I nodded, her hand in mine squeezing it for reassurance that I would be okay.
In truth I didn't know if I was going to be okay. I had lost a lot of blood and was still losing it, quickly.
Kit kissed my forehead, murmuring her love for me. Davidek came to stand next to her, handing over the small silver box I kept in the hidden compartment of my briefcase. Both Kit and Davidek had watched me secure the silver box in the false bottom. It had become a precautionary habit after Tennessee to take it with me when I was going anywhere with Kit.
But it wouldn't work on me.
I reached with my uninjured hand, covering Kit's as she prepped needles and the vial with trembling hands. "No, Kit. Leave it."
Kit shook her head, "I've watched you do this, Claire. I can figure it out." She moved from my hand, rolling up my red stained sleeve to take blood.
I grabbed her wrist, "It won't work on me." I held tightly, Kit looking at me angrily.
"Claire, don't play the martyr now." She tugged at my hand, whispering, "Let me save you." Her voice hinted at guilt and that my injury was worse than I suspected. I shook my head, watching her poke the needle into my vein and draw a small amount of blood. I tried to grab her as Kit finished the process, staring at the vial and awaiting the violet liquid to appear. Instead a black, oil like substance filled the vial, cracking the glass and as the black liquid hit the air, it turned into a thick powder. Kit yanked the broken vial out and replaced it with a new one, repeating the process and getting the same result.
I dropped my hand to my stomach, feeling weaker, "It won't work. You can do that a million times and it will give you the same result." I swallowed thickly, suddenly thirsty, "I coded in a failsafe into the process. My blood will be destroyed the moment it touches the silver box." I closed my eyes, "I did it for when I was kidnapped, to prevent endless torture." I felt the hot tears rushing free at the moment I opened my eyes to see the look of hopelessness and realization in Kit's eyes, understanding exactly what I was telling her.
Kit blinked blankly as the paramedics burst through the doors, delicately shoving her to the side so I could be treated. I gave in, tearing my gaze away from the hazel eyes that were lost by the fact there was nothing she could do for me but stand back and let someone else try to save me.
I was lifted onto a stretcher and run out of the office and down the hallway, blurring past crowds of interns, police officers and the lingering Senators who all hovered to get the first glimpse of the show. I picked up snippets of key words fumbling past the excited mouths of adrenaline fueled paramedics. Key words telling me my injury was worse than they expected. Torn ligaments, veins and a profuse amount of blood loss. All grievous facts that had them rushing at triple the speed.
I kept my eyes closed as I was poked and prodded in the back of the ambulance. Flashes of muzzle fire radiated over my eyelids, dark blue eyes looking into mine with a sadistic smile, only wanting to see my imminent demise.
All I knew was those blue eyes were wrong.
I would not die.
The chatter of the paramedics halted when the big metal doors were ripped open. Her voice stronger than ever, "Don't ma'am me! I am Senator Avondale's bodyguard and her family! I am going where she goes!"
I couldn't hide the smile, opening my eyes to watch Kit find a seat among the paramedics. Her hand finding the one spot on my arm that wasn't covered in IV's and nodes monitoring my weak heartbeat. I locked eyes with her.
Kit was the one reason I wouldn't die in the back of this ambulance or at the hand of a madmen and his thugs. I wouldn't die because I had just found her and promised her a thousand years. No one would take that from me.
No one.
I paced up and down the hallway outside of the operating room. Davey sat in a hard plastic chair, twirling a tiny Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. Every nurse that passed by, I looked at. Hoping they would be the one to tell us Claire was out of surgery and that she was okay.
She had been taken to the operating room as soon as the ambulance pulled into the hospital driveway. I tried to charge my way in with her, but thick tree trunk arms of a security officer prevented me from doing so. I was only allowed a short moment with Claire. Kissing her cheek, whispering, "I'll be there when you wake up." The anesthesia was quickly taking over and Claire could barely smile. Her hand drooping and limp in mine.
I stared at the automatic doors for minutes after she disappeared past them. Hoping she would pop out, smile brightly and say it was all a dream.
It wasn't a dream. It was a bloody nightmare that I felt trapped in. I had failed to keep her safe in my stupid cavalier attempt to chase down Stansfield and bring him to some sort of justice.
Gnawing on my lip until it was raw, I would stare at Davey every other lap across the width of the sterile hallway.
"Kit, sit down please. You’re making me dizzy."
I chuckled angrily, "If I stop moving, I will start thinking too much." I clenched my jaw to hold back tears, I couldn't cry or lose it here. I had to hold it in until I knew Claire was okay. Not even in front of Davey who had seen me at my dead rock bottom worse, I couldn't cry in front of him now. He held up his small white cup, "Then go get me a refill."
I ignored his request, continuing my laps, "How did he get that close to her?" I stared at copper eyes that were equally at a loss as I. "Did you bother to run him while you sat with the interns?"
Davey slowly set the cup on the pale green tiled floor, "Watch the tone, Kit. Yes, I did run him. Joseph Patrick Stansfield. Forty one years of age. Worked as a capital police officer for the last seven years after transferring from Metro's traffic division. He was recently assigned to the security checkpoints at the east and south entrances." Copper eyes filled with traces of guilt looked deeper into mine, "Spotless record with many commendations. I have Sheehnan checking out the home address I pulled. I need to call him, from the nurse’s station. In the commotion my phone..." Davey reached in his pocket, holding up a cracked phone with a shattered screen, "Saved my life."
He tossed the broken device on the seat next to him, "I always told Bits I'd take a bullet for her. I knew that when I shoved her out of the way, I would be taking the hit." His voice tapered off.
I stopped my pacing, walking over to the line of plastic chairs. Sitting next to Davey, I laid my hand on his forearm, "You saved her, while I ran after the asshole. I should have stayed." I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder, I felt my own overwhelming guilt, I had also left Davey in the heat of battle. If it wasn't for the strange fate of a casually placed cell phone, I would have lost him and had to explain it to Claire how I fucked up so bad that I failed to keep them both safe. I swallowed down the dreadful thoughts of what if.
"Kit you did what you were trained to do. You knew that I was next to Claire. Instinct and training told you to go after the threat." He covered my hand on his arm, "You're smarter than your guilt wants you to believe." Davey turned to look at me, his copper eyes glassy, "At least that's what I am telling myself."
I laid my other arm across his shoulders, "Look at us, two top agents indulging in a pity party over a woman." I flashed a smile, hoping the small joke would ease both of us. "Who would have thought it?"
Davey chuckled, plucking at the edges of his cup, his smile fading fast, "We have to keep her safe, Kit." He held my eyes, "Whoever Stansfield is, it's a sign that we aren't doing enough. This Alistair, he has too much access to Claire. Him and all of his minions."
I sat back in the hard plastic chair, there was something about Stansfield’s cold stare and measured words that had my gut telling me it was far too familiar. Something about his eyes, like I had met them before. Yes he was wearing a disguise, but I couldn't believe that it was Alistair himself. It would be a bold move and his pride, bravado, would force him to stand in perfect view of Claire and ensure her death. Alistair was eager to take responsibility and the bright spotlight of this shooting would have been perfect for his evil ego.
&
nbsp; I rubbed at my face, fully feeling the weight of the day, "I think this was a test. A test to see how I would react and if there are any gaps in Claire's protection." I leaned forward, elbows on my thighs, "Stansfield made a spectacle out of this. Waiting to have our full attention before he fired." I sighed, running my hands through my hair, I was very frustrated and worried. Focusing more on the frustration to hold back the nauseating worry I had fought at the first sight of her blood. "I don't know Davey. The only thing I want to do is see Claire and talk her into leaving this life. Hide away somewhere until Alistair finds a new obsession."
Davey's hand fell to the middle of my back, "You and I both know she won't leave any part of this life. She has made a promise to a few patients at Criterion. Claire won't abandon people in need, even if the risk outweighs the worth."
I shook my head, "I know." I turned to look at Davey, "But if I lose her...I don't know if I could ever come back from that." I faded off, my phone vibrating in my pocket. I removed it, ignoring the random spots of blood on the front of my jacket and on the edge of a sleeve.
Rebecca's name flashed brightly on the screen, I gritted my teeth, she was the last person I wanted to speak with. She would have nothing but venom wrapped in poison with a dash of hate. Calling me out on how Claire being shot was obviously my fault and a thousand other things. I would deal with her later or ignore her completely.
I hit the ignore button, shoving the phone back into the pocket and stood up, returning to my pacing across the hall.
Soon a nurse came out of the operating room doors, a friendly smile on her face, "Ms. Witmer, Mr. Janes. The surgery is complete, the doctor will be out shortly to fill you in on the details." The nurse turned and left before questions rained upon her.
Two minutes later, a middle aged woman in surgical garb came out of the massive double doors, she had a smile but her eyes showed she was visibly tired. "Ms. Witmer, Mr. Janes, I'm Dr. Kingsley. Please have a seat." She motioned to the hard chairs.
Davey and I sat down while Dr. Kingsley leisurely sat on the edge of a small table at the end of the row. She removed her surgical cap, lightly playing with it in her hands. "Senator Avondale is in the recovery room. The surgery went well. There were some minor ligament repairs to her bicep and a few nicked veins that needed a stitch or two. Other than that, she will heal completely with plenty of rest and physical therapy."
I stared at the older woman, absorbing every word she spoke, "Can I, we, go see her?"
Dr. Kingsley nodded slowly, "You can. She may be groggy from the anesthesia and falling in and out of sleep." She paused, "I can have a nurse escort you." Dr. Kingsley glanced at her watch, "I will discharge her in a day or two. I've also made arrangements with hospital security and the Secret Service to stand guard while she is here, recovering."
I cleared my throat, "Actually, I would rather have the Metro D.C. Police stand by. I can make those arrangements with Sergeant Daniel Sheehnan. Considering the nature of things, I really don't trust anyone I or Senator Avondale don't know personally."
The doctor smiled, nodding, "Highly understandable Ms. Witmer, whatever you consider suitable for the Senator I will ensure the staff will accommodate." She stood up, "I will be back to check on Senator Avondale in a few hours, in the meantime, feel free to sit with her. Visiting hours will not apply to you or Mr. Janes." The doctor left Davey and I in the hands of a bustling nurse who took us with hurried steps to Claire's room.
I stood outside with Davey, both of us staring through the small window. The sight of Claire in the bed, asleep and hooked up to various machines, sucked the wind out of our lungs. I had to grab Davey's elbow to steady myself from losing it in front of the few security guards.
Davey sucked in a slow breath, "Kit, make me a promise." He turned slowly to look in my eyes, "Promise me that we get the son of a bitch and make sure he never sees the light of day again. No prison, no trial."
I stared back, the intensity in his eyes sending shivers through my body. I knew exactly what he meant, knowing it was the same thing I had been thinking the moment Stansfield pulled that trigger. Whoever was responsible would not see the light of justice in the traditional sense, only the justice sought in the name of revenge. I swallowed hard, "I promise."
Davey smiled tightly, moving around me to enter the room. I stayed at the small window, trying to find the courage to walk in that room and contain the emotions that were bubbling forth.
I turned away to catch my breath and force the tears back, opting to distract myself for a little longer by calling Sheenan to arrange a special detail of trusted officers. I also thought about calling Nina to see if she would stop by for a few hours to sit with me.
I hit dial, Sheehnan answering on the second ring, "Kit, I have been trying to get a hold of Davey for the last hour. I found Stansfield."
My heart leapt at the thought of being able to interrogate the square headed asshole, "Amazing, where is he? And please tell me you will let me have first crack at the shithead."
"He's dead in the basement of his home in Fairfax. Looks like he's been dead for at least a week. My techs are working the scene now." Sheehnan's voice was firm and almost clinical.
I had to lean against the wall next to the small window, "What did you say?"
"Stansfield is dead, Kit, I watched the ME drag his body out in a bag ten minutes ago. They're going to run dental and a few other things to get a firm positive. He had his wallet in his pocket and the tattoo on his left forearm matches the one in pictures around his house. My gut says this is the poor bastard."
I closed my eyes, listening to Sheehnan go over more details, but I was barely taking it all in. I was overwhelmed by the sick feeling that I was once again inches away from Alistair Montgomery.
The whispers of murmured voices woke me up. I had to rub my eyes to rid them of the cloudy feeling they carried, allowing the room to come into focus. The hospital room had that overly sterile smell I hated from day one of my first year rotations.
My body felt limp like an overcooked noodle, my right arm was stiff and wrapped in excessive amounts of gauze. I scanned the private room, there was a chair pulled close to the edge of the bed, Kit's suit jacket draped over the back of it. I rolled my head, hearing the cheap pillows crinkle under the movement. I was looking for Kit, hoping she would materialize from the bathroom with a smile and crawl towards me to hold me.
I needed to hear her heartbeat and her voice, telling me that we were going home. I needed to go home. I could feel my anxiety build up with every second I stayed in this room. I had only been in a hospital bed maybe three times in my life, and each time I felt trapped, trapped by the strange silent confines issued around one as they are admitted into the cold sterile walls.
I hated it, I hated the smells, the sights of poor color choices trying to keep one calm. I mainly hated the fact that I was a doctor but still stuck waiting for the doctors treating me to give me the information I already knew. I only held my tongue out of professional courtesy.
I sighed hard, I wanted to go home. Now. The hospital had done its job in putting on the show I needed, for the media and for my attacker. I was certain by now, my incident would be on every news channel taking priority over truly important news, like the wars all across the world.
The urgency to get me into the operation room, I allowed. Knowing my wound would need immediate attention to stop the bleeding. I didn't have enough time to get home before my body created more issues from lack of blood and a large open air wound, drawing in all of the dirt and dust it could find.
Home was where I needed to be.
The phrase repeated in my head over and over as my anxiety built up. I didn't feel safe in the hospital even with the dark shadows of stiff agents lining the walls outside the room.
I pushed blankets down, listening harder to the ongoing mumbling voices of Kit and Davidek. I couldn't discern exactly what they were saying, or whom the third and fourth voice belonged to.
I shifte
d to the edge of the bed, swinging my legs over the edge. My entire body felt fuzzy and warm from the residual general anesthetic they used on me. I felt it was somewhat unnecessary in my own opinion, but I assumed that since I was a Senator, no expense was ignored in my treatment.
I gripped to the edge of the mattress and cold metal frame, steadying the wobble as my feet hit the cold fake wood floor. I wobbled a step when I stood fully erect, keeping a hand on the bed frame. I took one deep breath before removing the IV from my arm and walking to the far end of the bed. Picking up the chart, I flipped through the pages of treatment of the gunshot wound.
The right bicep had been injured the worst. Right above the crook of my elbow a 9mm bullet had gone clean through, grazing the muscle before taking out a tendon and nicking a few veins. I had lost a large amount of blood which was replenished during the minor surgery to reattach the tendon and closing up torn veins had been successful. The surgeon, a Dr. Mira Kingsley, had given me the recovery expectation of at least two months with the addition of physical therapy in a few weeks.
I tossed the chart towards the bed, moving to the small closet shoved in the corner of the room, digging around in the closet for clothes. I found some of items jammed into the clear plastic patient belongings bag. The slacks were intact, blood spattered but wearable. The pale blue button down was of no use, torn from the bullet and the eager paramedics, it wouldn't even be useful as a rag. I threw it back into the bag.
There was nothing else in the closet, so I opted for tucking the silly thin gown I wore into the slacks and took Kit's jacket from the chair and slipped it on.
It fit in the arms, but fell short at the waist. Making it look like I was in the midst of a growth spurt while wearing last year’s fit. I sat down in the chair by the bed, my body still out of balance and groggy, I was forced to rest before slipping my heels on. While I gathered the energy, I reached for the call button. I wanted the nurse to bring me the release forms as soon as possible. I no longer felt safe in the hospital.
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