The Cutting Edge Page 6

  “Maybe you’re selling her short,” Jan cut in.

  “Maybe,” Meg continued, “but I remember my little sister coming in mad one night because she had lost her boyfriend to Leslie. Gosh, Terri must have ranted and raved for over an hour before she finally said, ‘If she didn’t have her looks, she wouldn’t have anything.’ That statement has come back to haunt me a hundred times in the past three days. I keep praying that Terri was wrong, but deep down I’m afraid she’s not.”

  17

  When, a few hours later, Meg finished her shift, she convinced her aunt and uncle to go home and get some rest. With her mother babysitting Dawn, Meg took over the watch beside her cousin’s bed. Looking down at the bandaged figure, she felt both pity and anger.

  Why did this happen? Who could hate anyone this much? And why did Leslie come home without telling anyone?

  There was no answer. At least not yet. So she let her head fall against the back of the chair. Closing her eyes, she tried to forget the present trauma and remember happier times. Soon she had fallen asleep.

  About an hour later, she was awakened by a familiar voice calling her name. At first, she didn’t respond, but when she heard her name a second time, she roused herself, gathered her senses and turned quickly toward the bed.

  “Les,” Meg whispered as the nurse rose and bent over the patient, “How are you doing?”

  “Meg,” the faint voice came from behind a face covered with bandages. “I’m kind of sore.”

  Nodding, Meg smiled. “You have every right to be. You’ve been through a pretty rough time, but you’re doing fine now.”

  Meg stared at the blue eyes that looked back through two holes in the white wrappings. There was such trust in those eyes. There always had been. Leslie had seemed to look to Meg for guidance and strength, and Meg had been her favorite babysitter even as a toddler. Now, even though the two of them hadn’t been close in years, those eyes were once again looking to her, and Meg wasn’t too sure how to respond. But something needed to be said, so she charged forward.

  “Your folks were here all day, but I finally convinced them to go home and get some rest. They looked like they were getting tired to me. Still, they’ll be sorry they weren’t here when you woke up. I hope they don’t get too mad at me.” Forcing another smile, Meg asked, “Can I get you anything?”

  “Could I have some water?” Leslie whispered.

  “Sure,” Meg responded, jumping up, finding a glass, and then filling it from a pitcher setting on the nightstand. Inserting a straw, she placed the straw through a hole in the bandages left for just such a purpose. After a few sips, the nurse withdrew the straw and set the glass back on the bedside table.

  After resting for a moment, Leslie slowly raised her arm, allowing her hand to lightly touch the side of her face. Feeling first along her cheek, she stopped for a moment, as if some kind of image had flashed into her mind, then she continued to examine the remainder of the bandaged area. Lifting her right hand to her eyes, she pulled it back far enough to note the wrappings on the end of her fingers. Dropping her hand back to her side, she looked back to Meg with a puzzled expression.

  “What happened?”

  “You don’t remember?” Meg inquired.

  Leslie just shook her head.

  As a nurse, Meg had been asked that question at least a hundred times and each time the nurse had found a way to answer it while calming patients’ fears and nerves. She had always been honest, but she had also known how to wrap that honesty in a package that would bring comfort and not more pain. But now, for the first time, she didn’t know what to do. She had no answers, and this fact must have been painfully evident to the woman in the bed.

  Turning away from Leslie, she got up and walked across the room, pretending to check several flower arrangements to see if they needed water. Glancing back at the bed, she smiled and said, “Boy, we couldn’t believe the amount of flowers you rated. This place looks like a garden, doesn’t it?”

  When she received no response, Meg realized that she wasn’t going to be able to change the subject. She was going to have to meet this challenge head-on. Crossing the room, she returned to her chair. Leaning forward, she found Leslie’s right hand and held onto it, saying a short prayer before she began.

  “Kid,” her voice was soft and serious. “You’ve been out of it for three days. They brought you in here very early Saturday morning and it’s Tuesday morning now. You had evidently just come in by plane from New York when you got hurt. Do you remember any of this?”

  Clearing her throat, she whispered, “I remember I was coming home—that is to Springfield. I came back to talk about an offer I’d received on a big modeling job. On the plane a couple of guys tried to pick me up …”

  Before she could say any more, a suddenly hopeful Meg questioned, “On the commuter flight to Springfield?”

  Shaking her head, Leslie replied, “No, on the first part of the flight. I didn’t even talk to anyone on the small plane. No one bothered me there at all.” Pausing, Leslie once again placed her hand near her mouth, and then asked. “Why does it hurt so much just to talk?”

  Gently pulling her cousin’s hand back down to her side, Meg patted it, and whispered, “It will for a while. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get something for it in a second. Now, what do you remember about the airport?”

  “It is kind of hazy,” Leslie answered, after stopping for a moment to again study the bandages on her fingertips, she continued, “It’s like a dream. I remember being alone. I was going to call Mom and Dad, but my cell was dead and it was so late I decided to get a cab. I called one and then waited for it to come get me.”

  Leslie pointed toward the glass. Meg retrieved it, positioned the straw, and studied her patient. Leslie was amazingly calm for a person who’d been assaulted so violently. That had to mean she’d didn’t remember the attack. Maybe that was best. As she pulled the glass back and placed it on the table, her cousin continued her story in the same calm tone she had exhibited since she came out of her coma.

  “While I waited, I noticed a huge poster of me in the lounge.” Suddenly she stopped, her eyes turned back to Meg, obvious embarrassment showing in them. “Meg, I didn’t mean to hurt you when I took that job with Buffalo Scotch. I mean that is what the other driver was drinking when he lost control of his car and killed Steve. I shouldn’t have done it. It was selfish. I didn’t think about your husband or your loss. I let my own desire to further my career overrule my feelings for you. I know that must have hurt you. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Leslie,” Meg answered in a comforting tone, “Don’t worry about that now.”

  “But,” Leslie continued, not wanting to let the subject die, “I was too ashamed to even call you. No job is worth that. I should have turned it down.”

  Nodding her head as if to indicate she understood, Meg directed Leslie’s thoughts back to the night of her arrival. “What happened after you saw the poster?”

  “I walked over to it and then in this other store I saw a stack of Fashion and Style magazines.” Leslie’s eyes showed excitement as she asked her cousin, “Have you seen it?”

  Meg didn’t answer, she couldn’t. A huge lump had caught in the middle of her throat. Nodding her head, she forced a smile at the very instant a tear involuntarily forced its way from the corner of her eye. Quickly glancing away, she reached for a tissue, and after wiping her eye, took a deep breath and asked, “Would you like another drink of water?”

  “Yes,” Leslie responded, “that’d be nice.” After taking a long sip, she continued on the same line of conversation.

  “You know, that cover has really put my career on the map. Carlee—she’s my agent —thinks I’ll get five or six more covers in the next year and I’ve been offered a big ad campaign. Of course, that’s why I came home. I don’t know if I should take it. It is not like that one for the whiskey company. This is more complicated and means a lot more work and exposure. All I had to do in that Buffalo ad was hold a bottle close to my throat and …”

  18

  Suddenly, with the thought of the photo shoot, a vague vision became a crystal clear image and present and past collided in a rush setting up a roadblock that stopped all of Leslie’s other thoughts. Now there was only one scene and one reality and everything that was around her simply faded away. Like a shell-shocked war veteran, she was now back at the battle front and she was aware of nothing other than the horror that confronted her.

  She felt sweat draining down her body and she smelled the damp, musty smell of old trash around. Yet, she could see nothing, only a bright light. Out of nowhere, a shooting pain seared her right cheek, and, directly in front of her eyes, a jagged piece of glass came into focus, blood slowly dripping from its broken edges and then it disappeared. Off to one side she saw an image of herself on the cover of a magazine. Then from out of the darkness, the broken bottle reappeared again, and Leslie jerked her head violently to the right, trying to avoid having it cut her face. Yet, as she jerked, she was held tightly in check and she couldn’t move fast enough or far enough to keep from feeling the pain another time. When she did, she screamed.

  “What is it Leslie?” Meg was now hovering directly over her, hands holding her shoulders, and pushing her back down onto the bed. But Leslie couldn’t respond, she didn’t even see her cousin, all she saw was a broken bottle that was coming again and again at her face, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get away.

  “No, God, no,” she screamed as the nightmare went on. “Please don’t,” she yelled as she once more threw her head to the side.

  While trying to hold Leslie down with her left hand, Meg reached up and hit the call button with her right.

  “No! Please stop. Don’t cut me again!” br />
  Leslie’s screams carried down the hall as she tried to cover her face with her hands. Then, staring up, she watched as the bottle and the spotlight disappeared—she suddenly stood in front of her mirror applying her makeup. She was calmed and relaxed as she gently applied her blush with a small makeup pad. As the pad traced up her cheek it disappeared. Pausing for a moment, she looked back into the mirror and watched as she pulled her hand back. The pad now came out from under her skin. Dropping it on the table in front of her, Leslie glanced down and noticed that it was covered with blood. Looking back at her face in the mirror, she was confronted with a reflected image of a distorted mass of twisted and torn flesh. Throwing her hands up to cover her eyes, she saw them disappear under her skin. Screaming again, she tried to turn around and run from what her own face had become.

  Seconds later, Marsha came running into the room. She stopped for a brief moment, and watched as Meg, now almost completely in the bed, appeared to be wrestling with the patient.

  “Marsha,” Meg shouted over Leslie’s pleas and screams, “She’s freaked! Help me hold her down so she doesn’t hurt herself worse. If we can’t get her calmed down, she’s going to rip these stitches.”

  As Marsha grabbed her right shoulder and Meg put her full force on the left, Leslie began to fight even harder. Leaning over in front of her face, Meg began to softly repeat, “Les, it’s me, Meg. Everything’s all right. No one is going to hurt you. Look at me. I’m Meg.”

  Finally hearing the words, Leslie quit fighting and sank back against her pillow. As she did, the two exhausted nurses relaxed, too. For a few seconds, the three women caught their breath, then, Marsha, when she was relatively sure that the fireworks were over, refilled the water glass and gave the patient a drink.

  “Meg,” Leslie asked, obvious terror still filling her voice. “It wasn’t a dream was it? Somebody really did cut my face with a bottle, didn’t they?”

  “Yes,” Meg acknowledged, “they did.”

  “Is it bad?” Leslie asked her eyes now riveted to her cousin’s.

  “I’m afraid so,” came the quiet response. “You were cut up pretty severely when the policemen brought you in. You’d lost so much blood we thought you weren’t going to make it for a while. But you’re fine now.”

  “And my face?”

  “It’s got some healing to do,” Meg replied, “but we are working on that.”

  “Why?” the model questioned. “Why would somebody want to hurt me?”

  Marsha stared at Meg as the nurse patted her cousin’s arm and answered, “We were hoping that you would know. None of us has any idea.”

  Thinking again, Leslie mumbled, “I can’t really remember. I got in this cab and then—I just don’t know. I remember being attacked but I can’t remember why or by whom.” Bringing her hands back up to her face, Leslie felt the bandages, and then began to cry. With each deep sob, her face hurt more. Marsha excused herself and returned a few minutes later with a syringe.

  “Leslie,” the nurse whispered, “I want you to roll over on your side. I’m going to give you something that will ease the pain and help you sleep. You need some rest now. When you wake up, your folks will be here and we’ll have a doctor come by to tell you about your injuries.”

  After receiving the shot, Leslie turned back to Meg, and asked, “Is my career over?”

  Swallowing hard, Meg smiled and evaded the question. “One of the top cosmetic surgeons in the state was the man we called to sew you up. He did his best work on you. So, don’t you worry about it. It’ll take a while, but you’re going to heal up just fine. Now, just get some rest.” Seemingly comforted by her cousin’s words, Leslie soon drifted off into a deep sleep.

  19

  That was crazy,” Marsha announced as the two nurses stepped outside into the hall.

  Meg nodded, “I was afraid she’d freak. I’m sure remembering what she remembered would cause any of us to react the same way.”

  “I hope this doesn’t come out the wrong way,” Marsha whispered, “but are you sure you should have told her that she was going to be ok? You know as well as I do that those scars aren’t ever going to be completely fixed. Her career is over.”

  “Yeah,” Meg acknowledged, “but after seeing the terror she felt when she relived the attack, and after hearing her pride when she spoke of the cover shot, I couldn’t tell her the whole truth. Not now anyway. The fact she believes she’ll once again be beautiful may be all she’s got to live for. Until I find out differently, I can’t take that away from her.”

  “Meg,” Marsha softly explained, “you didn’t take it away, but someone did, and nothing any of us says or does is going to bring it back. When those bandages come off Leslie will probably not even recognize herself. She’s going to have to be prepared for that. I’ve met her folks, they’re not going to be able to help her. They’re just too close to the situation. But I can tell from the way she looks at you, she has faith in you, so you’re going to have to be the one.”

  Marsha shook her head and strolled back toward the nurse’s station. As she did, Meg sighed and turned toward her cousin’s room. Before she pushed the door she said, “Leslie’s not going to make it by simply having faith in me. She’s got to have more than that or she’ll fall and fall to a point where no one can pick her up.”

  “Did you say something, Nurse Richards?” a young man mopping the hall asked.

  Looking up, Meg shook her head. She studied the unexpected interloper into her private thoughts before replying. In the past couple of months he’d become a familiar face. Yet in all that time she hadn’t exchanged one word with him until now.

  “No,” Meg said with a smile, “I was just thinking out loud.” After looking up the hall at the area that the man had already mopped, she continued, “The floor looks great. Thanks for doing such a good job, Jacob.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  As the man went back to work, Meg reentered the room. Leslie was likely going to sleep through the rest of the night. Sitting down in the chair, the off-duty nurse figured she’d better grab some shuteye as well. But just about the moment she drifted off, the image of the alley where Leslie had been attacked leaped into her mind. If she couldn’t shake that image, how was her cousin going to?

  20

  Everything’s under control,” the man assured his friends. “The cops have no idea who messed up the woman’s face. There’s nothing to connect her to us.”

  The apartment was small, dingy, and dirty. Located on what locals called the other side of the tracks, this complex was home to those who were either down and out or keeping a low profile. Winos were far more common than Sunday school teachers, and drugs were as easy to get as candy. To these residents breaking the law was a way of life and respecting the law little more than a front for their actions.

  “How do you know we’re safe?” A tall thin young man with a shaved head and arms covered with tattoos demanded. “I know the cops are digging. They’ve questioned everyone in the complex. Gives me the creeps!”

  “I have my sources,” the leader assured them. “I can guarantee they’re lost. They don’t have a thing on us. Not for this or the other jobs we’ve pulled.”

  A heavyset twenty-year-old with a shaggy beard and long hair stood up. Sticking his hands into his pockets he yanked them inside out. “Nothing! I’m broke! We all are and because the cops have out extra patrols we’re going to be that way for a while. If we’d let her go things wouldn’t have tightened down as much. We could still be out working.”

  “We should have killed her,” a fourth man offered. “Dead women don’t talk. Jake, you’re an idiot!”

  The leader, fire in his eyes, rose from his seat and crossed the room with the grace and speed of a mountain lion. Before the other man could even raise his arm Jake landed a blow to the side of his head knocking him to the floor. Standing over him, Jake screamed, “Listen, she didn’t see us. She doesn’t even remember what happened. I wore gloves so there were no prints on the bottle. Even if she does remember, she had the light in her face. She couldn’t see us. So, we are in the clear. And, if she does start to remember something that might connect us, she can be killed. For the moment, we’ll just move our operations to a different part of town and stay away from the airport.”