No Good Doctor

by Nicole Snow

  Poor Felicity sucks in a gasp as I tug the gag out, her chest heaving.

  “Ember!” she chokes out, her voice thick. “Thank G-God you’re here—”

  “Are you okay?” I blurt out. “Who did this to you? Where’s my mom?”

  “Those fucking creeps in masks.” She lets out a pained sound, wincing, as the ropes around her wrists loosen. Slowly, she hisses as she brings her arms around, rubbing at her shoulders. Red bracelets of abraded flesh circle her wrists.

  “What creeps, girl? Talk to me.” I lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder, offering a squeeze.

  While Doc starts on the knots around her ankles, she tells us more. “Aunt Barb tried to get away after they made her do that call. She was going to warn you not to come, but...” She bites her lip, sniffing. “They caught her. They took her. I don’t even know where. We have to call the police.”

  “But she was still alive when you saw her last?” I say breathlessly. “Please say she was alive.”

  She nods quickly. “They were a little rough with her, but they didn’t hurt her.”

  “They won’t,” Gray says grimly, releasing the last of the ropes and helping Felicity into sitting upright shakily. “They’ve realized we know. Dead hostages are useless to demons. Live hostages are leverage to get us to either keep our mouths shut, or walk into a trap where they can kill us off one by one before we expose them.”

  “The theater,” I say, standing quickly. “If they took Nine to the theater, they probably took my mom there too. If we just—”

  “There’s no we, Firefly.”

  Gray gives me a look I’ve never seen before, and I realize I’m seeing a Gray I’ve only met once before.

  Gray the soldier, the warrior, the hella protective beast.

  Fuchsia lied when she said he wasn’t a real soldier. Dead wrong. I’ve kissed the outline of an old bullet on his body. I’ve worshiped those scarred fingers.

  Doc has seen some serious crap, and he’ll fight like mad to avoid some more.

  Because I can see it in every line of him right now.

  He’s ready, bristling to fight, even if it means a dance with death.

  The thought of losing him terrifies me so much that my voice dries up, my throat closes, and I can only watch as he stands. Grim determination makes his entire body tense, vibrating with battle-readiness.

  “I won’t let you walk into this,” he says. “It’s too dangerous, Ember. I’ll go. I’ll get Nine, bring your mother home, and make sure Peters is stopped. Stay here.”

  I shake my head sharply. My voice comes back in a desperate rush.

  “You know I can’t,” tumbles out of me. “I can’t let you go alone, Gray.”

  “And I can’t let you get hurt because of a problem I created.” He steps closer to me, gripping both my hands, clasping them so tight against his chest. “Stay, Ember. Stay safe and trust me to do what needs to be done. Let me end this.”

  I want to scream no! I want to beg him not to go, but someone has to deal with this insanity.

  And what do I know about weapons or negotiations with scary men or drag down fights? I’ll only be in the way, won’t I?

  That sick realization sinks inside me like a stone plunging to the bottom of a cold, dark pool.

  There’s nothing I can do that would help this situation. I have to let him go.

  Let him go, and hope.

  “Just kiss me first,” I whisper.

  I don’t dare say kiss me in case it’s the last time.

  But that’s what it feels like as he sweeps me close and drags me against him. My body molds to the hard, tense V-line of his. As his mouth descends to claim mine, and he kisses me like I’m his first and last hope for anything good in the world, I hold on. I pull at him, begging with my lips and tongue beyond words for him to come back safe. Come back to me.

  Please come back and mess me up again, Gray. Please make everything right in my world.

  It’s a kiss that lances my heart, tearing at my soul, and it’s over far too soon.

  Gray pulls back with one last fierce, smoldering look, and I can’t beg him for one more because time is running thin. I can’t hold him back from destiny.

  He flicks a look at Felicity, who’s huddled on the floor, watching us with haunted eyes. “Stay out of sight,” he says. “And watch over her. Both of you stick together. You call Haley, Pam, Sheriff Langley, Ms. Wilma, somebody if there’s even a whiff of trouble, you hear?”

  We lock eyes. I nod once, soaking in that gorgeous, quintessential Gray Caldwell green sparkling like gemstone in his eyes.

  Then he’s gone.

  Just...gone, walking out of the room with a sense of purpose moving his bones, and we’re alone.

  I help Felicity stand and guide her over to sit on a stack of unopened coffee bean sacks for something better than the unforgiving floor. The seating area out front is too open, too visible from the street, with the entire front of the café nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows.

  We’re stuck here in this tiny, windowless room.

  Waiting.

  While Felicity rubs the feeling back into her legs, I curl in on myself, staring down at the floor.

  I hate this feeling. It’s dark and heavy and awful, wedging below my ribs.

  And for some reason, it’s too familiar.

  I’ve felt this way before. Years ago, sitting in a hospital waiting room, surrounded by the silence of grief both present and future, waiting for something to happen.

  TV always makes hospital waiting rooms seem like places of hope, where tense, anxious people hold out for a miracle. Soon the doctor comes out and tells them there’s been one, and their loved one is saved by the wonder of science and prayer.

  There’s always a miracle in make believe. Never any real stakes in their fear when, in their imaginary world, they have no reason to believe there won’t be a final-hour save.

  Meanwhile, in reality, hospital rooms are places of dread. Emptiness. Terror.

  Miracles are few and far between.

  There are just lonely people waiting to find out just how bad it’ll be.

  And I remember waiting, thinking that maybe something could still happen, even though I knew it wouldn’t. I knew, and yet still I hoped, still I waited, still I begged with everything in me for the doctor to come out and say, It was touch and go, but we saved him. We saved your father.

  The doctor would be a handsome genius like Doc with a magic touch that could save anyone and a smile that would make me faint.

  Only, this doctor was a tired-looking older man with a stoop to his shoulders that said he’d seen too many deaths, watched patients slip through his fingers while he’d tried and tried and tried to hold on to them, but they were just these ephemeral nothings he couldn’t grasp tight enough to keep them alive.

  I’m sorry, he’d said. He was too far gone. There was too much damage to the heart wall. We tried to resuscitate him, but...I’m sorry. We just couldn’t bring him back.

  That’s what this feels like, this yawning silence.

  It’s the same familiar bleakness, the same heaviness in the hospital waiting room, wanting some other outcome but knowing that inevitably, death was coming.

  I can’t accept that again. I won’t accept it today. Not anymore than I can just sit here waiting for death to find me. Or Gray.

  It’s been too long. Ugh.

  Digging my phone out while Felicity watches me curiously, I dial Gray’s number.

  Please pick up. Please, please, please.

  Some small signal, even if it’s just answering the phone in his pocket so I can hear what’s going on and know he’s alive, he’s okay, he hasn’t walked into a trap or been shot on sight.

  I know he’s the one they really want.

  He’s the only one who knows everything.

  From what Gray’s told me, he knows things even Fuchsia doesn’t know.

  That makes this so dangerous, if Peters is really behind this whole thing. If
Galentron with its ginormous resources wants to pick up where it left off without being exposed, it’ll be like moving a mountain to stop them.

  People with money, people who don’t care about wiping out an entire town don’t stop with warnings. They kill people who might be a problem. Not to mention any pawns who might get in their way.

  Like me.

  Like my mother.

  I think the only reason they didn’t kill Felicity was because if someone found her body too fast, their cover would be blown.

  But I feel like I’m frozen inside as Gray’s phone rings again and again and again, then goes straight to voicemail. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, praying for...I don’t even know.

  Strength? Clarity? Something.

  Gray can’t be dead.

  He can’t be.

  I hang up without leaving a voicemail, hugging my phone to my chest, trying to think. Think. I don’t know what to do, but I can’t just stand here and wait for death.

  Shooting to my feet, I reach for Felicity’s hand. “Come on.”

  She staggers up, rubbing her leg, still unsteady but finding her footing. “Ember—hey, wait! Where are we going?”

  “To find Gray,” I say. “And to save my mom. We can’t just let this go down with no backup.”

  We’re in Felicity’s station wagon before she pauses, giving me a puzzled look. “Um...Ember? I know you’re upset, but in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not exactly a SWAT-girl duo. We don’t know anything about this...this shitfest that’s crashed down on our heads. Oh, and who’s Gray?”

  I almost smile. Almost.

  Everything hurts inside right now. I’m scared – so scared.

  I just hope I’m not running toward death with Felicity in my wake.

  “You know him,” I say. “He’s the one who vaccinated your Pekinese. Now let’s go.”

  She looks confused, but then sighs, shaking her head and turning the key in the ignition. “Hold on to your butt,” she mutters, backing the rickety station wagon out of the alley.

  But a terrible sense of foreboding falls over me as we pull up outside the theater.

  What seemed so bright and cheerful just the other night now seems haunted, with the scaffolding framing the unfinished portions of the reconstruction and the plastic sheeting tacked onto it flapping in the evening wind. The theater’s super dark, too, which should be normal, with no shows tonight and probably no rehearsals.

  Still, it just feels ominous.

  I lick my lips, staring at the theater as we park across the street. “You know this place,” I whisper. “You’re from this town. Is there a back entrance we can sneak through?”

  “There’s a staff exit around back, I think.” Felicity is tense, her fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “Em...you know I love Aunt Barb, but are you sure you want to go in there? Shouldn’t we call the cops?”

  “Will they get here in time? Langley has like half a dozen guys tops, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah, good point. Honestly, the sheriff’s probably already drunk, settled in for an evening at Brody’s.” She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “Girl squad to the rescue, then?”

  I let out a weak, shaky laugh that sounds only about half as scared as I feel. It’s absolutely as insane as it sounds, but we might be the only hope Gray and his friends have.

  “Girl squad to the rescue,” I croak out, then push the car door open and let adrenaline carry me to my feet. “Let’s hit it.”

  There’s really nowhere for us to hide.

  We scurry across the street as quick as we can, then duck around the side of the building. If there’s anyone watching for us, they’d see us coming from a mile away. But the alleyway looks empty as we peer inside.

  There’s only one safety light over the door. A dim cone framing a dirty blue-painted metal doorway corroded with rust and old black trash bags piled against the brick wall.

  “I don’t see anyone,” I whisper.

  “Same,” Felicity whispers back. “It’s too quiet. Do you really think there’s someone...down there?”

  We stare into the blackness ahead, visible through the tiny slit window in the door. I swallow, knowing there’re people inside. It’s way too organized to be foundation work, or any real renovation under the old theater. This is more like staring down a mineshaft engineered with high tech supports and faint LED lights to hide some hidden treasure.

  “Go for it?” Felicity whispers, giving my hand a squeeze.

  “Right-o. Off we go.”

  We dart into the narrow lane and bolt for the door. I get one hand on the rusted handle, pulling back on it, when I hear a click that’s too loud to be the latch.

  And it’s behind us.

  I freeze. My blood turns to ice water, but my bones are pure glaciers, locking me in place with my breaths drying in my throat and my body rigid.

  At my side, Felicity goes motionless, save for her wide, terrified eyes rolling toward me.

  I wait for someone to say hands up. Or don’t move.

  Or just the damning explosion of a gunshot, the last sound I’ll hear before everything goes dark and I’m just...gone.

  But there’s only a single footstep.

  Then the feeling of something snapping down over my head. Some thick, dark cloth that blacks out the world and muffles my scream as my world condenses to the inside of a featureless black bag and the shrill frightened cry of my cousin’s voice.

  There’s nothing in the swarming darkness except my own regret.

  Felicity, Gray, Mom – I’m sorry.

  22

  Dogfight (Doc)

  I never thought I’d see the day where I’d have to trust Blake goddamned Silverton with fireworks.

  His daughter, Andrea, maybe. Blake himself?

  Never.

  But right now, the fireworks that have been stored in a cool, dark shed at the Charming Inn, waiting for the annual Fourth of July fireworks over the famous cliffs, are our best chance for a distraction.

  And the only chance for a three-man army to have any hope of taking down the dozen or more men swarming around the storage entrance. It’s built into the structure like a cellar door, adjacent to one of the two alleys flanking the theater.

  We’ve got fireworks, muscle, plus a little special silver bullet of my own that I fished out of the secured freezer in my clinic’s secret closet. I’ve been saving it just for this day.

  There’s a massive truck parked in the alley, all the way in the back and just out of sight. The men are just shadows in the darkness, hard to pick out unless you’re looking for them.

  I’m looking for them, all right.

  I’m marking every last one of those pricks.

  If I have my way, they’ll all walk out of here in handcuffs.

  Not the plan they’ve obviously decided on: leaving Heart’s Edge in that van, probably with Nine and Barbara Delwen trapped in the back like rats in a cage.

  “So,” Blake drawls. “There’s at least twelve of them and twice as many guns. There’s three of us and, oh, three guns and a whole crate full of poppers. Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, Doc?”

  “You got any better ideas?” I ask.

  “Nah, but I’m not supposed to be the smart one.”

  “It’ll work,” Warren says. “Fireworks are just explosives used for entertainment. We’ve got an entire armada in the back of this truck.”

  “Yeah, but War.” Blake looks dubious.

  “But?” I ask.

  “How the hell am I supposed to ram the truck and light them up? Like, this isn’t the Fourth. I’m not standing around with a box of goddamn matches popping off sparklers one at a time. They’ll shoot me before I can even spark up.”

  Warren grins. “Oh, ye of little faith.” He tosses his head toward the back. “Park somewhere out of their sight, and let’s get to work.”

  Work, in this instance, means one thing.

  Rolling out a thin, flexible
, highly flammable fuse cord to each and every last one of the fireworks in the crate in the back of the truck. Then we wire them together, light one end.

  And the entire chain goes up like New Year’s.

  It’s a safer bet than anything else, though the other option is to just throw a match in the whole box. The fuse cable gives Blake a chance to get safely away while Peters’ men panic. The goal is to disable the truck. Distract the guards. Give us a way in with as much mayhem as possible in the process.

  Mayhem usually isn’t my brand.

  I’m supposed to be the calm one. The cool one. The safe, stable one.

  Too bad I’ve already burned down one Heart’s Edge timeless landmark. It’s hardly a tragedy to take another one out with a bang.

  Plus, the added bonus that the noise and flames will attract the police and fire departments from all over the valley faster than a 9-11 call would. They’ll have no choice but to take it seriously.

  And I know these assholes won’t call the police themselves.

  Not unless they want a small-town kidnapping tarnishing Galentron’s public image in a way that just won’t disappear after the news media gets hold of it.

  We’re almost done wiring everything together when the sound of another roaring engine alerts us, and the twin gleams of headlights. Warren hisses, while I bite off, “Behind the truck!”

  We duck to the other side of the truck and past the truck bed, peering over the upper edge as a car comes cruising down the street.

  A station wagon I recognize.

  Felicity?

  Dread premonition fills my veins with ice. Then confused anger. What the fuck?

  No. No.

  I told Felicity to stay with Ember. Which means if Felicity is here...

  So’s Ember.

  Fuck. Me.

  I watch tensely as the station wagon pulls up outside the theater and parks on the other side of the street. Warren swears as the doors open and the girls step out. They’re wide-eyed, breathless, half frozen with fear.

  “Ember!” I hiss, trying to catch her attention without giving us all away, rising up a bit higher above the truck, but they’re already flitting away, racing across the street, into the other alley on the opposite side of the building.