by Carolyn Nash
“Yes. Chuck went by the hospital.”
“Oh, good.” There was a sharp rap on the door. “Look, Cheryl. My dinner’s here. I’d better go.”
“Mel, I’m sorry I got you so upset. I want you to have the greatest time on this trip!”
“I will.” I wiped my nose one last time, wadded up the tissue and threw it down into the trash can.
“Just forget him.”
“I will.”
There was another knock at the door, an impatient rat-a-tat. “Cheryl, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you in a couple of days. And not a word to anyone about this.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself.”
As I dropped the phone on the bed, there was another knock, this time more of a pounding. “Just a second.” I ran across the suite, checked my face in the mirror near the door and groaned aloud. As I reached to open the door, I ducked my head so that my red-rimmed eyes were out of sight. “Just put it over there.” I waved a hand across the room.
“Put what?”
My head snapped up. “Andrew!” It was barely a croak.
Just when you think it’s safe to go back in the water.
He stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
“What are you doing here?” I managed to ask.
He looked at me, and then peered into the room behind me. “Everything okay here?”
“Yes, of course.” I turned away from him and quickly wiped at my face, trying to fix the unfixable. “I was just talking to my sister. Her cat died.”
“Oh,” he said. “That’s why you didn’t answer. Don’t you have call waiting?”
“Can’t afford it.”
I gave up on my face and turned back to him. He was leaning against the doorjamb. I smiled quickly and took a step back. “Would you like to come in?”
“No, I can’t.” There was something in his voice, something that made me look at him again. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know you like to argue, but I need you to listen to me for a second.”
He looked so handsome standing there, just like I’d pictured him, except his skin was pale. And his arms. They weren’t really crossed. It was more like he was hugging himself as if to curb a bad belly ache. “What is it?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”
“There you go. I said listen.” The smile faded. “Look, I’m sorry but I think one of those men from the airport is here in the hotel. One of them followed me after you dropped me off and there’s a good chance the other followed you. I think as a precaution, you really ought to go stay somewhere else tonight.”
I could feel fear begin a slow burn just below my breastbone. “How do you know he followed you?”
He shook his head. When he did a bead of sweat rolled down past his right eye. “I don’t have time to present the facts of the case. Just believe me, okay?”
I looked down. The knees of his jeans were covered with oily looking dirt. His shoes were scuffed and spotted with the same black gunk. The slow burn in my stomach flared. “Andrew, what happened to you? What’s wrong?”
He gave me a look of good-natured exasperation. “Haven’t you been listening? I just told you what’s wrong. Now really, you should get out of here.”
“Not yet. First I want to know what’s wrong with you. Why are you so pale?”
“I’ve been running around a lot.” The look of exasperation remained, but I noticed he hadn’t moved except to lean against the door, oh so casually. But for someone trying to appear relaxed, he was sweating an inordinate amount, and his skin, though tan, was white and drawn-looking around his eyes.
I stepped back a pace. “Okay, I’ll go. Why don’t you come in for a minute while I pack a few things?”
“No!” He cleared his throat. Smiled. “No, Melanie, there really isn’t time and I’ve got a couple of things I have to take care of. In the meantime, I want you to get out of here and I’ll meet you later, at, let’s say, the Hyatt, down on Market? Okay?”
“Why don’t we go together?”
“Because, I told you I have things to do!” He tried to smile again, but it was brittle. “Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t have any more time to argue.”
“But”
“No! Listen to me. No buts! You’ve got to get out now!” He pushed off the door, reached to take my hand. I pulled back and he lunged for me. He missed and started to fall. His hands went out to try to catch himself and his tweed jacket came open. The left side of his white shirt was red.
“Andrew!” I reached out, and he grabbed my hands, trying to stay upright, but I couldn’t hold him and he collapsed, crying out at the jolt as his knees hit the carpet with a thud.
I fell down in front of him. “Andrew! You’re hurt! What happened?”
He pulled the jacket closed and crossed his arms, but before he could I saw the dark tweed had a tattered hole in it surrounded by a darker stain soaking through the wool. “Get out,” he panted. “Please, just get out of here.”
I rocked up on my feet, touched his arm. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.” I swallowed hard. I couldn’t quite catch my breath. “I’m calling 911.”
“No!” he shouted. “Jesus Christ, did you forget the police?”
“Who’s going to care about the police if you bleed to death?!”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not that bad.” His hair fell across his forehead and clung to his skin, the sweat darkening it to a red-brown. “Now, will you for Christ’s sake just get out of here?”
To keep my voice from shaking, I barked at him instead. “Oh, sure, and leave you here?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, right.” Out in the hall the elevator bell sounded and both our heads whipped around toward the open doorway. The bell was quickly followed by the sounds of the doors sliding open and a man and woman’s voices. I jumped at the door and eased it closed just as the voices approached. Andrew remained kneeling on the carpet, hunched over his wound.
I ran to the bathroom, grabbed hand towels and washcloths, ran back, fell on my knees, reached for his jacket. His hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist. “Melanie, just leave.”
Two Melanies looked up at him: one terrified little girl barely able to keep from collapsing into a quivering heap; the other doggedly determined not to let on to this man that she couldn’t handle anything that came along. The second said: “What did I tell you about grabbing my wrist?”
“Shut up. Leave. Now.”
“I am not,” I said distinctly, “leaving you here.”
His dark eyes met mine and the panicked little girl nearly took me running from his side, out the door, back home.
“For God’s sake, please,” he said. “You’ve got to go now! I told you before. I’ll follow you. We can meet later.”
“Yeah, right. Can you even walk?”
Andrew glared at me. “Of course. How do you think I got here? Flew?”
“Prove it then, hot shot.”
“Fine.” He shifted, pushed against me, and tried to get his feet under him. I moved around him, got his arm across my shoulders, but even with my help he couldn’t stand. “I just need a second to rest,” he gasped. “Leave now and I’ll follow in a couple of minutes.”
“Sure.” I reached again to pull open his jacket.
He slapped my hand away. “No!”
“Shut up,” I said. He opened his mouth and I raised an eyebrow. I was trembling all over, but by god, I wasn’t going to let him know it. “I’m not kidding. Shut up. And if you grab me again I’m keeping my promise. You will lose that arm, at least to the elbow. Got it?”
He closed his mouth. I slipped the jacket off his shoulders and laid it aside. Both the front and back of his shirt were soaked with dark blood. There was a small ragged hole in the material about two inches in from his side that was matched by another hole in the front of his shirt. “Jesus, Andrew. Is this what I think it is?”
He nodded.
“Oh, god,” I whispered. He was right. I should just get out. I couldn’t handle this. I cla
sped my hands together, trying to keep them from shaking. It wasn’t some movie of the week. He was really bleeding.
“Believe me; it’s not as bad as it looks.”
Kneeling in his own blood, trying to reassure me while I was falling the hell apart. “If you tell me it’s only a flesh wound, I’ll strike you.”
He laughed and winced. “Ouch, don’t do that.”
“Oh, first it’s only a flesh wound, and then, it only hurts when I laugh?” I bit my lip. “Andrew, you won’t let me call an ambulance?”
His head came up and he winced at the sudden movement. “No! No ambulance. Doctors have to report gunshot wounds.”
“Okay. But I promise you, if you get worse, I’m calling.” I gingerly took hold at the ragged hole through his shirt and ripped the material.
“Owww.”
I dropped the cloth and flinched back. “Oh, god! Did I hurt you?”
“Yeah. This is my favorite shirt,” he said.
“Damn it Andrew! Cut the lousy jokes. This isn’t funny!”
“I bet it would have been if you’d said it,” he whispered.
I gently pulled at some wadded up, blood soaked material stuck to the wounds. “What is this?”
He stared at the wall, breathing quickly and shallowly. “Paper towels,” he said. “Was all I could find.”
The paper towels did it. I could see him then, see him running for his life down some dark street, bleeding, finding some dirty gas station bathroom, grabbing at anything he could find to try to keep his life from leaking out his side. And then, instead of finding somewhere to hide, to rest, to be safe, he comes to warn me.
My hands stopped shaking. I wiped the blood away as gently and quickly as I could. There was an ugly black and red puncture wound in his back below his rib cage. Pulling the paper towels off had started blood oozing from it. It didn’t, though, worry me as much as the exit wound in front. Just in from his side a nasty, larger, tattered hole bled profusely. I pressed a washcloth to it, but within seconds, I could feel the wet warmth of his blood seeping through my fingers.
“Here,” I said. I folded a hand towel, pressed it on top of the washcloth, then picked up Andrew’s hand and pressed it over the cloth. “Hold that. Tight.” He did. Without expression.
I quickly tore a bath towel into strips, placed another folded hand towel on the back wound and tied the strips as tightly as I could around his middle. He paid no attention whatsoever to what I did. Rather, he stared at the carpet as if the secret of life were somewhere in the pattern of green and black vines woven through the blue pile.
I sat back when I finished and looked at him doubtfully. “Florence Nightingale, I’m not.”
“What?” He blinked. “Oh. Yeah. No, it feels better. Really.”
“Liar. But, look, Andrew. You might be right about it not being too bad. You’ve lost a lot of blood, but from what I remember about anatomy, I think it’s missed anything vital. And I think this bandage will stop the bleeding.”
“Ah,” he croaked, “then it is just a flesh wound.”
I laughed, but I could feel the tears burning my eyes. “Idiot.”
He kind of half-grinned, but then his face contorted and a groan escaped his lips.
I put an arm across his shoulder. “Do you think you can make it to the bedroom?”
“Melanie, those men might be coming.”
“I know. But you’ve got to lie down and keep warm.”
“Look,” he said, his voice growing more hoarse and weak by the minute. “I’ll lie down if you leave. I just need to rest a bit, then I’ll follow. There is no use in both of us being found. Please, for my sake, please go.”
“No,” I whispered. “I will not leave you and that’s final.”
“Why? Why are you doing this?”
More and more, the truth of why was coming to me, but I pushed it away. Instead, I turned his words back on him. “Why did you come back here to warn me?”
“Had to.”
“No you didn’t. You could have gotten completely away. But you came back here, knowing you might run into those men. Why?”
He shook his head angrily. “Different.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes. Got you in this trouble. My fault.”
“You still could have left me to fend for myself. You didn’t. I’m not leaving you either.”
“Melanie.”
“Besides, I told you,” I said lightly. “It’s the second Friday of the month. Now come on, let me help you.”
“But”
“No buts.” I got both arms around him and twisted my hands through his belt. “Count of three?”
He nodded and put his arm across my shoulders.
I lifted with everything I had as he struggled to his feet. This time he made it upright, but when he’d reached his feet, he had to cling to me to keep from swaying. His face was ashen. “Just second. ‘ll pass.” He lowered his head to my shoulder and I held him to me, straining under his weight, straining also to keep the tears from falling.
“Okay,” he said. “That’s better. I” A knock on the door interrupted him. I’d felt too many blushes in my life; this was the first time I ever felt the color drain from my face. For a second there, Andrew and I must have looked like twins.
“Melanie,” he croaked. “Why didn’t you leave? Should have never gotten you involved.” His head hung down as he tried to breathe. His damp hair fell forward, shadowing his face.
I bent down, twisting around so that I could look up into his eyes. “Look, you,” I whispered fiercely, “I am involved because I chose to be. I could have left you at the airport if I’d wanted out of this. And I’m tired of having to tell you to shut up. Now come on, I’m going to hide you.”
Andrew shook his head. “You hide.”
“No, and I said shut up!”
There was another knock on the door and I swallowed firmly. “Who is it?”
“Room service, ma’am.”
“Just a moment,” I called. “See? It’s my dinner. Now come on. You can hide in the closet.”
“Anybody can say room service,” he said.
“Stop arguing with me!” I pulled him toward the closet. He stopped fighting me and we stumbled across the room. I eased him to the floor of the closet, and then grabbed a couple of pillows and a blanket off the shelf. I tucked them around him and gave him a look. “Now, just keep quiet.”
Andrew sank back against the pillows, pulled the blanket closer, and looked up at me. “Extraordinary,” he whispered.
“What do you know,” I whispered back. I pushed the damp hair from his forehead, then quickly stepped from the closet and closed the door.
I peered through the spyhole in the door. A moon-faced boy in a bellboy’s outfit stood on the other side. I set the chain, took a deep breath, and opened the door a crack. Just the boy and a dinner cart near him.
“Oh,” I said. “Oh.”
He stood for a moment, and then looked down at the cart and back to me. “Uh, Ma’am? It’s your dinner.”
“Yes.” I stared at him. “Oh, sorry, yes, dinner.”
“Could you sign this please?”
“Yes, of course.” I started to reach for the ticket, saw the blood on my hand and sleeve, reached through instead with my left hand, snagged the check, scribbled my name on it, and thrust it back at him. “Thank you.”
“If you’ll open the door, I’ll set it up, ma’am.”
“No thanks. Just leave it there.”
“Really, Ma’am, it’s my job.”
“No thank you! Really.” I pulled a wad of dollars from my pocket and shoved them at him. “Please, just go.”
“Well, uh, fine. Thanks.” He backed away. When he had moved far enough down the hall, I swung the door just wide enough, jerked the cart in over the blood-stained carpet, and slammed the door closed.
I looked down at the cart and began to laugh weakly as I crossed to the closet.
Andrew stood within,
the blanket pooled around his feet. He was swaying unsteadily, grimly clutching a clothes hanger in his hand as if he were D’Artagnan and the wood was a polished steel dueling saber. His other hand was reaching for the door knob. His face was pale as death.
I felt that sideways beat of my heart again. “What were you going to do with that?” I whispered.
He looked at the hanger in his hand. “Don’t know,” he whispered. He swayed, fell back a step, then his eyes rolled up and he fell against the wall and began to slide downward.
“Andrew?” I jumped forward and eased him to the floor. “Andrew? Andrew, please. Answer me.”
His eyelids fluttered.
“Andrew?”
He blinked and opened his eyes.
“Jesus, Andrew! Don’t scare me like that!”
He blinked, tried to smile.
I pulled the blanket up around him and then, worried by his flushed cheeks in an otherwise deathly pale face, I pressed a hand to his forehead. It felt warm, but when I touched him, he shivered as if with a chill. “You idiot.” I pulled the hanger from his hand. I smoothed back his hair, then kept stroking it.
“Melanie?”
“Hmmm?”
“It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.”
“I know. I wish...” I wish I could take the pain from you. I wish I knew how to help you. I wish... I smoothed back the hair at his temple. “I know,” I said.
He opened his eyes and stared across at the closet wall. “I’m sorry about LA, the limo, that line I fed you.”
My hand stopped for a moment, then kept stroking. “It’s past. You should just rest now.”
“After J.P. said... what he did. Then the police. I knew I had to get out, get here...”
“Shhh, it’s all right.”
He shook his head. “Called Caren. She wouldn’t… she couldn’t come. I had no money, and I remembered you, waited, saw the limo and I thought it was going to be all right, but I didn’t know you, really, couldn’t take the chance.”
I stopped stroking his hair because my hand had begun to tremble.
“You deserved better.”
The hotel phone in the bedroom rang, making us both jump. We stared at each other. It rang again.
“Wait,” I said breathlessly. “It’s okay. It’s got to be Cheryl again, or Maggie, my sister.”