Jericho

by Ann McMan

  Maddie felt Syd sink back against her.

  “My god. All that work. How could he do this?” She looked up at Maddie. Her expression was full of shock and dismay. “He came in nearly every day. He used the place more than anybody else in town. Why would he do this?”

  Maddie tugged her closer. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.”

  A fireman, walking confidently across a field of broken glass and dirty water, approached the sheriff. He was carrying a white plastic container.

  “Hey, Byron? Looks like this might be our culprit. We found it around back, near the dumpster.” He held it up.

  Byron took it from him. “Acetone.” He shook his head. “Same brand as the stuff we found last week at that meth lab on the river. Christ.”

  Maddie met his eyes. “You think it was Beau?”

  He nodded. “Count on it. Don’t forget that he was in rehab for meth addiction last year.” He sighed as he handed the bottle back to the fireman. “Give this to the fire marshal when he gets here.”

  From inside her jacket pocket, Maddie’s cell phone vibrated. She slapped her free hand to her side, drew the phone out of her pocket, and looked at its display. She didn’t recognize the phone number. She opened it and held it up to her ear.

  “This is Stevenson.”

  The voice on the phone was panicked—nearly hysterical. It took her a moment to understand what the woman was saying.

  “I shot him! Oh, god. I shot him. He isn’t moving. You have to help him.”

  Maddie stood there, dumbly trying to decipher what she was hearing, before realization washed over her like a tidal wave. She clutched the cell phone so tightly she thought she might break it.

  “Gladys? Where are you?”

  “Home. I’m at home. He came here. He was crazy. I couldn’t stop him. He wanted money. He . . . he . . .” Her voice wavered. “I had the gun. I told him to stop. I told him to stop . . .”

  “Gladys, did you call 911?”

  “No! I don’t want them. They’ll take him away again.” She was nearly incoherent. “Come. Come now . . . you have to help him. There’s so much blood.”

  Maddie urgently signaled to Byron. “Gladys, is he still breathing?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. He was choking, and now he isn’t moving.”

  “I’m on my way. I’m on my way. I’ll call an ambulance. Don’t touch him, okay? Don’t move him. I want you to wait outside for me? Do you hear me? Go outside and wait for me.”

  “Hurry. Please hurry.” Maddie heard the click as Gladys hung up her phone. She looked up at Byron. “It’s Beau. She shot him. He’s unconscious and still at the house.”

  Byron was already in motion. “Ride with me. It’ll be faster. We can radio for EMTs on the way.”

  Maddie and Syd ran after him. Maddie yanked open the back door to her Jeep and grabbed her medical bag while Byron turned his car around. She climbed into the big police cruiser with Syd, and Byron sped off.

  The shocked and tired-looking townspeople who had gathered behind the makeshift police barricades that lined the tiny main street watched them go, then turned their gazes back toward the fire, as they continued to keep vigil in a haze of smoke and flashing lights.

  SYD WAS SURPRISED when Maddie climbed into the back seat of Byron’s cruiser to sit beside her, instead of claiming the unoccupied front passenger seat. Byron didn’t appear to notice, or, if he did, chose not to comment upon it, as they sped away from the scene of the fire. In the darkness of the back seat, Maddie took hold of Syd’s hand and gently held it between hers as the car ate up the miles between Jericho and the small community where Gladys lived with her son.

  Syd felt like she was fumbling about in a fog—not fully able to take in the evening’s rapid sequence of events. Her face hurt like hell and her head was throbbing. She knew she’d have one whale of a shiner by tomorrow morning.

  Tomorrow morning. What would tomorrow morning bring? How much of her fledgling library would be destroyed? How many of her personal belongings would survive the smoke and water? And Lizzy. How would Lizzy come to terms with what had nearly happened? Would she ever be able to return to her little house by the river?

  The car swerved as Byron careened off the highway onto a side road that would take them to Gladys’s house.

  And now? Now they were rushing to try and save Beau. Beau—the one who had set all of these horrifying events in motion. Beau—who finally had pushed his own mother beyond all endurance. In a final act of desperation, Gladys had shot her own son.

  And the irony of it all was Maddie was now the one who might determine whether Beau lived or died. Syd looked at her. The strong planes of Maddie’s face were illuminated by strobe-like flashes of blue from the lights on top of the car. She was staring straight ahead—her expression was unreadable. What was she thinking about all of this? How did she feel about being placed in this position? She could have told Gladys to wait for the EMTs to get there. She could have stayed with Syd in town and not left the scene of the fire. She could have shrugged and let the fates decide what became of Beau. But she didn’t.

  She didn’t.

  Maddie must have sensed Syd looking at her, and she turned to meet her eyes. She gave the top of her hand a gentle squeeze and touched their foreheads together. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. I promise.” Her voice was barely audible beneath the constant radio chatter from Byron’s police scanner.

  Byron ground out the stub of a cigarette he had been smoking and took a long sip from an enormous drink cup. Syd could see a hastily wrapped hamburger perched on the top of the console between the seats. He must have been eating his dinner when he got the call to head to Lizzy’s. She sighed. Almost on cue, her stomach growled. Vaguely, she wondered if anyone at Lizzy’s had remembered to take the pot of soup off the stove.

  Byron slowed down as they made the turn onto the street where Gladys lived.

  GLADYS LIVED IN a small company house along the north bank of the New River about ten miles east of Jericho. The tiny hamlet had once been a thriving mill town, but the large textile plant that dominated life there had shut down over twenty years ago, and most of the residents had migrated on to other parts of the state in search of work. Now only a handful of families remained behind to care for their tiny scraps of lawn, and to sit in the cool evenings on identical front porches that overlooked the crumbling brickwork of an ancient dam constructed way back in the 1900s. Locals joked that not even the river stopped there any more.

  Gladys’s house was a standout among the ramshackle structures on her street. It was painted bright yellow and surrounded by container plants in every shape, size, and color. They could see Beau’s red pickup truck parked at a rakish angle on the street out front, and, as directed, Gladys was outside, too—her wiry frame plainly visible. She was striding back and forth across her tiny porch in obvious agitation. The EMTs had not arrived yet.

  Maddie leapt from the cruiser and ran for the house, carrying her bag. Gladys met her at the top of the steps.

  She grasped Gladys by the forearm. “Where is he?”

  Gladys gestured toward the open door and led her into the small house without speaking. Syd and Byron followed close behind them. Maddie could see Beau lying at a twisted angle in the doorway to the kitchen. A pool of blood was visible beneath his upper body. He was not moving.

  “Gladys, where’s the gun?” Maddie asked, as she quickly crossed the room and knelt down next to the unconscious man. She touched her fingers to the side of his neck and bent over to listen to his breathing. It was faint and constricted. His pulse was too rapid to count.

  “It’s over there.” Gladys gestured to a rifle on the floor near the back door of the kitchen. Byron quickly went to secure the firearm.

  “It’s a 12 gauge—squirrel gun,” He called out to Maddie as he broke it open. “One shell has been discharged.”

  “Right,” Maddie responded. “Looks like subcutaneous and deep tissue damage
to the face and neck. At least two perforating wounds to the upper chest and thorax.” She drew a small flashlight from her bag and opened Beau’s mouth to search for any visible airway obstruction. Then she checked his pupils: they were not reactive. She quickly checked the time on her watch.

  After carefully rolling Beau onto his back, she saw that he had sustained significant lacerations to the mid and lower face—possibly a mandible fracture. Most of the blood stemmed from a puncture wound on the right side of his neck. She drew the stethoscope from her bag and listened to his heart.

  “Sinus arrhythmia. He needs air.” She feared that he was lapsing into ventricular tachycardia—a condition unrelated to his largely superficial gunshot wounds. He was clearly in respiratory distress. “Byron, can you find out where the hell the EMTs are?”

  “Right.” He snapped his radio up off his belt. “Adams, it’s Martin. What’s the 20 on the ambulance headed to the Pitzer house? I need an ETA, stat.”

  “Roger, that.” There was a brief pause. “They’re still about ten minutes out. Dispatch had to send a unit from Jefferson. It was the closest available—the Jericho wagon is at the fire.”

  He looked at Maddie. She shook her head.

  “Too long. I’m going to have to trach him. He isn’t getting any air.” She looked up at Syd, who stood silently next to Gladys. “I need a straw. A plain old soft drink straw. There’s one in the cup Byron had in the car. Can you go and get that for me?” Syd nodded and ran for the door. Maddie shifted her gaze to Gladys. “Gladys, I need a couple of clean bath towels—fast.” Gladys continued to stand there and dumbly stare at her. “Now, Gladys! I need towels, now.”

  Maddie opened her bag and drew out a large container of antiseptic fluid, some gauze pads, and a scalpel. She poured the rinse on Beau’s neck and swabbed the front of his throat. Gladys returned with a stack of mismatched blue and yellow towels, and Maddie took two and quickly rolled them up together. Gladys was beyond the ability to speak, and meekly retreated behind a large recliner to stand in stunned silence while Maddie worked on her son.

  “Byron, help me lift his upper body a little. I need to get this between his shoulder blades.”

  Byron knelt beside her, and they carefully raised Beau up so Maddie could slide the towels into position. When they lowered him back to the floor, his head was slightly lower than his torso, and his neck was fully extended.

  Syd rushed in from outside, carrying a paper-wrapped straw. “This one was in the Wendy’s bag on the floor of the back seat,” she said. “It hasn’t been used.”

  Maddie took it from her, smiling gratefully. “Thank god for junk food. Can you get me any kind of bowl or pot from the kitchen? I need to sterilize this.”

  Syd nodded and ran into the kitchen and returned quickly with a medium-sized ceramic mixing bowl. It had a border of bright red poppies painted around the outside rim. Maddie handed a bottle of alcohol to Syd. “Pour about an inch of this into the bowl.” She unwrapped the straw, then quickly drew a small pair of scissors from her bag and cut it in half before dropping it into the bowl. She got a new pair of latex gloves out and rapidly pulled them on. After spreading one of the clean bath towels across his chest, she leaned over Beau and ran her left forefinger back and forth across his Adam’s apple, pressing beneath it and then lifting it slightly.

  “Syd, put these on.” She handed Syd a pair of the surgical gloves. “Then kneel down here and open a couple of these gauze pads. I’m going to need you to swab the blood away from the incision for me after I make the first cut.” She looked up and met her eyes. “Are you okay with that?”

  Syd nodded and pulled on the tight-fitting gloves before kneeling next to Beau’s head. The ugly cut ran along the hairline over his right ear, and the matted blood covered the side of his face. She looked away as she tore open several of the square gauze packets.

  Maddie picked up the scalpel and carefully positioned it over Beau’s throat just beneath her left finger, and made an incision about two inches wide. Syd held the gauze pad beneath the cut to catch the ensuing small stream of blood. Maddie raised the knife and went back over the incision again, sinking the blade in deeper. She slowly rotated the knife 180 degrees before withdrawing it, then pinched the edges of the incision together, causing it gape open. She picked up one of the sections of plastic straw from the bowl and carefully inserted it into the opening. Beau’s chest deflated with a hissing sound. Maddie blew air into the straw, manually inflating his lungs. She drew back and waited for the air to escape, and then repeated the maneuver. When his chest rose and fell without assistance, she sat back, grabbed her stethoscope, and held it to the side of his neck, and then to his chest.

  “No good.” She checked her watch again, then rummaged in her bag and withdrew a prepared syringe. “Let’s try some Heparin.” She tugged up Beau’s t-shirt and swabbed an area near his belly button. She then unwrapped the syringe and pushed the needle into his abdomen. After administering the shot, she held her stethoscope to his chest.

  She shook her head. “He’s in V-tach.”

  She pulled the stethoscope off her neck, snapped up the scissors, and cut the hem of Beau’s shirt, and then ripped it open.

  “Beginning CPR.” She applied rapid chest compressions and looked up at Byron. “Do you have a portable defib unit in your car?”

  He nodded as he turned and ran toward the door. “On it.”

  “Syd.” Maddie’s voice was gentle. “Help Gladys.” She nodded toward the distraught woman who continued to stand rigidly behind the recliner with both hands pressed against her face.

  Syd looked up at Gladys, then back at Maddie, who nodded, then leaned over Beau and blew air into the end of the straw that protruded from his neck.

  “Okay.” She climbed to her feet and went over to Gladys. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders and talked to her in low tones. “It’s okay, Gladys. Maddie’s doing everything she can to help Beau. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

  Byron rushed back into the room with the portable defibrillator and knelt next to Maddie. “Sorry this is one of the older units. The county can’t afford the new fangled ones yet.”

  Maddie was still performing the rapid chest compressions. “No problem. Charge it up and tell me when the LED shows a plus.”

  He nodded as he unwrapped the two white paddles. “Got a plus,” he said, handing the paddles to Maddie.

  She took them and positioned them against Beau’s chest and side. “Lean back, Byron.” She pressed the switch on the paddle and waited. The room was quiet as the unit beeped, and then buzzed. Beau’s upper body lifted up as he received a powerful electric shock. Maddie released the paddles and quickly felt his pulse. Shaking her head, she quickly resumed chest compressions and counted to thirty. “Okay—clear,” she called out as she took hold of the paddles to administer a second shock. After an interval of about five seconds, Beau’s body lifted up again. Maddie released the paddles and quickly felt the side of his neck. Then she grabbed her stethoscope and held it to his chest. She sat back and heaved a sigh. “Okay. We’ve got a pulse.” She dropped the paddles and checked his airway. “He’s breathing normally.”

  Byron placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a warm squeeze. The distant sound of a siren whined, and within what seemed like moments, EMTs were inside the house and clustered around Beau, carefully lifting him onto a gurney, fixing him with an IV, and taping the short section of straw that protruded from his trachea into place.

  Maddie brought them up to speed and related everything that had happened since her arrival on the scene. She asked who was attending in the ER and said she would call ahead and brief him on Beau’s condition. She mentioned a probable methamphetamine overdose and cautioned that they should not treat him with any beta-blockers until they ran a full tox screen. She suggested that his cardiac arrest was likely caused by atrial necrosis from prolonged drug abuse, and not related to his gunshot wounds.

  She did not offer to accompany them to the hospit
al, but asked to be kept informed of changes in his condition.

  MADDIE GAVE HER keys to a sheriff’s deputy, and asked if he could have someone drive her Jeep back out to them. She explained that she wanted to spare Syd the ordeal of having to return to the scene of the fire. He consented at once, and was off like a shot, promising to have her car back in less than twenty minutes.

  Byron had earlier arranged to have Syd’s Volvo retrieved, and Maddie had instructed him just to have it taken to her farm and parked in the barn next to her Lexus. He nodded briefly before walking off with Syd’s small ring of keys, seemingly unsurprised by her request.

  While they waited for the sheriff’s deputy to return with Maddie’s Jeep, they walked the short distance from Gladys’s lawn to a picnic table across the road on an undeveloped patch of grass overlooking the river. The night now seemed unnaturally quiet—a stark and surreal contrast to the way the evening had commenced. The air was cool and clear—no traces of the smoke that infiltrated everything just a few miles away.

  Syd couldn’t reconcile the serenity of the scene with the horrors that preceded it. The few neighbors who had been clustered outside Gladys’s house during the aftermath of the shooting had dispersed, once the EMTs had departed, to return to their beds or their late-night TV viewing.

  Syd tipped her head back and took in a deep lungful of the crisp night air. Maddie sat quietly beside her, perched on top of the table, facing the water.

  Syd looked at her. “What you did in there. I still can’t believe it.”

  Maddie met her gaze. Her expression was sad and slightly apologetic. “I can imagine that it wasn’t easy for you to see that—to watch me try to save him. Not after what he did to you and Lizzy, and then to the library.” She looked down at her hands. “I hope you know that I had to try.”

  Syd listened to her in confusion, then grasped her arm. “Oh, god, no. That’s not what I meant. Of course you had to try to help him. I only meant that I had never witnessed anything like that before. I mean, I knew that you worked in a big-city emergency room before coming here, but I guess I never really thought about the kinds of things you did.” She shook her head. “It was incredible.” She looked deeply into Maddie’s blue eyes. “I’m still a little awestruck.”