Pink Slips

by Beth Aldrich

In my foggy state, I hear, Mom, I hear you. I am already here, but Misty can’t hear me. I will run to the side door and try.

  Dr. Hildebrandt comes closer to me and bends down, resting his weight on his bent ankles, eye level to me. He asks, “Do you wonder why I am here and why I have been trying to communicate with you through the pink notes?”

  I nod, trying not to look at him. His good looks are deceiving and fading away.

  “Well, I will tell you, Betsy.” His gruff voice continues, “I’ve wanted you, ever since you came to our practice ten years ago, after your miscarriage. But you’ve never given me the time of day or acknowledged me the way you should… Oh, I’ve tried.” He’s circling me, spewing saliva with each filthy word he utters. “When you lost your second baby, you came in to see Dr. Deller, not me! During your crying and blubbering in the waiting room, I was there in the office. I sympathized with you, but you paid no attention to me. Instead, you went to him.” He grimaces as his face gets red with anger.

  I look up with a blank expression on my face. I don’t want him to see the hurt, anger, and confusion in my eyes. “I took his pink sheets of paper and placed the first note,” he continues. “No one suspects accomplished, good-looking people like me. We get professional courtesy in most situations, unlike what you gave me. I knew where you lived and everything about you, including your medical check-up schedule—written in your medical file. Dr. Deller keeps very meticulous notes. Lucky for me, it was child’s play finding out your details.” He points to me, and then over to my house and back again—encompassing everything about me, my family, and where I live. “Seeing you pregnant again gave me the urge to make my move—after so many years of wanting you.”

  Tears roll down my face as I remember that horrific day when I had my first pregnancy loss. Never again, Betsy; fight for this baby. I nod yes, as if to acknowledge his words. Inside my heart, I’m frantically begging, pleading: hurry, please, someone help me. I hear Barney frantically barking. Hurry, Barney.

  “Then, when you had to have the D&C procedure, I was in the hospital, hoping you would be okay.” He squats down again, resting on his knees, inches from my face. “I came into the registration area, and still again, you did not acknowledge me the way I expected and craved. You could have come to me for support, but no!

  “When you gave birth to both of your sons, you stayed in the hospital to recover. I was there, but did you even notice me? No!” He gets up and screams down at me, “You were more concerned with your baby and your doctor, not me!” His voice is cloaked behind the pouring rain, but ringing in my ears—his face inches from mine. His breath is sour, filthy. Nothing like the image of the man I’ve casually seen over the years.

  He exposes a large hunting knife and taps the point on the tip of my chin, pricking it to expose several droplets of blood, then a quarter-inch slash. The cut stings.

  I struggle to choke back sobs that are caught in my throat—lungs protesting to take in any additional air. Feeling dizzy, I drop my head and look down at my feet, where drops of blood are accumulating. My baby, Emmy Grace, is sitting motionless, evidently sensing my gripping fear. Am I going to die here? Please, God, protect me. Touch my dog’s heart and soul and guide him to protect me or go get help.

  “I watched your children go to school, your dog walks, fights with your husband in the backyard, trying to shield it from your children. I knew you needed me to rescue you, but you refused me. He was in the arms of another woman and you never knew!” His diabolical laugh echoes as he nods his head.

  I lift my head, rage surging through my entire body, and scream, “How dare you? How dare you, Hildebrandt! I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you hurt me, or anyone I love.” I don’t even know his first name, and yet he feels a need, after ten years, to get even—for what?

  He’s caught off guard by my scream, which I hope caught someone’s attention. I wish Misty could hear me over this pounding thunderstorm and the movie. “I never did anything to you to deserve this treatment. I love my family. My husband loves me! I don’t believe you.”

  He takes a step forward and swings the back of his opened hand, knuckles toward my face, and smacks me across the cheek, knocking me to the floor. Unable to use my bound hands to soften the fall, my hip hits the floor first, then my cheek. Tears are streaming, mixing with the blood, creating a puddle on the floor right next to my cheek. I hope the baby is okay. She’s still. I breathe slowly, taking in air at a measured pace, hoping she can feel my love.

  Feeling my baby’s love in return, I muster up the courage to fight. Behind my closed lips, I grit my teeth, fueled by love and faith, and hang on.

  He grabs my hair and pulls me back onto the crate. “Get up! I almost killed your husband in the hospital, but those damn doctors had to butt in, just like Dr. Deller coming in between us. He’s always interfered with my life, with you. That made me angrier than you’ll ever know.” He starts to pace the room again, obviously thinking about what to do next. His eyes are dark with fury; he’s huffing and puffing heavily as he scans the garage. Any physical beauty that he once had is gone. With each exhale, the stench of hateful, dirty breath fills the air.

  I zero in on my baby and become very still, helping me focus and go inside to ignore my physical pain. I focus on Barney. I close my eyes and picture my dog running in circles in the yard, trying to get Misty’s attention so he can bring her to the garage. Somehow, I can visualize her whispering on her cell phone in my yard. I wish my imagination were true, but I’m afraid this may be my last thought before I die. I hear the pounding rain, I hear my dog, I think I hear Misty.

  The many thoughts of my life start to flash in front of my face, like quick flickers of film. My thoughts stop and focus on a flashback of a Lassie television show rerun that I once watched as a young girl. I can see the collie leading Ruth and Paul Martin to find their adoptive son, Timmy, who’d fallen in the well. Barney is my Lassie, but will he bring me help?

  Hildebrandt’s raging voice jolts me from my thoughts as he surges back over to where I am sitting, knife above his head. I hear him speak, almost as if we’re under water in slow motion. “If I can’t have you, no one will, Betsy. I will kill you. And then I’ll kill myself.”

  In that instant, I’m thrown back into reality, where I clearly hear Misty scream, “Hold it right there, asshole! Don’t make one more move or I’ll blow your head off!” Misty’s gun stance is impressively threatening as she squints and then suddenly lowers her weapon and stares at Dr. Hildebrandt.

  “Gary! What are you doing?”

  He swerves his head and sees Misty with Barney standing by her side, growling. Both are frozen for what feels like minutes, then he charges straight for her and throws her to the ground. Her gun flings over, near where I’m being held captive.

  Little did he realize Misty has serious black belt capabilities. They grapple on the muddy pavement for several minutes as Barney runs to my side, licking my leg. I struggle to a stand and scramble to seize the gun. I see the cold steel end of the weapon as I point it at my stalker, screaming for Misty to duck as I shoot three times—hoping Misty heard me and isn’t in the bullet’s path.

  Bang-Bang-Bang!

  Everything is happening so fast as I drop the gun and run over and tend to Misty, whose arm is cut. Dr. Gary Hildebrandt is unconscious on the ground; I don’t know if he’s dead or not, but blood is soaking his chest wounds. The searing pain on my cheek and hip increase by the second as I struggle to help Misty to her feet.

  I hear sirens in the distance.

  Being inside an ambulance can be rather telling, as it gives you a better appreciation for the dedicated paramedics who work in an even-tempered fashion to fix you. To observe their skill and ability—tending to victims in a moving vehicle—is awe-inspiring.

  The paramedic wraps the cuff around my bicep to check my blood pressure, then shines a light over my eyes to check my pupils. Next, he gently presses his fingers on my vein to check my pulse, then uses the ste
thoscope to listen to the baby. Another person applies a butterfly bandage to the blood-crusted knife cut on my chin, while I hold an ice pack against my cheek where Dr. Hildebrandt hit me.

  The driver whizzes through a red light, only slightly slowing down to confirm there is no oncoming traffic, then proceeds through the intersection at full speed. I can hear the person sitting in the front passenger seat talking my parents, letting them know I’m okay and am headed to Good Faith Hospital. I’m certain I won’t be taken to the ICU, but interestingly Steven and I will spend the night in the same building tonight.

  The paramedic turns to me. “Mrs. Ryan, when we arrive at the hospital, we’re going to take you in on a stretcher, so please remain in this position when the driver parks the ambulance, okay?” His slender build and thick head of blond hair, cut in a surfer-dude style, perfectly match his laid-back demeanor—ironic for an EMT.

  “Sure, no problem,” I say. “Can I give you this ice pack or should I keep it on my cheek? It’s cold and making my hand numb.”

  “Aw, I’d keep it on until the doctor sees you, if I were you. You don’t want that shiner to take hold.”

  The familiar hospital sights, sounds, and smells permeate my senses while the paramedics check in at the ER reception desk and I wait to be seen by a doctor. They transfer me to a wheelchair sitting next to a wall, where I close my eyes to have a few minutes of privacy.

  My quiet reprieve is interrupted when a young and energetic orderly pushes my wheelchair into an exam room housed behind a flimsy curtain. The patient next door is complaining about her broken leg and something about pain pills.

  A police officer comes in. It’s Officer Flaggler.

  I nod and wait for him to continue.

  “I’d like to get a statement from you while you wait for the doctor to arrive. I’ve been filled in on the details of your attack,” he said. “I am so sorry that we could not have been more helpful in arresting this person. We just did not have enough descriptive evidence and manpower to stake out your home. I truly apologize.”

  “Yes, of course, I remember you, and yes, that is correct.” Trying to focus, exhaustion pulls at my eyelids. I just want to get this over with so I can get some sleep.

  “Your neighbor, a Miss Misty Nicks, called the station earlier this evening when your dog showed up at your house without you. She sensed foul play. She said she was the person who called the station the other day when the assailant was outside your home. We immediately dispatched the ambulance and a squad car to your residence.” He’s reading from a notepad, to make sure he gets the facts straight.

  “I thought I heard the ambulance in the distance when I was in the garage. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “From what I understand, you and Misty Nicks were in inherent danger, and you would’ve been stabbed to death if you hadn’t gotten ahold of her weapon to stop the attack. Is that what you remember?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what happened. It was self-defense,” I reply, trying to rack my brain to remember. It all happened so fast. All I can remember is hearing Barney bark nonstop and the sound of the gun going off. I hope Misty recalls the story with more clarity… I just can’t remember. “Is Dr. Hild… the suspect… dead?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He died at the scene. Ms. Nicks arrived in the other ambulance and is with the doctors in another exam room having her laceration stitched up. She’ll be able to leave after we get her statement. Your neighbors, the Swansons, are at your house with the children.” Given what we’ve been through the past few days, I must admit, Misty has been ready to jump in and help me, without question. Ironically, I ended up being the hero of my own attack. Whatever the outcome, though, Misty and Barney saved my life.

  Now that I have signed my police statement and it’s on the books, I can meet with my ER doctor. Hopefully, it’ll be quick so I can get to my room for the night, because my eyelids are winning the battle for sleep.

  This hospital room is much cozier than where Steve is in the ICU. I will have a beautiful view of the lake in the morning. The dim lighting in the hallway, and in my room, is soft compared to the stark fluorescent glow of the lights and machines Steven is subject to. I realize he is not conscious right now, but it must be hard on the folks who need to work there, day in and day out—not to mention the visiting family members. I’m thankful they’re keeping me overnight to monitor the baby after that horrific attack. We really took a beating.

  Since I forgot my cell phone when I went on the walk with Barney, I need to use the wall-connected phone in the room, located on the movable bedside table. I want to give Misty a quick call to check in with her. She must be eager to talk with me.

  The door opens. “Oh, Betsy,” my parents cry as they enter my room. “We were so worried about you.” Arm in arm, they approach my bed and swoop in for a hug.

  “Well, thanks to Misty, I’m okay,” I say. “The baby’s okay, too.”

  Mom holds back sobs as she runs her fingers through my curls. “Misty is on her way back home to be with the boys and get them to bed, until we get there. Luckily Mrs. Swanson was able to come over and stay with them after the ambulance took Misty.”

  “Did Mrs. Swanson know what was going on?”

  “Your father told her there was a bit of an accident and we had to meet you at the hospital. As far as she knows, it wasn’t a big deal. Surprisingly, I don’t think she heard the gunshots.”

  “How did you know what was going on?”

  “Misty called us when she saw Barney barking at the back door, without you. She asked if we had heard from you, then told us to call the police while she searched the garage and areas around your house. Misty called and told us everything. I can’t believe how brave you are, sweetie. Between you, Barney, and Misty, you fought off that horrible man!”

  “It’s all surreal. I just hope the police know it was self-defense.”

  “Honey, they do. Misty is your witness. We’ll be here to help with any legal issues. Do you know why did he do this to you? A doctor, of all people?” Dad asks as he sits on the edge of my bed, gently rubbing my ankle. Mom stands next to him, relief fills her face.

  “He said he’s been watching me for several years, ever since I started going to their medical practice—right after the city attack. Never in my right mind would I have imagined that someone who gave me medical attention at one time would target me. He snooped through the files, just like Dad said, and found out everything personal about me. As a doctor of the practice, he had free reign. It’s truly scary to think how patients can be victims this easily.”

  Right on cue, Dr. Deller enters the room in a rush and joins my parents at my bedside. “Oh, Betsy! Are you okay? I am so sorry this happened to you. I can’t believe it was Dr. Hildebrandt! You think you know someone...”

  “I know it’s hard to fathom that a loyal employee of the hospital and your business partner would do such a thing, but it’s true.” Feeling more energized, I wiggle myself to an upright position in the bed. “He told me how he was able to find out everything about me through your files.”

  “Dr. Deller, we were just talking about this. It must have been very easy for your medical partner to get to Betsy’s personal information,” Dad points out.

  “Well, from what I’ve figured out, he must have snooped through Betsy’s file. And, you’re right, being a doctor in my practice, there’s no way I could’ve prevented that.” He gestures with his hands, as if he’s trying to make his point. “And since he was a registered doctor of our office and cleared for passage throughout the hospital campus, he had access to many doors.”

  Nodding, I chime in. “It looks like if a doctor goes rogue, I agree, there’s really no stopping him.”

  “Oftentimes, after I see a patient, I take their file into my office and recite audio dictation for Donna to transcribe into your file later that day or even the next morning, depending on when she gets to it.” While he’s speaking, Dr. Deller looks at my parents and then over to me. “
Typically, I also add handwritten personal notes about my patients in their file folders, then I place them in the outbox on the top of my desk for Donna to refile. Gary may have come into my office after hours to peek at the personal information and then put the files back. By doing this, no one would ever know. If he snooped hard enough, he would find the key to the master files up at the front reception desk, hidden in Donna’s top desk drawer. Not very secure, I must admit.” He shakes his head and quirks up the left side of his mouth in discontent.

  A flash of aggravation fills my voice. “I agree, since he had access to all of my personal information. Let’s say, for example, if Donna was in cahoots with him, it could’ve happened anyway. There’s really no stopping the personal information intrusion.”

  Dr. Deller sighs, shifting uncomfortably. “I know, Betsy. We do follow the HIPPA guidelines in our office, and in this case, it wouldn’t have mattered because he’s a doctor and he has access to files—whether it’s legal or not, he was able to gain access. Monday when I get back to work, I will work on a more secure file system with Donna.”

  Interjecting, my mom inquires, “Doctor, how did you know our daughter was here in the hospital? My husband received a call from Betsy’s neighbor and the paramedic in the ambulance, but I don’t think she has your phone number.”

  Dr. Deller catches my sudden glance and crooks his bushy eyebrows as he winks at me. “Call it intuition or a little voice in my head. I just had a feeling about the Ryan family and called over here. The ER nurse’s station told me Betsy was here after I informed them that I was her doctor.”

  I knew exactly what that bushy-browed wink meant; Dr. Deller must’ve had a hunch. I remember how he’d shared the gifted experience he had with his wife when she was on her deathbed. I imagine he’s been aware of it ever since. He must be better at this communication method than he lets on.

  While Mom and Dad continue to talk with my doctor, I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I visualize the hazy amniotic fluid within my belly, which houses my beautiful Emmy Grace. I see her sucking her thumb, floating. She does a roll inside my belly, which is visible to Mom and Dad.