“I object,” the voice said. Again and again and again; that voice always objected. No matter what other details of the wedding changed, that one remained the same.
Slowly, even though she tried to stop herself doing it, Christine turned around. It felt like one of those slow motion scenes in movies when something horrible is going to happen. The heroine is only ever in time to turn around with a scream and shout “No” in that slow motion voice that sounded like a nineties tape recorder when the tape stuck. The woman was always standing there dressed head to toe in yellow…yellow; such a festive color to choose to go around breaking up people’s weddings…and their hearts. She was a white woman, taller than average and curvy. In fact her ass was just about the curviest thing Christine had ever seen…and she’d grown up in an African American neighborhood so she should know. She wore high yellow heels, they were almost golden in fact and her toes were gaily painted blue. She had on a hat…with a veil. The veil just barely covered her blue eyes and her red lined smiling lips were staring cruelly and mercilessly at Christine as she voiced her objection. When she was sure she had everyone’s attention in the room she sauntered over to the altar and slipped her hand through Rudy’s. He seemed to be frozen to the spot and didn’t object.
“You can’t marry him because he’s already mine,” the woman said with a triumphant smile.
It was always at this point that Christine startled awake in a cold sweat; the dream that wasn’t a dream not fading conveniently but echoing as if continuing in some other dimension close by.
“Rudy,” she would whisper in despair and then get out of bed to go rinse her face and get herself a glass of water.
“Bad dream?” her grandmother would ask, coming out of her room when Christine did. Christine would shrug like it was nothing and go to the kitchen. Her grandmother would follow and begin heating some milk for hot chocolate.
“You don’t have to do that,” Christine would say.
“I know,” her grandmother would reply, eyes on the milk to make sure it didn’t boil over.
*****
Max Lestrange was in the front row, sitting next to his beautiful model date, he was pretty sure her name was Kendal but he wasn’t a hundred percent positive of that. They were here to watch the big fight as guests of the mayor of Las Vegas. Max was good friends with her husband. He had been like a father figure to him as he learned the ropes of being an attorney at law and in turn Max had supported him when he and then his wife, had run for office. The press was out in force because the match was a big deal between the defending champion and his closest contender. Max was trying to enjoy himself but it had been a strange day; perhaps he was getting old because all he wanted to do was lie down. The wine he’d taken with dinner was making him dizzy and not in a good way and the room was hot in spite of the air conditioning. He could feel the sweat on his forehead and his upper lip. He really was not liking himself today and wished he could just excuse himself and go lie down. The match was starting though and servers were coming around with more champagne. Maybe that would make him feel better. He took a glass and downed it at once, more for the cold wetness than the taste but it did not make him feel better at all. In fact, if he was honest it made him feel queasy and nauseous. He was afraid he would have to excuse himself soon if things did not settle down on their own. Kendal or Kim or whatever her name was leaned toward him with a smile, murmuring something about how exciting it was. Max murmured something suitable in reply and then leaned over to speak with the mayor.
“Carolyn, I have to excuse myself,” he said standing up. fighting the wave of dizziness that assailed him. He really needed to lie down.
“Oh, what’s up?” Carolyn asked.
Max opened his mouth to reply but then the world was replaced with darkness and he knew no more.
*****
He woke to a beeping sound and the feel of a cool breeze on his buttocks. He had difficulty opening his eyes, they seemed welded shut…that or he had no eyes any longer.
“Hallo,” he croaked still trying valiantly to open his eyes. “Anybody there?”
“Mr. Lestrange sir, you’re awake,” the voice of his housekeeper said sounding relieved. “I’ll get the nurse.”
“Martha wait,” he said sharply and felt her stop moving. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”
“Oh, they applied some sort of paste over them, I think to stop them fluttering…you were convulsing si
r. Anyway, I’ll get the nurse,” Martha said.
Max waited impatiently for someone to come and tell him what was going on with him. He continued to try and open his eyes. He thought of wiping the paste off with his hands but when he tried to move them, he felt a pinprick of pain and a pulling sensation he didn’t like so he ceased to do that forthwith.
“Ah, Mr. Lestrange, welcome back to the land of the living,” a low male voice said to him, sounding too familiar for someone he’d never met.
“And you are?” he asked coldly.
“I’m doctor Schofield, your physician,” the voice said.
“I see,” Max replied. “And what exactly is wrong with me?”
“We’re not sure yet,” the doctor replied breezily.
“Could you remove this paste so I can open my eyes?” Max asked irritably.
“Of course. Nurse?” the doctor’s voice said. After a moment, Max felt a cool cloth wiping him gently around his eyes. He could feel whatever was holding his eyes closed loosen its hold and suddenly he could see again, his eyes were open and he was staring at Martha, his black housekeeper for nigh on fifteen years now, and a young man with black hair and vivid blue eyes who was wearing a white lab coat. He was also smiling at him as if he couldn’t be more pleased with himself. Max hated him on sight.
“So you don’t know what’s wrong with me, why am I here?” he asked coldly.
Dr. Schofield’s smile faltered a bit but it came back, almost at full wattage. “We’re running tests. Your temperature was elevated very high when you came in. So much so that you were convulsing. You almost went into shock but we pulled you back. Your white blood cell count is also elevated which means you’re sporting an infection of some kind. Hopefully once the blood work comes back we’ll know more.”