A Heartbeat Away

CHAPTER 41

Residents on the sixth floor of the Riverside Nursing Home eased open their doors and shuffled out into the dimly lit hallway. Their collective chatter began as a murmur, but soon escalated into loud, rapid-fire exchanges. More room doors opened in response to the heightening racket. More elderly men and women milled into the corridor. Some carried canes. Some made their way with walkers.

Angie, emotionally and physically spent, sank onto the freight elevator’s unsteady wood floor. Her head was beginning to throb—a pounding bass drum behind her eyes, monitoring each heartbeat. Chen Su braced herself against the car wall opposite her. The older woman’s expression was unrevealing. Her eyes seemed vacant. Angie wondered how far the terrible events of just minutes ago had already slipped from her consciousness.

Mei Wu came racing through the crowd. Two male orderlies followed her into the elevator, carrying flashlights, which they directed down into the shaft. They said something in Chinese, and Mei let out a gasp, which she quickly cut short, her hand over her mouth. The response to death at Riverside, Angie assumed, was seldom louder than a sheet drawn over a face.

“Are you okay?” Mei asked.

Angie managed a nod, although her vision was drifting in and out of focus.

“You’re covered with blood. Are you cut?”

“Just my nose. I think it’s broken.”

“Oh, my. I will check you over, but I think we should get an ambulance. You don’t look well.”

With the orderlies’ help, Angie rose unsteadily to her feet, and used their shoulders for balance.

“We’ve already called the police,” Mei said. “Do you think you can speak to them about what happened here?”

“I’ll try my best.… And Mei, I’ll also do my best to see to it there are no repercussions from that gap in your elevator. After all, it did save my life.”

Before tonight, Angie felt secrecy was her best hope for safety. But Genesis had found her despite all her precautions. She needed to speak with Griff and possibly with the president as well. Would it help in any way to keep Sylvia Chen’s murder a secret? If so, the FBI had to contact the NYPD quickly. Without any notes from the former head of the Veritas project, Angie’s mission to New York had been worse than a failure. How much should the police be told now?

Griff or Allaire would arrange a military escort for her back to Kalvesta. But first, she had to do something that she dreaded.

“Mei, I need a moment with Ms.… Mrs.…”

“Ms. Li? You need to speak to Ms. Li?”

“Yes. Can you join us? I may need you to interpret.”

“Ms. Li speaks perfect English.”

“I will still need you.”

Once back in room 603, blotting blood with a hand towel Mei had brought her, Angie closed the window. Then she took hold of the frail, veined hand of the woman known there as Ms. Li, and motioned her to sit next to her on the bed.

“Thank you for saving our lives,” Angie began, squinting against the now unremitting pounding behind her forehead. “That was a very bad man, who has hurt and killed many people. You acted bravely.”

“A very bad man,” Chen Su echoed.

“I have terrible news,” Angie said.

“Terrible … news.”

Angie studied the woman’s face and could see the transformation more clearly now. There was natural aging of course, where fibers had weakened and skin given way to gravity. But the ravages of late-stage Alzheimer’s were hauntingly evident. There were abrasions on her elbows. The skin of her fine face clung to her bones like translucent paper. The disease was progressing her life the way fast-forward speeds through a DVD. The woman looked ninety, though she was probably twenty years younger than that.

“You have a daughter.”

The woman gave no response.

“Sylvia,” Angie said.

“Are you Sylvia?”

Angie breathed deeply.

“Mrs. Chen, Sylvia, your daughter, is dead.”

Again Mei Wu stifled a gasp.

“You are certain?” she asked.

“I am positive, Mei. I will tell you the details later.”

There was no recognition from Chen Su. Not a twitch or any hint of tears to come.

“The man who died in the elevator is the one who killed her,” Angie went on. “I am very sorry about Sylvia.”

In fact, there was much else Angie was sorry about, starting with the papers Sylvia promised but could now never deliver. Would they have helped find the cure for WRX3883? Would Sylvia’s knowledge of Genesis have been the key to stopping them?

One of the orderlies appeared at the door and spoke to Mei.

“The police are here,” she said to Angie. “They want to speak to you.”

Angie stood unsteadily. Then she sat back down and embraced the older woman.

“You and your daughter will be in my thoughts and in my prayers, Chen Wu.”

She again rose awkwardly, but managed to stay upright.

Then, without warning, Sylvia’s mother got up from her bed. Her body trembled as she crossed to her scarred maple dresser. With some effort, she pulled open the top drawer. From inside it, beneath some clothes, she extracted a fine, wooden box, inlaid with mother of pearl cut in ornate patterns.

She handed the box over to Angie and said a single word.

“Sylvia.”

Angie thought momentarily about explaining her daughter’s death again. The vacant look in the old woman’s eyes told her not to bother. Instead, Angie opened the box. Inside was an envelope.

There were four words penned on the envelope in neat, almost calligraphic printing. Angie stared at the writing, uncomprehending. The delay was longer than it might have been had she not taken such a battering to her face and head, but half a minute passed. Then, all at once, she knew. Unseen by the others, her lips tightened in a ferocious grin.

Yes! she thought. Oh, God, yes!

She gazed down at the writing once more.

Recipes from the Kitchen.