,”
Shelly expressed her unsolicited opinion when they got to their
room. “We’d better stay away from them.”

“We don’t have
to marry them,” Camilla objected. “Dinner in a restaurant is not an
engagement.”