Authors: K. Larsen
Celeste
Paris 1994
May
Celeste brushed her teeth and examined herself in the mirror. She was thirty, and it was evident by the faint lines starting at the corners of her eyes. She thought it unfair that on Gabriel they made him more handsome, yet on her they made it appear she was tired. Spitting and rinsing she set her toothbrush aside and tugged her dress over her head before slipping on her heels.
The sun shone brilliantly, and the warm color of the late Spring day seemed offensively bright and cheerful. It was as if the heavens conspired to show her how the world would go on without him while she thought everything should be as grey and foggy as her emotions. Cold and damp with silent air. But the birds still sang and the flowers still bloomed.
She walked through the churchyard and into the church, arm hooked to Gabriel’s elbow, like a silhouette of herself. She wished she really was as insubstantial as shadows so that her insides might not feel so mangled. As she took a pew near the front and long held back tears began to flow. Matteo sat to her left and Gabriel to her right. Matteo clutched her hand and waited in silent grief for the start of the funeral service.
Struggling to hold back sorrow, tears flowed steadily, silently down all the immobile faces surrounding her. At the end of the service Celeste felt bruised inside, numb, empty as she walked behind a mahogany coffin, saying goodbye with everyone else who so dearly loved Dr. B.
“Although he is gone already, the soul, unwilling to acknowledge the finality of death, never to look upon his face again or feel his embrace, see the warmth in his eyes, be surrounded by his love.” Words from the Minister were heartfelt.
The speech brought a fresh onslaught of tears from the small crowd. Everyone stood in black as dusky white roses were placed on the casket one by one. Celeste watched it being lowered into the grave through tear-stained eyes.
After the funeral everyone gathered at the estate for food and drinks and quiet stories of Dr. B’s benevolence. Celeste wandered through the small groupings of people offering condolences as well as receiving them. Matteo, every so often, would catch her eye and offer her a small smile. She wiped more tears from her eyes than she thought possible. She listened to story after story after story of Dr. B’s goodwill and generosity and her heart swelled knowing that she came from such good stock. Matteo let her cling to him when she needed a break and she let him disappear outside to smoke without nagging him on the terrible habit.
Only one person looked as if he’d enjoyed the day’s events. Gabriel rocked onto his heels, hands tucked in his pockets, smiling like a man who had just had his fill at a fine restaurant and had savored every last mouthful. It irked Celeste that he could be so jovial while the world seemed to crumble around her. She’d yet to tell him of her parents or of Dr. B’s will. She wasn’t sure why she held back. It was just too much to fight all at once. Maybe it was simply self-perseverance. She knew the path to a solid marriage was founded on truth. She knew that. But she hadn’t lied-yet. She’d just not had the right moment to explain.
She watched Gabriel’s smile with a scowl on her face. He had been eating and drinking all day while she had been crying and using up tissues. Matteo stepped to her left and smiled half-heartedly at her before noticing what she was looking at. He kept smiling, but it looked strained as he took in Gabriel’s indifferent aura.
“Cece, are you alright?” he asked.
She turned to Matteo and looked him in the eyes. “No. I don’t think I am.”
Annabelle
“Everything was clean and pretty and safe for you and me. The worst of enemies became the best of friends.”
~ Tick Tock, Stevie Ray Vaughn
“We have to hurry!” Annabelle shrieked as they ran from the shop. “Mark will kill me if he finds out I took the truck.” Annabelle and Jezebel looked like quite the pair sprinting to the truck and jumping in. This time Annabelle drove—they didn’t have enough time to be cautious.
“Child! You’re going to kill us!” Jezebel squawked as Annabelle took the turn into Glenview’s parking lot at thirty miles per hour.
“Shhh!” Annabelle scolded. Throwing the truck in park, she hopped out and scooted around the hood to help Jezebel down. She locked the doors and hurried them along the path through the back garden until they made it to the common room. Looking around Annabelle hurried Jezebel back to her suite. The second they were seated she let out a great sigh.
“You’re a badass,” Jezebel said and licked her lips.
“No way, you’re the old fart with a nose piercing!” Annabelle retorted and grinned.
Jezebel touched her nose gingerly and smirked. “Yes. I am.”
~
***
~
Annabelle lay on Mark’s bed face up. “God . . ..” Mark’s lips on her silenced her. He slowly, gently kissed her breathless. Her mouth . . . her neck . . . her collarbone and chest received nearly five full minutes of attention. It was beautiful torture. Mark slid his hand down the center of Annabelle’s chest, over her stomach, creeping ever lower. His hands and mouth roamed over every inch of her . . . except for the inches she most needed kissed, most desperately desired touched. Annabelle raised her hips, seeking some sort of pleasure but feeling nothing but renewed pressure in her belly.
“You’re going to kill me,” she breathed.
“I think you exaggerate,” he chuckled into her belly. “You should really get going.”
“No,” she whined and popped her head up to see him.
“Annabelle, your father will kill me,” he said, giving her an authoritative look.
She pushed his hair from his forehead and looked at him. “No, he won’t. I told him I was staying here tonight.”
“What?” he asked.
“He wasn’t exactly pleased, but I’m not a child anymore. He didn’t have much choice other than to remind me to stay
safe.
” She laughed, recalling the embarrassing talk her father tried to give her before she left. Little did he know, she’d had the talk years before with Madison’s mother.
“Hmm,” he started, sliding his hands over her inner thighs, massaging them, running his fingers to the very edge of her painfully aroused center before pulling away again. “I suppose I’ll keep you then.” Mark kissed her rib cage, her stomach, lower and lower, until his mouth was only an inch away from where she so desperately wanted him to kiss. She blocked out the thoughts that their time together was dwindling and threw herself into the physical sensations he was offering up.
~
***
~
Jezebel handed Annabelle a flat rectangular gift. “What is this?” she asked.
“It’s a graduation present—a little late,” Jezebel answered.
Annabelle smiled and ripped open the paper to find the book
Oh The Places You’ll Go
. She looked up to Jezebel, “Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t give me that face—I know your reading level is above Dr. Seuss, but that book is a goldmine of wisdom,” Jezebel said.
“Oh really?”
“Yes really—it’s speaks to the importance of seizing new opportunities, keeping an open mind, trying new things, taking chances and pushing beyond your comfort zone.”
“I’m sure it will be riveting,” Annabelle deadpanned.
“Ahh, there’s my little shithead,” Jezebel smirked. Annabelle laughed and flipped through the pages. She stopped when she saw the inscription from Jezebel.
Oh the places you’ll go darling, never forget the strength you possess.
I have the utmost faith that your life will be anything but bland.
Seize the day, my dear Annabelle, and find your happiness—a great life awaits you.—-Jezebel
“It’s great Jezebel, thank you. Really,” she said sincerely.
“I’m aware . . . now, there is a lot to fit into this week’s story because you hijacked our last visit.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” Annabelle said sarcastically.
“I won’t. Paris, nineteen ninety-four,” Jezebel said.
Celeste
Paris 1994
May
Celeste looked around. Small aging chandeliers hung from hooks. The dim bulb overhead cast broken light over the dusty attic. She knew she was being shamefully nosy but she couldn’t stop herself from opening some as she sorted through the contents of dozens of boxes. As she sorted she set aside the ones willed to others with a green dot sticker so Matteo could carry them downstairs later.
“Crap,” she grumbled at the box she hefted up only to have the bottom drop out of it. Papers scattered across the floor. She knelt to retrieve them all.
FILE
: CLASSIFIED
PROJECT
: TKDM, CIA
DRUG
: Zemtranium besylate
Celeste furrowed her brows. What was she looking at? She picked another paper up from the floor.
Targeting
: Short range
Transmission and Reception
:
Foreign production; Human trials
Purpose
:
fjidfjidjfijdfijosdfjiosdjfoisjfiodjfozidvjzidhozidgh
Effects
:
sdhfosdjhofkhoisdoijoekihosieht
Defection against will
Subprojects
:
hesiohfosihdgoishdgoir
Many
Pseudonym
: Project Domino
Functional
Basis
:
heihfosidhoihdsgoihoisdhgoihs
*Black budget funded TKDM.
Celeste read further, grabbing the other pages from the floor. Skimming through partially blacked out pages of acronyms and military jargon she gleaned what she could. It wasn’t much. Government-sponsored murder, biological warfare, secret weapons, a CIA classified research program from the CIA’s scientific intelligence division, French-American relations. The main point seemed to be that a small amount of some substance, placed in a liquid, could render an entire company of soldiers unable to fight, all upon consumption. The papers were dusty, crinkled and weathered.
*Note: Given the CIA’s failure to follow informed consent protocols with participants, the uncontrolled nature of the experiments, and the lack of data, the full impact of TKDM experiments, including the resulting deaths, will never be known. Director Richards has instructed all records of these activities destroyed. Myocardial infarction recorded for all deceased.
“Black budget funded TKDM? Everything in here is coded. I don’t know what all these terms mean.” Celeste huffed and tossed the file on the floor. A photograph slid out, skittered across the floor and wedged under the foot of a dusty chair. She walked to it, bent to pick it up and examined it. Three men in lab coats stood together, clutching hands. They all wore glasses that were long outdated. The big frames covered their faces, but one of the three was definitely Dr. Basle. Celeste flipped the photo over.
Nineteen sixty-five.
She tucked the photo back into the file and inhaled sharply.
The file seemed such a gross invasion of privacy it turned her stomach to even have it in her hands. And yet she couldn’t stop, even after learning of the atrocities that Dr. B had been involved in. Unease settled deep in her gut. She had to get to the bottom of this.
~
***
~
Celeste, file in hand, went to the only person she knew that could help her with what she was looking at. As she marched purposefully through the hallways of the embassy she felt like goo, her knees barely able to keep her upright. Pushing through Dan’s office door she marched to where he sat and flung the file onto his desk, popped her hip out and waited, arms crossed over her chest. His eyes scanned the blacked out label on the front of the file. Tentatively he opened it. She watched as his eyes scanned some of the pages. He grimaced. He groaned and finally he spoke.
“Aww hell Celeste, I wrote a report to the Commissioner years ago for Dr. Basle, but when he confronted the CIA director, they said the incident never happened.” Dan shrugged. “The CIA would do anything to meet its goals and the public has been lied to for so long, they wouldn’t be able to recognize the truth if Jesus himself told them. Where the hell did you get this?” he asked, pinning her with a look that meant business.
Celeste arched a challenging brow at him. “Why would Dr. Basle be consulting with them?” she asked, ignoring his question.
“The CIA cooperates with its French counterpart, the DGSE. The countries collect information on one another, especially in the economic and scientific areas. I’m just a middleman really.”
“Dan. Layman’s terms, please,” she urged, frustrated.
“He was a brilliant biochemist, Celeste. I thought you knew that.”
She shook her head. Dan sighed. “CIA operatives here in France do good work, but there were times we needed Dr. Basle’s expertise to review some reports in return. He got his much wanted privacy. He was under one gag order or another most of his professional life.”
Celeste knew her sour expression couldn’t be hidden. “Operatives. Here. In France.” She pointed to the floor while trying to comprehend.
“Sure, the CIA has contracted scientists all over the world.” Dan shrugged.
“Scientists,” she repeated absently.
Dan cocked his head to the side. “Celeste, is everything alright?”
She shook her head again. “What was my part in all this?” she asked quietly as she thought about all the times she had run files to the embassy for Dr. B over the years.
Dan looked stricken and fumbled for an answer. “Nothing. You were just a courier.”
“No, Dan, I was more than that. Look at that file. Look hard.” She pointed and Dan looked.
She waited as Dan skimmed the contents further. He flipped a page, then another and another. His eyes stopped their movement. He squinted and shook his head slowly. “No way,” he mumbled. “No
fucking
way,” he breathed.
“Dan, it appears I’m Dr. B’s granddaughter.” Dan’s eyes snapped to hers, wide and disbelieving. “Start explaining what you’re reading to me because I’m starting to freak the hell out,” she ordered.
“I can’t say a damn thing, Celeste.” Dan inhaled and blew out a heavy breath.
“I don’t give a shit! This is my life!”
Dan held her eyes, clearly deliberating if he should share information. He got up, strode past her and shut his office door before returning to his seat. “What you found is a file on a covert project that involved biochemical warfare and human testing. The written reports covering the experiments in 1965 were supposed to be destroyed. Three scientists were secretly employed by the CIA. Spanish citizens were drugged without their knowledge or consent. He wasn’t supposed to keep this,” Dan said, scrubbing his face with a hand.
“What was studied? And why was it supposed to be destroyed?” Celeste pushed for more information.
“Because in the last experiment, the drug killed every patron at a small restaurant. And even more disturbing is that the extent of experimentation on human subjects is still unknown. They tested on unsuspecting people,
without consent,
Celeste. The drug failed miserably and the project was transferred back to the States where it was abandoned.”
“What killed them?” she asked.
“Myocardial infarction-heart attack,” he answered. Celeste paled. Everything came flooding back like a tsunami. “What if it wasn’t?” she asked.
Dan leaned back in his chair and furrowed his brow. “What if what wasn’t?”
“What if the project wasn’t abandoned?” she said, stunned, Gabriel’s late-night story, detail for detail, running through her mind.
“It was,” he stated definitively.
Celeste shook her head as nausea swelled within her. “No, no Dan, I don’t think it was . . .”
~
***
~
When she arrived home from the embassy, she couldn’t get Dan’s words out of her head. She knew the story already, but couldn’t wrap her mind around the truth of it all. Gabriel had told her a similar story years ago.
Too similar.
Celeste studied her husband as he reclined in his chair with a book. She mentally dug deep, to inspect the layers of him. She peeled each one away like gift paper. He glanced up at her.
“Mon amour, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, grinning at her. Raising a hand, he crooked his finger to beckon her.
Gabriel was an expert in deception—that much was clear. The small blushes he’d caused so many times toyed with her sensual side, the soft smiles he doled out over the years had appealed to her playful side and the knight in shining armor
act
had guaranteed her trust in him from the very beginning. She’d spent long nights making love to him, a man she had given her soul to, a man she thought had returned that precious gift. Now she had an inkling she’d been in bed with the devil.
Instead of going to him, Celeste wandered up the staircase to their bedroom and packed her things. She heard him call for her, a sound that nearly destroyed her heart right there. But she couldn’t stay. As she slipped out the front door, she heard her name called again. This time, tears spilled down her cheeks relentlessly as she forced herself to follow through with her plan. She needed a few days to clear her head, to sort this mess out. Celeste sank into the driver’s seat heavily and slammed the door closed.
Celeste drove for hours before ending up at the only logical place she could think of. Matteo’s. She wanted to be left alone with her wounds, with the absurd love she still harbored for her husband, and Matteo would allow her that without judgment.
She knocked harshly on the door. It swung open before her. Matteo took one look at her and pulled her through the threshold and into his arms.
“
Fiore mio,
tell me,” he said. She pulled back slightly to see his face. One hand released her waist and came up to her cheek, wiping away her tears.
“Not now, Teo. Please. I need time. I need to be alone. There was nowhere else . . .”
Matteo nodded. He helped her from her shoes and coat before showing her to his spare room.
Alone, she cried as she tried to stand up, but landed solid on her knees. Alone, she cried as she crawled to the guest bed and buried herself beneath unfamiliar blankets. Alone, she curled up into the fetal position and wished a hundred wishes that when she awoke the next day the past two months would be nothing more than a terrible dream-or that she wouldn’t wake at all.
Alone, the next morning when she slumped into a dining room chair, eyes fixed on her best friend and worst enemy. Celeste snatched a bottle of wine from the sideboard and uncorked it. Alone, she lifted it to her lips and willed it to take away her thoughts. One swig. Then another and she smiled. Celeste swigged again and chuckled. She raised the bottle to her mouth, taking the wine down in great gulps.
Her body was on fire and she began to feel at ease. There would be no more hiding from Gabriel. No more fear. She was doing the right thing. Inside, Celeste felt happy, at peace, but her body was betraying her. The bottle paused at her mouth as her eyes rested on the photo from their wedding day again, propped on Matteo’s sideboard. Disgust settled in. A tear forced its way out and slid down her cheek. Celeste’s head dropped forward and tears dropped onto her cheeks, then fell onto her legs.