Hollow Life

LENOX HILL HOSPITAL, NEW YORK CITY, THE U.S.

EDNA TREMONT

"I'd rather have the truth, please," I began, taking a seat and crossing my ankles. My voice sounded weary and anguished, defeated and broken, despite the beauty everyone claimed I possessed but could not see.

That was what beauty was, in the end. Superficial, as all things were.

"Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it," quipped Nathan Parker, the head of Cardio surgery. His alert grey eyes watched me carefully, assessing my reaction boldly.

"They would, Doctor Parker. I, however, am not a man," I snapped my fingers briskly, eager to go home, but most importantly - to get out of my current predicament.

I sat in front of nine renowned doctors in the huge, glass walled room, watching me as if I were one of their specimens for examination. They were the finest cardiothoracic surgeons from every corner of the world, people I'd sought out with my extensive resources and wealth.

For as long as I could remember, these nine people had been trying their best to cure a person with a condition that seemingly had no cure. Me.

There was Nathan Parker, Boston's topmost renowned hotshot specialist, a man who did three bypasses a day and thrived on ego and talent. Then there was Sophia Grey, the director of the World Health Organisation, with her alert yet sweet and loving nature, trying to gather all the help she could find for me.

And then there were the rest of the doctors too, people with skilful brains, people who had their whole lives in front of them, to do with as they pleased.

And then, there was me.

A twenty-one-year-old rich, beautiful, unmarried young woman who was beyond help with a befuddling heart condition. A heart condition that would kill me.

I'd been diagnosed with a rare heart condition years ago, yet no one knew how to cure it. What they did know, was that there was a very large tear in my ventricles. Numerous angiograms had shown that it was barely hanging on by a flap, yet still pumping blood by some miracle.

I'd had countless surgeries, countless visits to heart doctors, countless prayers to god. Yet every time I was operated on, the gap had widened further, and my hope had grown weaker. And they knew it, I knew it, that when it finally burst open for once and for all, I would die.

I was a ticking time bomb.

A fine sheen of sweat covered Sophia's brow, displaying her sheer sadness and remorse. She turned her soft eyes to me, then dropped them to the floor, very defiantly taking care not to look at me.

"The reports?" I echoed again, trying to not let my voice falter. I was used to this, after all. This hopelessness and misery. I lived in it, after all.

It doesn't matter who you are, or where you come from.

In the end, death comes for us all.

It never truly matters who you are.

I was the sole head and founder of Witlock - the largest code breaking organisation in America.

Orphaned since I was old enough to speak, I had no living relatives to talk of. My math professor, however, noticed my love for academia and numbers. It had resulted in him taking me under his wing, honing my skills, paying for endless hours of elite classes and extensive courses.

Some good people still existed in this world. My faith in humanity still existed.

And now, ten years later, I led the largest secret organization in America, my own clandestine intelligence agency.

It was ironic how I had everything one could ask for. I indulged in charity to my heart's content by day, broke codes for the U.S. agencies for a living by night. I earn billions of dollars a year, and yet, all the money I earned was used on going from one prestigious hospital to next. Money enough to rope in the WHO for help.

I had everything. Almost.

Except for time.

Or love.

Money couldn't buy anything. It couldn't buy me a life. It couldn't buy me a family. It couldn't buy me someone's love. And these were the only things I'd ever wanted.

The real measure of my wealth would be how much I'd be valued if I lost all my money.

By those standards, I was the poorest person I'd ever known.

I couldn't even remember my childhood. I couldn't remember ever coming into being, ever being around parents. The earliest memories of life my brain could squeeze out were that of a castle on a volcano.

It was always the same. Those strange little visions in head, like flashes of light - here one moment, gone the next. The mystery of those visions had kept me awake with haunted nights since the last ten years.

Glass windows. A man with sea blue eyes. A lady with a voice like rivers. A green-eyed woman. It was always the green-eyed woman, always.

"Miss Tremont..." Sophia began softly, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"Just tell me," I said flatly. "I have a meeting with the President in an hour. Would you rather I'd keep him waiting?"

She sighed and looked at Nathan sadly. He ruffled his hair. For once, his manically proud attitude melted and his face broke in a disappointed sigh.

"Edna... it appears that the situation has only gotten worse," he said, looking me in the eye without flinching, yet his voice unharsh.

"How much time do I have left?"

"Don't say that... we could try another surgery, maybe that one-" Sophia interjected.

"We both know that the next time you cut me open, I'm going to bleed out to death," I said in a tender voice.

Nathan paused for a moment, then whipped out another notebook, rapidly writing down something.

"Look," he said confidently, "I can do something... the odds are-"

"-the odds are one to five thousand, Doctor Parker. I have only two percent chance of surviving it, less than one percent luck of actually recovering from it," I said briskly.

"We could - we could find some other way..." Sophia said, hopeless. "I've exhausted all my resources, but maybe..."

"Just tell me. How much longer do I have? "

"Please, Miss Tremont - you cannot - you cannot give up," one of the other doctors spoke up from beside me.

I hollowly laughed.

"Please, Edna. You cannot be thinking of letting yourself die," Sophia pleaded with a sob.

"Yes? You'd rather kill me yourself? If I'm going to die - when I'm going to die; I want to die on my own terms. Not while I'm lying cut open on a table with my blood dripping from a scalpel-" I brushed aside a stray strand that had clung to the moisture gathered in my eyes. "I'm going home."

Everyone got up, shocked.

"You cannot mean-"

"Yes," I cut it short. "That is exactly what I mean. If you'll excuse me-" I picked up my bag, uncrossing my ankles and standing up. "Thank you for your time-"

"Miss Tremont-" Sophia began.

"You punish me with pity, Miss Grey," I turned the handle, feeling the cold blast of air conditioning blow back my red hair.

I hardly noticed the huge commotion in the room behind me as people ran at my heels. I pulled out my phone as I walked out of the hospital, and the chauffeur pulled open the door for me.

Another voice spoke behind me before I sat in.

"Miss?"

I turned around to find a little girl of around ten, with golden hair that was streaked with dust, ruddy and unkept. She clutched a tiny chest full of wood hewn amulets to her heart, afraid of losing them. Timidly, she looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears that had left behind grimy streaks on her cheek.

Her eyes.

They were a pure violet, soft and deep, clouded and misted over with tears looking at me helplessly, a silent plea that hit my broken heart straight.

"Miss?" she whimpered, shivering in her rags. "An amulet, would you like to buy an amulet? Wearing them will prolong your life, they are made of ash wood..." she stammered in a tiny voice, motioning the box towards me.

"Do you know who you are speaking to, girl?" the driver growled from inside. "Miss Tremont is getting late!"

"Shhh, Dalton, wait a minute," I snapped at him, silencing him with a stern glare.

My heart begun to break into little pieces as it filled with sadness for the little girl, unbearable sadness. I quickly took off my fur trimmed coat, taking the box from the little girl's stained hands, and despite her protests, placed it on her shoulders.

"But, Miss..." she cried softly, and more tears began to spill down her face as I softly unlaced my gloves too, gently helping them onto her hands and wiping off her tears. "I can't take it, Miss," the child wept, clutching at me with huge sobs, cowering into the coat that was too large for her, and it tugged at my heart.

"Hey, love, it's alright," I whispered, going down on a knee to make eye contact with her, gently tucking back her hair and unclasping my pearl earrings and necklace and dropping them into her palms.

"You're too kind, Miss, I can't," she spoke in sobs, "my amulets..."

"Here, child, I'll buy all of them," I offered, digging around in my pockets for a two-inch-thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and gently placing it into her hands.

"Miss - no one has ever - how can I?" she stuttered.

"Take them, child, and get something to eat," I said. She painstakingly offered the box to me and clutched the bills to her heart.

"Tha - thank you - miss - may God bless you," she said tearfully.

Bless me he already has, I laughed to myself.

I gently leaned in and kissed the top of her head, before giving her a kind smile to turn to my limo.

That was when I heard another voice that chilled my blood, freezing it.

"They will sing songs, Edna Tremont. Songs of how she crushed dynasties under her feet. Songs of how she tore out thrones from their soil. Songs of how she led thousands of warriors as they drew their swords for a war they could not win."

Horrified and shocked, I turned back to where the girl had been previously standing.

It had been her voice.

But now, I saw no trace of her, only the empty and deserted street, no sign of those striking purple eyes or that gold streaked hair.

"Your head is messing with you," I whispered to myself. The girl had been right there! How on earth did she vanish?

And what gibberish had she been speaking? What the hell had it been? Had she been some sort of lunatic?

I slowly let out a breath, sighing, and got into the limo. The door slammed beside me.

I knew how this ended. The only thing I'd forgotten was how this began.

• • • • •

ONE FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY, THE U.S.

I waved at the white gloved concierge, and he saluted with a grin, as the elevator doors closed. The Avenue had only twenty-seven apartments, all occupied by prominent figures who had shareholdings of at least a hundred million in liquid assets.

A dull throbbing had begun in my chest, flesh eating itself inside out, as I felt my death begin.

The triple frosted window clearly showed the violet swatches of the beautiful sky, the evening turning slowly from dusk rose to indigo.

I observed my reflection in the mirror - unblemished skin, red hair the colour of fire, teal green eyes full of sorrow as they wandered down my dress. I looked at the dress sadly. Plum coloured, hugging my curves. I'd spent my first salary on this dress.

I didn't want to die.

I was a good person. I gave away thousands to charity every year, I always drove within the speed limit, always paid my taxes on time and I'd never hurt anyone. Never run them over with a car or crashed into them. Why would God leave me to die? What had I done? What was my fault in this? I had a life, not a very centred life - but a life, nonetheless - a life which made me happy, made me grateful to be alive.

All those needles, those surgeries, that pain, so much I'd gone through - endless hours of being laid out etherised in the O.R. while men and women pondered over how to fix my heart. Not even one could figure it out.

All of that had been for nothing.

The pain was slowly fading, folding back and busying itself into destroying the finer tissues. The doors opened. I walked precariously, reaching the door to my penthouse, rummaging for the keys in my handbag.

"Edna, my dear, how are you feeling? I heard Witlock made another success on the deal with-"

I coughed violently, and Vienna let go of the leash on her pet poodle, running over to wrap her arms around me. I embraced her warmly. Twenty-eight, blonde, short tempered and my drinking partner, Vienna Parker was a Pulitzer prize winner and reluctant socialite, with one finger in her bottle of ink and another in her glass of martini.

"Honey, are you alright? Taking your medication on time? What did the doctor say?" she worriedly asked, her blue grey eyes hovering on me.

"I'm - I'm good - just a bit of dust - just an allergy, you see," I wheezed, and she rubbed my back.

"Nice to hear that, love. I'd love to stay, but I really haven't walked my new poodle around today-"

"-sure, it's okay," I breathed, managing a smile for her sake. She grinned and waved at me, picking up her pink poodle's leash and disappearing into the elevator.

I fished out the key. The lock clicked and I dropped onto the couch at once, slamming the door shut and switching the antique lamps on. Home sweet home.

I waited for a moment, eyes shut, pulling the four-inch heels off my feet and tossing them away, waiting till the pain slowly went away to nothing.

It still hurt.

I needed a drink.

Slowly dragging myself to the sleek island in the linoleum and chrome kitchen, I perched on the high stool, unscrewing a bottle of champagne and pouring out a generous amount. I took a sip, closing my eyes, savouring the last few hours of my life.

The last time I'd ever drink such champagne. The last time I'd ever get to look out to such a beautiful sky. The last time I'd be wearing that beautiful dress I wanted so badly I'd splurged my first salary on it.

The last time.

It was so quiet here at night. Almost like Paris.

I'd never get to go to work again, cracking the codes I loved so much. I'd never get to travel up that elevator again, look at myself in the mirror or at Central Park through the glass. I'd never get to see the sun rise again when I got up in the morning, hear the birds chirp, listen to the cooing of the doves.

I'd never get to know who won the Iron Throne in the end of Game of Thrones, or whether Jon married Daenerys, or who killed Cersei and whether Tyrion was a Targaryen.

Because I would be dead.

All those Gucci bags, Prada heels, Chanel watches, what did they even matter in the end?

I'd do anything, anything it took to keep on living, breathe in more of this precious air.

Anything.