Skin Deep

89

“Aaron, you’re hurting me.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to.”

He loosened his grip on her arm as he led her out of the office and down the hall. Her legs moved as if they were made of wood.

“I think you need to lie down.”

But she didn’t want to lie down. “I want to go home.”

She tried to concentrate on putting one foot solidly in front of the other. They were moving down the corridor from his office. The fluorescent lights were making a harsh glare in her eyes as she moved.

“There’s a bed in here,” Aaron said as they approached a room. “I’ll give you something to make you feel better.”

Through the haze she heard herself say, “No, I want to go home.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The water’s choppy. You might get seasick. Tomorrow will be better.”

She made a feeble attempt to free her arm, but he only held her more firmly. In a part of her brain that was still lucid she wondered, What happened to the nice doctor? Why is he being rough with me? Why won’t he take me home?

She continued shuffling down the hall with Aaron steering her. They turned into a dimly lit room where he led her to a reclining chair. He guided her onto it.

“You’ll feel better,” he said, and patted her hand.

“I want to go.”

“Tomorrow. I promise. I’ll get you something to make you feel better. Okay?”

She did not respond. She was having a hard time focusing on his face as he stood beside her.

“Just relax. Think of something pleasant like cruising in the Caribbean. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Martinique?”

“Mmmm.”

“Maybe I’ll take you with me.”

Someplace behind her she heard a telephone jingle.

“You stay put and relax. I’ll be right back”

“I want to go home,” she mumbled. She watched him leave the room. I don’t feel good.

She got up from the chair and steadied herself as the rush of blood to her head set her spinning. She shuffled to the door and opened it.

The bright lights of the empty corridor filled her eyes. Across the way was a white door. Hoping it would lead her outside, she moved to it and pushed it open, telling herself that she had to get out of this house, off this island. Things were happening that she didn’t understand. She had been brought here for a dinner party, but no one else was here, and Aaron was acting strangely. And why that picture of her with fluffy red hair?

Vaguely she sensed that things were being choreographed against her, as if she were moving in a dark and elaborate scheme.

The room was dark but a relief from the too bright corridor. She felt the wall and found a switch. She flicked it on. The light was not so blinding as outside, but she still had to squint because her eyes were very sensitive for some reason.

The interior looked like some kind of recovery room with medical equipment and IV stands, electronic monitors and other equipment sitting silently in racks against the walls. Against another wall were beds made up in stiff white.

But what caught her eye was a gurney in the middle of the room. Because her vision was blurry and her brain slow, it took her a few moments to realize that it was not empty—that something was lumped under a white sheet.

As steadily as her feet would allow, she shuffled toward the gurney. Her brain fluttered in and out of awareness in rapid cycles as if what her eyes took in was illuminated by strobes.

From the impressions, the sheet appeared to be draped across a human body, for she could make out the little tents at the feet and the vague impression of legs and torso and a head contoured under the tip of a nose. Almost without thought her fingers picked up the edge and pulled back the sheet.

Dana let out a cry of horror. It was Aaron Monks.