All the World (8 page)

              Lexie finally nodded and allowed herself to be led into the crowded lobby. She felt oddly detached from her body. Her racing heartbeats sounded and felt foreign. There was a ringing in her ears, muffling the sounds of the outside world. By the time she reached her car, Lexie was lightheaded.

Lexie didn’t know how long she sat in the car, staring vacantly at the dashboard. She was in no condition to drive, and it was only when a policeman asked her to move out of the parking lot that she started the engine. Angry drivers were fighting so passionately for parking spaces that Lexie had difficulty leaving.

The weather took on a foul mood once again as Lexie drew closer to Vernon Hills. The small spatters of rain quickly morphed into a downpour. The car’s windshield wipers were going full speed, but Lexie still could barely see. Several times she was forced to stop in the road because of her obscured vision, angering two men in a beige Camry tailgating her. They looked strangely familiar, but Lexie was pleased when they turned onto a side road. When Lexie caught a glimpse of Vernon Hill’s welcome sign in the distance, she breathed a sigh of relief.

What can I take to Flora? Pictures? Books? Jewelry? Flowers? Something to do with Nickolas?

Shouting distracted Lexie. She slowed down and studied a group of people gathered in a clearing at the intersection of Avon Road and Verona Avenue. She recognized Mark Cue immediately with his buzz cut and arrogant swagger. Theodore Rose was also present and appeared to be playing the mediator between Mark and another man. It took Lexie a few moments to realize the other man was Sheriff Cato out of uniform. Lexie rolled down the window slightly and stifled a scream when she saw Sheriff Cato and Mark lift guns.

“Stop! Stop! Put away your guns!” Theodore shouted. “This is illegal! Why do you abuse your office, Cato? Someone will get hurt!”

“A cat has nine lives, but I can take them all with a single bullet,” Mark replied impishly. “Isn’t that right, Cato the
Cat
?”

“I’ll fight you, if that’s what you want!” the sheriff shouted. “You’re nothing but a pack of dogs, a horde of bitches! You call me a cat! Well, cats can tear apart dogs with their claws!”

             
I have to call the police!

The side of the road was covered with thick sludge, so Lexie put the car in park in the middle of the road. She was digging through her purse for her phone when a gunshot pierced the air.

“Did he shoot him?” Lexie’s voice was small as her eyes flew to the clearing.

Before she could get a good look, the growling sound of a speeding car filled her ears. She glanced to her right and screamed.

The familiar beige Camry was zooming toward the passenger side of the Lindegaards’ Mercedes. Lexie got one good look at the two passengers as she struggled with the automatic gear shift. They were the two men who had followed Nickolas and Braedon into the Windsor Bar.

“Oh God! Oh God!” she muttered frantically, hands latching onto the steering wheel as she tried to move forward.

The Camry collided with the side of the car, knocking Lexie against the door and window. She heard a loud pop as her left arm and shoulder hit the slick interior of the car. Glass from the passenger window flew over her face, neck, and arms. The seatbelt slapped against her chest like a whip.

Lexie gasped for air and fought blurred vision. There was a pause in her breathing, then a cough, and finally a dry sob. A surge of nausea churned through her stomach, and Lexie set her lips together to hold back the bile. The pungent scent of burning rubber and fresh smell of rain mingled together, clogging her sinuses.

As her eyes fluttered, Lexie saw figures running around in the clearing. One boy stumbled around clutching his side as his friends hurried to him.

“A plague on both your houses!” the boy’s shout echoed through the rain. “A plague on both your houses!”

Then the curtain of unconsciousness fell over Lexie, and the world faded to black.

Chapter Seven: The Playwright’s Blood

             
Beep, beep, beep, beep…

              The heart monitor fuzzed in and out of focus, and Lexie blinked her eyes several times in an attempt to cure the problem. She felt the cold IV needle in her left arm when she tried to run a hand over her face. Her whole body was sore and her head was aching terribly. She felt as though she had been thrown into a brick wall. How had she managed to get from the car wreck to the hospital?

              Lexie chewed at her lower lip. The two men in the Camry had purposefully caused the crash, she was certain. Despite the heavy rain, there was no way they could have failed to see her in the red Mercedes. What had she ever done to them? They hadn’t even been introduced at the bar, so why did they try to kill her?

              “Is it like a full moon or something? I saw Scott and Lori taking another patient to the psych ward. There won’t be any room left by the end of the week if it continues like this! What’s going on?”

              Two nurses, one blond and the other a brunette, were gossiping in the doorway. Lexie closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

              “No idea, but that man who was screaming about prostitutes died. He went into cardiac arrest, but we couldn’t bring him back. I hate working in the psych ward.”

              “Oh, Mandy! That’s awful! He was on suicide watch too!” the blond nurse replied. “Did you hear about the teenager who was shot? His body was brought to the hospital with the woman in this room.”

              “There’s a rumor that the sheriff in Vernon Hills shot him.”

              Lexie’s eyes flew open, then fluttered shut, and opened again.
Mark died! What happened to the men who crashed into me? Why did they do it?

              The nurse flipped through the stack of files in her arms. “Sean Cato is his name, right? He’s here in a coma in Room 346 and isn’t doing well. I guess they can’t question him. I heard one of the dead teenager’s friends slammed the sheriff’s head into a car, and that’s why he’s in a coma. The police are saying it was a gang fight.”

              “Well, of course they aren’t going to blame the sheriff for this mess. Now, that would be quite the scandal! What happened to her?” asked Mandy, the nurse with brown hair.

              “Her name is Alexandra Stanley, and she was in a car wreck close to where the teenager was shot. The two men in the other car involved died at the site.  I bet they hydroplaned. The weather is so nasty,” answered the blond nurse. “She’s been out for about five hours. Her left arm and shoulder are banged up. A man has been waiting to see her for like three hours. He was visiting some other girl earlier.”

             
Who would wait that long to see me? Mom and Dad live in Oregon. It’s too far for them to be here already. Is the other girl Flora?

Lexie turned the thoughts over in her mind along with the unanswered questions about the men in the beige Camry. Lexie hadn’t even been introduced to them. She remembered Audrey mentioning the names Sig and Gilbert at the riot. Had they been following Nickolas for his parents? Why did they purposefully crash their car into hers? Now they were dead, and she was plagued with thoughts.

              Lexie jumped when a pager went off, and Nurse Mandy hurried away. Lexie turned her head and ran a hand over her face, the IV needle tugging her skin.

              “Ah, you’re awake,” the nurse said, relief palpable in her voice. She came over and placed a stethoscope on Lexie’s chest. “How do you feel?”

              “Groggy…my left shoulder and arm hurt…”

              “You’re lucky nothing is broken. Your left shoulder was dislocated. Do you remember what happened?”

              Lexie nodded. “I was in a car wreck on my way home from taking a friend to the hospital. Have you heard anything about Flora Brookes? She’s in the psych ward. I only left because the doctor told me to bring something to jog her memory. How is she? Flora is my best friend, and I’m so worried about her!”

              “Please calm down, my dear,” soothed the nurse as she checked Lexie’s blood pressure. “I don’t have any information about patients in that ward. However, I can tell you that a man has been waiting hours to see you. Would you like me to send him in?”

              “Sure.”

              The nurse left the room, and Lexie, once again, wondered who would sit around and wait for her to wake up. What if her visitor had some kind of connection to the men in the beige Camry? Could he provide answers to the burning questions in her head?

              Pierre Triste appeared at the door, his black-garbed figure contrasting harshly with the pearly white walls and floor.

              “At last your eyes are open!” Pierre exclaimed, relief spreading over his despondent face.

             
Well, this is unexpected.

              “Hello…” Lexie said tentatively. “I’m surprised to see you. I thought you’d be busy with theatre stuff. Have you seen Flora? How is she? How did you know I was in the hospital? ”

              “I saw Flora earlier, and she is in a sad state.” Pierre fiddled with the hem of his shirt. The relief on his face vanished and was replaced by panic. “The legend is true! I’ve seen the transformations! People are changing in Vernon Hills!”

              “Changing how? What legend? Who changed? What is going on?” questions bubbled rapidly from Lexie’s lips. “What has happened to Flora? What are people transforming—”

              Lexie fell silent and thought about the bizarre behavior of some of the Vernon Hills residents. Ben and Bryony had done a complete 180. Giulia had gone from being a rebellious teenager to an infatuated fiancé. Flora had certainly thrown Lexie for a loop. 

              “You see it too, don’t you?” asked Pierre, eyes wide and round. “You know what’s happening.”

              “I know that people are acting really, really bizarre, but I have no clue why. Is it the moon? Was some chemical released into the air? Is the water in Vernon Hills contaminated?”

              “It’s a curse,” Pierre whispered. “It’s a curse created by the Great Bard. A curse as powerful as the one written on his grave.”

             
Great. He’s lost it too. Am I the only sane person?
Lexie shifted, wincing as pain shot through her shoulder, to get a better look at Pierre. “What are you talking about?”

              Pierre pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Lexie.

              The paper turned out to be a photograph of a stone grave. A four line epitaph was chiseled into the worn stone slab. Lexie brought the picture closer to her face as she struggled to make out the writing. She frowned at the odd spellings and archaic language.

              “In modern English, it reads,” began Pierre softly, “‘Good friend for Jesus sake forbear to dig the dust enclosed here. Blessed be the man that spares these stones and cursed be he that moves my bones.’ It is the epitaph on William Shakespeare’s grave in Holy Trinity Church.”

              Lexie pushed the picture back into Pierre’s trembling hands. “Are you saying that Shakespeare put a curse on Vernon Hills? The town didn’t even exist when he was alive. Anyway, who could move his bones with all the security at that church? I remember Flora complaining about how Holy Trinity Church was swamped with tourists when she visited. Do you really think someone could get away with a dead man’s decaying skeleton?”

              “Lexie, listen to me before you continue scoffing.”

              She raised her eyebrows in surprise at the man’s unexpectedly sharp tone. “Okay.”

              “There is a myth claiming that William Shakespeare had five keys made of brass and his own blood. One key is buried with him in Stratford-Upon-Avon, three were given to his legitimate children, and one was passed on to his bastard daughter,” began Pierre. “I am a descendant of his illegitimate daughter.”

              “So, you have a key?” guessed Lexie.             

              Pierre held up his hand. “I do have one, but you must understand the past before we venture into the present. When Shakespeare had these keys created, he placed a curse on them by mixing in his blood. Specific details are in a letter.”

              Lexie fought down a grin. “I thought Shakespeare was a writer, not a wizard. He wrote plays and poems, not magic spells. Even I know that.”

              “Ah, but some would call what he writes magic,” whispered Pierre. “With his ink and quill, William Shakespeare penned words that are immortal. Think of Hamlet’s profound soliloquies and Romeo and Juliet’s nocturnal professions of love.”

              “How does Shakespeare’s…curse affect Vernon Hills?”

              “As I said before, five keys were created, and one is buried with Shakespeare. The other four belong to his descendants. However, the keys must either remain in Holy Trinity Church or serve a purpose in a theatre, otherwise a curse will fall upon the town where the key’s owner resides. Mine was used to control the clock in the tower of the Stratford Theatre. As the Irish proverb goes, ‘Time is a good storyteller.’”

              Lexie nodded. “So, your key isn’t serving a function in a theatre anymore—”

              “And now the curse has fallen upon Vernon Hills!” Pierre exclaimed dramatically.

              “Why did he create the curse in the first place? What’s the point?”

              Pierre closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Shakespeare explained everything in a letter. He feared that a time would come when all playhouses would be shut down and art would be censored by corrupted governments. He wanted to make certain that creativity and art—I imagine in whatever form—would always remain in this world. Can you envision a world without imagination?”

              “And where is this letter?” Lexie asked as tremors of concern and skepticism squirmed in her chest.
I’m just curious. I don’t believe this nonsense.

              “Carefully cared for in Stratford-Upon-Avon,” answered Pierre and his voice grew panic-stricken. “But my key is gone! I was told that the theatre was getting destroyed the day before, but I was banned from entering. I told Mayor MacDougal I needed to retrieve a personal item, but he said he no longer had the authority to grant me access. The only person who could was Cesare Garland, and, of course, the vile man refused! A day later, just as the curse threatens, I noticed people changing in Vernon Hill. Residents are speaking in archaic dialects, spouting off poetry, and taking on the fates of Shakespeare’s characters!”

              Lexie’s heart was pounding and her head spinning. It was impossible what Pierre was saying. Curses didn’t exist except in fiction. He sounded crazy. Yet, something inside her believed him. Lexie had seen the changes in people. Her best friend was singing rhymes. Lexie remembered a boy shouting a line from
Romeo and Juliet
before she had blacked out.

              “A plague on both your houses,” she murmured.

              Pierre’s eyes were intense. “Why do you quote Mercutio?”

              Lexie snapped out of her reverie. “Those were the last words I heard before passing out.”

              “It was Mark Cue before he died.”

              “Why haven’t you changed? Why haven’t I changed?” Lexie asked.

              “As a descendant of Shakespeare, I am immune. However, I personally believe my disposition is that of Jacques from
As You Like It
. My curse is to watch the madness unfold. I suppose a deeper meaning is attached to the famous ‘All the world’s a stage’ monologue.” Pierre thought for a moment. “You haven’t officially changed your residency have you?”

              “No,” Lexie replied. “I want to do it next week.”

              “I suppose you are spared because you are not yet a true resident of Vernon Hills. You must help me! Please! You are the only whose mind is still her own!”

              Lexie touched her face, feeling cuts and bruises on her cheeks. “I’m in the hospital, Pierre. I’m wearing nothing but a hospital gown.”

              “I’m sure your clothes are around here somewhere.”

              “If the doctors decide that I can leave, I want to see Flora. My friend comes first.”

              Pierre nodded. “I expected to hear nothing less from you.”

              “Alright, I’ll try to help you,” Lexie stated.
Do I actually believe him? This is insane! How hard did I hit my head?

              “Thank you.” Pierre stood and went to fetch a doctor, leaving Lexie alone to battle her thoughts.

              Black spots clouded Lexie’s vision. She knew she wasn’t well enough to leave the hospital, but Lexie wasn’t one who enjoyed being confined to one room. She was growing more restless by the minute. What was happening outside the hospital walls? Things had been crazy before the crash, but, according to Pierre, all hell had broken loose in Vernon Hills.

              “Ms. Stanley, how do you feel?” A tall doctor with a stethoscope draped over his neck sauntered into the room.