by Brian Shea
“Not to worry. My sister’s up from Georgia. She doesn’t get to see them often and loves any opportunity to be Super Aunt. She’s going to be excited to have more time to spoil them,” Val said.
“These couches don’t look too bad,” Nick said. He pressed on the worn vinyl coating of the chair for added effect.
Declan chuckled. “We’ve slept on worse, much worse.”
7
Nick lay on the formed cushioning of the love seat with his legs bent and hanging over the wooden armrest. A young redheaded, freckle-faced orderly had brought them a few thin blankets during the course of the night. Nick’s jacket was folded into a makeshift pillow and provided minimal relief to his contorted position.
He was awake, and had been for over an hour, but fought against his desire to move. He wanted to let his friends sleep and feared if he got up, the noise from the cushion’s release would rouse them. Val was slumped against Declan, their heads merged into one, forming a lover’s version of the yin and yang. Nick’s eyes traced the lines of the watercolor painting that hung on the wall nearest him. He’d been staring at it since he woke. A sailboat in rough seas with an approaching storm cloud. Nick contemplated his friend’s circumstance and felt the picture had captured it perfectly.
The morning light had pushed its way across the reflective surface of the waiting room floor. Val stirred, lifting her head out of the tight notch of Declan’s neck, which in turn caused him to blink awake. Satisfied his friends were now up, he rose and shuffled to the refreshment table. Nick poured a cup of coffee from the pot that had been quietly refreshed a little over an hour ago by the same kid that had brought them the blankets. Val wandered toward the bathroom and gave Nick a tired wave as she passed.
“How’d you sleep?” Declan asked, pulling up alongside him at the table.
“Like I fell out of a helicopter and landed on a pile of rocks,” Nick said, rubbing his lower back for added effect.
Declan gave a hearty laugh. “It’s all that soft living you did in the Rangers.”
“Without Rangers, who would SEALs have to look up to?” Nick fired back with a smile and mock uppercut to his friend’s ribcage.
Val returned a few minutes later drying her face with a paper towel as she approached. “Did anyone come out yet to give us an update?”
Nick looked at his watch. “Not yet.”
As if on cue, the door to the surgical wing of the ICU popped open, and a man in a white lab coat entered, presumably a doctor. He approached the trio cautiously. Nick watched the man’s movements and noted the almost imperceptible hesitation in each step the doctor took. A panic alarm rang out inside of Nick’s head as loud as church bells on a Sunday morning.
“I’m Doctor Robshaw. Is anyone here family of Ms. Martinez?”
“We all are. Not by blood but closer than most,” Val said. “Her mother is making arrangements to fly in from Arizona and should be arriving later today.”
Nick watched as the doctor’s lips pursed and his brow furrowed.
“What is it?” Nick asked.
“Your friend put up a hell of a fight,” the doctor said.
Nick’s heart sank as he watched the doctor fumble with the words and avoiding eye contact with the trio.
“Cut to the chase doc,” Declan blurted.
“It was a complicated set of surgeries. I don’t know how much you all know about the nature of her injuries?”
“Is it her back? How bad are we talking?” Declan asked.
“The damage to her spine was severe, but our biggest concern became the brain bleed. It was a high-risk procedure, but wholly necessary.”
“Jesus,” Nick hissed.
“The impact of the crash ruptured blood vessels in her brain. The damage was extensive. We tried to relieve the pressure. I’m sorry.” The doctor paused and momentarily broke eye contact with the group. “We’ve got an amazing team in that operating room. Some of the best in the country, but the intracranial bleeding was devastating. She succumbed to her injuries.”
Nick felt the eyes of Val and Declan wash over him. The impact of the doctor’s words coupled with his friends’ stares caused his head to spin. The room began to whirl and the features of the people around him blurred. His face flushed, and Nick couldn’t decide if he were going to vomit or scream. He chose neither, standing there numb with shock.
“Doctor?” Val asked as if she’d misheard the explanation.
“She didn’t make it,” the doctor said. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Nick’s hands slid down the outside of his jeans toward his knees. The next thing he knew he was on all fours staring at his hazy reflection cast back at him from the linoleum floor of the waiting room.
Val’s hair brushed his cheek, and he felt her hand calmly rubbing circles in the center of his back. She was speaking softly but the words were barely registering. He breathed deeply, trying hard to right himself.
“Let’s get you up into that chair,” Val said.
Nick suddenly felt a strong hand that he assumed to be Declan’s grip him under his arm. With their assistance he found the rigid cushion of the love seat he’d been a prisoner of for the past several hours. He looked up at his friends who returned his inquisitive gaze with a look of compassion and concern.
Embarrassed by his collapse, Nick hung his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t apologize to us,” Declan said. “Not now. Not ever.”
Nick looked back up at his friend. The former SEAL’s normally rugged exterior was somewhat softened, and Nick saw the wetness of fresh tears still matted in Declan’s eyelashes. This caused him to crumple again. A whimper escaped as he fought, without success, to suppress his pain.
The three sat silently consoling one another for what seemed like an eternity. The doctor had retreated into the recesses of the restricted area marked Medical Personnel Only, leaving them in the privacy of the waiting area to grieve the death of their friend.
“We should be here to soften the blow when her mother arrives. Not something you tell someone over the phone,” Val whispered to Declan.
“I can’t believe she’s gone. There were so many things I never told her.” Nick’s voice cracked, and he stopped himself from finishing his train of thought.
The doors to the surgical area re-opened behind them and the same doctor reappeared, stopping abruptly after passing through its threshold.
“Who’s Nick?” Doctor Robshaw asked.
Nick, bookended by Val and Declan, turned slightly in the uncomfortable chair to face the doctor.
“I am,” Nick said. “Why?”
“When we initially brought Isabella into the ER we looked through her phone trying to locate an emergency contact number of a family member,” Doctor Robshaw said.
“Izzy,” Nick interrupted.
“Excuse me?” the doctor asked.
“Izzy. She hated being called Isabella,” Nick said.
“Sorry. When Izzy came to us, we went through her cell phone. We found her mother’s number, but there was an unfinished and unsent text message to you, Nick,” Doctor Robshaw said.
In his haze Nick hadn’t noticed that the doctor was holding a cellphone in his left hand. Nick swallowed hard at the sight of it.
“Would you like to read it?” the doctor asked.
Nick didn’t speak, terrified at what throaty noise might erupt from him if he did. He only managed the slightest nod of his head.
The exchange made, the doctor left again, back behind the boundary of the secured doors.
Nick held the phone with two hands. The unknown gravity of the message contained therein gave the small device an incomprehensible weight. He forced himself to breath.
“Do you want us to give you some privacy?” Val asked softly.
Nick shook his head, knowing he needed the strength of his friends to get through this. He flicked his finger across the shattered screen, opening it. He tapped the messenger app
and it opened. His name was positioned on top of the list of messages. The word draft in red italics noted the unfinished text. He sighed loudly and tapped lightly on the conversation.
He read silently the words never sent, never spoken: Nick I really wish that things had turned out differently between us. I’ve started this message a thousand times before but never finished it. I don’t know why, but I woke up this morning thinking about you. I am going to say this not expecting that you’ll respond but I need to say it. I lo”
The cursor blinked next to the “o” as if taunting him. The message unfinished and unsent hit Nick hard. Those words they’d never said to each other, but he knew were always tucked just beneath the surface.
Nick gave way to its weight, letting the phone slip out of his hand and onto the floor.
No one moved. His friends sat frozen.
“I killed her,” Nick mumbled.
“What are you talking about?” Declan said.
“She was trying to reach me. Message me. She was distracted. It’s my fault,” Nick rambled almost incoherently.
“That’s absurd. You can’t make this worse than it already is. You had absolutely nothing to do with her death,” Declan said.
Nick didn’t answer. His eyes stared out at the painting on the wall and envisioned a massive tidal surge smashing the small vessel.
“Take solace in the fact that the last thought she had was of you,” Val said.
The words hit Nick like a sledgehammer, and he crumpled into the crux of her neck, sobbing uncontrollably. He let the pain roll down her shoulder in the form of pent-up tears.
8
“You’re not staying in a hotel! Val won’t hear of it.” Declan said with a resolute look. “You get the pleasure of sleeping at Casa de Enright. Prepare yourself for a five-star experience.”
“I think I’d rather just be alone for a bit,” Nick responded. His words dribbled out of his mouth with the fervor of a man with his head on the chopping block.
“It’s not up for debate.”
Nick noted the resolve in his friend’s eyes and slumped in defeated resignation.
“All right Just don’t expect much in the way of company,” Nick said.
“With you, I never do,” Declan said.
Nick appreciated his friend’s attempts at humor, but it only managed to sink him deeper. Life is strange. A year ago, he’d been looking at Enright for an armed robbery. Fast forward to the present and that same man is his closest friend.
They pulled up to the two-story gray colonial. It looked much as it did the first time Nick had been to the house, minus the burning minivan with Declan’s wife and daughter trapped inside. He and Izzy had saved them from a fiery death that day. Now she was dead.
Declan’s large Chevy Suburban barely fit on the small driveway. The wheels on the driver’s side settled a few inches onto a swath of lawn, more dirt than grass from the repeated abuse of the heavy automobile. The branches of the ice-covered maple tree hung low, hovering a fraction of an inch above the roof. Nick saw the inconsequential garage that wouldn’t comfortably fit a go-cart, let alone a car, and understood why the Enrights crammed both family vehicles into the minimal square footage of the cracked asphalt driveway. Declan had left just enough space for Val to squeeze the Corolla in when she arrived home.
Nick stepped out and slipped on a slick spot of black ice invisibly coating the ground. He grabbed the door to keep from falling.
Declan saw Nick’s near spill. “Sorry. It’s pretty slippery. I haven’t had a chance to throw some salt down yet.”
“No worries. I plan on leaving a negative review on Hotels.com,” Nick said.
The thought of mocking his friend’s humble abode carried an immediate shot of guilt, knowing the financial battle Declan’s family was facing with the cost associated in raising their autistic youngest daughter Laney. He knew Declan well enough that his friend wouldn’t be offended, but it felt wrong and he assumed the oversensitivity was due to the current circumstance.
“The girls will be home from school soon. They’ll be excited to see you. I’m still not sure what we’re going to tell them. They loved Izzy too,” Declan said.
“I’ll leave that to you. The parenting thing isn’t my strong suit.”
“Not yet, but it will be sooner than you know,” Declan said smiling.
Nick followed Declan to the side door of the house, gingerly stepping with caution as he traveled over the skating rink of a walkway. The air was raw, and Nick quickly realized that his tolerance for it had been zapped by his time in Texas. He shivered. He began vigorously rubbing his arms in an attempt to remove the cold’s grip as he entered the tight space of the Enright family’s kitchen.
“Gotta kick the shoes, buddy,” Declan said. He started taking his off on the threshold carpet before entering further into the house. “I’ve been domesticated.”
“Anaya has the same rule. I guess like wild stallions, all men can be broken.” Nick chuckled softly. “It’s a good rule if you think about it. Especially considering the nasty places our job typically sends us. Nobody should track those remnants into our homes.”
Declan nodded absently as he set about placing his shoes into a boot caddy and hung his coat on a peg near the door. The Enrights made good use of their minimal square footage. With two adults and three children, you had to be a master of consolidation when living in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom home.
“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” Declan asked.
“Is it too early for a beer?” Nick asked.
“Hmm, let me consult the wisdom of my spiritual advisor, Jimmy Buffet.” Declan closed his eyes and put his index fingers on his temples as if he was in deep meditation. “We’re good! It’s never too early. Coors Light okay?”
Nick watched as Declan retrieved two cans from the fridge. He was happy to see that his friend would also be partaking in an early afternoon beverage. At least he wouldn’t be drinking alone.
Val and Declan had taken separate cars to the hospital. Nick had heard the crunch of the tires when she pulled into the driveway shortly after their arrival, but she’d remained outside. Nick now understood what she’d been doing as Val dropped a bag of rock salt near the storm door before entering.
“Excuse me? Drinking during the day?” Val said, eyeing the cans.
Nick looked at her and gave a sheepish grin. Val took the can out of Declan’s hand.
Val laughed. “Get your own big boy!” she said taking an exaggerated sip.
All three got a slight reprieve in the levity of the moment.
Nick popped the tab, the loud metallic click followed by the familiar sound of release. He raised his drink, tapping the bottom against Declan’s.
“To Izzy,” Declan said.
Nick said nothing. He had no words for his dead friend. He took a long pull from the can.
“Heard from Anaya?” Declan asked.
“She’s still in the air. I’ll talk to her later.”
Nick’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, briefly looked at the screen, and then tapped the answer icon, bringing the phone to his ear. Nick took a sip of the cold beer and wandered away toward the dining area of the kitchen.
“I really don’t want to talk about it now. I just left the hospital and am getting settled. I’ll hit you up when I get back in town,” Nick said before letting Jones speak.
Nick had received a text message from Jones earlier requesting that he call him ASAP. Nick had responded by telling him that Izzy was dead. It was a blunt message, but he knew that Jones would take no offense. Jones responded that he needed to talk to him about a case. Nick had no interest in discussing the tragedy of a victim’s life when he was dealing with his own.
“I’m sorry about Izzy. From the little I knew of her, she seemed like a great person. But that’s not why I’m calling. You’ve got a problem,” Jones said.
“What problem? What are you talking about?”
“Remember R
ichard Pentlow?” Jones asked.
“Yeah. The kiddie diddler from the motel. Why? What’d he do now?” Nick asked.
“He’s dead.”
“Hmm. Well that means there is one less sicko in the world. What’s his death got to do with me?” Nick asked.
“There was a message.”
“Jones, stop beating around the bush and tell me what the hell is going on!” Nick exclaimed.
“I’m not supposed to tell you any of this. I was instructed not to, but I didn’t want to see you get blindsided. The case has already shifted to your side of the house,” Jones added.
“Why did Pentlow’s death go federal?”
“It’s a serial murder,” Jones said.
“So, you’re telling me a serial killer offed Pentlow?” Nick asked.
“Yup.”
“I still don’t get what this has to do with me. You know that I don’t work those types of cases,” Nick said, pulling deeply from the can in his hand.
“There was a message at the scene. It was addressed to you,” Jones said. His tone was serious, and the West Texas twang was suppressed.
Nick was silent.
“It’s kind of dark. Maybe it’ll mean something to you?” Jones asked.
“Go ahead with it.”
“I don’t have it memorized, but it was something about prevailing when the justice system fails.”
“I thought you said it was to me?” Nick questioned.
“That part I do remember verbatim. It said, Nick, what stands up tall but reaches low?”
Nick went silent again.
“Nick? Are you still there?” Jones asked.
“Yeah. It’s just been a hell of a day. Who’s working the case from the Bureau?”
“An agent by the name of Simmons. She came in and took over from Pete Cavanaugh and his crew from Homicide. She’s definitely got some balls.”
“Never heard of her,” Nick said.
“Well that’s about to change. She’s going to be looking to talk to you,” Jones said.
“I figured as much.”