by CJ Lyons
As LaRose walked toward the nurses' station, Gina spotted Ken Rosen.
“Gina, have you seen Narolie Maxeke? Lucas Stone called me in to consult on her case.”
“Last I heard, they were still down in MRI. What did Lucas find?”
“Looks like encephalitis.”
“Really? That stinks. Hey, can you give me a hand with Harold Trenton? I think I figured out what’s going on with him.”
“What’s he doing back down here? I thought he was in the PICU.”
Instead of answering, Gina ushered Ken inside the curtained space and pulled the curtain shut behind her. Tank sat on the bed, legs dangling, hands clenching the mattress with a death grip. His mother hovered alongside him.
“I’m not going back up there,” Tank was saying. “Not until I know Narolie’s okay.”
“Harold, you’ll do as we say. You’ve caused enough trouble already. If your grandfather hears of this—”
“I’m sure you remember Dr. Rosen, our infectious-disease expert,” Gina interrupted. “I’ve asked him to confirm my findings. Tank, show Dr. Rosen your palms.” As Tank complied, she handed Ken a pair of gloves. “You’ll want these.”
“Findings?” Mrs. Trenton said. “What findings?”
“Tank doesn’t have meningococcemia,” Gina said, while Ken examined the area between Tank’s fingers and then used a scalpel and slide to take a small scraping. “In fact, I think Dr. Rosen will be able to give us the answer in a few minutes.” Ken nodded at her, then left, taking the slide with him.
“But Dr. Frantz, everyone said—”
“Dr. Frantz was mistaken. Misled, actually. You see, Tank uses marijuana. And I’m not sure what other drugs.”
“How dare you! My son doesn’t—”
“So I toke up? What’s that got to do with anything?” Tank said, straightening up and giving his mother a rebel stare.
“Harold!”
Gina continued, keeping her tone professional. She wanted to feel some satisfaction, at least a little, but instead she felt sad. For Tank. “Because of the marijuana use and maybe some other factors, Tank couldn’t remember how long he’d had the rash and told us it wasn’t itchy. Given the fever, and because none of the adults in his life could say when it started, the nurse jumped to conclusions. But if I’m right, Tank’s rash has been there several days rather than the few hours we’d see with meningococcemia.”
“What about the fever?”
“Probably a virus,” Gina explained.
“So all this is for a case of the flu?”
“No, there’s more.”
Ken returned, right on cue. “You’re right, Gina. Mites were present on the wet prep.”
“Mites? What’s going on here?”
“Tank has scabies.”
“Scabies!” Mrs. Trenton jumped away from her son and gave him a look of horror. “That’s like lice! People like us can’t get scabies!”
Lucas and the radiologist took their time, getting more views of Narolie’s brain after giving her some intravenous contrast. As they nattered on about FLAIR intensity and attenuation versus enhancement, Amanda pressed her face against the window separating them from Narolie. How was she going to explain to Narolie that she was going to get worse, that there was no cure, that she was dying?
It was wrong, all wrong. Anger seeped into Amanda’s veins, chasing away her doubts. There had to be something they’d missed. She wasn’t about to let some nameless disease steal a girl’s life.
Finally the machine stopped clanking and the tech wheeled Narolie out of the magnet’s field. Amanda rushed out to meet her. The sedation was beginning to wear off. Narolie’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. She looked around, eyes wide, pupils dilated.
“It’s okay, Narolie,” Amanda said, leaning over the stretcher so that Narolie could see her better. “I’m here.”
“What—” Narolie’s gaze darted to and fro. “Who are you? What do you want?” She yanked against the restraints holding her in place. “You want to kill us! Help! Stop!”
Lucas came running from the control room just as Narolie managed to get one hand free and grabbed Amanda’s throat with deadly force. Amanda clawed at her, but Narolie seemed possessed with an unimaginable strength.
“I won’t let you hurt my brother.” Narolie spit the words through clenched jaws in a tone that resembled a growl. Then she began to scream in another language—Swahili?
Amanda’s vision dimmed as she struggled. Narolie’s screams pounded through her brain in time with her pulse. Then Narolie slumped back. Amanda blinked, saw Lucas holding a syringe, standing near the IV on the opposite side of the bed.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” Amanda massaged her neck and swallowed twice. It hurt, but no more than a bruise. Before she could say anything else, Narolie’s monitor sounded an alarm. “Blood pressure dropping.” She turned to Lucas. “What did you give her?”
Lucas was shaking his head. “Only another two of Versed. It shouldn’t have this effect.”
Amanda listened to Narolie’s heart. Its rhythm was slowing, and then there was silence. “No pulse!”
30
Nora
spent the rest of the afternoon with Jerry, dissecting every moment of her attack. Somehow she choked down a chicken salad sandwich that tasted like paste, but she barely noticed. It was as if talking about those two days, reliving them, had transported her mind back in time. Occasionally as she spoke, she’d forget Jerry was even there, could instead almost smell, hear, and feel the rapist with her.
Once Jerry’s cell phone went off, startling her so badly that it triggered a panic attack. She’d excused herself, somehow making it to the bathroom before breaking down, then sat in the stall, knees drawn to her chest, rocking back and forth until she could breathe again. When she shakily emerged, the bright light reflected in the mirror seared her vision just as it had after those two days when she’d been blind to the world, her eyelids sealed shut, the glue scratching her corneas.
She’d washed her face, wiped away some of the sweat and stench of terror that covered her, rinsed the acid taste from her mouth, and finally exited to find Jerry waiting.
“You sure you’re up to this?” he’d asked, even as he steered her back into the interview room.
What choice did she have? She’d simply nodded and resumed her seat, beginning to describe once more the details of the two days she’d tried her best to erase permanently from her memory.
Finally, they finished. She’d answered all of Jerry’s questions, at least all the ones she had answers to. He looked wrung out, his hands hanging lifelessly between his knees, his expression grim, and she knew that after everything she’d been through, it still wasn’t enough.
“None of that helped, did it?”
He shook his head. “Of course it did. Even if it doesn’t give me any concrete evidence about where to look for this guy, it gives me an idea about how he thinks.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good thing. Understanding how his mind works.”
“Maybe not. But right now, without any forensic evidence, it’s the best weapon I have to hunt him down. I wish we could explain the time lapse between your attack and the next victim.” He scrubbed his palms over his face and glanced up at her. She suddenly had the sinking feeling that maybe they weren’t finished after all. “I have to ask—”
She slid to the edge of her seat, hanging on to the weathered upholstery. “What?”
“Seth. When did you first meet? We know he was already at Angels during the time of your attack.”
“No.” Her voice emerged a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat, met his gaze. “No. We didn’t meet until a year later. It couldn’t have been Seth.”
“I want to think that. But he knew both you and Karen, he knows hospitals, he could move around one without anyone noticing.”
“No. Jerry, you know Seth. He’d never hurt anyone; hell, I can’t even get him to kill a
spider. It’s not possible.”
“I’d feel a lot better about things if he had come forward about his association with Karen.”
Silence circled the room. “It wasn’t him. Besides, he was on call the night Karen was—” Taken, raped, tortured, violated, murdered . . . there was no one word large enough to encompass everything she’d experienced.
“Janet is verifying his alibi now.”
“There’s no way. It wasn’t him.” Nora tried to focus her vision as she was catapulted back in time, felt the breadth of her attacker’s hands pressed against her, inhaled his odor. . . Her stomach churned, and she regretted the sandwich Jerry had made her eat.
She thought of Seth, the way he moved, the way he made love, his scent, his touch, his taste. “Trust me. It wasn’t Seth.”
“You think it’s a coincidence this guy targeted both you and Karen?”
The question had been nagging at her since yesterday. “No.” She finally met his gaze once more. “You think he’s going to come after me again.”
Jerry blew his breath out, obviously frustrated. “I wish I knew. This actor has a thing for women and hospitals. Knows their routines, is comfortable inside them. He takes the time and effort to learn everything he can about his victims before he attacks. But what worries me is the extra time he took with you. That and the way the others look like you.”
“Except for Karen. Maybe he’s changed the type of woman he’s targeting? Tall blondes instead of petite redheads?”
His look of doubt said it all. She knew it couldn’t be that easy.
“I wish I could say for sure one way or the other. Whatever’s going on in this guy’s head, it makes sense to him—even if not to us.” He stood, shaking the creases from his trousers. “If you think of anything, call me.”
She pushed out of her chair, hoisting herself back onto her feet, feeling a bit breathless and dizzy as her thoughts collided. “Why? Why me? I’ve read about stalkers, what do you call them, the ones who are delusional and make up a relationship out of nothing?”
“Intimacy seekers.”
“Right. But I’m not famous or anything. I’m not beautiful. Why me?”
“We may never know. And it may not really be all about you—I don’t have enough information yet. Maybe it’s something to do with the hospitals; maybe that’s what set him off. The important thing is, you shouldn’t go home alone. Get out of town, visit family, or—”
“No.” She was shaking her head. “No. I’ve been running from this for three years. I can’t keep running—if he is after me, he’ll catch up with me sooner or later.”
“Nora. At least give me some time. This isn’t the movies; we can’t arrange around-the-clock protection for you.”
“Even if you could, for how long? There were months between Amy and Meg and Karen’s attacks, not to mention the out-of-state victims.”
He nodded and opened the door, leading her to the elevator lobby. “And there might be more victims out there that we don’t know about yet.”
Nora hoped that wasn’t the case. But she knew all too well that most sexual assault victims never reported their assaults. Which meant who knew how many other women could have fallen prey.
The elevator dinged, and its doors opened. “So, what should I do? I can’t put my life on hold forever.” She turned to face him. “What would you do if it were Gina who might be in danger?”
His eyes took on a vacant look as a smile creased his features. “I’d take her to Vegas for a quickie wedding, then off to a Greek island for a honeymoon that would last as long as it took for them to catch the creep.” He blinked, and his eyes clouded. “But that’s not going to happen. Because you’re one of those hyper-responsible, take-charge, independent types who will insist on standing her ground, aren’t you?”
“I’m no fool, Jerry. Just a realist. This guy is obviously patient, has some plan of his own. If he is after me, running and hiding will only delay the inevitable. And he might target someone else—maybe even my family or friends—in the meantime.”
He surprised her by giving her a quick hug. “At least do me a favor and stay with someone else for now. Keep a low profile. The less attractive a target you are, the less likely he is to make a move, and the more time I buy to investigate.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Jerry.”
They arrived on the first floor and she was surprised to see Seth waiting, pacing the public lobby beyond the large, bulletproof glassed-in desk. Jerry escorted her through the locked doors, and she felt a weight leave her chest as if she were a prisoner being paroled early for good behavior.
When Seth caught sight of her, he froze midstep. The look on his face was a mixture of relief and concern. He rushed forward, wrapping his arms around her. “Are you all right?”
She pushed away; it was too hard to breathe, being that close to him. “I’m fine.”
Seth squared off against Jerry. “It’s been hours.”
“No one told you to wait.” Jerry placed a hand on Nora’s arm. “Nora, do you want me to take you to Lydia’s?”
“She’s coming home with me,” Seth protested. Nora backed away from both men, too tired to interfere. Better to let them run the course of their testosterone-driven standoff.
“That’s up to Nora,” Jerry said, although Nora considered it a good sign that he no longer considered Seth a viable suspect. “How did your chat with Janet Kwon go?”
Seth bristled. “Yeah, she’s a real peach. If I ever need a prostate exam, I’ll know who to call.”
“Hey, you’re out here, not locked up, that says a lot. Like the fact that your alibi checked out.” Jerry smiled, but it didn’t make it to his eyes, which were still filled with worry. “What do you say, Nora? You going home with this mutt, or you want me to take you somewhere else?”
Seth beseeched her with his gaze. She never could resist those big, dark eyes. “I’ll go home with Seth.”
“Okay. You think of anything, see anything, hell, you even feel like this guy has eyes on you, I want you to call me right away. Night or day. Understand?”
She squeezed his arm in gratitude. “I will. Thanks, Jerry.”
“So you guys still don’t know who this nutjob is?” Seth demanded. “What about those flowers from a few months ago; can’t you trace him through the florists or something?”
Nora frowned at Seth. “What are you talking about? You sent those flowers.”
“What flowers?” Jerry asked.
“Back in October, some creep was sending Nora flowers all the time.” Anger simmered through his words. “She thought it was me—I told her to call you guys.” He turned to Nora. “I told you it wasn’t me, except for the one time. After you refused to talk to me.”
Nora’s head was pounding. “But I—you really didn’t send the others?” She thought for a long moment, a stray memory nagging at her for attention. Something recent—something from last night. “Seth, did you bring flowers with you yesterday? When you came to my place?”
“No. I brought the DVD, that was it.”
Nora grabbed Jerry’s arm. “Call Mickey, send someone over there, please. Make sure she’s okay.” She quickly explained to Jerry about the bouquet of lavender daylilies and the anonymous flowers she’d gotten in October. She could kick herself for being such a fool, but it had made so much sense back then that they’d been sent by Seth. Besides, it wasn’t like they were threatening—more like an awkward form of courtship.
Jerry caught on quickly, interrupting her to send a patrol car over to check on Mickey and gather any evidence that might be left.
“You know, this changes everything,” he said once he hung up from talking to the other officers. “This guy hasn’t forgotten you.”
“Sending flowers isn’t exactly a threat,” Nora said, relieved that Mickey was okay. “Besides, maybe it’s a good thing—finally some evidence for you.”
“Come on, Nora,” Seth said, taking her arm. �
�I’m taking you home with me tonight.”
Jerry gave Seth a measuring look. “You watch out for her, you hear?”
Seth rose to his full height as if rising to a challenge. That still put him a few inches shy of Jerry’s six-one, but he didn’t back down. “I will. And you guys do your jobs. Stop wasting your time talking to people like me and find this son of a bitch, why don’tcha?”
Jerry jerked his chin in a brusque nod and walked back through the barrier that separated the police from the civilians. Seth took Nora’s hand in his, and she finally felt warm again. Felt something at least. Better than fear and guilt and regret, Seth’s touch made her feel hopeful.
He led her out into the parking lot, where his vintage Mustang shimmered with a thin coating of ice and snow. The driver’s-side door had been scratched up again. For some reason, the classic muscle car was a magnet for vandals. No matter what kind of security Seth put on it, it was constantly being keyed or dented and twice had its windows smashed out.
“You sure you’re all right?” he asked again, turning her attention away from the Mustang and to him, both of his palms resting on her shoulders as he scrutinized her.
Instead of answering, she fell into his arms, holding him tight, inhaling his scent, and letting his strength support her.
31
Gina and Ken left Tank and his mother awaiting their “second” opinion from Dr. Frantz. LaRose had vanished—after eavesdropping in on Tank’s diagnosis, no doubt—and the ER seemed relatively quiet.
“Nice call,” Ken told her as he added the results of the wet prep to Tank’s medical record. “Can’t believe we all missed that yesterday.”
“Fever, a piss-poor history, and without any scratching they looked like petechiae. Besides, who ever heard of scabies that didn’t itch?” Gina said graciously, although she was rather proud of herself. Not even Lydia Fiore or Lucas Stone had thought of scabies. Poor kid probably caught them at school—oh boy, she wished she could see the look on Nurse Pritchard's face when they told her.