What Can You Not Buy With Money?

Two male cops drove me to the hospital, explaining that they would do me the favor as long as I’d answer their questions when we’d arrived. The ambulance that carried Burgess was long gone.

I wasn’t a religious person, but whenever I felt alone and desperate I’d find myself asking someone—a god for help. And in the back of that squad car I prayed for Burgess to live. To recover. To still be Benjamin Burgess.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” The officer in the passenger seat called out behind me. His voice was bold and audible: it dripped of an authority that could be feared and respected at the same time.

I wringed my hands. “What happened to… Richard Burgess?”

The law enforcer driving answered, “He was apprehended.”

The rest of the ride was filled with an empty silence.

When we arrived, the nurses grimly explained that Burgess was undergoing surgery and would be put in intensive care. Only family would be able to watch the surgery and visit for the first few days. “I’m sorry,” one of the nurses cringed her eyebrows in sympathy. “We didn’t make the rules, we just enforce them. Would you please tell us of the patient’s next of kin to contact?”

“He doesn’t have any,” I answered and it was tragic to hear myself say that.

“Ms. Hall,” One of the officers, who had a shiny nameplate over his uniform that read RODRIGUEZ guided me into the corner of the waiting room with his partner. “We’ll talk to them about making an exception to the rules if you help us.”

The other officer, who’s crossed arms blocked his nametag stared me down intimidately. “What can you tell me about Richard Burgess?”

“I’ve met him before, but my boss had other problems to face at that time. I didn’t think it wise to add another burden on him, so I never told him.”

“When were these meetings?” He pulled out a notepad and began to scribble away.

“They started a few months ago, after I recently got this job.” As I told of my encounters with the old man, my mind couldn’t escape from the worry I had for Ben. I looked over my shoulder at the hall where, in the general direction of the ER, he was there—clinging to life and as fragile as crystal.

I was interrogated for about five hours. I didn’t really mind—It gave me something to do while I waited for Burgess to be out of critical care. When they finally left me alone (one of them stayed on campus though) I found myself sobbing pathetically in the chair and holding myself.

It was my fault for what happened to Burgess. And I wished more than anything that I could go back and warn him instead of hiding it. And I didn’t know for sure why I really avoided telling him about his father.

“Excuse me,” A nurse interrupted my daze. “Miss, I have some good news.”

I looked up at her with my entire body flooded with relief.

“Mr. Burgess has pulled through and is recovering from the surgery. If you’d like, you may see him—only,” She raised a finger in warning, “You do not disturb his sleep. The anesthesia is still in effect and he needs to rest to cope with the pain.”

“Yes,” I nodded and I was brought to the private room.

I was slow and sweat dampened my body in nervousness when I quietly entered his room. Dozing in pristine white sheets was the gloried Big Ben Burgess, his skin a cloud white and his hair looked fussed and out of order. He looked so young when he slept, his true age showing through his closed eyes.

There was a small chair close to his bed where I took my seat and I studied his sleeping face.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered as gently as I could.

“You should be,” He surprised me by whispering back. He slowly opened his eyes to glare at me. “Well?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated and tried to break our stare down, but it was as though a magnetic pull forced us to gaze at each other.

“No. Aren’t you going to give me any gratitude?”

I stared at him, confused.

He let out an annoyed sigh. “I took a bullet for you.”

“Oh, yeah. Thank you for that.” I was glad that he seemed to still have his snide personality.

“You can do a little better, can’t you?” Burgess smirked and turned his head towards me. “How about a little more humility?”

“What do you want me to do?” The guilt I felt was heavy enough to revert me into the people pleaser. Or in this case, Burgess’ Bitch.

“How about you get on your knees and give me a speech. With at least five hundred words.” Burgess snickered and the apples of his cheeks reddened.

“What…?” I didn’t know what to make of this change in him. “Mr. Burgess?”

“Call me Ben here. We’ve too personal a relationship to stick to formalities. Babe.” Burgess smirked again and let out a ‘Ha!’ before flinching as his face revealed agony. “Shit.” Sweat perspired on his skin like dew.

“Relax,” I ordered, hoping this tirade was all from the painkillers he was on. “I’ll get a nurse.”

“Bye, Babe.” Burgess called out in a husky whisper.

>

Dear Pierre,

Something horrible has happened and I don’t know where to start.

Mr. Burgess is in the hospital from a gunshot wound to the stomach. The attacker was Ben’s father, Richard Burgess. I’ve met the man a few times before and he had asked me to help him take back his company, but I refused. I never told Ben this, because I didn’t think Richard was a problem and Ben already had so much on his mind. Because of this, Ben ended up hurt and it’s all my fault.

The doctors say that he’s recovering fast and will be out of the hospital in about three weeks. But Ben’s been acting very strangely. It’s nothing that the doctors would notice—but he’s been acting a bit… weird. I can’t explain it—he was this humorless and strictly professional person and now he’s spending his time teasing me and hitting on the nurses.

And when I bring up anything that involves work, he changes the subject. Maybe it wouldn’t be smart to ask this—but do you think you and Madame Slater could come? I think the visit would be good for him.

-Mary

After I sent that email to the French assistant, I quickly left the condo to visit Ben’s home.

I was trying to think of a way to help—anything that would bring Burgess back. It wasn’t the change in personality that completely haunted me. It was the sudden loss of passion in his eyes, as though he had just simply given up on everything.

I expected him to not want anything to do with me. But he didn’t act that way. There was a change to him that wasn’t concentrated on me. The way he spoke; crinkled his eyes as he forced laughs—they all gave off his apathy. Like he was trying too hard to show everyone he was all right.

This wasn’t a paranoid thought that ran through my mind. There was an obvious shadow of depression that was drowning him. It showed in the way he would sigh to himself and the way he would refuse to eat. Every day, I visited him for as long as I could and I could practically see the flesh of his body burn away. He lost thirteen pounds those three weeks of hospitalization.

“Ah, Ms. Hall, how is the young master? I’m afraid I haven’t been able to visit him yet,” His butler greeted me as he lead me to Burgess’ library. “What was the book you wanted again?”

“Selections from the Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales,” I could imagine the book as though I was back on the plane to France.

“Ah,” The butler gave me a small grin. “Ever since the young master was old enough to read, he would always have that book with him. He doesn’t keep it in the library, but in his private suite. I’ll retrieve the book,” He gestured for me to stay as he disappeared down the hall.

The library was closed off by two heavy doors. But being driven by boredom and an acidic curiosity, I looked around to make sure no one saw me and I opened the door.

Imagine the scene from Walt Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. When the girl who’s greatest love of reading was fed by the endless shelves that were filled with books.

Even though I wasn’t a voracious reader, it was almost a poetic sensation to let my eyes scan through the shadowy walls that were covered in binded stories. Maybe it was a silly thing but I felt like a princess immersed in a paradise of literature.

“Here you go, Ms. Hall,” The butler handed me the book and smiled at my scared expression. “If the world was without the nosy then there wouldn’t be anyone to wake up and smell the coffee.” I stared at him as he let out a laugh. “Ah, you kids all give me that same face.” As he escorted me out of the mansion, he continued, “You know, what you’re doing is very sweet. Just don’t get any ideas—don’t want to see another girl get her heart broken.” He winked at me.

Taking a taxi to the hospital, my mind revolved around the words of the butler. And I told myself how untrue it was that I would like Burgess! I didn’t want to, and so I wouldn’t. Even if Pierre, the butler, Lila, or anyone else said differently it wasn’t true.

But I admit to have gingerly held the Selections from the Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales to my heart and ran my fingers over the leather cover with an almost delicate show of affection.

And my very heart was shaking in my ribcage at the nerves as I contemplated whether or not Burgess would react well if I offered to read to him.

“Babe,” Burgess was watching the news and his eyes seemed to glitter. But he was forcing that tug of a smirk and his eyebrows were grim. He lowered the volume of the television with a remote at his left hand.

I looked up at the TV to see a mug shot of Richard Burgess and a picture of Ben I had seen on the cover of a magazine. The anchors were throwing in ideas--random conspiracies--of what caused the outbreak. And a few of their theories were correct.

“I brought you something,” I held up the book with a hopeful smile.

He stared at it. “Oh, a book.” There was a dull tone to his voice.

“I remember you let me read it on that trip to France. And I thought maybe I could read it to… you.”

“You just thought...? I can't understand how your mind works,” Burgess raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Whatever.” He turned off the TV and leaned back against his pillow in attention.

I opened the book to a random page, and the familiar title Hansel and Gretel was printed.

As I narrated the story to Burgess, his eyes were attentive and it felt nice to know that he was watching and listening to me.

A knock on the door interrupted the story, and a nurse entered. “Excuse me, there’s a Mr. Bohr and Ms. Maddock here to see you.”

“Sure, let them in.” Burgess dismissed my worried stare.

“Ah, Ben my poor colleague,” Jonathan Bohr entered the room all in black, fashioning a turtleneck sweater with a thin gold chain around the wool as a necklace. “When I heard of the tragic news, I was trying to find a way of showing my sympathy. Lila dear,” Bohr stepped aside for Lila to make room.

Holding in her hands was a small glass cube with a single white flower displayed inside, forever frozen in a crystal prison. She had a smile shadowed in secret as she gingerly placed it on Burgess’ lap.

Burgess picked up the small glass box and looked inside. “A Kadupul Flower?”

“It amazes me to no end how much you know,” Bohr snapped his fingers and Lila obediently took a chair for her boss to sit in. “I’m sure you know of its legendary reputation?”

“I’m quite aware.” Burgess kept studying it. “You’re an impressive man.”

Bohr let out a whispery laugh. “Now, let’s not try to be so friendly.”

“Of course not,” Burgess sat up. “While this little trinket may have some value money wise, there’s never going to be any sentimentality for this. What do you want, Jon?”

“Nothing,” Bohr’s eyes darkened but his smile widened. “I just want to see how… well you’re taking of the unfortunate events concerning your father. I must admit, I am disappointed in Richard. He seemed so promising.

“I know what you did to him. And if you think that just because you inspired my desperate dad to try to kill me makes you the least bit creative, you’re right. But I’m still alive, and so is Mary. Tell me, how did my father find out about Mary unless it was obviously by your interference?”

“Such a sharp boy,” Bohr sneered. “I’m winning, Ben, and you know it.”

I stood up. “Get out.” I was beginning to tremble, but I kept myself from screaming or crying.

“My my, what a temper you have,” Bohr looked up at me. “If you never learn to control yourself, you’ll just add heartache to your precious CEO. No need to shame the once formidable Burgess Incorporation.”

“Get out. Now.” My face was heating up when Lila folded her arms with a look of fascination and bemusement.

“All right,” Bohr stood up. “Get plenty of rest, Ben.” And with that he slowly left the room, barely closing the door.

“Take this.” Burgess gave me the flower suspended in the glass. “I don’t want to see this ever again.” His eyes were downcast and his lips were curved in nausea as his face paled sickly.

I quickly put it away in a pocket. “Why did he give it to you?”

“To confess what he did. That’s a Kadupul Flower. It’s a rare blossom found only in Sri Lanka and blooms only at midnight and dies hours later. And it was my father’s prized possession.” He rubbed his temples and gnashed his teeth. “When I took over the company, my father only demanded the flower and a few million dollars as his sole property from the family estate. My father has a weakness for gambling, women, and a few other things…” He paused as he looked up at me. “So he lost all of the money but the last time we saw each other he still carried it around with him, wrapped in an unwashed cloth. He had given it to my mother before she died.”

“I’m sorry,” I cautiously touched his arm, and was mildly surprised to see him not pull away. “But I still don’t understand.”

“My father was possessive of that trinket. He would rather give up an arm than give up that piece of glass. I could only imagine that Bohr would have obtained it if he had used force or if he used that silver tongue of his to vex my father. Obviously, Bohr was a supporter of my father, and was outraged when I took the company. I told you,” he covered my hand with his, “what Bohr was capable of.”

“That—scrawny jerk is the reason you almost died?” My throat was stinging in a mix of disbelief and sorrow.

“Don’t you go break down on me. I’m the one who’s bedridden.” Burgess had a small smile on his face and he squeezed my hand. “Besides, it won’t be fun if you give me a sponge bath while you’re bawling your eyes out.”

I pulled my hands away and glared at him. “No sexual harassment!” After he was done laughing, I kept being serious. “You’ve been acting weird.”

“Well,” Burgess snapped, “Maybe it’s because I’m trying to deal with getting shot by my old man.” He never acted with such a swing in his mood, but I'm sure it was just the morphine that was pumping through his veins.

“You’re right,” I nodded and took a step back warily. But I couldn't stop myself from continuing. I wanted him to know how I felt, and how worried I was with the way he was acting. “You have every right to be hurt. But you’re not acting hurt, you’re just acting like a… moron.”

Astonishment and speechlessness defined the kid as he began to study me. He raised eyebrow and had his mouth slightly agape. “Go on.”

“You’re normally a jerk, but it’s like you’ve dropped down to a—” I bit my lip and looked away, knowing I was just acting like a cruel woman with my dull words. “You’re probably going to fire me if I say it.”

“I dare you.” Burgess’ voice had gone cold and challenging. And as sick as it sounds, I liked it. That was the voice of the old Ben Burgess, who I was missing.

But I shook my head.

“Say it!” He raisd his voice and sat up straight, breathing quickly. It was horrible to see him so stressed, as though he truly needed to know what I thought.

“You’re acting like a child!” I grit my teeth and waited for the punishment.

He sat back and there was a strange expression that I could hardly recognize, but it reminded me of humility.

I wanted to say ‘I’m sorry’, but I chose to remain silent. I was becoming a proud moron myself.

“If it hadn’t occurred to you, I am a child. And you’re a child too.”

I edged closer to him. "You normally act so mature, and I've never seen you flirt with girls. And you've never called me 'babe', and it's just annoying. I can't tell who you are, and it's just... confusing me." I paused, then added, "Sure, I'm a child, but I don't try to ignore it like you do."

“Well, maybe I need to stop ignoring it too.”

We sat, not daring to say anymore and not daring to move an inch. I do not know how long it was we stared at each other—maybe it was only two minutes or for two hours—but a nurse finally interrupted us.

“Excuse me,” She forced a smile. “There’s another pair of visitors. A… Miss—I mean Madame Slater and a Mr. Bonaparte.”

“You called them?” Burgess questioned at me, besmirched. When I nodded he let out a sigh, “All right, send them in.”

“My poor sweet boy!” Madame Slater rushed in a blurring speed and proceeded to suffocate Burgess with what looked like a very painful embrace. “Oh thank the heavens you’re all right!” Slater was fussing over the boy, examining his face and brushing his hair with her fingers.

“Hi,” Pierre arrived next to me and whispered, “I think we should leave them alone. Come, we’ll get something at the cafeteria.” He gently but purposefully ushered me out of the room and quietly closed the door. As we walked away he let out a chuckle. “You two seem to be the talk of the nurses.”

“How?”

“Oh, they were mentioning that you two were having an argument. A typical ‘couple’ argument—as the lady behind the desk over there put it.” He nodded to a lady who was speaking on the phone.

“Yeah, and I’m starting to feel horrible.” I brushed my hair aside. “Pierre, why haven’t you been replying to my emails.”

“I’m so sorry, my sweet Rose Mary,” Pierre kept his arm around my shoulder and let out a shaky sigh. “So much has happened, and I almost didn’t have time to read your letters. You see, Madame Slater is growing hectic as her daughter, Mademoiselle Terra has vanished.”

“Oh no,” I shook my head.

“Yes. It is very worrisome. She has never disappeared on us before, and frankly none of the private investigators have any leads.”

“Was she… kidnapped?” I bit my lip and felt bad for the mysterious Slater.

“It seems unlikely but it’s possible.” Pierre pouted, “But Terra’s more of the type of girl to just go off and not tell anyone. There’s only been two attempted abductions and she managed to…” he paused at my incredulous gape.

“Only Two attempts?” I choked on air.

“It’s not unusual that corporate owners’ children would be targeted for kidnapping.”

“What about Burgess?”

“Oh, four times.” He showed an amused smile. “Would you like to know about your friend Charles Walker? Six.”

I blinked. “That’s just…”

“…A part of life, my sweet Rose Mary.” Pierre sat down at a chair in the waiting room. “And speaking of life, could you please explain a little more about how Ben almost lost his?”

“What do you want to know?” I sat across from him and somberly folded my hands.

“Did Richard actually shoot Ben?” Pierre waved his left hand in a passionate gesture.

“Yes,” I reached into my pocket and felt the cool glass of the cube. “When Richard pointed the gun at me and another employee, Burgess jumped and tried to take the gun from him… and was shot.”

“It sounds like he saved your life.” He was studying my reaction. “Or acted impulsively.”

“I owe him a lot.” I swallowed the shame that rose for the way I yelled at him. “I feel like a jerk.”

“Yeah,” Pierre nodded and folded his arms. “But you can always make things right.” He stood up. “At least there’s a bit of good in this.”

“How?”

“Madame Slater needs a distraction since her daughter’s gone. And fussing over Burgess is the perfect escape. She needs to channel the—how you say—maternal instinct onto someone. And who knows? Burgess needs all the motherly love he can get.”

“Yeah,” I stood up. “So what are we going to do?”

“Keep talking. Why don’t we go somewhere a little more… noisy.” He looked passively at a pair of male nurses who were passing by with curious looks in their eyes. “So it’s not merely us speaking.”

Feeling that the two bureaucrats would survive without us in the same building, I took Pierre to the Starbucks close by the hospital.

And it was close to crash hour, so yuppies of all kind who would probably need the extra caffeine to work overtime or just to make it through the rest of the day were massively lining to the counter.

Pierre wrinkled his nose in disdain as we took a pair of lounge chairs. “So this is instant coffee?” His voice was offended and in disbelief. He watched as a barista yelled out a man’s name and his order, handing him two ventis. “My God, look at the size of it!”

I suppressed a laugh and muttered, “You’ve never been to a Starbucks?”

“God, no, I hardly ever had time to even consider entering one in France. But—I must say—I could never adapt to the American culture. Fast food, it’s so,” He covered his mouth and seemed to almost shed a tear, “so triste. Food is meant to be enjoyed, not inhaled!”

“Hey,” I gave him a warning stare. “Keep talking like that and we’ll get kicked out.”

“Je suis désolé.” He let out a forced smile. “Let us return to Burges for I’m afraid of offending my sweet rose Mary. Tell me about that bâtard, Jonathan Bohr? You told me that Burgess started drinking again. That sounds very strange.” Pierre was staring off vacantly as he tried to think of the reason. “Burgess isn’t a very breakable boy. I don’t think something as tedious as Bohr could cause Burgess to be so distressed.”

“Burgess thinks that Bohr did something to his father to make him… snap.” I took out of my pocket the crystal glass. “Bohr visited a few hours before you and Slater arrived and he gave us this.”

“Mon Dieu.” Pierre muttered as he twirled the object around his shaking fingers. “I… I don’t know for sure why this feels like a horrible omen—but I am sure it is.” Pierre looked at me. “When Ben’s mother, Simone, died after Ben was born, his father lost all interest in his son. Richard channeled all of his love and care for this piece of crystal than for his own son. Richard would have easily died than let this piece of crystal have so much as a scratch, that’s how passionate he was of this.” He gave it back to me carefully. “Look at me, I’m shaking!” Pierre laughed but his eyes flashed at me warningly. “…Take care of Ben. Remember the kindness you sent him by convincing Madame Slater to correspond with him for that business deal? Show him that kindness. You’re a sweet girl, and it seems that you’ve got a good sense of love for him.”

“But—“

“Hush. Do not confuse your love for him as anything romantic. I’m sure you think he’s very attractive,” Pierre’s eyes twinkled in amusement at my frozen expression, “But you seem to really care about him. Not many of the people in his life would take the time to read him his favorite children’s book--yes, I saw that book when I arrived--or care for him when he’s in one of those... drunken escapades. I think you could do a great deal of good to that lonely boy.”

“I don’t love him,” I continued to debate.

“If you keep saying that, all you will do is break a heart.” Pierre sat back. “How are things with you and Charles?”

I looked down at the Kadupul. “We stopped. I guess I tried to like him a little too much—but he broke it off with me on Thanksgiving.”

“Did he tell you why?” Pierre rested his chin in his palm as he slumped on the armrest.

“He still loves a friend of mine.”

He clicked his tongue and sighed. “I’m sorry. Can you forgive him for it?”

“Yeah. I don’t feel that angry at him. Just hurt.” I kept my gaze on the object, with a sick fascination I couldn’t break.

“I’ve known both Ben Burgess and Charles Walker since they were young boys, barely teenagers. Deep down their good people—it’s just that they’re lonely and selfish. You understand?” He nodded hopefully.

I looked up and smiled at him. “Are you trying to start something, Pierre?”

“No. Not this time, even if Madame Slater ordered me to.” Pierre somberly smiled. “Maybe I’ve grown to like you, and so has my employer. You show a lot of selfless care for a person like Burgess, and for that I was pleasantly surprised. And when I looked deeper, it doesn’t seem to be fueled by a need for you to advance in career or any other selfish reason—but it is just to show kindness. And for that, I don’t think I’ve met a person like that.”

“Thank you,” I looked back down at the crystal and my content mood halted. “There’s a crack.”

“What?” Pierre sat up straight and looked at my hands. “Where?”