Night Of Knives

Chapter 12

Veronica disconnects her own IV. She knows when the drugs wear off she will start to hurt all over, but she wants to be able to think clearly again. She fights her way back to her feet and shuffles to her window. Her room is on the second floor of a walled and gated hotel complex screened by palm trees. A half-dozen military-drab Land Cruisers and Hummers are parked in its gravel parking lot. Two white soldiers in American uniforms guard the gate. She hears aircraft above, both airplanes and helicopters, a near-constant buzz of aerial traffic.

Irene comes in while she is on her feet.

"Just can't keep you down, can we, hon?" she asks. "Those poor feet of yours need a few more days off, you ask me."

"Later," Veronica says. "Do you have any clothes?"

Irene purses her lips. "Suppose we can track some down."

"Could you? I can't stand hospital robes."

"All right, will do." But she doesn't move. She just looks at Veronica.

"What is it?" Veronica asks.

Irene says, "Don't know if this is the right time. I'm not really trained for this kind of thing. But, listen, hon, we have specialists coming here to take care of you. We have a highly trained trauma counsellor, and another who specializes in counselling victims of sexual abuse. I'm sorry, hon, but I have to know, what did they do to you?"

"To me?" Veronica half-laughs. "Nothing."

Irene looks at her skeptically.

"No, really. They, I think, they raped Susan. The British girl. But me, I mean, they weren't exactly friendly, they put a fucking leash on me, and a machete to my throat, but physically, honest, I got out okay. Just what you see, cuts and bruises and blisters, and I was sick, I've probably lost a lot of weight, but I wasn't, nothing awful happened."

"Sounds pretty awful to me."

"It's over now. I don't want to see any counsellor. I'm fine."

"I'll ask you again when you're sober."

"I'm fine," Veronica repeats. "Could I just get some clothes?"

"I'm on it, hon." Irene leaves quickly.

Veronica ventures into the bathroom. She wants to shower, but the idea of climbing in and turning on the water seems horrendously difficult and complex right now. There are a pair of flower-patterned slippers inside. She decides to try to go for a walk before the drugs wear off.

* * *

The door opens to an exterior walkway that connects the rooms, like a motel. She's glad she's in a decent buttoned-up hospital gown, rather than a cheap backless one. There is a soldier at the end of the walkway, and she freezes in place, afraid she is violating some rule, but he just nods to her stiffly. He looks Latino and about nineteen. A small strip of tall ferns and palm trees grows just outside, and through them she can see some large body of water. It isn't the ocean, there are no waves.

She proceeds down the walkway until she reaches a covered patio full of tables and chairs. All are deserted except one table heaped with scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, French bread, and coffee. Jacob is sitting there, his tall, gaunt body folded into a small chair, dressed in a hospital robe and bandages like hers, eating like he is trying to win a contest. Veronica's stomach lurches with desire.

He waves her over without stopping eating. She joins him and the next several minutes are devoted to food. At one point a formally dressed waiter comes up the stairs that lead to the patio and refills their coffee and orange juice.