Scared Stiff

by Annelise Ryan

  The flat tone of her voice as she admits this sends chills down my spine. How could I not have seen how disturbed she was before this?

  Jackie says, “Since I knew Erik was the primary suspect, I took the gun with me when I went to the hospital with Mom for one of her radiation treatments. I had scheduled a mammogram for myself at the same time and it was easy to sneak the gun into a linen closet while I was in the X-ray department. I was careful to wipe it down so my fingerprints wouldn’t be on it, and I knew someone would find it eventually and assume the inevitable . . . that Erik had hidden it there.”

  “That was very clever,” I say, hoping a little ego stroking might buy me some time.

  “Well, it would have been if you’d just minded your own damned business.”

  She punctuates the sentence with a downward slash of her knife through the air. And then she starts toward me. Desperate and out of any other ideas, I decide to try a diversion. I purposefully shift my gaze over her shoulder toward the office door and look startled.

  It works. Jackie whips around, wielding the knife in front of her, ready to strike at anyone or anything.

  And then the most amazing thing happens. Hurley appears in the doorway, right in front of Jackie, right in front of the business end of that knife. Jackie shrieks like a harridan and lunges at him, plunging the knife into his chest.

  Chapter 46

  Jackie drives the knife home with a bloodcurdling scream and then pulls it out again.

  “No!” I yell. “Jackie, for God’s sake, no!”

  Hurley lets out a little grunt, his eyes wide with surprise, and then slumps to the floor. I charge at Jackie’s back with a guttural growl and when I’m only a foot or two away, she hears me and starts to turn.

  I ram her on her left side and the two of us fall to the floor, landing hard. Her right arm, with the knife in her hand, hits a floor lamp and the knife clatters to the floor, leaving a splatter trail of Hurley’s blood in its wake. I hear the breath leave Jackie’s lungs with a whoomph. I push myself off of her, scramble across the floor on my hands and knees, grab the knife, and then quickly roll onto my back, the knife in front of me, ready for Jackie to come at me. But she’s curled into a fetal position on the floor, crying.

  I look beyond her to the doorway and my heart sinks. Hurley is sprawled in the doorway on his back, the left side of his shirtfront soaked with blood. I get up and hurry over to him, praying he’s still alive. Setting the knife on the floor, I quickly assess him, see that he’s breathing and conscious, and then rip his shirt open. The wound, an incision nearly an inch long and who knows how deep near his left shoulder, is oozing a steady flow of blood.

  Hurley looks up at me and manages a weak smile. “I’ve fantasized about you ripping my shirt off, Winston, but I don’t think I’m quite up to it right now.” I smile despite how frightened I am for him. “What the hell happened?” he asks.

  “Jackie stabbed you. She killed Shannon, Hurley. She’s crazy and I should have seen it. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

  His eyebrows arch. “How is it your fault?”

  “She was coming toward me with the knife and I was trying to distract her. I made like there was someone behind her, hoping she would turn to look. And then suddenly you really were behind her. I didn’t know you were here.”

  He coughs and the blood flow from his wound surges. I look around frantically for something to dampen it, and when I can’t find anything I take my blouse off and wad it up.

  Hurley blinks hard several times and shakes his head. “There you go again . . . taking your clothes off.” He pauses and I notice his breathing is shallower. “Just . . . can’t . . . help . . . yourself . . . with me . . . can you?”

  The words come out in weak, gasping breaths, ramping up my panic. I glance back at Jackie and see with relief that she’s still curled up and sobbing a few feet away. I push the wadded blouse harder against Hurley’s chest wound, making him wince and moan.

  “I’m sorry, I know it hurts but I have to do it,” I tell him. “You’re bleeding pretty heavily.” He moans again and his eyes roll up in his head.

  “Hurley, where is your cell phone?”

  He doesn’t answer me and as his head lolls to the side I realize he has passed out. I feel my panic rising and push it back down.

  “Damn it, Hurley, don’t you do this to me,” I mutter as I push down harder on the wound with one hand and then start frantically searching his pockets with the other. It’s not in his shirt or his pants. Finally I find it clipped to his belt behind his gun holster. With a shaking hand I manage to unclip it and dial 911.

  “911 operator, do you have an emergency?”

  “Yes, this is Mattie Winston with the medical examiner’s office. I need police and an ambulance right away. I’m with Detective Steve Hurley and he’s been stabbed.” Hurley’s face looks horribly pale and a lump forms in my throat. “Please hurry,” I plead, my voice cracking.

  “Mattie? It’s Jeannie,” the operator says. Jeannie and I have a history; she’s been on duty every time I’ve had to call 911. She didn’t do very well the first time but that’s because she was new to the job and I gave her a challenging case. “Where are you?” Jeannie asks, her voice calm and efficient. She’s definitely gotten better.

  My mind struggles to come up with the address but I can’t think of it. “It’s an office. Dr. Luke Nelson’s office. I don’t know the exact address but it’s in the strip mall on the corner of South and Nesbitt. Junior Feller is parked out front.”

  “There’s an officer there?” Jeannie asks, sounding confused.

  “He’s outside. I don’t think he knows what’s happened.”

  “Hold on,” Jeannie says. She puts me on hold for a few seconds and then comes back on. “Junior’s coming in,” she says. “And I’ve dispatched an ambulance to your location.”

  “Thanks, Jeannie,” I say and then suddenly Junior is there.

  “Holy shit,” Junior says, taking in the scene. “What the hell happened?”

  I drop Hurley’s phone and feel for a pulse. It’s there, but it’s fast and thready. I nod toward Jackie. “She stabbed Hurley. He needs an ambulance. She also killed Shannon Tolliver and Carla Andrusson.”

  Junior looks momentarily confused. “She killed Shannon and Carla?” he echoes, moving closer to Jackie.

  “She did. She confessed to me. She was having an affair with Nelson and apparently Shannon discovered what Nelson was doing and threatened to expose him. So Jackie killed her to shut her up and protect him. Here,” I say, pulling the recorder from between my breasts. “I think I got the whole thing on tape.”

  Junior takes the recorder and drops it in his shirt pocket, then he walks over and cuffs Jackie. She puts up no resistance and he leaves her sobbing on the floor so he can come back to Hurley. He talks into his shoulder mike and then tells me, “The ambulance is almost here.”

  This information is unnecessary since I can hear the siren close by but it reassures me just the same. “Hang in there, Hurley,” I whisper. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “Is he?” Junior asks. “That looks bad.” He eyes the bloody blouse I’m holding, then I see his gaze shift briefly toward my chest.

  “My jacket is in the other room. Can you get it for me?”

  He fetches the jacket and briefly takes over wound dampening duties while I put it on. By the time I button it up I hear the ambulance siren out front and seconds later the EMTs come rushing in. Within minutes they have taken over the wound management, started an IV, and loaded Hurley onto a stretcher.

  “I’m riding with you,” I tell the EMTs. Since my tone leaves no room for equivocation and the guys on the crew know me, they nod their assent. I follow them out to the rig and wait for them to load Hurley inside before I climb in.

  We zip through town at a hefty pace with full lights and sirens. It’s a bumpy, rocky ride that leaves me gripping the bench seat and watching as Hurley’s IV sways back and forth.
<
br />   “His blood pressure is pretty low,” one of the EMTs announces. “Eighty systolic.”

  Panic rears its ugly head again and I struggle to keep it at bay. But it isn’t easy. Hurley’s color is nearly as white as the sheets and the amount of blood I can see on the chest dressing makes my throat tighten. Tears sting at my eyes and I swipe irritably at them. Then I take Hurley’s hand in mine and lean over close to his ear. “You better not die on me, Hurley,” I tell him as we hit another bump. “Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  Chapter 47

  Our arrival at the ER is organized chaos. The staff on duty knew we were coming, thanks to the EMTs’ radio report. But because the town is so small, the time span from when they heard we were coming to our actual arrival is only a couple of minutes, giving them little time to prepare.

  I hop out of the ambulance and then back out of the way as the EMTs unload Hurley and wheel him into the ER. I follow close on their heels, checking out the staff on duty as we head for the trauma room. I’m relieved to see Dr. Cannady since I know she has an extensive trauma background and is an excellent doc. The nurses on duty are top-notch, too, an older, seasoned crew that has seen far worse and had their patients live to tell about it.

  I stand in the doorway to the trauma room watching them dance their chaotic ballet, fighting an urge to jump in and help. My heart is telling me to get in there but my mind knows it would be best to stay on the sidelines. Even though the activity in the room looks frenzied and hectic, everyone in the room has their assigned tasks and knows what to do. Given the level of emotion I’m feeling, I’m not sure I’d be capable of thinking straight and would just be in the way. But I feel helpless standing here doing nothing.

  Hurley is quickly stripped down to his skivvies and I can’t help but admire the brief glimpse I get of his physique. Within minutes the crew has blood drawn, a second IV line going, a heart monitor in place, and a set of vital signs. Hurley’s blood pressure is still frighteningly low and his heart is beating much too fast. Dr. Cannady orders the IV fluids opened wide and a stat portable chest X-ray.

  Hurley is responding some, mumbling and moving, but I’m not close enough to tell if his words are making any sense or not.

  I hear a mechanical sound closing in behind me and step aside to let the radiology tech into the room with the portable X-ray machine. Right behind her, much to my surprise, is David. Then it hits me; the staff would have paged the surgeon on call the minute they knew they had a stab wound victim on the way. He sees me, frowns, and stops.

  “Mattie? What are you doing here?” He peers past me into the trauma room. “Who is that in there?” He looks concerned but also confused, no doubt because his first thoughts are that it’s my mother or sister in there, but one quick look makes it obvious the patient is a man.

  “It’s Steve Hurley,” I tell him.

  “That cop? What happened to him? Did he get shot?”

  I shake my head. “Jackie Nash went nuts and stabbed him. She tried to stab me, too.”

  I see curiosity flit across his face and know he wants more of an explanation but he stays focused. “Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing me from head to toe.

  “I’m fine,” I say, glancing into the trauma room. “But Hurley is in bad shape.” I look back at my husband, the man I once loved, the man I was married to for seven years, the man who just a few nights ago pleaded for another chance, and realize he may hold Hurley’s life in his hands. “Please help him, David.” The words barely get out before my throat closes with emotion. Tears sting behind my eyes; I make a brief but futile attempt to keep them at bay, then swipe irritably at them as they course down my cheeks.

  David stares at me a moment, then sighs. “You have a thing for this guy, don’t you?”

  I don’t answer; I just stare back at him, my eyes pleading. I’m afraid to say too much, afraid to admit too much. I hear the clicks of the portable X-ray machine and Dr. Cannady’s voice follows.

  “Dr. Winston? We could use your help in here.”

  With that, David disappears into the room. The flurry of activity continues and moments later the X-ray tech returns with film in hand. David puts it up on a wall-mounted light box and studies it for a few seconds. From where I’m standing I can see the X-ray clearly and note with relief that both of Hurley’s lungs appear to be well aerated and expanded.

  David confirms this. “The lungs look okay. I think the bleeding is our biggest problem. Let’s get him upstairs so I can open him up.”

  As the nurses are making the final preparations for sending Hurley to the OR, David comes back out of the room and pulls me off to the side. “I can’t say I’m happy about you moving on to someone else already but I know it’s my own fault. And despite my feelings, you know I’ll do my best.”

  I do. Despite his personal failings in the husband department, David is a dedicated and talented surgeon. Even if it’s a bit awkward, I’m glad David is here because I know Hurley will be in good hands. “Thank you, David.”

  David takes off to get himself ready for surgery. I hear the nurses in the trauma room releasing the brakes on the stretcher and getting all the attached equipment ready for transfer. I turn to head back into the room to get one last look at Hurley, hoping to say some final words of encouragement even if I’m unsure he’ll hear them. But before I reach the door, someone else rushes into the room. I blink hard, barely believing what I’m seeing. Alison Miller dashes to Hurley’s bedside, grabs his hand, and leans over the railing to look at him.

  “Oh, Stevie,” she cries. “Are you okay?” She looks over at Dr. Cannady. “Is he okay?”

  “He has some internal bleeding. We’re taking him to the OR.”

  “Can I go with him?” Alison pleads.

  Cannady defers to the nurses, one of whom nods and says, “You can come with us as far as the doors to the surgical suite but then you’ll have to go to the waiting room.”

  Alison nods. “Thank you,” she says. Then she raises Hurley’s hand to her mouth and kisses it. “He has to be okay,” she says. “We’re supposed to have dinner tonight.”

  What the hell? I’m not sure what surprises me most: the inanity of Alison’s thought processes or the knowledge that she and Hurley had a dinner date planned. But then, what did I expect? Hurley clearly overheard me telling Alison that I had no romantic designs on him, that he was merely a toy to help me pass the time.

  As the nurses whisk Hurley’s stretcher out of the room and toward the elevator, I briefly consider trying to muscle Alison out of the way, or at the very least taking a spot on the other side of the stretcher and going with them. But then I catch a glimpse of Hurley’s face and see that he’s awake. He’s looking up at Alison’s face as if she is the angel of mercy herself, and then he smiles and says something to her.

  My heart sinks. I realize what a huge mess I’ve made of things—romantically, personally, and professionally—and wish I could go back and undo some of what I’ve done. But I can’t. My first thought is to head home and share my sorrows with Ben and Jerry and my fuzzy companions, but I don’t want to leave the hospital until I know Hurley is okay. Nor do I want to share waiting room space with Alison. So I do the next best thing instead and head for the hospital cafeteria.

  One Reuben sandwich and piece of peach pie later, Izzy walks into the cafeteria.

  “Figured I’d find you here,” he says. “I heard what happened when I was upstairs visiting Mom.”

  Typical. News always has traveled fast in this place.

  “It was awful,” I tell him. And then the whole story bursts out of me. “I went to take your pictures and I found this receipt Nelson had for a nanny cam and figured out that he had one mounted in the ceiling in his counseling room so I tried to take some pictures of it but then Jackie appeared out of nowhere and started waving this huge knife at me with this crazy look in her eyes and I didn’t know what to do.” I pause for a second to suck in a ragged breath and then continue. “Then Jackie
tells me how she and Nelson have been dating and how Shannon found out about Nelson’s little side activities with his patients and was going to report him, so Jackie killed her. She killed Carla, too,” I add, telling him how I figured out Carla’s death wasn’t a suicide. “That car accident Jackie was in years ago scarred a lot more than her skin,” I conclude. “She’s crazy, Izzy, totally and completely crazy. I don’t know how I never picked up on it before. And today she wanted to kill me. I tried to keep her calm by talking but then I ran out of things to say and she was coming at me so I tried distracting her by looking behind her as if someone was there, thinking maybe I could make a run for it. Except all of a sudden Hurley really was there and then Jackie just stabbed him.” I lose it then, and start to sob. “She just stabbed him and now he might die and it’s all my fault.”

  Izzy frowns and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Mattie. You didn’t stab him, Jackie did.”

  I dismiss his objection with an impatient wave of my hand and try to get myself under control, using my napkin to blow my nose. “You know what I mean, Izzy.”

  “The nurses upstairs said Hurley was in surgery,” Izzy says, and I nod. “They said David was operating on him,” he adds, and I nod again. “Interesting situation,” he concludes.

  “David won’t let his personal feelings get in the way. And he’s an excellent surgeon. Hurley is in good hands.”

  Izzy nods thoughtfully, then says, “I can have Arnie help me with the autopsy today so take the rest of the day off. After all you’ve been through you’ll be pretty useless in the office anyway.”

  I smile at him. “I should probably be offended by that comment but I suspect you’re right. And I would like to hang here until I know Hurley is okay. So I think I’ll take you up on the offer. Thanks.”