by Julia Harlow
Isabel’s heart started to pound violently in her chest, while her skin pricked like fire ants crawling over her. She didn’t doubt him for a second. She knew Willard would shoot Pilot and the psycho bastard would enjoy doing it.
But wait; wasn’t he going to shoot her dog anyway? Should she just let him and try to save herself?
The very thought of standing by and watching Willard murder her precious dog right in front of her was so abhorrent there was absolutely no way she could let him do it. Was it possible Ellen would be back sooner than Willard had calculated? No, a dog as small as Queenie consuming that much chocolate would be seriously ill and might die. Isabel knew Ellen wouldn’t be back from the vet anytime soon.
Willard angled back in the chair in order to extract a folded paper from his back pocket. He held it out, glowering at her. “Write the fucking note now! I’m sick and tired of your stalling bullshit!”
Reluctantly, Isabel inched forward to retrieve the paper from his hand, careful not to come into contact with his swollen sausage fingers. She took a random book from her bookshelf to use for a hard surface to write on and perched on the edge of the bed. She scanned the contents of the note. In a few paragraphs that sounded nothing like her, it stated that she had become deeply depressed by her lack of intelligence and ugly appearance and she couldn’t go on anymore. In language so pretentious she would never use, the letter went on to say that she’d despaired of ever finding someone to love her and that she’d given up all hope.
Willard reached over in the chair for a manila file stashed beside him and produced a piece of ivory stationary. He yanked a pen from his red-checked shirt pocket and thrust both items at her.
She copied the letter verbatim, more slowly than needed, while she tried to contrive a way out of this diabolical situation. He aimed a gun at her with enough bullets to easily kill her and Pilot. Should she launch the book at his head and try to grab the gun? No, Willard hadn’t taken his eyes off her for even a second. Any sudden movement from her and she was certain he’d pull the trigger.
As she started to sign her name to the inane letter, a bleak cloud of utter desolation overcame her. There was no way out of this. Willard was going to win.
She finished signing her name and handed the letter to him. He perused the note and nodded.
“Pills, now!” he bellowed. Isabel jumped, startled at the almost uncontrollable rage that spewed from him.
She closed her eyes, and the image of Ty’s gorgeous face came to her. I’m so very sorry, Ty. I would do anything for you. For us. But I don’t have a choice with this psychopath aiming a gun at my head. I love you more than anything in the world, but I don’t have any way out of this that I can think of. I’ll take the chance that you or Ellen will find me before I succumb to the effects of the pills and alcohol, rather than being shot in the head, which would surely be the end of me.
“I want Pilot on the bed with me.” She couldn’t stop the tears that had pooled in her eyes from spilling down her cheeks in silvery rivulets. When she pictured her mother, Ellen, and Ty, she couldn’t hold back the sobs.
“What the fuck do I care? Just swallow the fucking pills!” A vein in his forehead bulged as he shouted the words at her.
Isabel took three steps to close the gap between them. She forced herself to hold out a shaky hand while Willard fumbled with the plastic cap and filled her palm with what seemed like a dozen pills. They looked so harmless, small and white, each one tinier than a baby aspirin. He thrust the vodka bottle into her other hand.
“I’m sick of this screwing around. Just take the fucking pills!” He spat out his directive through heavy wheezing.
In what seemed like slow motion, her hand moved up toward her face. Then she tilted the white oval tablets into her mouth. They tasted bitter on her tongue. She tipped the open vodka bottle up, filled her mouth with the clean, crisp liquid and swallowed the pills. The alcohol burned as it hit the back of her throat.
“Stop your fucking stalling, you stupid fat bitch! Drink all of it!” He stood up and lumbered to the side of the bed, pressing the cold metal of the gun barrel to her temple. A loud clink rang in her ear when he cocked the hammer.
Isabel lifted the bottle up again and swallowed the remaining vodka.
“Finally! Now, get that big, flabby body of yours on the bed before you pass out. Even when I was younger I could never lift a body as large as yours, and I have no intention of trying to now.”
“C’mon, Pilot, let’s take a nap.” Isabel figured the least she could do was be a comfort to her beloved dog before she succumbed to the combination of narcotics and alcohol. The room began spinning around her, making her feel like Dorothy in Kansas.
She blinked, fighting to keep her heavy-lidded eyes focused on Willard, who was now slouched again in the chair. Right before she lost consciousness, she saw him set the gun down in his lap. It was then that she gave Pilot the hand signal.
~*~
When Ty answered his phone, he hoped to hear Isabel’s sweet voice. Instead, it was Ellen on the line.
“Hey, Ty. I’ve been trying to get ahold of Isabel, but she’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?”
“No. I dropped her off at the loft a while ago.”
“Oh, okay, well, I’m at the vets’ office. Somehow Queenie found a couple of Hershey bars and ate every bite. It’s weird because Isabel and I never buy Hershey bars, so it’s a mystery how Queenie got ahold of them. She’s having her stomach pumped as we speak. Andrew and I are waiting to see if she’s going to pull through.” Her voice trailed off, sounding shaky, and Ty felt bad for her, knowing how much Queenie meant to her.
Ellen cleared her throat before speaking again. “The vet thinks she’ll be all right because I got her here right after she’d eaten the chocolate.”
“I’m really sorry, Ellen. What about Pilot? Did he eat any of it?”
“No, Isabel trained him to only eat his dog food. Anyway, I wanted to give her a heads-up that Willard is at the loft. But I guess she knows by now.”
If Ellen said anything else, Ty didn’t hear it because he raced out the door. Rivulets of apprehension slithered down the back of his neck like a hundred small snakes. He knew something was wrong. Really wrong.
He thought back to when he’d dropped Isabel off. Ellen’s car hadn’t been there, but another car had been, one he didn’t recognize. It must have been Willard’s rental car from the airport.
He was out the door, down the elevator of The Admiralty, and in the Mercedes within mere minutes, once again speeding toward the loft. But this time the acid churning in his stomach felt as if it were eating a whole straight through the lining. Was it just coincidence that Ellen was at the vet with her dog poisoned by copious amounts of chocolate she and Isabel hadn’t purchased? He wouldn’t let himself imagine what Willard Daniels was doing at the loft alone with Isabel. The idea was too grim to think about.
He floored the gas pedal, his thoughts running wild. Pressing speed dial once again, he prayed he would hear Isabel’s lovely voice, but she didn’t answer. It seemed to Ty that it took hours instead of minutes to arrive at the loft. He sped to the curb and bounded out, leaving the car door gaping wide open. He didn’t even waste a second to turn off the ignition.
Bounding up the steps three at a time, he was at the door, pounding hard with both fists. If it turned out she was all right, then thank God. He stopped pounding and held his breath, pressing his ear against the door to hear her sure footsteps coming to open it, followed by Pilot’s nails clicking on the hardwood. But instead, he was met with nothing but a sinister silence.
With one swift kick aimed smack at the center of the door, he heard cracking as pieces of the frame splintered. With a ferocious second kick fueled by the pulsing adrenaline coming from his fear for Isabel’s well-being, the door broke away from its hinges and crashed against the wall behind the door.
“Isabel?” His voice broke as he called out her name. He strained to listen for an
y sound in the ominous silence. “Isabel? Pilot?”
Then he heard it: the sound of a familiar bark coming from Isabel’s bedroom.
Chapter 25
The thick soles of Ty’s boots struck the hardwood as he ran flat out toward Isabel’s bedroom. When he rounded the corner of the doorway, he found himself immediately facing a grisly sight: an older man with his upper body covered in bright red blood slouched in a chair facing the bed. The man’s head drooped to one side, exposing a bloody throat that appeared to have been ripped open. A gun caught on one of the man’s thick fingers, dangled harmlessly at his side. He didn’t appear to be breathing.
Ty’s eyes followed a sound coming from the direction of the bed: Pilot’s whimpering. The dog sprawled next to Isabel’s inert body. Ty dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911 and at the same instant bolted to her side. He frantically searched for a pulse while he waited for the call to be answered. When he finally found a faint pulse at the side of her throat, he closed his eyes in relief. Just then a woman’s brisk voice answered.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
Ty jerked to attention and spoke into his phone. “A woman is unconscious and a man appears to be dead. I’m taking the woman to the hospital. She’s my fiancée, Isabel Beachwood. The man is her stepfather, Willard Daniels. At least, I think that’s who he is.” He quickly gave the operator his name, cell number, and the address of the loft before disconnecting and carefully lifting Isabel’s limp body. He spied the vodka bottle and an empty prescription bottle on the carpet next to the man’s body. He bent down to snatch up the pill bottle and stuffed it in the pocket of his slacks.
Ty held Isabel tight against his chest on the way to his car. He swung the back door open and gently laid her across the back seat, whispering soft words in her ear, pleading with her. His voice caught in his throat. “Stay with me, my love. I’m here now. I’m taking you to the hospital. It’s going to be all right.” At least he prayed it would.
Pilot had followed them from the loft and sat outside Ty’s car. Ty called to him, “C’mon, boy.”
The big dog bounded into the back seat and settled on the floor beside Isabel. Ty had to make a snap decision, so he did a fast calculation; the nearest hospital was the University of California Medical Center at Mission Bay, but the best hospital by far was the UCSF Medical Center on California Street. It was farther away, but at this time of night, traffic would be light, so he decided to go for it.
“My sweet Isabel, hold on just a little longer. We’ll be there soon, I promise.” He spoke over his shoulder before flooring the gas pedal toward Parnassus Avenue.
Instead of pulling up to the front of the hospital, he headed straight to the emergency entrance and abruptly stopped the car. One of his basketball buddies had broken his collarbone a few weeks back when he’d dived for a ball and landed awkwardly at their weekly Saturday game. Ty had brought him to the emergency room here, so he knew exactly where to go.
Jerking open the back door, he carefully lifted Isabel’s limp body and carried her through the doors of the emergency room. Pilot followed close at his heels, and Ty directed him to wait by the entrance. The dog immediately sat down at one side of the emergency room doors.
A small Asian woman wearing green hospital scrubs met Ty at the door. “I’m Dr. Cheng. What’s going on here?”
“Possible drug overdose. Not suicide but a murder attempt. I’ve got the container of pills in my pocket. There was also an empty bottle of vodka nearby when I found her.”
The doctor snagged a high-tech gurney, and then she and Ty transferred Isabel onto it. With a few brief words and an arm motion, the doctor had three other hospital personnel around her, wheeling Isabel into a cubicle. “May I have the container the pills were in?” Dr. Cheng held out a petite hand.
Ty dug in his pocket and handed her the container, and the doctor disappeared into the cubicle.
One of the three others, a tall African-American man with close-cropped hair who appeared to be in his early thirties, broke off to approach Ty with a mobile laptop workstation. “I’m Anton, and I need some information from you. Let’s start with your name and the young woman’s name.”
“I’m Ty Griffin. Isabel Beachwood is my fiancée. When I found her about twenty minutes ago, her father-in-law was near her with a gun in his hand. I think he might be dead. I immediately called 911 and then brought Isabel here.” Anton’s fingers tapped the keyboard, inputting the information.
Ty continued, “There were problems between them from years ago. From what I could gather at the scene, he forced her to take the pills and drink the vodka.” Ty paused a moment before asking, “Can you save her?”
Anton stopped typing and glanced up from the computer screen. “We’ll do everything we can, Mr. Griffin. You’re lucky Dr. Cheng happened to be starting her shift and spotted you when you came in. Normally, Ms. Beachwood would have seen a triage nurse first. But the fact that she was unconscious made her a top priority in the ER. Dr. Cheng is specifically trained in emergency medicine. She’s the best there is. Now I need some other information. What is Ms. Beachwood’s date of birth?”
Ty mechanically answered a myriad of questions, everything from Isabel’s address to medications, her employer, insurance, and next of kin. All the while he stared at the entrance to the cubicle where they’d wheeled Isabel, and prayed that she was going to come through this. He physically ached to be near her.
After Ty had answered all the questions he could, Anton suggested he wait in the family waiting area and gave him directions on how to get there. He said they’d update him on Isabel’s condition as soon as they had any information.
Ty reluctantly dragged himself from the emergency room where he had at least been only a room away from Isabel. The sky had turned dark, and wisps of fog floated in the air around him like so many spider webs, giving him a chill even though the night was still mild. He heard the wail of a siren in the distance, the sound becoming increasingly shrill as it neared the hospital. He had never felt so utterly desolate before in his life. A grim emptiness gripped him.
He scrubbed his hands over his face before spotting Pilot sitting outside the emergency room doors exactly where he’d left him. He forced himself to move against a viable paralysis that had almost suffused him. Bending down to stroke the dog’s ears, he spoke softly, “Let’s go around to the front, buddy. You can wait outside there.” The regal dog trotted alongside him to the front of the enormous sand-colored block building.
Ty’s chest felt so constricted he struggled to draw in a normal breath. The pervading fear he felt for Isabel made it hard to function. What were they doing to her now? Did it hurt her? Was she awake? Did she need him? He just kept telling himself that Isabel was in good hands and would pull through this. She absolutely had to.
When they reached the front entrance, Ty knelt beside Pilot, rubbing the top of the dog’s head. “I’m really sorry, pal, but you need to wait here.” He pointed to a spot off to the far side of the entrance where Pilot wouldn’t be in the way of people coming and going. He wished he’d brought along the dog’s leash. Maybe he could’ve gotten away with telling the hospital staff that Pilot was a therapy pet and might have been allowed to keep the dog with him.
After finding the family waiting area, Ty slumped down in a chair to wait. A weatherman gave the forecast from a flat screen television suspended from one wall. Normally, Ty would be interested in the forecast for his morning run but not tonight. It was merely background noise. He glanced around the room. A man and someone who appeared to be his son both focused on their smart phones. Two small dark-haired girls colored pictures with crayons on a table situated in front of a row of navy vinyl-covered chairs. Their mother and father, Ty assumed, were seated behind them and spoke quietly, their heads bent toward one another. An elderly couple sitting in the corner sipped from Styrofoam cups. The bitter smell of coffee that had been warming for too long permeated the room.
After only
a few minutes, he jumped to his feet, feeling as if he were about to crawl out of his skin. He headed back outside to find Pilot sitting up straight, his ears pricked up, right where he’d left him. It was then that he made one of the two phone calls he’d been dreading.
“Ellen, are you still at the vet?”
The cheerful tone of her voice as she explained she was about to leave the vet clued him in that Queenie would be okay.
Ty cleared his throat. “Listen, Ellen. Something’s happened. I’m at UCSF Medical Center with Isabel. She’s being treated for an overdose of sleeping pills—”
A screeching sound almost burst Ty’s eardrum, stopping him mid-sentence. “No fucking way!” Ellen shrieked. “Isabel would NEVER do that!”
“Hold on a minute, Ellen. I’m fairly certain she was forced to ingest the pills at gunpoint, along with alcohol.”
“What are you talking about? Who would do—? Oh, no, no, NO!” It seemed to Ty, from the clattering sound that followed, as if she’d dropped her phone. He waited, and after a long moment, she asked in a wooden tone, “Was it Willard?”
“Yes. At least I’m fairly certain it was. They were alone together. And, Ellen, I think he’s, uh . . .” Ty had never had to tell someone that a loved one had died, and he had no idea how to phrase it, so he just came out with it. “I don’t think your father made it.”
“You mean he’s dead?” Ellen didn’t seem to have any problem with phrasing.
“I’m sorry, Ellen. Everything happened so fast. Isabel was unconscious when I got to the loft. Your father had a gun in his hand, but had been attacked, I assume, by Pilot. I called 911, and the authorities are probably at the loft now. I got her here as fast as I could. Look. I’d meet you back at the loft, but I need to stay close to Isabel. Pilot is with me.”
“You should absolutely stay with Isabel. How, um . . . how bad is it? Is she going to be all right?”
“I don’t know. The doctors are working on her in the emergency room. As soon as they talk to me, I’ll let you know. Oh, and please ask Andrew to go with you, when you return to the loft.”