by Nina Pierce
Julie opened her eyes, yawned, and stretched muscles cramped from the hospital recliner. “What time is it?”
“Right around eight.” He pointed to her father’s still form, tubes and wires snaking around the now frail body. The familiar beep of machines echoed off the walls. “How’s he doing?”
“Good. Not much change.” Tears welled in her eyes.
Peter laid a hand on her shoulder. “Jules, he’ll pull through this. He always has.”
She stood and stared down at her father. “He’s a fighter, but how much longer can he fight, Peter?” Julie turned and stared at him. “I want to believe…” Julie let the last word hang between them. Everyone understood that each heart attack brought John closer to the edge, but without the definitive diagnosis of a blocked artery or muscle failure, there was simply nothing to fix. Perhaps tests this time would finally find the problem.
Peter cleared the emotion clogging his throat. “Damon around?”
“He took a cab back to the apartment. I’m going home, showering, then heading over to Mum’s and bringing her back here.” Julie stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. “That’s the plan, anyway.”
“Jules, you’re beat, why don’t you call Meghan and have her bring your mom in this morning?”
“Already tried. She’s not answering her cell, house or shop phones.”
“She said she needed to catch up on shop stuff and was leaving right behind me. It’s not like her to be out of touch, especially now.” After last Friday’s fiasco with the cooler, Peter wondered if it had happened again. He was sick thinking of her nearly freezing to death while he’d been obsessing over another woman. He’d learned his lesson. There was no one else he needed. No one who would fill his heart the way Meghan did.
He’d had no contact with Crystal. He’d even shut down all his forum accounts to be sure she didn’t try to make contact with him.
Julie squeezed his shoulder. Obviously, his concern was visible. “Peter, she’s fine. Probably just in the shower.” Bending, she retrieved her purse and coat. “Either way, if I don’t reach her, I’ll stop by your house before I pick up Mum. If she’s not there, I’ll head over to the shop. I’ll be sure to have her call you as soon as I talk to her.” Julie tipped up and kissed his cheek. “Tag, you’re it.”
* * * *
Meghan yanked up on the handle of the garage door, but of course, it didn’t budge. She knew it wouldn’t. It was locked in place by the broken electrical mechanism. Newer systems had a switch in the garage to open the door, but she and Peter hadn’t bothered to update the antiquated system when they’d purchased the house. Sighing, she roamed around the car, checking the doors one more time. How could she be trapped in a confined space—again? At least it was light, and she was dressed for the elements. Two pluses. Rubbing her fingers in circles at her temples, she forced herself to think through the pain throbbing in her head. She had no idea if it was the fumes or stress causing her headache. Either way, it hurt.
Think.
Meghan looked around at the immaculate garage. All hatchets, axes and other small tools were stored in the shed in the backyard. She had no doubt she could find something to break the windows and shut off the Volvo, but the insurance claim would be hell. And she wasn’t quite that desperate yet.
The car’s motor purred gently, poisoning her air. Her lungs seized and she coughed again.
She thumped the heel of her palm to her forehead. “You are so stupid, Meghan.” The sound of her voice helped slow her pounding heart. Peter had told her how to override the door opener. All she needed to do was pull the cord and disengage the electrical system, allowing her to open the door manually. But when she looked up, her stomach lurched.
The cord wasn’t there.
* * * *
Crystal strode through the corridors of the Bangor Hospital in the white lab coat of a doctor. The morning had already been busy and she was pleased with how everything was coming together. Soon everything would be set and she would be a permanent part of Peter’s life. Things couldn’t be working out any better.
She stepped into the ACU, knowing her confident walk and authoritative air would satisfy the staff. The newly acquired name badge swinging next to the stethoscope was a nice addition to her attire.
Slowing her pace at room 318, she surreptitiously scoped out the area, making sure no one questioned her entering John Tilling’s room. The curtains were open on the windowed room and revealed that family members were conspicuously absent—one less complication to her plan.
The patriarch of the Tilling clan looked worse than she expected. The gray pallor to his skin, thinning hair, and gaunt face made him appear much older than his sixty-four years. Crystal stood next to his bed, ignoring the open chart in her hands. She wondered what kind of man Meghan’s father was and what her upbringing must have been like. The round-the-clock bedside vigil she’d witnessed over the last two days spoke of a deep family love. She suspected John Tilling was a wonderful father and husband.
The familiar sadness pressed hotly in her throat.
It shouldn’t matter. Nothing about Meghan Tilling’s life should matter to her. Crystal wanted only to step in and become part of Peter’s. But here lay the man the Tilling sisters had leaned on. The one who had probably made them believe in unconditional love. No matter her original intentions, it was hard for Crystal to look at John Tilling and not be moved by his pain. She couldn’t push away thoughts of how her actions would change Meghan’s life.
John’s eyes unexpectedly fluttered open and Crystal jumped back. She would have fled from the room, but his imploring gaze locked on hers, and his lips moved. The whisper of breath rattled from his chest and try as she might, she couldn’t decipher what he was saying over the constant hum and beep of the monitoring equipment. Leaning in close, her ear to his lips, she asked him to repeat himself.
“My angel…Are…you… my guardian angel?”
She straightened and smiled down at him. This was certainly an unexpected development. Perhaps getting to Peter wasn’t a straightforward process, but one best achieved through John Tilling’s illness. “No, Mr. Tilling, quite the opposite.” She reached for his hand lying limply at his side, running her finger down the knotted knuckles of his withered hand to the brittle nails. “Just keep up the good fight. I have a feeling this will all be over soon.”
His lips quivered with the hint of a smile, and he relaxed into the pillow, his eyes closing once again.
Crystal replaced the chart at the foot of the bed and went to finish what had begun.
* * * *
Hospital coffee sucked, but at the moment, bleary-eyed exhaustion was about to take over Peter’s body, and the black sludge was the only source of caffeine available to him. It was nearly nine-thirty, and Julie had yet to arrive with Alice. What was holding them up was beyond him. The fact that he hadn’t heard from Meghan only added to his sense of unease.
He sipped absently at the Styrofoam cup he had filled in the guest lounge as he came back onto the ACU. A doctor strode purposefully out of John’s room, turning briefly in his direction, before retreating in the opposite direction. It wouldn’t have bothered him, since Bangor Hospital was a teaching hospital, and residents and interns filed in and out of John’s room continuously, but the waist-length flaxen hair fluttering behind the shapely woman and the brief look at her face, brought back memories he’d been trying to bury.
Mistress Crystal?
“Excuse me, doctor,” he called to the woman.
She turned didn’t turn, but quickened her pace.
Peter did the same, spilling hot coffee over his hand. “Please, wait.” Frustration mounted as the doctor pushed through the swinging doors at the other end of the hall. He needed to find out if Crystal had somehow slipped into his life. A week ago, it was exactly what he wanted. Today, this doctor, who reminded Peter of the Dominatrix, had his gut tied in cold knots of panic.
He moved faster, his strides closing the dist
ance between them. When he stumbled through the doors at the end of the hall, only seconds behind her, he found the connecting hallway empty and the door to the stairwell easing shut.
He crashed through it, peering over the railing and down the stairs before craning his neck to see up the stairs. Empty.
“Hello,” he hollered, hoping the tone sounded friendly rather than desperate. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I wanted to talk to you about John Tilling.” That was a lie, but it made him feel less foolish.
Only the hollow echo of his words came back in reply.
“Damn it all to hell.” Throwing what was left of his coffee into the trash receptacle in the stairwell, Peter slammed through the doors back to John’s room. No one could have disappeared that fast. No doubt his fatigue and guilt were making him see people where none existed.
Having decided to make the final break this morning, Peter had spent his hours in John’s room working on his laptop, deleting all forums, chat rooms and emails that could connect him with Crystal. Exhaustion, paranoia and guilt were making him see things that weren’t there.
How the hell would a Dominatrix from Boston find him here in Maine, anyway? He’d never used his real name and anonymous email accounts through Yahoo would protect his identity. No way could he be followed.
He laughed at the absurdity of the idea.
* * * *
Blood rushed in Crystal’s ears, and her heart pounded in her chest, obscuring all other sounds. Hiding among the cleaning supplies of the utility closet, she wrung her shaking hands. She breathed deep, willing herself to remain calm. Desperation only caused you to make mistakes. She’d just proven that.
Peter’s footsteps had pounded past her into the stairwell—that much she’d heard. Hitting the door before seeking refuge in the closet had been a stroke of genius. Peter had fallen for the ruse. She leaned her back against the door, promising herself to stay put for another five minutes before venturing out.
She had one more important thing to do, and then she could leave the hospital—hopefully undetected. It wasn’t time for Peter to know she was here.
* * * *
Meghan slipped again, falling forward on the roof of the car and catching herself before she toppled to the cement floor. Another coughing fit seized her. She held her stomach, the nausea getting worse as her world spun before her. Patience—she needed to slow down and do this methodically. Obviously, no matter how far she stretched, she’d never reach the toggle switch. Sitting back on her haunches, she stared at the mechanism before sweeping her gaze around the garage, looking for something, anything, to extend her reach across the ceiling.
And there they were, plain as day. The one concession she’d made with Peter to decorate the garage. His old license plates from his first car were hung on nails on the wall. Meghan slid down the windshield and pulled one of the plates from its hook. If this didn’t work, she’d need to break a window and shut off the car. But she’d be damned if she wanted to go through the hassle of insurance reports. Her chest was heavy and her head light as she climbed back up the hood of the Volvo and onto the roof, praying her plan would work.
Steadying herself with one hand, she leaned forward and hooked the plate between the toggle switch and the body of the garage door opener and pulled down. It moved, but slipped away before fully disengaging the mechanism. Meghan repeated the process, this time twisting the license plate so it remained stabilized against the door opener. Centimeter by painstaking centimeter, the toggle switch moved from horizontal to vertical. The click as it disengaged was unnaturally loud in the stillness of the garage.
Tears of relief burned her eyes as Meghan once again slid off the car. This time when she pulled on the handle of the door, it lifted with a hearty rumble, and fresh winter air assaulted her scalding lungs.
Chapter 9
Meghan filled her lungs with the crisp chill of clean air as she marched to her mother’s house. Though she’d gone into her house through the front door, retrieved the spare keys and unlocked both the breezeway and Volvo doors and shut off the engine, she couldn’t bring herself to climb all the way into the car. She needed the comforting sound of her mother’s voice before she drove herself to the shop. A cup of Alice’s chamomile tea and a homemade donut and Meghan was sure she could face the rest of her day.
The stroke of bad luck she’d been having just couldn’t possibly continue.
Her missing cellphone had been tucked under yesterday’s mail on the bar. She’d missed several calls from Peter and called him only with the excuse that she’d been doing some cleaning with the radio blaring. And yes, she was headed to the shop after stopping in to see her mother.
Turning into her parents’ driveway, Meghan recognized the additional car immediately. It had recently become a constant fixture next to her mother’s old Buick. Her stomach lurched as she ran up the back steps and threw open the kitchen door. Maybe this was more than a social visit.
“Mum?” Meghan barely skipped a step as she kicked off her snowy boots and shrugged out of her coat. “Mum?” Yelling louder, Meghan bolted through the dining room and into the living room. What she saw stopped her just over the threshold.
“Meghan, how did you get here?” Doc McCarty’s words came out harshly before his mouth curved in a predatory smile, and his voice softened. “I mean, I didn’t hear your car.” He sat very close to her mother on the family couch. His hands, wrapped around Alice’s, were snuggled in her mother’s lap.
It wasn’t their close proximity that worried Meghan as much as the red rim of sadness around her mother’s eyes. Unable to shoulder the burden of concern, Meghan fell heavily in the recliner across from them.
“Is Daddy okay?” Meghan could barely speak the words.
“Yes…” Alice’s mouth lifted in a tremulous smile. She paused and looked at the silver-haired man next to her. “Gordon stopped over to make sure I was all right and to see if I needed a ride to the hospital. He also…” Her voice broke, and she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, unable to hold back a small sob.
Doc McCarty’s arm came around her mother, as if he could help her bear some great burden.
Alice found strength in his touch and inhaled, pulling her body up straight. “Meghan, I might as well tell you first.” She looked to the good doctor for support.
He nodded encouragement, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“Mum,” Julie called from the kitchen as the kitchen door slammed shut.
“In here, sweetie.” Panic swept over Alice’s face. But the doctor pulled her tighter to his side, and once again, Alice appeared to calm from his touch.
“Have you seen…” Julie walked into the room, her gaze sweeping over the scene on the couch and then down at Meghan, confusion wrinkling her brow. “Oh, there you are. Meghan, you haven’t answered your phones. Peter’s worried about you.”
“I called him a minute ago, Jules.” She waved her hand at her sister. Something was more than a little off-kilter with her mother and Meghan wanted to know what it was. “What were you going to say, Mum?”
Julie sensed the gravity of the situation and sat down hard on the piano bench. “Is it Daddy? Did something happen after I left the hospital? I only took a quick shower before driving here. Why didn’t someone call me? I have my cellphone.” Panic floated on her staccato burst of words.
“Julie. Meghan.” Again Alice turned to Gordon, who smiled and offered silent encouragement.
Meghan frowned at her mother’s familiarity with the good doctor. If memory served, her mother had dated Doc for a short time, but it had been her father’s charm that her mother had fallen in love with. Their forty-year marriage was a testament to their commitment to each other. This man shouldn’t be here in the middle of their family crisis.
“Gordon thinks it’s time to think about…” Alice swallowed hard. “To think about…putting your father in a…” A small hiccup of a sob escaped. “A nursing home.”