Doctor to the Devil

2~Eliana

I feel as though I’m betraying you, Papa.

To become a patient under the same roof as the man who killed you sickens me, but I have no other choice. Because the man you handed me off to on my wedding day, although begrudgingly on your part, tried to kill me. I don’t know which is worse: being killed by the man you love or being healed by the man you detest the most in this world.

Ellie

Despite my hatred towards my captor, I must admit that he’d been absolutely correct that the journey to recovery would be quite a challenge. Nine surgeries—two for my left leg, one for my right leg, one for my left wrist, one for my spleen, another for my collarbone, one for my jaw, another for a busted eardrum, and one for my skull. Those were the major surgeries. The “superficial” ones for my face were another matter, something I gave more opinions about after recovering from jaw, ear, and skull surgery. An equivalent of 4 months.

And throughout all the breaking and mending of my entire body, my belly swelled with a new life that refused to go unnoticed.

“It’s a strong one,” Theia—I’d later learned meant aunt in Greek—assured me every time before I went under. She had become a comfort during this strange time, healing within the Diavola estate. “Don’t worry.”

Besides being escorted from the same hospital bed to another room for surgery, I remained in what had been deemed my suite on the estate, equipped with a private bathroom, a walk-in closet, a living room, and a balcony overlooking a garden. This luxury suite had become my prison for months on end, and all I desired was my life back. But how could I return? Specks of my memory: Julien screaming and cursing at me, his infidelity, the truth of my forged medical board exams, my pregnancy, his family, his lies, his van slamming into me, him killing me, him, him, HIM!

I gagged into the bucket left by my bedside at each thought of him, with tears stinging my eyes. While Theia believed my sole intent should be recovery for myself and my child, the few visits from Mr. Diavola sparked curiosity about the price for all of this. Nonetheless, he remained patient with my jaw as it healed for three and a half months before having an extensive conversation about my past, the present, and what our future could be.

He’d entered one day, having left for a work trip a few weeks earlier, and only returned the night before. Mr. Diavola towered over me, his grey eyes curtained with tamed curls of midnight-black hair, a smirk touching his pink lips. “Theia says you can speak now,” he stated, jabbing a hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

I cleared my throat, the months of silence causing a painful rawness that made my voice crackle a bit. “I… I can,” I said, trying to maintain a calm composure. My face stayed wrapped in gauze, but my lips and chin had been unveiled to encourage speaking after surgery (eating, gagging, etc.). “A little.”

He nodded. “What do you remember? About the accident?”

Taking a deep breath, I leaned back on the pillow to arch my neck more easily, keeping my eyes focused on his with a heated sternness. “Everything.”

Something flashed in those eyes—admiration, worry, perplexity—before it vanished like lightning in a storm. “Good. Your husband has been very busy since your...death.”

He surveilled me for a reaction, but I felt nothing. The idea of Julien having accepted my death or disappearance had dwelled in my mind since I’d awoken. I had nothing else to do between surgeries but think and create conclusions about how he’d been coping. Was he going on with his life? Had he been caught for my attempted murder, or had I just gone missing, and he now played the part of a grieving husband?

I’d spent more than five years of my life with Julien, knowing his mind, body, and spirit better than my own. Raised as the son of a mayor, grandson of a former mayor, nephew of the ruthless Red Fox syndicate leader, and currently running for city council (with little pushback from his opponent), Helcrest had become Julien Roux’s playground to do whatever he wished and more while playing the golden prodigy. Laws were as tangible to the Roux family as daily clouds were to the human touch. Nothing stuck to them, no matter the crime. And unfortunately, I’d played a hand in many of those crimes that haunt me to this day.

Mr. Diavola presented his phone to me, the screen already lit with Julien in a high-collared obsidian suit standing at a podium in the town square with a woeful expression I could already tell had been rehearsed several times before this moment. He pressed play.

“...and I promise, as your city councilman and in memory of my dearly departed wife, Dr. Eliana Roux”—Neves-Roux, he always hated that I kept my surname as a doctor—“ Increasing funding for mental health organizations within Helcrest is an incredible priority for me. I didn’t see the signs of my wife being under tremendous stress as a doctor and public figure in this community, soon enough to save her from…killing herself, in such a tragic way.”

Killing myself? A cross between a gasp and a disgusted guffaw escaped my throat as he continued to gather sympathy from the mixed spectators. A deep, obscure weight sat upon my chest as Julien let a tear graze down his cleanly shaved cheek before speaking once more. “But I stand here today to make a promise to the wonderful people of Helcrest: no one will have their mental health concerns overlooked. As of last night, the mayor of this great city, my own father, has signed into effect the Ellie Roux Suicide Prevention Act. And because of the generous donation of Neves Pharmaceutical, we begin implementing our plans today!”

The crowd erupted in a wave of applause, Julien nodding his appreciation before introducing another guest to the podium, his voice drowned out by claps and cheers. And my heart ceased for a moment when she walked into view at the podium, the crowd slowly dying down at her appearance. Dressed in an elegant black satin dress that stopped just above her knees and a large brimmed hat that shadowed her upper face, Ava Neves, my cousin, greeted the crowd.

“As CEO of Neves Pharmaceuticals and under the newly passed act, we will be providing low-to-no-cost mental health services at Helcrest Hope Hospital. And in memory of my dearly departed cousin, Eliana, we will be building a new crisis center in the coming months to provide easier, more efficient accessibility for the people. Thank you.”

Ava, the only family I had left in this world, stood like a stunning statue, dirty-blonde waves falling luxuriously down her back, her green eyes rosy with past tears, before taking Julien’s hand, gliding from the podium. She stepped down to meet her husband, Ruben, waiting at the edge of the frame with open arms.

Ava. My dearest cousin, more of a sister since childhood. A scant trace of guilt touched me at the thought of her. She stood near my killer, granting him funds in my name without realizing it. The touch of guilt quickly bloomed into anger. How dare he?! Making a show out of my death and using it as publicity to heighten his magnanimous self-image. And the crowd drank him in with no regard to his true nature.

The video clip zoomed back from the podium and crowd to land upon a young, stylish woman with a mic in hand, a news reporter. My blood went cold at the sight of her. Honey-red hair framed her rosy cheeks as her doe-blue eyes looked directly at the camera. “Turning his heavy pain into triumph, city councilman Julien Roux continues his venture to better Helcrest despite the tragedy of the loss of his late wife, Dr. Eliana Roux. She will be missed dearly. And this is Josie Hunter on the scene with HBS News. Back to you, Steve.”

At the sight of her, my body grew hot with a feverish rage, my aching hand instinctively rubbing my swelling belly to soothe myself. Josephine Hunter, only a few years my junior and a promising journalist when we first met, had been the first nail in the coffin of my marriage. I’d given her an exclusive interview about a new medication from Neves Pharmaceutical, which propelled her career forward, even inviting her over for dinner to congratulate her. Only to find her some time later f**king my husband in our wedding bed. That opportunistic wench.

Mr. Diavola pulled his phone out of view, staying silent to give me a moment to process it all. I’m dead to the world, I thought wearily. He killed me and received the public's sympathy for it. And I knew the Roux PR team, once my “death” settled down, would slowly introduce the idea of Julien “finding love again” and would frame Josephine as a close friend who helped him through his heartache, gradually finding solace in one another. He would get away with my murder and ride off into the sunset with a new woman. And every fiber of my being wanted to destroy that dream of his, to just erase me and move on.

“You’re dead,” he said calmly, snatching me from my thoughts. His gray eyes burrowed into me with such a perplexing intensity. An ambiguous tingle settled in the pit of my chest as he leaned closer, the scent of fiery cedarwood with a sweet undertone. “What do you do now?”