Chapter 23 Caelian
TWENTY-THREE
Caelian
“You still haven’t been following orders, Mr. C,” Dr. Tulio scolds. “Haven’t we discussed how important it is to avoid high stress situations? You have to take these warnings seriously.”
“Understand, doctor, that I might not do what you want every moment of the day. But it doesn’t mean I’m not taking this seriously.”
He bites back any retort he’s thought up, giving a shake of his head and deciding it’s not worth it. He would be correct—I’m in no mood to deal with foolishness. His admonishments fall under that category.
I lay back in the examination chair and listen to the sounds of Tulio preparing the injections. Plastic crinkles as he pries open a fresh syringe from its packaging and then fills it up with the treatment. He taps his fingers against the cylinder to eliminate any bubbles taking form.
“Soon we’ll need to readdress the treatment the Gerber Clinic has developed for your condition.
I understand your reservations, but it’s the only way to ensure your survival.
The treatments we’re doing now, they’re not sustainable long term.
That… or you can opt for the orthotopic cardiac graft.
But you are well aware of the success rates for people like you… ”
“I’ll make that decision when I choose to, doctor,” I say coldly. I position my arm so the inner forearm is facing up. “Go ahead and get started. There are more important matters I need to address than this fucking malfunctioning heart of mine.”
Dr. Tulio does as he’s told, though I sense tension kindling in the air between us. I watch on as he pricks me with the sharp needle and the clear liquid is injected into my veins. The numbing effect is instantaneous.
The drowsiness takes its time.
The slip out of consciousness is so subtle, it takes me a while to realize I’ve begun dreaming. I’m no longer in the examination chair but a different kind of chair—I’m seated in a lounge among other men.
Cigar smoke hazes the space, making the others nearby appear fuzzier than they are. The musty, earthy scent tickles my nostrils and makes me cough. I’ve rarely smoked cigars for this reason.
My condition doesn’t mix well with anything that makes it harder to breathe.
The cigar haze aside, I do my best to glance around the lounge and place those around me. No one’s face comes into focus. It’s as if my eyesight refuses to cooperate by letting me see who I’m seated with.
Their voices are no less disguised, muffled to my ears.
I’m only able to decipher a few words here and there. Words like treatment and profit. I pick up on what sounds like my father’s distorted voice in this dreamland I’m stuck in. He’s speaking to someone else who I can’t figure out.
Soft, cherubic music interrupts my eavesdropping. Turning my head, I discover there’s a stage at the front of the lounge. From both the left and right side, ballerinas flit onto the floor in graceful leaps.
Their performance has begun. They have a captive audience that cuts short their conversations and directs their attention to the stage.
Everyone except for my father and the man he’s chatting with.
I’m torn between trying to listen in on what they’re saying and the mesmerizing dance of the ballerinas. Initially the conversation wins, then the music twinkles out a brighter note and I redirect my attention to the beautiful ballerina that’s leaped onto stage.
Dark skin and darker hair that’s slicked down in a bun like the rest.
She immediately stands out, the star of the production. The star of the ballet from the moment she gives a graceful spin.
I become a man entranced. I can’t look away from the stage as mia bella ballerina twirls in the center. The others float by her as if in deference to her. She’s the princess this story is about, searching for the prince that has left her side.
My trance only deepens. I stop blinking and forget where I am. The lounge feels like it fades out along with the others in the audience. Call it delirium, but soon it’s just the two of us together. Mia bella ballerina is dancing for me.
When her dark eyes meet mine, my chest gives a twinge of pain. It’s as if she’s warning me. She’s alerting me to something I’m not aware of. The twinkling music and delicate spins are merely the language she uses.
I sit up straighter as the distortion begins clearing up. I’m on the brink of a discovery that I fight to learn even as it feels elusive and ambiguous. The dream’s coming to an end, but not before I finally make out the words being spoken.
“The treatment should be a success. Our company will flourish, and we’ll have profits like never before…”
I’m wrenched out of the dream with a deep sputter and twitch of my body. I sit up in the examination chair, lost for the first few seconds I’ve regained consciousness. The four plain walls of the sterile exam room surround me. Dr. Tulio must’ve stepped out for a moment.
I tear out the IV drip that’s inserted in my veins and snatch the pulse oximeter off my index finger. The treatment’s only partially complete. I know this because half the syringes on the tray next to the exam chair have been emptied. The drip is only three-quarters of the way full.
But it doesn’t matter if I’m interrupting my own treatment.
Answers are more important. It’s time I find out what the fuck has been going on.
I stride from the exam room and head straight for the underground.
I’m intercepted by one of my men, a worried look knitted onto his face. “Mr. C, we saw your wife leave with Matteo earlier. We tried to stop him, but he got away before we could stop him.”
“You imbeciles!” I roar. “What do you mean Matteo left with my wife? Left where? Why would you allow him to take her?”
“We had no choice, sir. He just—”
“You had no choice?!” I roar over him. “You always have a choice, you imbecile! Get out of my way.”
I shove him out of the way and finish my stride down the underground hall, pulsing from rage and frustration. I need answers from Ms. Poitier to even begin addressing the shit I’ve learned about Matteo leaving with Nevaeh.
Ms. Poitier’s where I left her when I crank open the heavy iron door to her cell. She squints at the sudden burst of light spilling in from the corridor but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge me.
Knowing Ms. Poitier, she’s pissed at how I’ve treated her since discovering her alleged betrayal. I can’t say I blame her if they’re false accusations.
I stop a couple footsteps into the cell, surveying her with a hard stare. “Have I ever met Nevaeh in the past?”
“In the past? Define the past, C. Am I supposed to know what’s got you in a mood now?”
“Whenever! You tell me! There’s a reason I’ve been dreaming about her, isn’t there?”
“I don’t know why you have the dreams you have, C. That’s on your subconscious.”
“Don’t fucking deflect!” I snarl, waving a warning finger. “Have I ever seen Nevaeh perform before I brought her here and married her?”
Ms. Poitier hesitates a second longer, then grits out, “You might’ve seen her performances in the past.”
“How so? How when I don’t remember?”
“C, you’ve been on a lot of drugs over the years. So many different treatments. Your father was determined to find one that worked for your condition.”
“How does that connect to seeing ballet? Nevaeh perform?”
She sighs, shaking her head. “I wasn’t there, C.
I don’t know the specifics. Just that in the past…
your father took you with him for his business meetings.
Something to do with Zinc Co. and the projects they were undertaking.
Sometimes those business meetings happened at restaurants like Vecoli.
Other times they were at lounges or clubs. ”
I scrub a hand over my beard. “I’ve seen Nevaeh perform in the past… many times. I was just… I wasn’t well. I was under the influence of some kind of drug,” I say, speaking aloud what feels dream-like in my mind. “These meetings he’d take me on, how far back?”
“For years. Since you were just a young soldier.”
“Who was he making deals with? Nero?”
“I told you I don’t know,” she says. “But you were important. You were needed for these deals.”
“Nevaeh doesn’t know. That I’ve seen her perform.”
“I doubt she would.”
It explains my draw to her despite being unable to understand why. I didn’t dream her up out of nowhere. I had witnessed her talent and grace many times for myself in lounges like the one from my dream.
These moments I’d forget because I wasn’t in the right state. I might as well have been drunk. But why would Pa insist on bringing me to his meetings if I were unwell? How could I have possibly served any use?
“Your after-hours activities. Tell me what you’ve been up to, P,” I say calmly, despite the turmoil on the inside.
“I’ve been going on those strolls to clear my head… and if you must know, meet with my son.”
“Son!?”
“He lives in a cabin a couple miles out from here.”
“You have a son who lives in the woods outside my estate? Why?!”
She heaves another difficult sigh. “It’s a complicated story. Do you think I started working for your father by choice? It was never something I wanted. I was made to work for your family.”
“The flesh trade?”
“I’m not proud of some of the things I was made to do when I was young.
But what has always been true about this wretched world we live in, C?
About a city like Dresden? You have the haves and have nots.
I was a have not doing what I had to do to eat and keep a roof over my head—and yes, I had a son with one of the men at the brothel where I worked.
“We were supposed to be together. But it was all a lie. He never really loved me. He abandoned me with child and I had no choice but to look for work elsewhere. I couldn’t stay there if I had a baby.
That’s when I got mixed up with your father and he offered me a job as a caretaker for the estate… with a catch.”
My jaw clenches. “Which was?”
“I had a young boy that would grow into a man,” she sighs, wearing an expression of regret.
“That’s always of use to men like Carmine Ziccardi.
I had to sign his life away. I had to agree that my son would become a part of the system I had been born into and that I swore I would protect him from.
He would become one of your father’s soldiers. ”
“But?”
“But it’s not what he wanted. What he’s cut out for.
My son is a gentle soul, C. He’s not a fighter; he doesn’t want to kill people for a living.
His loyalty was questioned, and your father suspected him of being a spy for you.
Because I’m still your employee. I knew you’d never trust him, but there’s a cabin miles away where he’s been staying.
If he shows his face in the city, he’ll be killed.
I bring him money and supplies to take care of his needs. ”
“Explain the phone calls.”
“What is there to explain, Caelian? I never placed any phone calls to your father.”
“I saw the phone records.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I’m not so certain I believe them. I did see a log that seemed to document regular calls being placed to my family, but how could I be sure they were Ms. Poitier? The calls were placed from within the house. It could’ve been anyone…
“C, you know it’s not me,” Ms. Poitier says slowly. “But you do know something’s up. I think you better be real careful. You and Nevaeh, in everything you do from this point on. You’re being played for a fool and they’ve got you thinking it’s the wrong people, like me.”
“You’re no longer locked up. You’re free to go. Head upstairs and get cleaned up and take some time to rest. I was…” I push aside the pride and ego that make it impossible for me to admit when I’m wrong. “I’m sorry, Ms. P. For the accusations. For keeping you locked down here.”
She’s stretched to her feet, rolling her neck on her shoulders. A faint smile comes to her face. “Don’t you think I’m letting you forget it anytime soon, C. You’re about to be indebted to me forever for the mess you’ve pulled.”
“I’ll send you on a paid vacation when this is all over.”
“Find out what’s going on,” she says. “And make sure you come out on top. Our lives depend on it.”
I stride from the cell and return to the floor above. I’m a man on a mission the way I cut through the large space and return to the exam room. Tulio’s made it back as well, looking up with his thick brows raised at the sight of me in the doorway.
“The treatments you give me don’t make me better,” I say. “They keep me sick, don’t they?”