Ugly thoughts of retribution and God knew what else – fallout from being near her father – played on her mind. While negotiating the carriageway she breathed deeply and evenly. It served little purpose. Her nerves were stretched taut as piano wire. She checked her mirrors and maneuvered into the fast lane, setting a mental course for the one place where she allowed herself to let down her guard, where she could be at peace for a while.
She did not notice the Camaro on her tail.
Genna parked away from the building and crossed the lot in the baking sunshine. In the air-conditioned reception area she looked up at the desk where Grace Slinger, a large black woman who usually worked the night shift, was seated. “Why hi there, Miss Genna.” The big woman regarded her genially over the top of her glasses.
“Morning Miss Grace,” Genna replied. The two women smiled wanly at each other. Grace knew the score.
Only when she reached the last room on the left on the second floor did she truly relax. Her hand hesitated toward the door; she took a breath, held it momentarily, and then slowly exhaled the ill thoughts souring her mood. Her fingers left quickly fading imprints of moisture on the chrome door knob.
Inside, classical music and the inhale/exhale of the ventilator were the only sounds. Essence of strawberries, faint and pleasant, hung the in the air. By comparison with the hot afternoon, the room felt wonderfully cool, the air fresh and restful.
After securing the door she crept to the bedside of Suzanne Carla Durant. Suzy lay propped at a shallow angle facing the window. Her chest rhythmically rose and fell under the governance of the breathing machine.
In the last year, Genna had learned much about traumatic brain injury, or TBI. Anoxic, as the doctors called it, whereby brain cells die. Though the patient can remain stable while in coma, it guaranteed nothing– Suzanne could very well be irreversibly brain damaged; and if by modern day miracle she woke with her faculties intact, she would face arduous physical, cognitive, and occupational therapy. Waking up would certainly be no picnic.
One medical opinion declared all of this academic, claiming Suzanne was already clinically dead, and her brain waves merely involuntary electrical impulses that did not necessarily indicate cognizant thought. But others disagreed, believing Suzanne still heard those around her, still saw things, and to a degree remained moderately aware.
Genna gave no credence to the former theory. If the odds were a million to one that Suzanne was aware, Genna would still take them.
“Hi, Sis.” She nudged the chair closer.
During the year Suzanne had spent in coma, her imposing physical appearance had steadily degenerated. She had dropped fifty pounds in weight; her skin had become dull and slack, drawing her features into a gaunt expression; her eyes had fallen back in her skull and her skin was ashen.
The life support machine beep-beeped, an indicator light came on, the ventilator stuttered. Genna knew this was quite normal; occurred frequently in fact. Only this occasion triggered a thought that struck Genna with such force and abruptness
(Switch the damn machine off)
her heart skip-skip-skipped. The implications alone brought her to the brink of tears, the shakes returned, and her blood thudded in her temples.
Suzanne’s eyes, which had been closed during the last two visits, slowly peeled open. The chill along Genna’s spine deepened. Had her sister read her mind? She had read somewhere that the loss of one sense sometimes sharpened another. Perhaps having lost ninety-nine percent of her sensory awareness, Suzanne had developed incipient psychic ability.
(Switch off the machine)
Genna was not a stranger to the idea. Euthanasia was a concept she had wrestled with for almost a year, though until now always on a subconscious level, in that safety zone that exists just beyond the realm of honest contemplation. And now she had she was horrorstruck; because deep down, beneath the moral reasoning of her beliefs, she knew Suzy wanted to die.
Somewhere outside, a car alarm whooped, a fitting punctuation to the revelation.
She would want to die.
There, Genna thought bravely. I said it.
She dropped her shoulders. Could she ever bring herself to take the life of another? The very thought staggered her, brought her to her knees, yet refused to be stilled. Genna believed in her heart that the taking of a life – any life, equated to the ultimate sin. And anyone who chose that road walked it forevermore.
Her sister’s eyes remained open, staring at nothing, seeing nothing. “Oh Suzy,” she said. “I’m so confused.”
On the Medical Center parking lot, safely tucked amongst other cars, Joshua emerged tentatively from his Camaro. The ranks of vehicles gleamed in the sunshine.
Joshua glanced furtively to his left and right. Two rows down from his a woman and two children were getting into a car; none of them looked in his direction. He waited for them to drive away then threaded his way through to Genna Delucio’s parked BMW.
A heat haze distorted the air above the hood. The cooling engine pinged. A hint of sweet cologne hung in the air. At the driver’s side he cupped his hands to the glass and peered in. Genna Delucio’s biological signature, more exclusive than fingerprints, clung to the paintwork. Those scents and sweat secretions told Joshua something he already knew:
Durant’s daughter was not a renegade.
She was human.
He glanced across the lot at the hospital entrance. No sign yet of the young woman returning to her car. He tried the door, believing it would be locked. But to his surprise it clicked open. As the locking mechanism disengaged, a greater concentration of Genna Delucio’s scent escaped on a push of warm air. The olfactory image distracted him for a second, and he leaned in, absorbing the scent. At that moment the BMW’s piercing intruder alarm blew away the parking lot’s tranquility.
Joshua recoiled like he’d been stung, slammed the door and fled, zigzagging swiftly and smoothly through the cars in the direction of the highway. Without looking where he was going he leapt over the Oleander flowerbeds that bordered the perimeter. He cleared the sidewalk and both feet came together in the road.
Horns blared and tires screeched. The nose of a sky-blue Cadillac dipped to a halt less than a foot from where he landed.
“Jesus Christ almighty,” cried the woman driver in a drawling Texas accent as she trundled out of the car. “I might’ve squashed you like a jackrabbit.” Though aged perhaps forty, she appeared much younger in denim cutoffs and a green halter top. A stupendous blaze of red hair tied above her head in a bouffant ball swung to and fro in perfect harmony with her sprightly gait.
“I’m sorry,” Joshua said, peering anxiously over his shoulder.
“You’re sorry?” she said, her considerable chest bouncing in tandem with her considerable ball of hair. “I damn near ran you down.” She put her hands on his shoulders, his arms and face, as though trying to guess his weight. She smelled of antiperspirant, sweat, and aniseed balls; one clicked against her teeth as she talked.
“I’m fine, really I am.” Joshua gently removed her hands from his shoulders, turned and hurried away without looking back.
Hands on hips, head cocked appraisingly, she watched him go.
Only after footslogging westward for ten minutes, feeling hopelessly lost and a complete novice, did Joshua retrace his steps to the Medical Center. At the stretch of road where the Cadillac nearly hit him he noticed two short tire marks. He whistled. Mrs. Texas very nearly had knocked him down. He pulled his gaze away from the road and scanned the lot.
To his relief the BMW’s intruder alarm had ceased. No security guards – none that he could see, anyway – patrolled the grounds. He re-entered as he had left, through the bed of Oleander, careful not to step on the fragrant purple blossoms. He circled back through the cars to the slot where the BMW was parked. Only now the space was empty.
He looked up sharply and saw a flash of red heading toward the exit.
Damn - his Camaro was parked on the other side o
f the lot. He did the quick math in his head and concluded that he had no time to get his car and pick up the trail again. Any moment she would hit the junction and vanish into the traffic.
He slapped his forehead.
And then, finally, a spark of inspiration, which exploded in his mind like a flashgun. He credited his inspiration, ironically, to new experience. He was indeed learning as he went. Instead of rushing back to his car, he turned and went back the way he came.
Genna Delucio sat in her car at the stop sign, hands tight on the wheel, watching for a space. The concept of euthanasia echoed in her mind, bouncing off the walls like a freed bird. Was she seriously contemplating ending Suzy’s life? At this point she was unconcerned with possible legal ramifications. Euthanasia, on the other hand, flew squarely in the face of her religious upbringing.
So engulfed was she in her thoughts, Genna did not immediately notice the dark Sedan crawling out of the parking lot behind her. She saw a gap in the traffic and hit the gas, glancing back at the hospital. The brown Sedan hastily joined the highway from the hospital exit ramp; its tires screeched. Genna looked up. Recognized the car immediately.
Fury swelled inside her. “What…”
For the second time in twenty minutes, Joshua leaped over the same bed of Oleander, planted one foot on the sidewalk, and stepped deliberately into the path of Genna Delucio’s approaching car. She would hit the brakes, skid to a halt, jump out of the car and come to him. Mrs. Texas all over again.
Amazed and proud of his moment of spot ingenuity, he found himself grinning as he faced the BMW’s growing silver radiator grill. Although the young woman had barely maneuvered onto the road, she was already up to speed. Sunlight flashed across the windshield, briefly dazzling him, and he turned his head away. When he turned back a moment later, he understood why the car wasn’t slowing.
Genna Delucio was not watching the road – her attention was lost in the rearview mirror. Oh shit. He bent his knees, tensing in preparation for evasive action, when at last she did look up.
He saw her arms lock against the wheel as she stamped the brakes, applying sufficient force to stand her up in her seat. The BMW’s tires screamed. Having gone through the emergency stop procedure yet still failing to halt her progress, Genna Delucio scrunched up her face and closed her eyes.
Joshua kept his eyes open. Chrome bit into his legs below his knees. His feet went from underneath him and he tumbled onto the hood. With both hands he shoved the paintwork and rode the BMW’s weight as a boxer rides a punch. Like the world’s clumsiest bird he flew for what would have been a world record long jump, landing in tangle of arms and legs.
For a moment his cheek was pressed hard against the sun-baked road surface, where he smelled the warm blacktop and carbon monoxide. Cars and trucks in the opposite carriageway roared by a few feet from his face, their backwash and exhaust fumes blowing his hair back.
From his road-kill perspective he saw the BMW’s door swing open, the suspension rock, denim clad legs scissor out of the car and boot-heels skip with frantic haste across the tarmac to his side.
“Oh-my-God,” Genna Delucio reached for his arm, but then withdrew and held her head in her hands. “Oh-my-God.”
Joshua gained a sitting position and craned his neck to look at her, squinting in the brightness, ignoring the dull throb in his legs. The fragrance that he first got wind of by her car was now strong in his nostrils. As was her natural, human scent – though now it was tainted with fear.
“I didn’t see…” the young woman said. “I was, I wasn’t…” she cupped a hand over her mouth.
Joshua said nothing for a moment; he just gazed at her. The first picture he ever saw of Durant’s daughter was a faded, pixilated news-cutting Barlow pasted into the scrapbook. Next, fleeting glimpses through binoculars. Even from a distance she had appeared pretty. Up close, with a blue sky backdrop, she was stunning.
“Try…try to keep still,” she instructed, looking round at the hospital, as though considering whether she could carry him. “My phone’s in the car.”
“I’m fine.” Joshua said, and through her protestations rose to his feet, brushing the street dust from his clothes, trying to make clear by his poise that he was perfectly fine. But the stricken expression refused to leave the young woman’s face. She patted her chest below her neck, as though to calm her racing heartbeat.
Behind her the stalled BMW was obstructing traffic flow. Other motorists slowed to steer a path through, heads poking from windows to swan-neck the carnage. When they saw no bodies lying in the road, they drove on looking somewhat disappointed.
“Come,” Genna took his arm. “To my car.” He allowed her to ease him into the passenger seat.
“I’m okay,” Joshua said. “Nothing’s broken.”
Ignoring him, Genna hurried to the driver’s side and slipped behind the wheel. Performed an illegal U-turn and headed back toward the hospital. She would not look him in the eye. “I simply don’t know what to say to you,” she said. “I really don’t. I can’t apologize enough.”
In fear of bursting the bubble, Joshua said nothing. The hard part was over. He had made close encounters of the third kind - contact. Unconventionally so, to say the least, but he had landed at first base. Less than an hour ago he was watching her through binoculars. Now he was inside her car. It was a result. The next step was to keep her acquaintance for as long as it took him to investigate her father’s syndicate.
The casualty department was cool and pleasant, quiet as a church, clinically clean. Genna booked in at reception and led Joshua to a row of seats. They sat down together, the vinyl squeaking and creaking. Joshua anticipated an uncomfortable silence, figuring that if anywhere, this would be where he could blow it; open his mouth to speak, and put his boot right in there.
But Genna Delucio was too shaken to notice anything untoward about his manner. She wrung her hands in her lap and tapped her heal, occasionally looking out of the glass doors to the outside. “This place gives me the willies.”
“I’ve never been in a hospital.” Joshua’s eyes roamed the reception area.
“You’re kidding?”
He shook his head.
“Never break an arm or a leg when you were a kid?” she said.
“No.”
“Fall off your skateboard or bicycle? Gash your knees or…have your appendix removed…tonsils...wisdom teeth?”
He shook his head to each of them.
She gave a wry smile. “Your folks wrap you in cotton wool?”
Joshua dropped his gaze. “Just lucky I guess.”
“Luck,” Genna said. “I doubt it. A guardian angel, maybe.” Talking seemed to relax her somewhat, though Joshua sensed apprehension lurking beneath her outward manner. Inside she was twitching and restless.
Speaking only because the silence made him uncomfortable, he said. “Maybe I do have a guardian angel.”
“Then where the hell was he five minutes ago?” Her voice rose to one octave shy of outright anger. She quickly checked herself. “I’m sorry. You stepped in front of me on a bad day.” She looked at the floor.
“I don’t think I need to see a doctor,” he said, hoping she would maybe forget the hospital and go have lunch with him instead.
“Oh, don’t be a baby.” She mocked.
“Oh I’m not afraid,” he said. “I’d just be wasting his time.”
“You should be seeing double.” She held up three fingers. “How many?”
“Three,” he replied promptly.
“Let me see your eyes.”
When she moved close, he breathed her scent, a personal signature whose source lay beneath the vague aroma of cologne and the faint residue of scented soap; he sensed conflict, emotions that ran far deeper than her manner suggested.
Her closeness violated his space; he began to tremble. “Everything look okay?” he inquired, blinking several times.
“Well, I’m not a doctor,” she said, touching her chin with her fi
ngertips. “Your pupils are the same size.”
“Is that good?”
She nodded. “You have strange eyes.”
“Strange?”
“They’re blue-brown with crimson striations. Kind of rare combination. My sister has blue-brown eyes – no crimson, though.” She offered a perfunctory smile and quickly dropped her gaze. A minute later she resumed her furtive glancing at the exit doors.
Joshua figured if he was going to escape being examined, he’d better make his move now. He started to rise when a tall, sandy-haired doctor, his whites billowing out behind him, breezed through the swing-doors. He consulted a clip-board and called Joshua’s name. When he saw Genna, he brightened instantly.
“How are you, Sam?” She rose and they embraced.
Doctor Samuel James Harper, according to his lapel badge, looked her up and down with unabashed affection. “Marvelous,” he said in a refined English accent. “Even more so now I’ve seen you, dear girl.” He pinched the tip of her chin. Then, adopting an air of concern, held her at arm’s length. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m…I’m fine,” she said, glancing at Joshua.
Joshua stood by impassively while Genna recounted, in a tone ranging from embarrassment to outright shame, her hapless collision. She then indicated Joshua with an air of further self-recrimination and disbelief, together with an abiding gratefulness to guardian angels that saved his life.
“I’m okay,” Joshua said, feeling his face redden.
The doctor narrowed his eyes and addressed Joshua genially. “Well, dear boy; any tingling at all in your extremities? Numbness? Blurred vision? Headaches? Nausea?”
Joshua shook his head after each question. He smiled reassuringly at Genna. “I feel perfectly fine.”
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