Chapter 4
Liling was used to people smiling at her, but it did seem odd that the entire staff of the Lighthouse seemed pleased to see her that afternoon. Several nodded and congratulated her, and one young nurse gave her a heartfelt hug.
"It's so wonderful," the nurse gushed. "You must be over the moon." Before Liling could ask what was wonderful, she hurried off to answer a patient's call button.
Confused. Liling retreated to the gardens, where she weeded the primroses and bluebell beds, and replaced the fading snowdrops with a number of bleeding heart plants she had picked up at the garden center.
Next year, she decided, she would plant some clusters of purple iris around the moss-covered rocks she had arranged in between the flower beds. The irises looked bold and beautiful against the feathery green moss, and as they matured she could pot them for some of the patients' rooms.
Then Liling remembered she wouldn't be working here next year, and sighed. One year in one place, and then she had to move on; that was the rule she had lived by since leaving San Francisco. Still, it would be difficult to leave this job. Especially when it meant never again seeing Luisa and her fascinating friend.
Valentin Jaus. Now his name seemed to make her heart beat a little faster.
Liling knew she was being ridiculous, fantasizing about a man like Jaus, who until last night had barely noticed her existence. That was what had made him safe. Like a movie star or a famous musician, he was beyond her, completely and utterly unattainable. And what a woman couldn't have, she could daydream about.
Only, the daydreams had taken an unexpected turn, and now Liling was actually dreaming about Jaus. After meeting him at the Navy Pier, she'd gone to sleep last night and found him waiting for her in one of her fantasy tableaux. She'd found herself in a medieval castle, chained naked to the foot of the lord's bed, where she huddled until he came into the room.
She took in a quick breath, remembering what had happened next.
"Stand up, girl."
She cowered at the sound of his voice, and then cried out as he dragged her to her feet.
"You're a lovely wench." He walked around her, pushing his cloak from his shoulders. It fell in a heap of indigo-dyed wool to the floor. "Why have you not served me before tonight? "
"I w-w-work in the g-g-garden, m-my lord."
"Not anymore." He stopped and leaned so close that the tips of her breasts brushed the cold surface of his iron hauberk. "What are you called?" He ran his hard, calloused hand over her buttocks, the leather of his glove rasping over her delicate flesh, and then slapped her sharply. "Give me your name, girl."
She couldn't open her mouth or make her tongue move.
Jaus sat down on the bed and used the chain hooked to her slave collar to tug her over to him. "Bend yourself over my thighs."
She shook her head, too frightened to move, and he used the chain again to pull her across his lap, His thigh muscles felt like stone against her belly, and she hung there, her long hair spilling over her face.
His hand slapped her bottom hard enough to sting. "I am your lord," he said. "You will answer me when I speak to you." He swatted her bottom again, but not quite as hard as before. "What is your name?"
"L-L-Lili."
He brought his hand down a third time, softer still, and let it rest against the plump lips of her little mound. "What is this?"
The touch of leather made her body slicken and open.
"If you are afraid of me, why are you making my glove damp?" he asked, nibbing his leather-covered palm against her with slow, deliberate pressure.
"I don't kn-know."
He slapped her again, but it was hardly more than a tap before he slid the glove between her legs. "Very damp." He pulled his hand away and removed the glove, tossing it to the floor.
She saw the faint spot on the palm and closed her eyes. "Forgive me."
"'Master.'" His hand caressed her bottom before he slapped her once more. " 'Forgive me, master.'"
The feel of his bare hand on her skin made her moan the words he wanted to hear, and then she stiffened as his fingers went where his glove had been.
"You are wet for me."
She shook her head, crying out as he spanked her again, and then his fingers probed, pushing into her. "Please, master."
"You please me." He lifted her and turned her, holding her on his lap as he slowly fondled her breasts. "Pretty." His head bent and he suckled one nipple, pulling on it until she arched against him and his hand moved clown her belly…
It still disturbed her how real the dream had seemed. So real that she had woken up as aroused and needy as if Jaus had been in bed with her, making love to her while she slept. She'd put her hand down between her legs, shocked to feel the wetness, and had further stunned herself by climaxing against her own fingers.
You can't have sex with a fantasy.
Liling didn't practice promiscuity, and she could never risk staying in a relationship longer than a few weeks, but she was practical about her own needs. Jaus was completely out of her league, and the sole reason she had dreamed about him was because he was the only man besides the people she worked with whom she saw on a regular basis.
That was it. She hadn't dated anyone since coming to Chicago; what she needed to do was to find a nice, normal man to bring to bed. Someone who didn't want love forever, but would be amenable to fun for right now.
Finding a boyfriend wouldn't be that difficult; there were always plenty of available men in the city. She never dated people she worked with, but Martha or Nancy might know a single man who wouldn't expect a blind date to look like Scarlett Johansson or act like a nymphomaniac who had just been rescued from a deserted island.
She never imagined any man would ever fulfill her private fantasies. Sharing that level of intimacy with someone she intended to see only for a month or two seemed unlikely.
Even if she tried, men were so politically correct these days that none would know how to play a bedroom game like master and slave girl.
Except Valentin Jaus. He had exquisite manners, and he was the kindest man she'd met in Chicago. There wasn't a single complaint she could make about his demeanor or how he spoke to women. But he would not bother with being politically correct in his bedroom, she sensed, or anywhere else. Jaus would take what he wanted.
Liling felt herself go wet between her legs, and she stood up, stripping off her weeding gloves as she silently cursed her wandering thoughts. She had to stop thinking about Jaus like this, or she'd never be able to look at the man again without cringing.
Martha was actually waiting for her in the staff lounge when she took her dinner break. "There you are, you rock star, you. I brought a copy for you to autograph for me."
"Rock star?" Liling echoed, bewildered.
"You know," Martha said, nudging her shoulder playfully. When Liling shook her head, her smile became a gape. "Oh, my God. You don't know, do you? Nancy said you never breathed a word about it, but we all know how quiet you are."
"Martha," Liling said, "please tell me what 'it' is."
The nurse took a folded newspaper from her tote bag and spread it out on the table. "See? That's you, right there. They wrote a lovely piece about the facility, and how much you've improved the gardens. Well, they don't name you specifically, but we all know whose hard work it is."
Liling stared at the photo. It showed her from the back as she trimmed the yew hedges surrounding the foxglove beds. The dramatic pale pink, rose, and purple spires of flowers all around her made the image particularly striking. So did the fact that she had taken off her jacket, exposing her shoulders. It had been so warm that day that she had taken off her staff polo and worked in the cooler, more comfortable T-back shirt she wore instead of a bra.
The shirt that plainly showed the red swan tattoo on her shoulder.
She picked up the paper with a trembling hand. "Who did this?"
"It says, 'Photo by B. Kinney.' He's one of those photographers who were nosing around here after Mr. Lindquist the other day, I guess. But it's such a lovely shot that I thought for sure you had posed for it." Martha touched her hand. "Lili, honey, you're shaking like a leaf."
"I'm surprised." No, I'm dead. She licked her dry lips. "Is this today's paper?"
"The morning edition. Lili, it doesn't show your face. If you're worried about being deported…" Martha grimaced. "I'm sorry. I know it's none of my business, and with all the hatred being directed at you people these days it must seem terrifying. But, honey, I'm sure administration will help you get a green card or whatever you need to stay in the country."
Martha thought she was an illegal immigrant. If it hadn't been so tragic, Liling might have laughed.
"I am an American citizen, Martha." She straightened her shoulders. She was an American, even if her birth records and papers had been falsified to make her appear Chinese-born. She had rights that were protected by their laws. If they tried to take her or hurt her again, she could go to the authorities. And then they would want to know why she was being hunted, and she would have to tell them. The government would protect her. They would…
This way, General.
Once, at the facility, the priests had brought a man in a military uniform to watch her during testing. He had said nothing, but his eyes had never left her. After the tests were over she was led from the room. That was when she heard the general talking to one of the doctors.
If she fails to reach her potential, the general said, we will take her for one of our test groups.
Liling hadn't reached her potential, nor had she known the full extent of what she could do until after she had escaped the priests, for which she was grateful. If they had had any idea, they would have killed her, or worse, locked her away so that she never saw the sun again.
In the beginning she had thought about going to a hospital, a real one, and asking for help. But her mentor had assured her that the doctors would never let someone with her ability roam around freely.
They see what you do.,Mrs. Chen had said, they call the police and lock you up.
"It's only a picture. As you said, it doesn't even show my face." What were the odds that the priests would see it? "By tomorrow it will be birdcage liner and fish wrapping."
"You really don't know. Lili, this picture is in every paper in the country. Lili." Martha caught her elbow as she staggered and guided her to a chair. "It's all right: you're all right. Put your head down between your knees, honey, and breathe." She pressed her forward. "That's it. Just breathe."
Liling breathed, and gradually the faintness receded. When she felt sure she wouldn't pass out, she sat up slowly. Now she would have to tell this woman something to explain her reaction, and then she would go.
"I'm sorry," she said to Martha. "This… honor… is so astonishing, and I think I forgot to eat something today." She forced her lips into a smile, "it was so warm outside, I must be dehydrated."
Martha was a good nurse, and insisted on checking Liling's pulse, eyes, and temperature.
"You're fine, but I think you should go home early for a change." Martha said as she went to the fridge and brought back a cold bottle of soda. "I've never seen anyone turn so pale so fast. I thought you were going into shock. Here, drink this; it'll settle your stomach."
Liling allowed the older woman to fuss over her for a few more minutes, until she was able to convince Martha that she was steady enough to make the trip home. She thanked her and went directly to the employee locker room, where she kept her purse and car keys.
For the first time since she had begun working at the Lighthouse, she also removed the small carrying bag she had kept in her locker at all times. In the bag were three changes of clothing, three sets of identification, and three wigs. She checked the large roll of money she had stashed in the side pocket—five thousand dollars in twenties and tens—before putting the strap over her shoulder and going to the shower room.
Quickly she stripped and washed, drying off to change into a pair of jeans and a dark T-shirt from her bag. She checked the folded map she had marked with her route from Georgia to Texas: it would be a long drive from Atlanta, but she would be filmed by airport security cameras getting off the plane, so she couldn't risk staying in Georgia even for a day. Her braid had gotten wet, but there was no time to dry her hair. She considered cutting it off to further change her appearance, but it would be wiser to do that when she changed her clothing again in a restroom at the airport.
Liling had never been forced to move this quickly, but she had always been prepared for the possibility. Chen Ping, the ninety-year-old woman in San Francisco who had taken her in and saved her life, had believed her story. It was Mrs. Chen who had taught her to always be ready to go.
"These bad men think you are dead," the old lady told her. "We can hide you here in Chinatown until they stop looking, but you not go outside."
Mrs. Chen told her many friends that Liling had come to America to escape being imprisoned for protesting against the Chinese government. The people of Chinatown revered the old lady, so they had gladly provided Liling with a number of identities and documents. Others had relatives working as translators for INS, and in a few years they were able to arrange foreign birth documents and secure approval for her to become a citizen.
Liling had stayed with the elderly woman, caring for her home and tiny garden until Mrs. Chen died one night, very peacefully, in her sleep. After the modest funeral, Liling discovered the old lady had left her entire savings to help Liling begin a new life.
"Chen Ping told me that you were the daughter of her heart," the lawyer told the astonished Liling as he handed her the certified check. "She asked me to tell you not to grieve for her, but to be happy."
The money had been a final gift, one that provided her with the means to take responsibility for her own life. It had been difficult for Liling to bid her friends in Chinatown good-bye and set out on her own, but without Mrs. Chen to conceal her presence, she knew she would only endanger them.
Liling deliberately kept only cheap housewares, thrift-store furniture, and minimal clothing at her apartment—nothing she needed to retrieve and take with her. She had split her inheritance up between three national banks, and had also put large sums of cash in safety-deposit boxes in several different states.
As she did with every car she had owned, she had bought her Ford Focus with cash and had registered it under a false name; when they found it abandoned at the airport they would not be able to trace it back to her. As part of her preparations, she had already obtained a license and papers using the next identity she would assume. When she arrived at her destination, she would no longer be Liling Harper, but Lian Hart.
No, she reminded herself, she would have to purchase her plane ticket as Lian Hart. Liling Harper had to die in Chicago.
She went out to use the phone at the nurses' station to call the airport, but stopped at the sight of a dark-haired man in a long black garment.
"I understand that Ms. Harper has left for the day," he was saying. A distinct Italian accent colored his cold voice. "Did she indicate her destination?"
Liling silently backed out of sight and hurried down the hall to Luisa Lopez's room.
"You're late today," Luisa said as Liling came in and quickly closed the door. Her hazel eyes shifted to the carry-on. "You planning on going somewhere, girl?"
"Luisa, do you remember when I told you that I might have to leave someday?" Liling went over to the bed. "I have to go today."
Luisa looked stricken. "What?"
"I'm sorry." It broke her heart to see tears well up in the girl's eyes. "I would stay if I could."
"But you can't go yet," Luisa protested. "I don't talk well enough yet. I need more practice. We haven't finished the story. I don't know what happens to Marianne."
"There are bad men who are looking tor me," Liling said. "They know where I work now. They are going to try to take me, and when they do they might hurt you and the other people here."
"We got security guards, don't we?" Luisa gestured toward the door. "You can take mine. He'll kick their asses all over this hospital."
"He can't help me." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm going to miss you so much. Thank you for being my friend." She bent over and kissed her forehead.
"He won't stop." Luisa whispered, her eyes fixed on the wall behind Liling. "Not until you're dead." She seemed to come out of the trance as quickly as she went into it, and awkwardly pushed at Liling with her splinted hand. "You have to go. Don't waste time sitting here and crying on me. Hurry."
"I have to use your phone." Liling heard the boom of lightning and looked out through the window. Huge thunderclouds had erased the sun and were swelling up all around the facility. "To call the airport."
"Then what you—what are you waiting for?" Luisa wiped her face on the sleeve of her hospital gown. "Damn new eyes."
Liling kissed her friend's cheek before she picked up the phone and dialed nine for an outside line. Once she had a dial tone, she quickly put in star-sixty-seven to conceal the number she was calling from, and then dialed the number for the airline she had used to come to Chicago.
The reservations clerk who answered didn't bother to check for unreserved seating.
"I just sold the last available seat to Atlanta through tomorrow morning, Ms. Hart," she said pleasantly. "I can get you a seat on a flight in the late afternoon or early evening."
"No, I have to leave now. Can you check the other airlines?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm doing that right now." The clerk fell silent for several minutes, and then said, "All of the flights out of Chicago to Atlanta are full."
Liling tightened her grip on the phone. She would have to abandon her plans. "I'll take a flight to any major city in the country, as long as I can leave in the next hour."
"You're very flexible. Just a moment, ma'am." The clerk put her on hold, and then came back on the line a minute later. "Miss Hart, I'm terribly sorry, but all the flights out of Chicago International are booked solid. If you'll give me a number where I can call you, I'll let you know the moment there is a cancellation."
Liling hung up the phone. She had been on the line for only a few minutes, but that might have been enough time for the call to be traced. She would have to risk driving out of the city until she found an airport the priests did not control.
The scent of fresh-cut camellias filled the room.
"Good evening, Luisa." Valentin Jaus came in. He wore his usual trench coat and carried a black umbrella, which he propped by the door. "Miss Harper."
"Hello, Mr. Jaus." She smiled quickly at him before she bent down and gave her friend one last gentle embrace. In a whisper, she said, "I'll try to call you when I can."
"You do, or I'll come looking for you," Luisa whispered back.
Jaus stopped Liling from leaving simply by blocking the door with his body. "Miss Harper, what is the matter?"
She felt a strange tugging sensation in her chest, as if Jaus were a magnet for fearful hearts. "I have to travel to Atlanta tonight, but all the flights are booked. I'm going to have to drive down. Excuse me, sir."
"I am flying to Atlanta tonight, and I have ample room on my plane for a passenger," he told her. "You will fly with me."
Wealthy men did not offer gardeners rides on private jets, Liling thought. Not that he was offering; the way he sounded it was more like he was ordering her to come along. But instead of feeling afraid or intimidated by Jaus, she felt immediately better. If only she could confide in him. Something inside her whispered that he would be a friend she could go to for anything.
"You can trust Valentin, Lili." Luisa said. "He'll look out for you."
Liling gnawed at her bottom lip. She had no more time, and leaving Chicago on a private plane would virtually guarantee that no one would track her. "I would be so grateful. Mr. Jaus, thank you. When are you leaving?"
"I only stopped in to say good-bye to Luisa."
"Good-bye, so long, farewell, and off-weeder-stain, or whatever it is your folks say, Valentin." Luisa said. "Now go on and get out of here, both of you."
Jaus opened the door and gestured toward the outside hall. "Shall we?"
By now, Kyan thought, his masters would know he had left China without their permission. He doubted the priests would send anyone after him—they would have the proof that she lived, and would wish her dead almost as much as he did—but he was taking no chances. They had lied to him, claiming she had been killed during the storm, but deep inside he had known she still lived.
Not for long.
"I'm so sorry you missed your cousin," the nurse said, her gaze roaming his face with somewhat dazzled admiration. She had touched the girl recently; her scent was all over her hands. "Liling wasn't feeling well, and had to go home early. Do you have her address?"
"Yes." Kyan never needed an address. "Thank you."
He tracked the girl's scent from the nurses' station to a shower room at the back of the hospital, where he put his hand against the still-wet tile in one stall. Among other things, the water told him that the girl had been the last to use it.
He stood in the shower for several minutes, his head bowed, the veins on his arms popping out as he flattened his hands against the tile walls and absorbed everything he could about her.
Kyan saw a bag she had carried with her for many years. Inside he knew there were three changes of clothing. Three sets of identification. Three wigs. Money. Keys. A book. Between the pages, a dried, pressed pink flower with brown-spotted leaves. That was all she had thought about while washing in here. She must have known that he was coming for her.
Of course she knew. Who else would she hide from?
When the walls and floor of the shower were bone-dry, he stepped out and inspected the locker room. On the floor in front of the lockers he found a folded map of the United States. She had handled it just before leaving; he could still smell and feel the faint, damp impressions her fingers had left on it. She had taken a red pen and traced a route to a city called Atlanta in the southern part of the country.
As Kyan left the shower room, he followed the girl's trail to a room guarded by an armed man sitting and reading a magazine. Some rainwater had been tracked across the waxed tile floor, and Kyan glanced down at it as he walked past the guard. Infinitely tiny beads of water streamed toward the guard, running up the side of his shoe and sock and sinking into his skin.
Kyan watched from the corner as the guard grimaced and adjusted his belt, and then stood, his hand pressed to the crotch of his trousers. He made as if to use the radio clipped to his belt, but then his eyes widened and he ran into a rest-room a few doors down from the patient's room.
The amount of water Kyan had sent into the man's body wouldn't harm him, but he would spend at least ten minutes emptying his painfully full bladder and bowels.
The patient sleeping inside the room was a bald black female with bandaged hands and dozens of scars on her face and head. She opened her eyes and watched him as he locked the door and approached the bed.
"You're too late." She regarded him with damp, hostile eyes. "She's gone, and I won't tell you anything."
"I know." Kyan gently put one finger against her cheek, following the path of her last tear. "This will."