Changing Faces

A little less than a week later, Kim is propped up in a hospital bed in one of the rooms of Amber’s apartment. When Amber had returned to the space it had been the first time she’d stepped foot in it since the business with Len. He’d attempted to be apologetic and humble until she touched a nerve and he revealed the real him. The man had wanted to fix things purely so he could still have access to her money, not because he loved her. She’d stormed out and swore she’d never go back there. But after Kim’s diagnosis Amber had returned. After all, it is her apartment. To her surprise Len was gone, along with some of the more valuable art pieces that had decorated the space. She couldn’t care less, and if that is all it’s going to cost her she’ll gladly pay that price. Especially, when the pieces he’s walked away with, in the context of her art collection, are worth almost nothing. Plus, hold no particular significance to her past aesthetic. They were simply art for decoration in her home, not for any reason other than that.

Her most valuable pieces are on loan to this gallery or that museum. After all, art is to be shared and Amber sees little reason to keep it locked up in some warehouse, or a room that might as well be a warehouse, where only she’d have the pleasure to see it, likely only every so often at that. In her eyes that would be a waste for everyone.

Kim can’t move out of the bed and as the days tick by she is losing increasingly more control over her body. The links connecting her limbs control to her mind continuing to fray and snap, just as the doctor informed her that they would. As a result of that Amber has hired a staff of carers to give Kim around the clock attention and while she searches for anyone or anything that might give the blonde woman a shred of hope for survival.

At last, Amber thinks she might have found someone. Her name is Doctor Esmeralda Cranston and she has been referred to Amber through a string of highly respected names in the science community. Each has assured the multi-billionaire that if anyone can save Kimberley Kilter then it is her. Apparently, Doctor Cranston has spent the last eight years of her life in constant pursuit of perfecting some revolutionary procedure that could rid humanity of all ailments, forever.

Kim, and if she was honest with herself Amber too, thought this too good to be true but with time running out, Amber had managed to persuade Kim that there would be no harm in talking to the doctor. Eventually, Kim had relented and given her blessing for a meeting to be set and now that day has come.

Amber checks her watch, an antique of little value, which was given to her by her now long departed grandfather. It was a watch he wore everyday of his life, until he gifted it to her, and as a result looks too large on her slender wrist. Yet she wouldn’t exchange it for anything in the world. It holds sentimental value, the kind that can never be replaced nor forgotten. If only the same could be said for Kim who has continued to exhibit signs that prove her mind is decaying. Not just in its ability to control her body but also recall details that should be simple, if not for the presence of the disorder she has been diagnosed with. Amber can’t pronounce it. The moniker is too long and convoluted for her tongue to attempt. Though, she knows it when she sees or hears it.

Suddenly the doorbell to Amber’s penthouse apartment rings. The sound is that of a gong. A soft unobtrusive noise that Amber wishes she heard more than she does. And that is even with the carers who buzz, to be given admittance, whenever there is a shift change.

Amber has offered, on more than one occasion, to let them stay after Kim has suffered a particularly difficult day or night, but thus far they had all declined the offer with perhaps more respect than they should have. It’s the sort of deference that Amber has long come accustomed to when the extent of her fortune becomes known. It’s yet another one of the reasons she has come to hate her wealth as deeply as she does. That is why in her Will the bulk of her money will be going to charity. They will be able to do real good with it. Not the time for this, get the door! She hears her voice declare in her head. The exclamation has the desired effect as the green haired woman quickly strides across the light grey carpet that runs through much of her home toward the door.

As soon as she reaches the stained black wood of her door and the vertical handle she grabs a hold and with a quick squeeze of the handle releases the lock as she pulls. The motion is fluid and requires no though, while the door on its cushioned hinges makes no noise as it swings open, other than that caused by the displacement of air around it.

In the doorway Amber finds a diminutive woman in her late fifties with black hair bunched up in a clip as well as a very professional but cheap looking suit.

“Doctor Cranston, here to see Miss Kelter.” Esmeralda says as her introduction and while pushing her overly thin rimmed glasses back up her nose and toward her dull green eyes.

“Welcome doctor. I’m Amber. We spoke on the phone. Do come in.” The green haired woman makes sure to play the good host, not that she has much experience of doing so.

“Oh really you’re Amber. Not what I expected at all, but thank you.” Esmeralda replies shuffling across the threshold allowing Amber to close the door and re-engage the lock with another squeeze of the vertical metal handle, which has a scanner embedded into it.

Amber is once more the only hand recognised by the technology. She removed Len’s profile as soon as she returned to the apartment to get it ready for Kim’s arrival. The only reason Kim’s print isn’t stored is the result of the blonde woman being unable to walk. If she still possessed such capabilities it would be. That is not to say that Amber did not offer, she did, but Kim had reasoned that it was pointless. To be fair Amber did see her point, but still had felt it had been right to offer.

Why Kim hasn’t begun to forget who Amber is the green haired woman cannot say. She would have considered a neurological condition detrimental to short-term memory first, but for whatever reason that has not been the case. Now Doctor Cranston, a most peculiar woman Amber would have to admit, is here she feels a little relieved. Not because this has all become too much for Amber, it hasn’t. She loves having Kim here. It’s just it’s good to have someone present who sounds as though she has an understanding of Kim’s condition.

“Kim is straight through Doctor.” Amber advises after catching sight Doctor Cranston’s ever turning head. It’s as though the diminutive woman was looking for where to go within the large open living space of the apartment that is Amber’s penthouse.

“Quite a view you have here.” Esmeralda says attempting to make small talk, which is not her thing normally but which she is attempting to partake in purely because it is something different.

“Why thank you, I think so too.” Amber replies as she quickly whisks past the diminutive doctor and then guides her toward Kim. It takes only seconds now that Amber is in the lead for them to reach their goal. Yet, Amber is convinced that had she not so then this Doctor Cranston may have been aimlessly meandering for a good several minutes, and what would have been the point in that? None is the answer, which is why Amber did not leave her to do such a thing.

“And you must be Miss Kelter. Hello.” Doctor Cranston says with a slightly odd smile that in no way suits the woman, but regardless Kim answers it with a smile of her own. When Kim smiles it looks natural, unlike Esmeralda’s which was appeared forced and practised. Kim already gets the feeling this is going to prove to be a waste of time and yet is acutely aware that Amber was never going to take no for an answer, and thus far hasn’t.

In the days following her awakening in hospital, Kim had cried. The reality of impending death hit her some hours later and seemingly out of the blue, in her eyes. But she hadn’t been alone. Ashe and Ben had been present. Amber having already shot off to make arrangements for Kim’s discharge into her care and what accommodation, at that time Kim had no inkling or clue as to the sort of place Amber lived in, would become her home for the remainder of whatever days she would have left. Fran and Harold had gone with Amber. Both were concerned for the woman and didn’t think her actions were at all in character with the person they knew. Well, only Fran knew Amber really, at least enough to judge. Harold had only met her a few times previously and so did not feel he could confidently say whether or not her actions were in-keeping. Until Francesca had assured him that they were not.

“Hello Doctor.” Kim replies with a quiet voice. She studies the small woman before her who seems a perfect fit for what, look-wise, Amber had detailed to her. Yet, Amber had not shown Kim a picture of this woman, Esmeralda Cranston. Kim thinks she recalls that her name being but isn’t wholly sure. You can’t call her that. You have to call her Doctor, Kim reminds herself only to feel more exhausted as a result.

“I should leave you to it Doctor Cranston. Would you like a drink before I go?” Amber says playing the good host.

“You don’t have to leave.” Kim assures a second before Esmeralda states, “No I’m fine thank you, but I will need some time alone with Miss Kelter so that’s very good of you to offer.”

Amber’s response is a quick forced half-smile. Then she catches the worried look in Kim’s eyes and winks. She doesn’t know why but it seems to have the desired effect as Kim nods, smiles and then turns her attention to Doctor Cranston just as she utters some question that Amber doesn’t catch during her withdrawal.

Sadly, Amber gets only a few paces before the familiar gong of her doorbell rings. Her brow furrows and she wonders who this might be. Amber refuses to delay to consider however. Rather, she quickly and deftly strides over to her door. Instead of simply grabbing the handle and opening the door, this time she swipes her hand over a section of the stained wood which unravels a micron thick film. Doing so gives her a glimpse of who is on the other side. Immediately, her blood boils and she feels her left fist clench tightly. The long nails dig into the soft flesh of the palm of her hand. Just ignore it, she tells herself ready to spin about on her short heels and stride off when the gong chimes again. For the first time in all her time in this apartment she laments that doorbell. He’ll go away. Will he? Amber thinks instigating an argument with herself that she immediately regrets. After all, it’s not herself who she is angry with but the man on the other side of the door, her soon to be ex-husband, the cheater, the liar, the scumbag gold-digger.

The gong rings for a third time before she manages to complete her fourth step, which she never completes. Rather, she takes deep inhales and exhales of breath trying to calm herself as she stands now rooted to the spot. He won’t go away. You know that. He’ll just keep ringing. Bastard!

Amber spins on her heels for a second time and takes three steps so that she is back at her front door. She grabs a hold of the handle, waits for the lock to release and then wrenches it open furiously.

“Why are you here?” Are the words that Amber spits out as she glares, her rage barely in check, at her husband Len Powers. He looks better than she would like him too and that only annoys her more, as does him standing there with that almost ever-present cocky expression of his. It’s the sort of look that screams he fancies himself and knows all women around him do to. It had never bothered her before, but now she finds it loathsome and stomach churning.

“I live here.” Is his cocksure reply in the moments before he tries to step forward over the threshold and into the apartment, Amber’s apartment. She bought it and paid the balance outright via a transfer with but a small fraction of the fortune she’s accrued.

“No you don’t you cheating shit! I live here. This is my house. My home. You were a guest and you’re not welcome anymore.” Amber is surprised she hasn’t hit Len yet. She’d like to. But if she did she wouldn’t stop at one hit or two or three. She’d keep going, or would like to, until his face could never be considered attractive again. It’s what he deserves but she doubts that even if she did allow herself to do such a thing that she’d be able to manage it. Plus, it wouldn’t be worth the jail time and giving him the chance at getting some of her money. It’s why she intends to keep her fists, both of which are now balled tightly, to herself.

“We’re married. What’s yours is mine, remember?”

“Not anymore. Now fuck off before I call building security and have you ejected.” Amber sneers as the threat passes her lips. It’s not an empty threat and they both know it.

Len doesn’t say anything in response to that. Rather, he attempts to barge his way in, pretending he hasn’t heard her.

Amber had been waiting for that and so slams the heavy wooden door, which has a thick plate of metal in the middle, back at his face. Len reacts too slow and is smacked in the face by the door, which sends him staggering backward out into the lobby area that has nothing but two elevators and an emergency stairwell that goes up to the roof and down to the ground floor encase of a building fire.

“You bitch!” He screams with his hands up cradling his mouth and jaw. They bore the brunt of the strike.

Amber ignores his insult and having created her own opportunity, slams the apartment door shut, enables the lock and then places a call to security in the lobby for assistance. They react immediately and, truth be told, had shadowed Len, without orders encase he did anything dumb, and so were ready to strike. Within seconds they bundle him into one of the elevators. It’s the last Amber will see of her husband and she’s relieved by the prospect.

Good riddance is the principle thought that goes through her head. Though, she would be remiss if she didn’t admit that the sight of Len, bleeding from the mouth because of a split lip and broken tooth, being dragged away by two very burly security guys filled her with a great deal of satisfaction.