Chương 28: Act 1, Chapter 28: Good doctor

Day in the story: 3rd October (Friday) My body hurt again. Without the makeup and body paint, the bruises returned and the dark blooms risen back to the surface. They traced across my ribs and left shoulder; deep in color and deeper in ache. I felt like crap, but I needed them there. Covering them up would only slow the healing, confuse the signals my body was sending me. I had to let them show, feel them fully, so I could mend with precision. I wasn't thrilled, of course, about any of it.

Especially not about being on a list, a list with nine names, the fake one I used carved into it as well. Nine people. And I knew next to nothing about this crowd. No motives, no commonalities, no pattern and that unease curled under my skin. Thankfully, Mr. Penrose had worked fast. Overnight, he'd already managed to identify two of them, cross-referencing the time I gave him with surveillance footage from a street cams his inside man had access to. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Today, I was skipping class again. Academic integrity could wait, I had people to find. And for that, I needed to become someone else. Jess Hare wouldn't cut it. Not while Shiroi remained a question mark I hadn't yet punctuated. Gertrude Monkey would have to do. In her skin, I felt most like the criminal I had been raised to become by a vicious crime lord. I started with the freckles, blurring most of them until they were just a faint dusting across my nose and cheeks. A whisper instead of a statement.

Then I re-sculpted my face with careful strokes of contour and shadow, sharpening the jawline, tightening the cheekbones. I built someone colder in the mirror. Someone who did not smile without cause. Blue contact lenses replaced the warm hazel of my real eyes. The new color wasn't just cold, it was piercing. Detached and analytical. Then came the wig: light brown, short, uneven at the ends like it had been chopped with impatience. A style that didn't ask for compliments—just efficiency.

I padded my bra to further alter my silhouette, more angular now, more assertive. It felt performative, like wearing a frame over my own shape, but necessary. Gertrude wasn't soft. She didn't ask for room. She took it. But this time, I tried something different. Gertrude Monkey had been invented to be a mask, a character I stepped into, gesture by gesture, phrase by phrase. But did I really need to act anymore, I could just be. I stood still, fully dressed and focused.

Not on the outfit, or the bruises, or the plan, but on identity itself. Be Gertrude Monkey, I thought with crisp intent. The change wasn't physical, there was no shift in muscle or breath, but it was unmistakable anyway. I felt my Authority ripple inward. The Persona stopped being a shell and became a center. In an instant, I was the person I'd imagined.

Those two names had something in common with Alexandra May, three things, actually. Or rather, three bloody people. They'd all met with Eveline de Marco and her ever-present pair of bodyguards. Eveline had spent some time talking to them too, which could mean a few things. Maybe she was building her own list of people worth keeping tabs on. Or maybe it wasn't her at all, maybe one of her guards was behind it.

Or, more interestingly, maybe there was someone else watching from the sidelines, someone pulling strings behind the scenes. Now, if that third-party theory held any weight, it would've been tricky to prove, especially in the case of the first person on my list. MD Michael Palmer. A doctor. Not just any doctor, either. She'd bumped into him while jogging along the riverbank, way out past the edges of the city, early summer.

The place was practically deserted, no one around except for those four: Eveline, her two guards and Palmer. That's what the coastal surveillance picked up, anyway. So, if someone outside that little group was responsible, they either had access to the same kind of camera systems Penrose does or they were already there and managed to avoid being seen. If it was the former, then I was out of luck. Chasing that line of thinking would just waste time I didn't have. There was no point trying to solve the unsolvable.

So I went with what I could check: Dr. Palmer himself. He ran his own practice and it just so happened his specialty was right up Alexandra's alley, plastic surgery. The kind of work that was mostly cosmetic fluff. Right now, I was sitting in his waiting room, having paid a small fortune to jump the queue. The assistant, Miriam, shared a name with Penrose's right-hand woman, though the similarities stopped there. This Miriam was something else entirely.

She spent most of her time glued to her fucking phone, playing a game, texting, or who knows what else, while the office phone rang and rang unanswered. She didn't even flinch. She also had that unmistakable look of someone who'd been under the knife more than once. Not subtle work, either. Combined with her attitude and general disinterest in doing her job, it painted a picture. Whatever was going on between her and Dr. Palmer, it clearly wasn't just professional.

The waiting room was bigger than expected, wide open, with plush armchairs and sleek sofas. Everything bathed in sterile whites, cool greys and the kind of brushed silver that screams "modern medicine." The only splash of color came from the scattered pamphlets, hawking vitamins, supplements and miracle creams, plus a stack of women's magazines on the table like a leftover from some other decade. Miriam's indifference was starting to gnaw at me. She hadn't lifted her eyes from her phone since I walked in.

Candy-colored explosions flickered on her screen, some kind of game most likely. I figured I'd try poking the bear while I waited for the good doctor to wrap up his previous appointment.

"Can I ask you something, Miriam?" I said with a flat voice. She didn't even glance up. Just raised a hand toward me like a traffic cop.

"Yeah, yeah… gimme a sec, okay?" Bloody charming. Exactly what you want in a front-desk professional. But I wasn't in the mood to be brushed off, so I leaned in a bit.

"Would you say you've got a steady stream of clients here, or more downtime than work?" She lost the game, her frown made that clear and finally looked up.

"I told you… I can't multitask," she muttered.

"Can you repeat the question?"

"I noticed I'm the only one here. But when I tried to fast-track an appointment, you said the schedule was packed. So… which is it?"

"Huh?"

"Do you have a lot of patients coming through here or not?"

"Today?"

"Sure, let's use today as an example. You claimed the place was booked solid and that squeezing me in meant paying extra. But the waiting room's empty. Doesn't really add up." Her face tightened and she shifted in her chair.

"I'm not here to make a scene over a few hundred bucks, don't worry. I'm just curious. What's it usually like around here?" She sighed, letting her guard down just a bit.

"Yeah, Mikey, —" Her eyes went wide, realizing the slip.

"I mean, Dr. Palmer… he asked me to tell everyone we're full up, no matter what. Truth is, we usually get, like, two, maybe three consults a day. One surgery—tops, if anything." Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. I nodded.

"Got it. So, have there been any… strange visits lately? Let's say, since July 25th?" She squinted at me.

"Strange how?"

"Anyone who came in to see Dr. Palmer, but not for surgery. Someone asking questions, maybe. Out of the ordinary."

"Nope. Nothing like that that I can remember."

"Are you the only one working reception?"

"Yeah, it's just me."

"Has Dr. Palmer been visited by a striking young, South American looking woman? She'd have had two bodyguards with her." That question got a reaction. Her eyes widened again.

"Why are you asking all these questions? You a fed or something?"

"Something," I said.

"Like what? I'm not saying anything else."

"You sure? Wouldn't you want to know if he's sleeping with other women too?" Her mouth dropped a little. That hit the nerve I was aiming for.

"You're a PI, aren't you?"

"I'm just interested in why that woman came to see him. That's all." She hesitated. Then finally answered, "Yeah, she came by. They talked. Wasn't long."

"Did he seem… different afterward? Anything off about his mood or behavior?"

"No. Same as always."

"Well, thanks, Miriam. That's all I needed." She stared at me for a moment longer, like she was trying to piece something together. Then she asked, "How'd you know I was sleeping with him?"

"Educated guess."

"But… how?"

"You ignore the phone. Yet, somehow, you still work here." That shut her up. She looked caught—guilty, even, but didn't say another word. A few moments later, her attention slid right back to her game, screen flickering again. I leaned back into the seat, patient now and waited for the doctor.

His office was smaller than I expected. Modest furniture, bare walls. Not the kind of space you'd expect from someone raking in cosmetic surgery money. With the number of clients he had, based on Miriam's slip, it was hard to imagine he was doing well financially. The room told a quiet story: either he had no head for business, or money wasn't the point. He was young, maybe just past thirty. No ring, no tan line. Fingers bare. He looked like someone who took better care of his body than his books.

Well-groomed, athletic, handsome in that careful way people expect from a man who makes others beautiful for a living.

"Miss Gertrude Monkey," he said with a warm smile, "how can I help you today?"

"Just Gertrude," I replied.

"No need for formalities." He nodded politely.

"I'm not here for surgery. I'm here because I know you met Eveline de Marco, twice. I want to know why." His brow furrowed instantly.

"I thought this was a professional appointment."

"It is. I'm a professional."

"I meant my profession."

"So did I. I'm gathering information, for a client." He leaned back, pushing away from his desk.

"I don't want to be involved in this."

"I know you first met Eveline during a run. What did you two talk about?" His expression hardened.

"How do you even know that?" I kept my tone even.

"What did you talk about?" There was a beat of silence. His jaw worked as though he were weighing his options.

"I'm calling the cops," he muttered. He pulled out his phone, selected a number, and waited. I crossed my arms and kept him company. After a moment, he frowned at the screen. The call hadn't gone through. My scrambler had seen to that.

"Please, doctor," I said calmly.

"All I want is to save a life. Maybe more. Just answer my question." He looked rattled.

"Was that a threat? What did you do to my phone?"

"It's not a threat," I said, keeping my voice steady.

"It just means we can talk without interruption." He hesitated. Then slowly wheeled his chair back toward the desk.

"I don't remember everything. We talked a bit during the run. She asked about me, my work. I told her. She said I seemed more interesting than her usual friends, asked for my number. Said maybe we could talk again." That matched the pattern. Same as with Alexandra.

"She came here a few days later," he continued.

"We talked again. I told her I'm passionate about helping people feel better in their own skin. That's why I chose plastic surgery, help people become better versions of themselves. It's not all vanity, you know." His voice stiffened as if bracing for judgment.

"I'm not here to debate ethics. Just facts."

"But honestly… I don't remember many details. She never followed up." I watched him closely. It was time to test a theory.

"This may sound strange… but when you're operating, do you ever see a light? Over your hands? Around the room?" That stopped him cold. His eyes widened, lips parted slightly. A flicker of fear danced across his face.

"What… light?" he asked, voice lower, wary.

"That kind of light," I said and released Authority from within myself, returning to my original self. That was a strange experience—totally outlandish. It felt as if I was both myself and the other person I created in my head and damn, she was really cold; just as I imagined her. But well, I needed to give her the steering wheel again. Be Gertrude Monkey again, I thought and the light escaped my skin and after a second, it rushed back inside to solidify my new personality. Dr.

Palmer jumped in his chair and pointed a finger at me.

"Yes!" he gasped.

"Yes! I thought I was losing my mind. I see it, during procedures. Over my hands, the tools. I thought I was hallucinating. That's why I cut back. Only operate when I have to now." His breathing hitched. Full-blown panic attack incoming. I grabbed his hand firm and steady.

"Focus. I don't have time for you to spiral." He took a few sharp breaths. Managed to rein himself in.

"Did Eveline mention the light?" I asked.

"Or anything supernatural? Magic?" He shut his eyes and tried to dig. You could almost hear the gears grind. But they weren't normal anymore. They'd been altered, twisted by reality. Whatever he'd seen, it hadn't brought him fully through.

"I don't remember," he said eventually.

"God, what's happening to me? What's happening to everything? What are you? What am I?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't explain. Not now." I stood.

"Take care, Doctor." I walked out, leaving him to his own devices. Miriam didn't even glance up from her screen. He'd forget, maybe not the feeling, but the details would fade soon enough. Reality was still stronger than he was. Two out of nine people had been on the edge of awakening when Eveline met them. If that pattern holds, I might finally have a motive for her list. But the question remained: how did she know who to find?

Penrose called just as I was on my way to meet the next person on the list.

"Alexandra," he said. I wasn't her, not right now, but I answered anyway.

"Mr. Penrose."

"I've identified two more people from the list," he continued.

"Unfortunately, both of them are dead." It wasn't a surprise. I had expected as much, some names were always going to be graves.

"Do you know the causes of death?"

"One died in a fire. The other in a car accident."

"What were their professions?"

"The woman, Celine Tovitch, was a cellist. She died in the fire, burned alive in her own apartment. The man, Robert Godway, was unemployed. Killed in a hit-and-run while drunk."

"Did both of them meet with Eveline de Marco on the date marked on the list?"

"Yes. That's how I was able to confirm who they were." I paused for a breath, listening to the wind through the city's gutters.

"What do you think, sir?"

"I'm not drawing any conclusions just yet. And your meetings, are you done?"

"Only the first one," I said.

"Doctor Michael Palmer. He once had a thriving practice, but now only operates when absolutely necessary. He says he started seeing light around his hands, during surgeries."

"Magic?"

"Yes. He might be developing a soul core, possibly forming a domain of his own. But he's scared. I don't think he'll follow through. He'll fail."

"When Eveline met with you—were you in similar circumstances?" Technically, she met Alexandra; and under false name. But for simplicity's sake, I said: "Yes. I had just finished a painting. My Authority, its light, was moving freely around me. At the time, I didn't know others could see it. I think Eveline spoke to the doctor about it. His memory of their conversation is gone."

"Let me know if the next person was also intertwined with all this."

"Yes, sir." There was a brief pause on the line. Then he said, "By the way, Alexandra, because of you, because you opened my eyes, I've remembered some of my own encounters with magic. Long ago, I worked with someone who wielded it openly. We parted ways on good terms, though we had little reason to cross paths again. I still had his contact information and I've reached out."

"You plan to meet him?"

"Yes. If he agrees, I'll ask him to share what he knows with you."

"That would be splendid, sir."

"Good." A breath.

"I meant to say earlier, you sound different today."

"I know, sir."

"Is it magic?"

"Yes."

"Good day." He sighed.

"Good day, sir. And thank you, for everything." Yamashiro Rei my next target, was much harder to pin down than Dr. Michael. According to the intel Penrose dug up, Rei was a pickpocket, petty criminal, small-time operator, living somewhere in this neighborhood. He had targeted Eveline during their first encounter, reaching for her purse or pocket, but her bodyguard caught him in the act. No broken bones, no screaming. Instead, Eveline sat with him on a bench at a bus stop and they talked for a while.

Then she gave him money and walked away. Unusual behavior for someone who'd just been the target of a theft. She hadn't reacted half as kindly when Alexandra took her necklace. Still, Rei was the first name on the list. The very first. Their meeting happened on July 2nd, weeks before the others. Mr. Rei had been arrested twice over the last decade and spent most of that time behind bars. Released earlier this year and so far, managing to stay out of prison. Fortunately, Penrose had contacts in this part of town.

Word was passed and Yamashiro got the message: someone was looking to hire him for a job. That saved me the trouble of combing alleyways and street corners. I'd wait and let him find me.