Surrogate
Page 2
No, in some ways he was grateful Carrie hadn't been brought in because maybe this meant she was still alive somewhere unlike his wife had been. After all the runs Dallas had been on, he was still superstitious. Nobody was dead until an official call had been made, so maybe Carrie was still out there, waiting for him to find her, and maybe there was still something he could do for her and the baby.
Dallas started driving down the gravel road. "Keep your eyes open," he said, gripping the wheel tightly. "She could be walking or lying somewhere."
"I got it covered," Jose said, nodding as he stared out the window. "I still don't see how she would've made it even this far, considering what that car looked like."
"Yeah, well, this job is all about strange things. You know how that goes." Dallas rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension. It had been a while since things had been this stressful.
"Wait!" Jose suddenly said, sitting up straight. "Do you see that?"
Dallas's gaze followed Jose's to a woman in a dress walking not far down the road. Although the dress had been white at one time, now most of it was red, depending on how much blood had seeped into the fabric.
"What the hell?" The words slurred into a single obscenity, and Dallas blinked, just to make sure he was actually seeing her, very pregnant, walking barefoot down a country road.
Dallas slammed on the brakes. "Get the back board!" he yelled even as he threw the gearshift into park and shoved open the door. As soon as his boots hit the ground, he was off and running.
"Ms. Williams!" Dallas yelled, hoping to stop her, yet she either hadn't heard him or hadn't known her own name. She neither turned nor gave any response, which troubled him.
She wasn't moving particularly fast, so it didn't take much for him to lunge in front of her, halting her progress. Dallas didn't have a clue what he'd been expecting, but her undamaged face wasn't it. She looked as she always had, with brown eyes, almost too big for her face, and hair the sun had set fire to, burning this moment in his memory. The only obvious wound was laceration on her head.
"Ms. Williams? Carrie?" he finally managed in a raspy, broken voice that sounded deeper than usual.
Carrie just kept looking at him, and the only movement she made was to blink now and again as though she were in a trance and nothing could shake her from it. What was going on? Was she in shock?
"Where's the blood coming from?" Dallas asked, looking down at her ruined dress. He thought back to the destroyed car and knew he should see some kind of trauma. This wasn't natural. Still, he waited, giving her a chance to answer. Not surprisingly, however, she merely regarded him dully with those bottomless eyes and tried to step around him as Jose arrived with the backboard.
"Can you speak?" Dallas prompted. Even though he kept looking at her face, his peripheral vision strayed to the blood, and considering just how much she'd lost, it was a miracle she was even conscious.
It took a moment before she tried to even make a sound, and as she started to speak, Dallas thought of the diabetic he'd treated with sugar so far over the top he'd been barely still here. The guy's mouth had been so dry; it had taken everything he'd had to form words, and even then they hadn't sounded much like a words at all, just noise.
Still, there was a distinct sound she made, rather like she was deaf, and Dallas struggled to find meaning in it. Finally, he deciphered it: "Tired."
He waited for more, something more to tell him she knew what had happened to her and how close to death she was, but nothing came.
"Carrie?" He started to say something else when she passed out.
"Hell," Dallas snapped and reached to catch her.
* * *
Robbie Williams paced the foyer of Clementine's, the same restaurant where he'd proposed to Carrie eight years ago. Yeah, the server wanted to seat him, but Robbie couldn't quite go for that, not until Carrie arrived.
Three hours had passed since he'd left her the message to meet, and while he knew it wasn't out of Carrie's character for her to be late or to forget to call and check in, he hated it. And she'd never been this late. He'd given her the lecture about driving off into a ditch so many times they both had it memorized, and when all was said and done, she'd just offer a sweet smile that he wouldn't be able to resist.
So where the hell was she?
He paced the room again and caught sight of his reflection in one of the decorative mirrors hanging on the wall. His dark hair was shoulder-length and wavy. Its deep brown matched his eyes, and a few fine wrinkles had settled around them, tempering his good looks into something more trusting. Carrie called it looking distinguished. He called it getting old.
Robbie reached into his pocket and dialed her cell again, knowing she probably wouldn't answer, and he debated whether he should just forgo the whole dinner thing and head back to the house to wait. Still, something felt off about this, but he couldn't put his finger on what.
He was right. Her phone went straight to message, and he shoved his cell back into his pocket.
"Did you reach your wife, Robbie?"
It was Rusty Hallaran, the owner. Rusty and Robbie went back as far as high school, and while these days their association was based on the new house Robbie's construction company was building for Rusty, that didn't mean the old friendship wasn't still buried under there somewhere.
"No, I didn't."
Rusty nodded and looked at his watch.
"Look," Robbie said, "I don't want to keep a table you could use for someone else. I'll just get out of your hair." Robbie flashed Rusty an agreeable smile he didn't feel and sauntered toward the door.
On the way to his truck, Robbie spotted a young couple, two kids probably just out of college who had their whole lives before them. He smiled while watching the guy wrap his arm around the girl and silently prayed good things for them like what he'd had with Carrie. Aside from the difficulties of getting pregnant, their life together had been incredible, and the future only promised to get better.
He watched them go inside and realized they had probably been lucky enough to get the table he'd just relinquished, considering how full the restaurant had been. Oh, well--what was Clementine's without Carrie? Robbie got in, turned on the radio, and coasted through town before getting on the highway that would take him the ten miles to a house Carrie had wanted more than he had, probably because of the rocky shoreline just behind. Hell, she'd spent hours out there, just watching the water break across the rocks. It was her favorite place in all the world.
Robbie heard the ambulance before he ever saw it zipping past him. He drifted to a stop, watching it rush toward the county hospital in Kilbrough. He stared at the flashing lights until the next hill made the vehicle disappear.
Without realizing it, Robbie's foot had pressed the accelerator even harder and nudged his speed up to 75. The closer he got to his turn off, the more deeply he frowned. He didn't like feeling that something was off, and by the time he hit the turn signal, he knew why.
He turned and started to punch the gas when he spotted a police cruiser blocking the road. The officer with it waved for him to stop, and Robbie quickly recognized him: Abe Louwers. Louwers gestured for Robbie to roll down his window, and despite the way rocks seemed to have settled in Robbie's stomach, he complied and waited for the other shoe to drop.
"What's going on, Abe?"
"There's wreck down this road."
"Is it a car? A red Toyota?" The words rushed out of his mouth, and he stiffened, waiting. "My wife was supposed to meet me at Clementine's, and she never showed."
"Jesus, Robbie." The color left the officer's face. "The ambulance just took her."
A silent gasp forced the air from Robbie's lungs, and he felt like his whole body had collapsed into itself. "How bad?"
"I don't know. I wasn't working that end of things."
Without another word, Robbie shifted into reverse and peeled backwards. He would have hit a truck barreling down the highway, but the driver honked mercilessly, warning Robb
ie to stop.
"Be careful!" Abe shouted.
Robbie pretended not to hear him and zoomed onto the highway, his mind racing with all the possibilities he faced. Could Carrie lose the baby? Was it bad enough she would die? So many questions and no answers.
It seemed to take forever for him to race down the highway. Now his speed was dangerous--90 to 95--and he dared anyone to tell him to slow down. He had to get to Carrie. She needed him.
"She's going to be okay," he growled. "She has to be okay."
A few moments later, he darted through traffic, more than once cutting someone off in his desperation to get to the hospital. He ignored the horns and yelling people who made time to tell him he was a jerk. All he could think about was inside that two-story, red brick building right in front of him, and as he dashed inside the emergency room, he stowed the keys in his pocket.
Once inside, Robbie realized many people were already here, waiting for treatment, but probably none of them were nearly as grave as his wife. Desperate, he started trying to scoot through the small crowd waiting at the desk, but a guard quickly caught his arm.
"The line's back there," he said gently.
Robbie jerked free. "My wife was in a car accident. She was just brought in by ambulance."
The security guard nodded solemnly. "Okay, I get that. But you aren't doing her or you any favors like this. Let me see what I can find out while you try to calm down."
Sensing that was the best offer he was going to get, Robbie nodded and said, "Thanks." He watched the guard disappear into the triage room, where two nurses worked with an elderly patient and her husband. The guard stepped up to one of the nurses and whispered something in her ear.
The nurse looked at him, and Robbie wondered what the guard was saying. Had Carrie been brought here as a DOA, and were they looking for a doctor to tell him? What the hell was going on?
Unsettled by the way they seemed to be talking about him, Robbie stepped forward, toward the triage room. He was met by one of the other nurses. "I'm sorry, sir. You can't go back there. You'll have to wait."
"My wife is back there!" he snapped.
The sound of Robbie's raised voice quickly got attention. The nurse whispered one last thing to him, and the guard walked out toward Robbie.
"Weren't you supposed to be calming down?"
"Weren't you supposed to let me know what's going on with my wife?"
The guard nodded. "You're right. She is back there. She's being evaluated, and when the doctors get a chance, they'll be out to tell you something."
"Why can't I go back there?" Robbie demanded. "I want to see her."
The guard took a deep breath. "From what I hear, it was a hell of a wreck, man. Those doctors are doing everything they can to take care of business. You need to make their jobs easier so they can save your wife, okay?"
Robbie looked into his eyes, wishing the spinning he felt inside would stop. He was as groundless as he'd ever been, and he didn't have a clue what to do. Carrie was his whole world. He couldn't imagine losing her. It just couldn't happen.
Chapter Three
It seemed hours had passed as Robbie sat in the waiting room, doctors coming and going without giving a moment's pause to his--or anyone else's--presence. He doubted they even saw him.
He leaned over and cradled his head in his hands, unable to take being the invisible man anymore. More than once, he considered just trying to sneak to the back and figure out which room Carrie was being treated in and what the doctors weren't telling him. He'd grown wise enough over the years to realize nobody ever told the whole story, especially in a situation like this. Whether it was because they didn't believe he could handle the horror of it or that they weren't sure what to say, it didn't matter. He just wanted to know.
He started to go back there again when the guard caught his eye, clearly waiting for him to do something else that might cause trouble, and he couldn't afford to either be thrown out or arrested. He had to be here for Carrie, no matter how bad things were.
Frustrated, Robbie stood and paced the room, walking over to the stash of magazines by the television just to give himself something to do besides sit and wait. He needed to do something, to move. At least stretching the stiffness out of his muscles gave him something to think about besides why he was here, and he definitely needed that kind of distraction.
He sorted through the magazines, mostly women's glossies that revolved around remodeling, housekeeping, or kids, none of which he wanted to read about at present. Then again, he wasn't sure what he wanted to read about that would keep him sane.
"Williams?" a tall, lanky doctor with a very receeding hairline called, chart in hand. "Family of Carrie Williams?"
"Coming," Robbie answered, letting the magazines that he'd lifted fall back to the table as he strode to the doctor and followed him into the triage room. In that instant, the rest of the waiting room occupants faded behind its glass walls, and Robbie felt his entire body tense.
"Mr. Williams?"
Robbie nodded, trying to size the doctor up and read him. Most of the time, he was pretty good at that sort of thing, but now Robbie came up empty.
"I'm Dr. Greg Libet, the physician treating your wife. At present, we're running tests to determine the extent of her injuries."
Up until that point, Libet had been making eye contact with Robbie, but suddenly the man refocused his attention on the chart in his hand, frowning. Something wasn’t right.
"That's it? That's all you can tell me?" Robbie growled, quickly losing patience.
"This isn't a normal case," Libet retorted, "not by a long shot."
Robbie wanted to throttle the man. Instead, he settled for running his fingers through his hair just as he had done many times earlier. He was probably going to go bald like this--like Libet--not that it mattered. All that mattered were Carrie and the baby. He just wished he were closer to seeing them.
"Look, I just want to know how she is and see her. Is that too much to ask?"
"She's...sleeping at present. Apparently the wreck wore her out." Again, Libet wasn't making eye contact, and that was giving Robbie the heebie-jeebies. Something didn't add up.
"How's the baby?" Robbie demanded. Maybe that was what this idiot was hiding--you know, the whole "Don't give out bad news until somebody forces me to" thing. Well, Robbie was going to force him to tell the truth, one way or another. This was his wife and baby. They deserved the best, and Robbie was going to make sure they got it.
Libet shook his head. He wasn’t sure how to answer, yet another indication that the wrong doctor was treating Carrie. "The baby seems...fine."
"So what aren't you telling me?" Robbie demanded, setting his hands on his hips. "You might as well spit it out because you're not going anywhere and neither am I until we get this straight. I don't care how many blue-haired old ladies get bent out of shape. This is my wife, and I want to know what's going on."
That seemed to catch Libet's attention. Maybe it was the idea of all the blue-haired Golden Girls striking a picket in the waiting room. Whatever the case, Robbie suddenly had the doctor's full attention.
"Mr. Williams, I'd like to know what's going on as much as you would, and as soon as we figure that out, I'll be glad to pass the news along to you. Until then, we're doing everything we can to get to the bottom of this...mystery...with as much haste as possible."
Libet glanced down at the chart again, and Robbie wished he knew what the hell had been scribbled there. That alone might've been enough to put his mind at ease, but he also knew he probably wasn't getting a chance to peek at that chart, at least not any time soon.
"What about seeing Carrie?" Robbie asked again.
"It won't matter. She's not going to know you're there," Libet replied, glancing at his watch.
"I'll know I'm there," Robbie snapped, folding his arms across his chest. "And that matters to me."
"All right. I suppose there's no harm. Follow me, and I'll take you to her room."
During the short walk down the hall, Robbie felt everyone staring at him, making him wonder if he'd grown a second head. Gritting his teeth, he kept his head low, eyes averted, just in case someone had the bright idea to speak to him. The last thing he wanted was to try to have a rational conversation. He just wanted to see Carrie.
Libet stopped at one of the rooms and nodded at the door. "She's was unconscious the last time I was in here, so don't expect much."
Although Robbie expected the doctor to turn and walk away before Robbie had even entered the room, Libet didn't move, watching as Robbie pulled open door.
"Thank you for your time," Robbie managed as the sudden silence suffocated him and he couldn't take it anymore.
Of course, it probably wouldn't have mattered what Robbie said or whether he'd simply remained silent. Libet only stood there, watching as Robbie shut the door and focused his efforts on Carrie.
After another deep breath to settle his nerves, Robbie slowly opened his eyes and stepped closer. He'd expected her to be clad in a bloody hospital gown. He'd even imaged her belly had shrunk in the absence of the baby lost to the trauma. He'd thought her face might be bruised and swelled beyond recognition, and he'd braced himself for that.
What he'd not prepared for was for Carrie to be lying there looking the same as she had the last time he'd seen her. Yes, she had so many monitors attached to her body, but other than that, there was no outward sign she'd even been injured except for a bandage on her forehead, and that made no sense, not considering the way everybody was talking. They didn't just block a road for a small fender-bender.
Frowning, he looked closer, wondering if he were just missing the signs of her injuries because that was what he wanted to see. He wanted her to be fine, so maybe that's what his mind told him was happening.