The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(80)

“This is the one other thing I can give you,” her father said tiredly, pulling at a silver chain which encircled his neck and holding up a small key. “There is a glass cabinet in my laboratory. It is always closed. That is where I store my journals and all the notes on my research. I’ve kept secrets from you but will not any longer. I need to rest now. I’ll feel better afterward.”

She clutched both the key and the letter between her hands and watched as her father closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow.

She stood up, dizzy with an awful mixture of emotions. Lupe had turned to look in her direction again and threw her a questioning glance. She remembered what she’d said, that Carlota cried too easily, and she brushed the back of her hand against her eyes.

“Carlota, I’ll keep watch over him. You and Lupe go to sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours,” Montgomery offered.

Her first instinct was to say no. She feared her father might die during the night and she would not be there when it happened. But she also feared she would be next to him when his demise took place. Despite the fact that she had stayed in the house for his sake, she now wished to run away so that she did not witness the terrible event.

“Yes, I think, I’ll retire,” Carlota said.

Lupe accompanied her out of the room. They walked side by side, and Carlota leaned on Lupe as they stepped into the hallway; she could hardly see where she was going. “Lupe, what will I do if he dies?”

“Loti, I’m sorry,” Lupe said, her fingers running through Carlota’s hair. “I know you love him.”

“I do. I can’t help it. And he’s sick and…God, I’m afraid,” Carlota admitted. “I want to cry and cry and nothing helps. I tried to drink and I tried…Lupe, I’m scared.”

Each hour of the day was laced with anxiety. The dread pressed against her lungs, making it hard to breathe, and she was terrified of so many things, even of herself.

“Don’t be scared and don’t cry. I came back, right? You’re a milksop, Loti, and you’d die of fright without me. It’s fine, you silly coward.”

Carlota’s lips trembled, but when she looked at Lupe she managed a smile. “You’re not making it any better by insulting me.”

“You’re a crying, annoying baby.”

“Oh, you’re bad,” Carlota said, giving Lupe a little shove, and Lupe shoved her back. This was how they played. Lupe pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around Carlota’s waist. They stood still.

Carlota took a deep breath. “I think I’ll go to the laboratory tomorrow,” she whispered, opening her hand and looking at the key.





Chapter 26


    Montgomery


He thought about drinking the whole day. From the moment Carlota relieved him and took his place at the doctor’s side to the morning, when he washed his face and had his breakfast, to the hour when the sun was highest in the sky and he opened the pens so the chickens and the pigs could roam free. He thought about it as he dabbed at the sweat on his forehead and before he lay down for a nap, with his arm pressed across his eyes.

Granted, it hadn’t been that long since he’d had a drink, but he wanted another and another. He wanted to be stinking drunk because he was nervous and he was upset, and alcohol had always been his trusty friend.

He thought about Cachito and wondered where he was and felt his gut churning. Then he pictured Lizalde’s men banging at the doors, and he selfishly wished Dr. Moreau would perish within the next five minutes so the three of them could run off. He hadn’t lied when he told Cachito he wasn’t especially interested in dying. Not from a bullet or a knife. If that had been the case, he would have gotten himself into a fight years ago and would have been happy to end his days in a pool of blood.

No, stupid masochist that he was, he had intended to die slowly and quietly.

He wanted to drink because whenever the world was bitter the alcohol muffled the pain, and he wanted to slip away for a bit. But he couldn’t now, not with the way things were. He felt damn low that day, and he really would have liked to polish off a bottle all alone in his room. Instead he sent it flying out the window, to crash against the ground.

Dear Fanny, it’s not the best time to be sober, he thought. His long letters to his former wife were now turning into telegrams.

It was nearly dusk when he found Carlota in the laboratory, leaning over one of the long tables, books and papers spread all around her. He carefully brushed a book aside and placed the bowl of rice and beans on the table and the mug filled with coffee next to it. Rather than looking for more aguardiente, he’d made himself useful and ventured into the kitchen. He had never been a good cook and appreciated Ramona’s abilities to render tasty treats for all of them.

The dish he’d conjured was probably deficient despite its simplicity, yet it was what he could manage, and Lupe had at least appreciated the coffee that he’d brewed.

“I thought you and Lupe would want supper,” he said.

The young woman raised her head and stared at him but did not reply.

“You can’t be here in the dark, you’ll strain your eyes. Let me light the lamp.”

“I can see in the dark,” she said, her voice flat.

“Carlota?” he asked cautiously. “Are you well?”