Heart Stopper
HEART STOPPER
R J
Samuel
© RJ Samuel 2011
This book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are fictional and the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or companies is purely coincidental.
While some of the technologies mentioned obviously exist, the author has exercised broad license in altering them and creating new imaginary ones.
“This novel breaks barriers between genres. It is a medical drama, a murder mystery, and a love story, but it is so much more than any one of those. It is, more than anything else, a book of beautiful sentences.”
--- Kevin Higgins, author of ‘The Boy with No Face”, “Frightening New Furniture”, and “Mentioning the War: Essays and Reviews 1999-2011”
“Heart Stopper is a book about coming to terms with where you've been and who you are, and emerging with a sense of self more resilient and more open to others.
This is what Priya, the main character, has to do, and R J Samuel depicts this process with such empathy that the reader feels encouraged to confront her own life with generosity and gentleness.
R J Samuel is a writer with integrity and skill.
She invests herself in every project, and the result is writing that can move and thrill.”
---Susan Millar DuMars, author of ‘American Girls”, “Big Pink Umbrella”, and “Dreams for Breakfast”
Also by R J Samuel
The Vision Painter Series
Twitter: @R_J_Samuel
Fairer Hall, New York
June 1974
Daniel Fairer the Third (or Three as his mother called him in her rare moments of levity regarding matters of the family) crouched behind the bulk of the couch in his grandfather’s study. He was nine years old. The sound of his mother crying cut through him bringing out tears of his own. He strained to hear her as she spoke, her voice filtered through the dust-laden sunlight that streaked its lines from the arched windows to the wooden floor. He could see the rocking horse his grandfather had carved for him hugging the paneled wall.
“You know this isn’t fair, he’s
my
son. Just because you didn’t have a son, that doesn’t give you the right to take mine from me.”
“I’m not forcing you to do anything.” His grandfather’s voice was only marginally louder than his mother’s was, but the words carried farther and clearer.
“But you’re leaving me no choice!”
“You always have a choice. You can walk out of here with Daniel and try to make it on your own. It was your choice to get pregnant out of wedlock, your choice to have him. Your choice not to marry his father. And now you’re repeating your mistakes.”
“If it was all that bad why do you want him all to yourself now? Why can’t you help me for once and just let me take him with me?”
“He is still my flesh and blood; he will do what you would not. I will make sure of that. Catherine, these are
your
decisions. You can portray me as a villain all you want, but I am doing, as always, what is right for this family. If you’re going to insist on leaving, on following these, these...barbaric people…”
“Father! They are not barbaric. I love Leo and he feels the same. He’s going to be really famous one day, as a
true
healer.”
“Those are your choices, Catherine, you take Daniel with you and bring him up in that pack of heathens, no money, no inheritance, no medical education, no chance to be what he is destined to be; or you leave him with me and he will have everything he could possibly need and he will
be
a Fairer.”
“I can’t leave him and you shouldn’t be punishing him for this.”
“Then take him, it is not my decision to punish him, it is yours.”
Daniel heard his mother’s footsteps walk past to the door of the study and then echo through the grand hallway.
“Daniel!” Her voice was shaky, but determined.
Daniel crept out from behind the couch and walked over to his grandfather who was sitting at the antique desk, head in his hands, eyes closed. He touched his grandfather on the shoulder and the man raised his head to look at him.
“So, my boy, you were here the whole time, were you? What did I tell you about the nasty things that happen to little boys who eavesdrop?”
“Sorry, Sir.”
“Then you heard your mother. She has gone to find you. You had better get packed.”
“I’m not going to go with her, Sir.” Daniel rushed on when he saw his grandfather’s eyebrows rise slightly. “I want to stay here. You said I’m a Fairer, I’m Daniel Fairer the Third and I’m going to be a world famous cardiologist, just like you.” His back was straight, but his lower lip was trembling. “Why can’t Mother stay?”
“Daniel, it is not my decision. She will be leaving today and if you don’t go with her you probably won’t see her for a very long time.”
“But if I go with her I’ll be a barbari like you said...”
His mother’s voice was sharp as she spoke from the door to the study. “Daniel! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Go and pack your things, we’re leaving.”
“I’m not going Mother, I’m staying here with Grandfather.” He glanced at his grandfather and then raising his chin, he turned to face her. “Why don’t you stay, please?”
His mother’s shocked face made him feel nauseous and the tears started running down his face freely.
“I have to go, and you’re coming with me, you’ll see, you’ll be happier.”
“No, Mother, I’m staying here, please don’t make me go with them.”
He saw her face go white and then a flush of red crept onto its surface and she glared at the man sitting beside him. Her lips moved, but he heard no sound and she turned and walked out of the study.
An hour later, he heard the gravel sounds of her car as it coughed out of the long circular driveway.
∞
Daniel listened for her every day and night until he left for medical school at the age of eighteen.
Galway, Ireland
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Priya didn’t want to open her eyes, but the air felt different. Chilly, slight scent of aftershave. Both strange as her heating normally came on and warmed her bedroom in the morning, whatever the Galway weather outside. And she certainly never wore aftershave. Whatever she was lying on also seemed different, softer.
She opened her eyes. She was on her side so the first thing she saw was a door that she didn’t have. Her doors were oak stain-painted pine that looked like painted pine; this door actually did seem to be oak. The curvy blue and green glass handle glistened. She let her eyes wander closer, a bedside table with a large green-shaded lamp. Her phone and keys lay beside the lamp. She reached out for her phone and was suddenly aware that she was naked except for her underwear.
She turned around quickly, but there was no one in the double bed with her. The covers on the other side were not neat, but right now, there was no one there. She checked the time on her phone, 5:08 a.m. It felt later, the light falling in through the skylight above the bed made it seem later, but then Ireland was like that in the summer, gently lit by 5 a.m. and not switched off until 11 p.m. It didn’t help her scattered sleep patterns.
She had left the pub last night with a woman, an interesting woman, American, intense. Actually that was all she could remember about the woman. About the rest of the night. She didn’t think she had drunk that much.
Whatever was on the other side of the door beyond the bedroom was quiet. There was an open door on the far side of the room and it looked like it led into an en-suite bathroom. No sounds from that direction either.
She had woken up in a few strange apartments in the last few months, but never empty ones. She was always the one who left early.
Priya felt the sudden urge to pee. She sat up and her head thumped in protest. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. The deep carpet welcomed her feet and cuddled them all the way to the door of what she had rightly assumed was the bathroom. Priya pushed the door open and rushed to the toilet. She raised her face and sighed in relief. There was a skylight here too, but the Egyptian marble tiles absorbed and diffused the sunlight into soft terracotta warmth.
She looked around the bathroom. It was neat, almost hotel-like. There was a modern version of a Victorian bathtub at the far end, teetering on its claw feet. She washed her hands in the ornately tapped sink and examined her reflection. A bit worse for wear, but she usually wore the minimum of makeup when she went on a night out and the only damage was a slight smudging of the kohl she had penciled around her eyes. The advantages of a brown complexion and good skin; she grimaced at the mirror; wouldn’t last much longer at this rate.
Priya went back into the bedroom. She looked around for her clothes and was relieved to see them draped over a stool in front of the dressing table. She dragged on her black silk trousers. Everything else she’d worn the night before was there, lacy black long-sleeved top, black sandals. Except for her jacket. With her keys and cards and money. And her ID. She grabbed her phone off the bedside table. It showed the time as 5.16 a.m.
She felt the smooth glass heaviness of the door handle against her palm as the door opened inward soundlessly. It opened onto a large airy living room. White walls. Skylights everywhere. A wall of glass proudly displayed a view of the Atlantic Ocean. The dawn red glinted over the flat sea calm. There were closed doors on the other side of the living room. The chrome and wood galley kitchen was visible.
Her jacket lay purple across the arm of a cream leather couch. Purple leather. Summer in Galway, unpredictable and a nightmare for wardrobe choices. She was certainly not going to be fading into the background.
She was parched, the lining of her throat felt like she had been sanding it for hours. She walked towards the kitchen and noticed one of the closed doors on the other side of the room was actually open a few inches. She found a glass and gulped down the cold tap water, washing the glass after in the empty kitchen sink and putting it back where she’d found it.
The silence in the apartment was
tiptoeing
into the folds of her clothes. She wanted to get out of here. But as she passed the open door to what she presumed was another bedroom she found herself drawn to it. And she was curious. The apartment seemed to give off a male energy. The vague scent of antiseptic cleaners mixed with the strands of aftershave and something else, something that reminded her of open drains on a wet day.
The bottom of the door stroked the carpet as she nudged it open and peered in. There was a skylight here too and the brightening dawn creeping in fought against the dark room, but she didn’t need to switch on the lights to see. The body was dead. It was male and pale. He was sitting on the floor facing her, his eyes open and still, his hairless torso propped up against the bed. Priya screamed. Or thought she did, no sound came out. His mouth was open and she tried to scream again, still no success. Priya knew him. Knew enough of him to feel the shock of difference between her energy-filled charismatic boss and this slack-jawed empty shell of skin.
∞
The apartment was still. The only sound was her breath struggling against the bile rising in her throat. Priya took a step back, away from the room.
Her body made the decision. She turned and ran.
She prayed for the streets to be deserted as she grabbed her jacket and raced for the front door. She grasped at the handle. It was locked. Sobbing, she pulled at it helplessly until she discovered it was easily released by the knob below the handle.
The hallway outside was deserted. Priya slipped out of the door. The elevator was directly in front of her. She pressed the Down button.
What was she doing
? She could hear the lift ascending and polished the button frantically with her jacket, then with her sleeve. She realized she was moaning softly as she did this. The door to the stairwell was only a few yards down the hallway. Making up her mind, she turned and ran to it, grateful for the carpet in the hall dampening the sound of her shoes. The door swished open and she pushed through. It fell back into place and she rested the back of her head against it, catching her breath, listening.
The stairwell was dark, illuminated only by the greenish yellow glow of fire exit signs. No carpet here, just painted concrete, dully reflecting the dim light. Not meant for anything except for emergencies. Well this was an emergency. Why hadn’t she called the ambulance then, or the police? Ambulance wouldn’t have done Daniel any good. And the police, she didn’t want to think about why.
The sound of the lift opening. Then she heard a voice. Whispered, muffled.
She ran. Her footsteps echoed and bounced off the walls of the stairwell, down five shadowed flights of zigzag stairs. . She was running on instinct now. And her instinct screamed
Michael
,
alibi
though she knew she’d done nothing wrong, well, nothing violent. That she could remember. And she couldn’t explain to anyone what she was doing there anyway, least of all to herself.
Priya reached the ground floor and flung open the heavy exit door to the outside. Dawn was almost fully dressed. She slipped on the neatly laid white stones as she ran between the manicured laurel bushes eying each other across the path that led out from the walled courtyard to a circular cul-de-sac. She scanned the cars parked there, but they were expensive ones awaiting their expensive owners. The tree-lined street was empty. It led out from the cul-de-sac and she could see where a larger street dissected it. She didn’t remember ever being in this part of Galway before. The black engraving on the grey stone at the entrance to the circular cluster of apartment buildings informed her that she was leaving ‘Seaview Close’.
The smell of the sea hit her before she saw it. The downward tilt of street ended at the sea, crossed by the main road that lined the Salthill promenade. There were quieter streets she could use, but she decided to follow the main road that ran most of the way into town. Though she didn’t want to be seen, the thought of walking the little back streets did not appeal.
She reached the main road that traced the edges of the Atlantic Ocean. The breeze tugged at the sea, sending up tiny waves that reflected the dying dawn in white shards. The aging resort, catching up on its beauty sleep before the afternoon onslaught of both locals and tourists, did not spare her a glance.
The walk to Michael’s apartment took a very long 20 minutes. She worried past the housing estates full of B&Bs, mindful of holidaymakers having their early morning breakfasts, gazing out the window planning their sights for the day. Michael lived in the arty part of Galway. Near the Spanish Arch. The banners and posters prepared for the coming two weeks of the Galway Arts Festival. There was no one on the streets and apart from two homeless guys sleeping on the stone benches by the river, she saw no one and more importantly, she thought, no one saw her.
∞
Priya could see that Michael was struggling to keep his face calm when he opened his door to her. His normally wavy hair was sticking straight up, his pajama bottoms on inside out, the label sticking into the tiny roll of hair-covered middle that he tried so hard to exercise away. She had called him from the street outside his building, afraid that knocking on his door would awaken the neighbors. He’d answered after five rings, sounding groggy and tired. And hadn’t questioned her. Yet.
She edged past him as he eyed her clothes, her uncombed hair. He held her chin in his hand and examined the kohl-stained despair in her eyes. She pushed the door shut behind her and he hugged her.
“Hey, girl, bad night?” His voice was soothing. She was a whole foot and a half feet shorter than him and his voice whispered into her hair.
“It’s not what you think, Daniel is dead. I found him.
Jesus
, Michael, I found him, and I left him. I ran. I don’t know why I ran. But there was someone there. More than one, I don’t know how many.”
He had released her as she spoke, trying to hear the words muffled in his chest.
“What? Daniel? Did you say Daniel? Priya!” He shook her. “Stop for a second, you’re making no sense.”
Priya sank down onto the floor and he knelt beside her, rubbing her arms. He took her jacket from her hands.
“Could you put that in the washing machine, please? And this.” She flailed at her clothes pulling the lace blouse off and starting to unbutton the trousers.
“Whoa, whoa... Priya! What’s going on? Talk to me.” He picked up her blouse and laid it across her chest, draping the arms over her shoulders and down her back.
“You’ve seen it all before, you prude.” She laughed, and then covered her mouth in surprise.
“You’re in shock.” He raised her chin again. “Just tell me again, slowly this time.”
She told him. Every detail she remembered. Which was only from the moment she’d opened her eyes and checked the phone clock at 5:08 a.m. She remembered the exact time for some reason, but only a vague outline of the night before, or at least the evening before.
“And last night?”
“I remember leaving Massimo. No, actually, I remember going into Massimo. I remember a woman. That she was American. There was something about her, intense or dark. But she was cute. I think. Well, not exactly cute, more attractive than cute, interesting.”
“Priya! This is surely not some weird dream brought on by drink and your endless search for the wrong woman! Jeez, that description...if you were one of my witnesses I’d never let you up on the stand.”
“I’m trying! And no, it was not a dream. If it were, I’d be waking up nice and comfy in my own bed right now! Not sitting on your very hard floor half-naked.”
“I’m going to call the Guards.” Michael got to his feet.
“No!” Priya slipped on the floor as she tried to stand up. Michael caught her by the hand and she winced.
“Please, Michael, no cops.”
They stared at each other. She was clutching her blouse to her chest with one hand, her other hand hanging loosely in his.
“I think a cup of tea might be in order, come on.” Michael turned and led her towards the kitchen. The relief spread through her, but she knew she would have to explain her reasons to him, at least some of them anyway.
“You and your tea, I need a strong coffee or, preferably, a strong brandy.”
“I think I can manage both. Why don’t you go and wash up and I’ll get everything sorted here. I need to think.”
∞
She came back out a half hour later, her hair wrapped up in a fresh clean towel of his. She was wearing his sweatpants, the legs rolled up into two big tires of blue cloth, bumping off each other as she walked. His old UCG college sweatshirt snuggled around her chest and almost reached her knees.
They’d gotten their college sweatshirts at the same time. That was how they’d met, bumping into each outside the college shop. He was a country lad from County Mayo, transplanted the hour away to the ‘big city’ to attend law school. He had that Irish complexion that reddened in a puff of wind. He was tall and lanky and had unruly hair the color of the brown gold gorse in the field behind her house. He wouldn’t have been much use on his family’s farm, his wrists too delicate, his nose permanently stuck in books on mythology and myth, Irish, Greek, Arabic.