Milo...Fanny

        By Pattie Lawler

 

 

            Fanny slammed her bedroom door with enough force to knock the candlesticks out of the wall sconces. Milo cast the battered candles the briefest glance before raising his fist to pound the wooden barrier. The sound of straining leather was enough to recall his position as her guardian and with a deep breath, he lowered his hand, forcing it to unclench.

            “Fanny,” he said with as much control as he could muster.

            “Just leave me alone!”

            “I would rather discuss—”

            “There’s nothing to discuss, is there? You made your point!”

            He heard a crash as she threw something and then the echoing howl before she buried her face in a pillow, muffling the sound. His gaze sank to the doorknob, and his fingers twitched with the desire to test and see if it was locked.

            “I could snap it off,” he softly growled, envisioning his booted foot splintering the flimsy barrier.

            The image was enough.

            He spun, strode to the elevator, and forcibly restrained himself from pushing the button through the mechanism. The chime, a moment later, was too chipper by half. Still growling, he punched the floor for the fitness center.

            As the doors rolled closed, he pressed his forehead onto the cold, brass wall and glared at his reflection.

            “I was a teenager, too. My parents wanted to shake to me, too. She’s only thirteen. She’s only thirteen! She doesn’t understand.”

            This thought gave him pause. Perhaps it wasn’t her. Yes, he had indeed endured the same growing pains, but it had been a different time. And he had had Beth to help him over the difficult times. Fanny had only him.

Her pigheaded, puritanical, overprotective...uncle.

            “Fanny, Fanny,” he whispered, his hand tightening to a fist to gently pound the wall. “Albany, I need you. Help me, please. I don’t want to do this alone!”

            The chime warned him to preserve appearances and he stood back. Entering the gym, he made for Simon’s office.

            Simon looked up from a folder on his desk as Milo strode to his locker.

            “Everything okay, boss?”

            Yanking the locker open, Milo stripped his gloves off, threw them onto the shelf, worked his tie lose, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Flipping the folder closed, Simon rose and pushed the door closed.       “I’m guessin’ that’s a no.”

            Milo pulled his shirt tails from his pants and continued stripping.

            Simon cleared his throat. “I had an email from Miss Wendel. Seems she also has a personal trainer and was wondering about using the facilities here.”

            “I haven’t asked her to move in yet,” Milo muttered, throwing a boot onto the floor of the locker with a satisfying metallic boom. “Not that I think it’ll be a problem.” He began redressing. Simon pulled a clipboard off the back of the door and flipped through the pages. Milo watched him out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t you even say it. You know I’ve been busy.”

            “Exercising muscles you haven’t used in years.”

            Milo laughed so hard he doubled over. “Was that kind?”

            Simon cracked a smile as he slivered the door open to slip out. “Meet me at the heavy bag.”

   <0>        

            Forty minutes later, the hotel manager, Jerry Farley, looking ashen and slick with sweat, rushed to Milo’s side.

            “Mr. Scarlet, Miss Wendel called an ambulance. She tried to reach your cell—”

            Both Milo and Simon stiffened and moved closer.

            “Miss Wendel found Fanny unconscious—”

            Milo was halfway to the elevator when his eyes refocused.

            “The EMTs will have the express,” Simon rumbled.

            “We’ll use my pass,” Farley replied, pointing to the open, waiting elevator.

            They piled in. Farley slipped his pass card into the controls and pushed the button for the penthouse. Milo spent the short ride willing the elevator to move faster, his eyes locked on the ceiling and his rooms beyond.

            As the doors opened on the kitchen, Milo forced himself through the widening opening, Simon on his heels.

            “ALBANY!” Milo bellowed, running for Fanny’s room.

            The penthouse was empty.

            Farley lifted his lapel to speak into a concealed mike, his other hand pressed to his ear. “The EMTs have left the lobby.”

            They ran for the express.

            “I want these elevators wired! I’m sick of this loss of reception,” Milo growled as the doors closed.

            “I’ll speak to the elevator company tonight,” Farley agreed.

            Simon dug in his hip pocket and extracted a pair of leather gloves which he silently offered Milo. “Miss Wendel has a good head on her shoulders.”

            “Hmm? Oh. Yes. Yes, she does.”         

            In the lobby, a uniformed officer jerked into motion the instant he saw Milo. “I have orders to take you to Mercy, Mr. Scarlet.”

   <0>

            Running into the emergency room, Milo frantically searched for Albany. Simon marched up to reception and was directed to the double doors that swung open as the nurse slapped a massive button.

            Milo ran through and dashed for the billowing curtain the nurse pointed to.

            “Fanny!” He lunged for his niece.

            Standing beside the bed, a hand frantically petting Fanny’s hair, Albany looked up as they entered. Both women were as white as paper, but Fanny was clearly unconscious. “Milo,” Albany whispered as her strength gave out, and her knees buckled.

            Simon caught her around the waist, dragging a chair over by hooking his foot around its leg. “Have a seat, Miss Wendel.”

            Slipping down, Albany pointed to the box at Fanny’s feet. “I...found...”

            Milo recognized the box without opening it. “Drink Me.”

            “The contents were left with Lawrence,” Simon said, reaching for Fanny’s chart and his cell phone.

            “She...filled it with water. There was a puddle on the carpet. They pumped her stomach. Oh...Milo.” Albany dissolved into tears, a visibly shaking hand to her lips. “She was just laying there! I thought she was asleep! I thought...oh my God!”

            “It’s alright, Miss Wendel,” Simon said, his hand on her trembling shoulder and his cell pressed to his ear. “You did the right thing. Can I use your phone?”

            Albany leaned forward enough to catch the bottom of her purse and dump the contents onto the bed. Simon plucked the phone from the pile. Dialing, he scooped the purse up and refilled it.

            “Farley? Simon. I need you to go to the penthouse.” He picked up the cedar box as he slipped past the curtains, his voice fading as he walked away. “Lawrence, what’s the status...”

            “This is my fault,” Milo whispered. “We had a fight.” Digging his arms into the bed around her, he lifted Fanny, hugging her to his chest, his hand supporting her head. “Fanny, Fanny, what have I done?” He rocked her, his face buried in her hair as he continued to call her name.

            Albany thought to give them a moment alone and heaved herself to her feet, relying heavily on the bed. “I need to find the doctor.”

            “Don’t leave me!” Milo cried, his voice muffled by his position at Fanny’s neck.

            Surprised, Albany paused. A lone black eye, wild with fear, was watching her from the cloud of hair. “Oh Milo,” she breathed, and her weakness disappeared in the face of his need. She hurried around the bed to blanket his back. “Oh, my love. My poor love.” She kissed his back as he convulsively swallowed.

            “Don’t leave me, Albany.”

            “I’ll stay. I promise. I’m here, Milo.”

            “Boss, the doctor’s here.”

            Albany released him, moving back to the chair as Milo gently lowered Fanny onto the pillows. He passed a hand over his face and turned.

            “Mr. Scarlet,” the woman who pushed the curtain aside extended her hand. “Janice Robertson. I understand you’re Fanny’s guardian.”

            “Her uncle.” He shook and released her hand.

            Dr. Robertson nodded, taking the chart Simon held out to her.

            “Simon Ruelle is our physician,” Milo gestured to the silent man.

            “Do you have any idea what happened?”

            Milo nodded, explaining the argument, the origin of the bottle and its assumed contents. “I have a lab in England working on the chemical composition of the liquid. My fiancée, Albany,” he again gestured, “says Fanny filled the empty bottle with water. It appears the residual liquid was potent enough…” His voice faded with his color. He leaned on the bed even as Simon hurried over with another chair.

            “Mr. Scarlet, if the bottle was indeed Lewis Carroll’s,” Dr. Robertson mused, “the assumption has to be that he wasn’t about to harm his guests. It’s true that we don’t know how time has affected the compound, but the basic components must simply induce sleep and dreams. Owing to the time period, I would say it’s most likely an herbal mixture in brandy...a tincture. What we need to know is which herbs.

“I’ve examined Fanny. Her muscles are unresponsive, her breathing and heart rate are irregular. All indications are that she is indeed asleep, but in a REM atonia sleep.” Milo jerked upright. “What I suggest we do is monitor her while she sleeps off whatever it is she drank—”

“I want her moved to a private room immediately,” Milo said, his tone brooking no argument as he stood.

Dr. Robertson’s eyebrows rose. “You’ll have you discuss that with admissions.”

But Milo wasn’t listening; he hadn’t paused in giving orders. “Simon! I want an update on where Lawrence is in the process and get Farley back on the phone. I want Six Hammers, NOW!”

  <0>

They rolled a second bed into the room and placed it tight to the bed Fanny occupied. As further preparations were being made, Milo used the time to redress in a suit, brought from the penthouse by Farley, while listening to Lawrence on speaker phone.

“Robertson was close,” Lawrence said. “The solvent was sherry, not just brandy, and aside from hemlock and belladonna, the bulk of the botanicals seem to be mushrooms. We’re just having a hard time nailing down which ones owing to their chemical alteration during the distillation process.”

“But you’re thinking she’s in no danger from the mixture.”

“Frankly, yes. I agree with Robertson. Carroll clearly wasn’t above drugging, but I can’t see him poisoning someone.”

“You checked the database for a flying ointment made of mushrooms?”

“For any mushrooms! They’re just not as common as you’d suspect. Either that, or no one would write down that they used them out of fear. Joe’s looking through a stillroom database, to double check.” Lawrence sighed. “The bottom line is, Fanny’s currently stoned off her ass and will come around in her own good time.”

Milo was silent, digesting this before he too sighed. “Okay. Keep Simon posted.”

“Will do, boss.”

Closing the phone, he found Albany watching him. “Lawrence created an on-line library of the recipes in the herbals my father collected. I told him to check for any matches. He hasn’t found any and has Joe checking stillroom records. Yes, they’re primarily the same thing, but more modern. We could get lucky.”

“And you think the drug might be based on a witch’s flying ointment?”

Milo shrugged. “I want my niece back. There’s no straw I won’t grasp at.”

“Including Somnia?”

“Especially Somnia.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“I expected no less.”

Simon joined them, his attention on the several monitors attached to Fanny. “I’m ready when you are.”

Milo swept his arm out, offering Albany a place on the vacant bed.

“I expect a spike in outputs when Miss Fanny becomes aware of your presence,” Simon said, helping Albany up. “I’ll use that as my baseline. Should anything subsequent exceed that spike, I’m going to pull you apart.”

“Assuming that contact’s enough.” Milo said, joining Albany and peeling off a glove. They both lay on their sides, facing Fanny, and held out a finger for Simon to slip a heart monitor on.

“One last thing, boss.”

Milo looked up.

“Assuming Somnia can get you in, you might see things that—”

Milo held up his free hand. “I know what you’re going to say. I checked my ego at the door.”

“We’ll do our best to blend,” Albany offered, taking Fanny’s hand. Milo, too, wrapped his gloved hand around Fanny’s. Simon opened the box housing Six Hammers and set it on the bed below their hands.

“I love you,” Albany whispered.

Milo kissed the back of her head and lowered their hands onto the blade’s broadside.

  <0>

Somnia stood before them, dressed as Octavian.

“Your niece is beyond my reach, by means I cannot fathom.”

“But you can help us look for her?” Milo insisted and reached for her hand.

Somnia smiled, dipping her head as she slipped her hand in his. “I will do my best.”

With that contact, they were transported to a plain of pale gray mist and clouds. A dark speck on the horizon naturally drew their attention. Milo nodded at the object and took a step toward it, and they suddenly stood below a massive tree house.

“This was in the movie Sense and Sensibility,” Albany said, looking up at the palatial play room.

“I’m sure we’ll encounter countless movie references,” Milo murmured, reaching for the rope ladder.

And they were standing in the main room of the tree house. The interior paneling was all blonde wood, glowing softly in the light of a massive chandelier, hung high in the cathedral ceiling.

“Okay,” Milo whispered. “This was unexpected.”

Before them was a younger version of Fanny, working the keys, pedals, and stops of a colossal pipe organ that was greatly diminished, as if by distance, to fit the wall it occupied.

“Does Fanny play the organ?” Albany wondered aloud.

“She played the piano until she decided it was boring.”

This younger Fanny, while hard at work, was producing not a sound. She reached to pull out a stop that was over shoulder height, and they all saw she wore white, leather gloves.

Albany felt the infinitesimal withdrawal of Milo’s hand in hers, and she squeezed, smiling at him. “I’ll talk to her.”

Together, they drew close, and Albany crouched to meet Fanny’s eyes.

“Fanny?”

“Francis.”

“Francis, it’s Albany.”

Fanny pulled out another stop, and Albany’s voice, as a sustained note, filled the room.

The sound was deafening.

Albany and Milo cried out, but Somnia waved her hand, and the sound disappeared.

“Wow. Thank you,” Milo breathed, shaking his head.

Albany seemed to be reeling, but her gaze swept the organ before she brought her attention back to Fanny. “Francis? How many inches are you at?”

“Inches?” Milo snapped.

Albany held up a hand to silence him. “Francis?”

Fanny flashed a glance at a quivering gauge on the organ’s front. “Forty inches.”

“Forty! You know, Francis, you could hurt yourself with that much pressure.”

Fanny reached for another stop, and Albany caught her hand. Fanny jerked free. The pipes of the organ were suddenly tubes of green, glowing water, each containing a limp body.

“This is nice and Matrix,” Milo murmured, falling for the distraction.

Fanny snatched the nearest stop out, and Albany was suddenly alone at the top of a mountainous, orange sand dune.

 

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