Within moments, other cruisers arrived. Soon Max, Buzz, Chuck Smith, and Caroline Stoner encircled Emma, looking down at her.
Caroline knelt beside her and put her arm around her. “You poor thing. The ambulance is on its way. We’ll get you to the hospital.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stella said, “but first I want to hear from Emma what happened. Like, why did you wait until morning to report this? And where’s Mrs. Mack?”
“I think I was unconscious,” Emma said haltingly. “Last time I saw Vanessa, she was running out of the bedroom while the intruder was on top of me.”
“Jesus, were you raped?” Caroline asked.
“No.” Emma shook her head. “But it might have hurt less if I had been.” She tried to smile but couldn’t.
“Buzz, make sure the house is clear, and report back,” Stella ordered.
While Buzz was inside, Caroline stroked her back, making sympathetic sounds. All of a sudden, Pepper bounded toward her. For the first time, Emma was able to smile. Pepper sniffed her wounds, wagging her tail uncertainly. How the hell did Pepper get here? she wondered. When she looked down Vanessa’s long driveway, she got her answer. In the distance, standing on the grass was Mark Byrne.
Buzz returned. “Clear,” he announced. In one gloved hand, hanging from a pen were the night vision goggles. In his other gloved hand was Archie’s Beretta, hanging from a pen by the trigger guard. “A pane of glass has been cut from the back door. There’s a suction device still attached to the glass. Professional and quiet. Also, the main breaker was tripped. The power is back on now.”
“Are those yours?” Stella asked Emma, pointing at Buzz.
“The Beretta belonged to Archie—”
Stella interrupted, “Do you have a permit for the handgun?”
“No. And the intruder brought the goggles. Surely, they are traceable. Not everyone walks around with military grade hardware.”
“You leave the police work to us,” Whining Shit said. “You and I will discuss the permit violation later.”
Emma decided that she might as well get the Sharpie discussion over with. She explained to the assembled cops what had caused her sudden awakening in the middle of the night. “He clearly mistook me for Vanessa, who, equally clearly, was his intended target. He had multiple opportunities to kill me. He didn’t take them.” She pointed out the line drawn on her ankle. “The message already reads W-I-L. Only lacks a final L. You will all have to come to your own conclusion.”
“I figured Will was good for it all along,” Stella said.
An EMT and a paramedic arrived and began to fuss over Emma. Meanwhile, Pepper disappeared. The paramedic applied Steri-Strips to the laceration on Emma’s forehead, which the intruder’s kick had caused. The EMT obtained a set of vitals. When she checked Emma’s eyes, she reported to the paramedic, “Eyes dilated and sluggish. She’ll probably get scanned.”
She spoke as if Emma wasn’t capable of hearing.
Emma heard barking inside the house. She knew that bark.
“Help me up,” she demanded.
The paramedic said, “You’re not going anywhere except to the hospital.”
Emma struggled to her feet, without their help, and shambled into the house in the direction of Pepper’s bark. Pepper was sitting with her shoulder against a door, which, Emma knew led to the basement.
She shouted for Max, “Someone’s in the basement!”
Led by Pepper, Max Beyersdorf raced down the cellar stairs, gun drawn. Two minutes later he returned. He was supporting Vanessa, who was shaking so hard she could barely walk.
“I found her behind the oil tank,” Max said. “She needs EMS.”
Thank the Lord, Emma thought, Vanessa made it.
Stella said, “Nice job, Buzz, securing the house.”
43
The Pleasures of Morphine
Vanessa and Emma rode to the hospital in the same ambulance. After a tussle with the paramedic, Emma convinced him to allow Pepper on board, too. Vanessa sat in the captain’s chair swaddled in a blanket. Emma was strapped onto the stretcher. The paramedic started an IV line and gave her 2.5 mg of morphine.
“This should take the edge off,” he said.
From her position on the gurney, Emma couldn’t see Vanessa, who was sitting behind her head. But she could hear her teeth chattering. She wanted to ask her why she hadn’t called for help, but she didn’t have the heart. When Emma started to tell her what had happened after Vanessa had ran from the bedroom, Vanessa said she didn’t want to talk about it. Then she started to cry.
“Would it help if I got Dave on his cell?”
“Please,” she whimpered.
“Dave,” Emma said when he answered, “this is Emma Thorne. Hold on, I’m going to put Vanessa on.”
Vanessa immediately erupted into a volcano of tears. Emma could hear Dave’s shouting through the phone trying to find out what she was so upset about. Eventually, after hearing the entire tale, Dave insisted that she take the next flight to Cincinnati. Without hesitation, she agreed.
Vanessa tapped Emma on the shoulder, and, proffering the phone, said, “Dave would like a word with you.”
Emma held the phone so that it did not touch her bruised cheek.
“Yes?”
Emma wasn’t expecting a clap on the back, but she didn’t expect a full-throated tirade.
“Dammit, Emma, how could you expose my wife to such risk? You nearly got her killed. Why don’t you just do your damn job? Find your wacko husband and lock him up! Vanessa is joining us in Cincinnati, and none of us is coming home until Will Foster is where he should be. In jail.
Emma said, “Thanks, Dave.”
She used her thumb to touch the End button.
Blissfully, the morphine was beginning to still her rampaging brain. She didn’t much care what Dave had blathered. His words hurt, but she didn’t feel them.
At the hospital Emergency Department, Vanessa and Emma were separated.
As Emma was being wheeled to the CT suite for a brain scan, she reflected that Vanessa, whose wounds were entirely psychological, would be discharged sometime later that morning. Emma didn’t entertain the same hope for herself. Meanwhile, she reveled in the haze of the morphine, that heavenly, miracle drug, not looking forward to when its sublime effects cleared.
After her scan, an orderly returned her to Room 9 on the main corridor of the Emergency Department. A young doctor arrived carrying Emma’s chart.
She said, “Good morning, I am Dr. Emma McKay. How are you feeling, patient-of-the-same-name?” She had an infectious grin and lively blue eyes. Her black hair was tied into an artful chignon.
“Great … for the moment.”
“I’m sure,” she said, still smiling. “I had to chew out your paramedic. With concussions—you have one, by the way—we don’t generally like medics administering morphine in the field.”
“Then I’m glad that he made a boo-boo.”
“I’ll bet you are. Unfortunately, you also have an epidural hematoma. It’s a small bleed, and we are going to keep an eye on it—”
“I’ve heard of a subdural hematoma, but what’s an epidural?”
She worried it sounded serious.
“Epidural bleeding occurs between the skull and dura; whereas subdural bleeding occurs between the dura and arachnoid. Subdural is usually more serious. Yours is relatively minor. Sometimes surgery is called for, sometimes aspiration. But, for the time being, we’re just going to monitor yours, make sure the pressure on your dura doesn’t increase. I am going to prescribe some medicine which should reduce the swelling.”
Wow, Emma thought, that's a lot to digest. She asked the doctor, “How long will I be here?”
“Overnight, minimum. Longer if the bleed grows.” She closed the privacy curtain around Emma’s bed. “Now, I’m going to give you a full head-to-toe and make sure everything else is as it should be.”
Dr. McKay carefully removed her hospital gown. She gave her a t
horough examination, poking and prodding, yet causing little pain. She checked absolutely everywhere. Emma was glad she was not modest.
“You sure took an unholy beating,” the doctor observed.
“This is where you’re supposed to say ‘And what does the other guy look like?’ ”
“I’ll play along,” McKay bantered. “What does the other guy look like?”
“The other guy has a hole in him.”
McKay’s eyebrows soared. “You shot your assailant? With a gun?”
“I sure did. You haven’t admitted anyone with a GSW, have you?”
She laughed. “I’d remember if we had, and I’ll be sure to tell you if we do.”
She and Dr. McKay joked around some more until she had to leave to attend to other patients. Emma liked her.
An hour or so later, Caroline Stoner arrived carrying a bouquet of flowers. Roses.
“These are from the gang.”
Emma was glad to see her. She smelled the roses. They smelled a lot better than the ubiquitous stench of hospital disinfectant.
Caroline said, “Shit, you look worse than when I saw you at the house. You looked in the mirror recently?”
Emma nodded. “If it weren’t for the morphine, which the doc said the paramedic shouldn’t have given me, I’d be feeling a lot sorrier for myself.” She thought for a moment. “I trust there’s a full manhunt on for Will.”
“Yup. Whining Shit is all over it. Like a dog with a bone. You know how she gets.”
“I can’t believe that Will would beat me so viciously. None of this makes sense. I’ll tell you, though, I’m glad I’m no longer in charge of this whole shitstorm.”
“That reminds me. I want to apologize for not reaching out to you after Wardlaw sacked you. I don’t feel like I was a particularly good friend.”
“Don’t beat yourself up.” Emma laughed at her own joke. “Just find Will and protect him. That’s all I ask.”
“You got it, Chief.” Caroline air-kissed her. “Back to work,” she said, leaving the cubicle. “I’ll come see you when you get home.”
Emma’s eyes followed the plastic tubing which connected her vein to the drip chamber of an IV bag. She watched the steady drip drip drip. It was hypnotic, and she soon dozed.
When she woke up, Vanessa was standing at the end of her bed. She was still dressed in her pajamas, but they were now covered with a borrowed lab coat.
“They’re discharging me,” she said without coming closer. “Stella Weeks offered to drive me home.”
“That’s nice of her,” Emma said sincerely.
“But I’m not spending the night. I’m not sure I will ever be able to spend the night in the house again. It’s ruined for me.” She stared at Emma. Her expression was not particularly sisterly.
“What?” said Emma.
“I thought I knew you. Now I don’t know what to think. What could’ve happened between you and Will to make your relationship so utterly poisonous? What did you do, Emma? Was it you? Did you drive him mad?”
Emma couldn’t believe her ears. She’d just risked her life for her friend.
She lifted herself up in bed. “I am truly sorry that that’s the way you feel.”
With unmistakable finality, Vanessa said, “Goodbye, Emma.”
Emma slumped back onto the pillow.
What did she have left? She’d lost her two best friends, her job, any feeling of safety going forward. All she had was one faithful dog. And a horny private investigator.
Who, to her surprise, was her next visitor.
“Pepper is still standing watch outside the ambulance entrance. She seems a little annoyed. Do you want me to take her home?”
“I am so selfish! I forgot all about her. I’ll bet she’s pissed.”
“By the looks of you, you have every right to a little self-involvement.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” She told him about her visit with Vanessa.
He listened sympathetically, but without comment.
Then Emma asked, “You interested in hearing what happened at Vanessa’s house? Last night?”
He nodded soberly.
Emma told him every detail that she could remember. From awakening to the wet tip of a Sharpie, to the shot, the scream, and, finally, the assailant kicking her unconscious.
Mark took her hand. She didn’t resist. He kissed the back of her hand and told her, “You can count on me, babe.”
“Thank you, Mark, and thanks for looking after Pepper.”
After he’d gone, Emma wept. For no credible reason and despite all evidence suggesting she was a fool, she still loved Will Foster.
44
Home Remedies
I maintain at all times a plentiful supply of medical equipment, supplies, and drugs. I keep them in a large, locked storage unit at the opposite end of my basement from my Tsunami 300-gallon aquarium. Each cubby is self-contained and labeled. I know exactly where to find the cubby labeled Narcotic Analgesics. Obviously, I cannot waltz into an Emergency Department with a gunshot wound and not be asked a couple of questions.
From a plastic tube with a child-resistant, pop-up plastic top, I remove two 20 mg OxyContin tablets. On my kitchen counter, I crush the pills into a fine purplish dust. The prescription expired three years ago, but that is just big-pharma bullshit. They are fine. In fact, they’re better than a new prescription, because Purdue, which makes Oxy (their headquarters are in Stamford, Connecticut, which isn’t very far away), caved to the anti-opioid crazies and changed the way the pills are manufactured. Now, they are designed to turn into goo in the moist environment of the nostrils, which makes snorting them an unpleasant experience. I hate the Sacklers.
Did you know that Heroin® is a registered trademark of Bayer AG, which is why you should always capitalize it?
I have 40 mg ready, crushed and lined up, on the counter.
I roll up a bill and snort each line until there’s no Oxy left. I know that I could overdose, but I am not getting anywhere near my gunshot wound without a boatload of painkiller.
Fucking Emma!
I remove my shirt. The entrance and exit wounds are weeping blood through my stop-gap dressing. I have various suture kits (“retired” from the US Navy). The problem is I am right-handed. I know I will not be able to stitch the holes with my left hand. The wound is approximately 12 mm medial to my right humerus. The entrance wound looks like it was made by a 9 mm slug, and the exit wound is larger.
Before beginning, I wait a full hour until I get super-stoned.
First, I run warm water right into the hole on the anterior side of my upper arm. In a contortionist’s pose I flow tap water into the posterior hole. In paramedic school, my instructor said, “Don’t put anything in a wound that you wouldn’t put in an eye.”
I have to get back to work, and I don’t need an infection to delay me. I select a 10-60 cc irrigation syringe and fill it with medical grade isopropyl alcohol. I insert the tip of the syringe into the bullet hole, grit my teeth, and push the plunger.
Turns out, 40 mg of OxyContin is not enough.
I scream. My arm is on fire.
Contorting my arm again, I disinfect the exit wound, which for some reason hurts even more. As the alcohol evaporates, so does some of the sting.
With a pair of Kelly hemostatic forceps, I squeeze the anterior wound closed and lock the forceps. The forceps flop over and hang off the wound, because I only have one hand to work with. The pain is indescribable.
I open a box of Nexcare Steri-Strips. They have their own built-in adhesive, but I need to close these holes, so nothing gets in or out. I add a drop of Krazy Glue to each end of the Steri-Strips and press each one into place. I pull them as tight as I can, after which I unlock and remove the Kelly forceps. I don’t look forward to ripping off the Steri-Strips.
Shaky and sweaty, I swallow a tumbler full of bourbon, a dividend to my analgesic cocktail. Finally, I indulge myself and go to bed, although it is Saturday morning.
Midafternoon, I wake and, still hurting, swallow an OxyContin. I don’t bother to snort this one. I’m feeling marginally improved, and the bleeding has stopped.
I call Stella on her cell phone.
“It’s me. I heard all the brouhaha on my scanner this morning. What the hell happened at Vanessa Mack’s house?Sounded like the entire Police Department responded.”
“Someone tried to murder Vanessa. The same person killed Ethan and Deb. But Emma Thorne was in the house. She shot him. She says she hit him, but she doesn’t know where.”
“No shit.”
“Actually, I’m at Vanessa’s house right now. She’s packing to leave town.” Stella lowers her voice. “Between you and me, she’s an ungodly wreck. I mean, psycho-city.”
“Can’t say I blame her.”
“Anyway, I’m just about to head back to headquarters. A taxi’s coming to pick her up in about an hour and take her to the airport. Do you want to get together tonight?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tonight, sweetie. Rain check?”
“That’s too bad.” She sounds disappointed.
As soon as I am ready, I drive right over to Vanessa’s house on Highcroft Terrace. I park directly in front. Cool as a cucumber, I knock on the front door, being careful to use my left arm. When she answers the door, she looks surprised and confused.
Then, in full-on panic mode, she squeaks, “What do you want?”
She is even more horrified when I pull my Smith & Wesson .38 Special (it has a Crimson Trace upper grip-mounted laser sight integrated into its handle).
The Crimson Trace laser beam is available in red or green. I chose green when I purchased it.
I see the green dot dancing on Vanessa’s face.
45
No-Show
Late Saturday afternoon, Dr. Emma McKay found Emma a bed on a Med-Surg corridor on the fourth floor. Like so many others, Hampshire Hospital was built on a hill. Although she shared the room with another woman, the bed that was empty had the window view. She looked out over Hampshire toward the west. In the distance, side-lit by the June sun, she could see the densely-forested Litchfield Hills. A comforting sight; it was, after all, home.
Ever So Silent Page 21