by S. L. Scott
Running back out, he started yelling, “Jude? Jude?” He called for her all the way downstairs. “Jude? Answer me. Jude?” Two men were waiting for him. One he recognized as her stepfather. The other, he didn’t.
“Where is she?” Taylor shouted, staring down her stepfather.
With his hands clasped in front of his belly, Brewster Boehler, said, “Get out of my house before I call the police.”
Taylor stopped in front of him, not intimidated, but furious. “Where’s my wife?”
“My daughter is a sick young woman that you have clearly taken advantage of. We have sent her away to get the help she needs.”
“She’s not sick. You’re medicating her to make her sick.”
“Mr. Barrett, our Judith is a bit on the insane side. This will be news to you, but she’s tried to commit suicide twice. She can’t be trusted with her own life. Your marriage is a sham. I’m sorry to tell you this as it seems you care for her, but she’s not in her right mind.” He stepped aside. “Roman, please show him out.”
Taylor rubbed his forehead. “Bullshit. All of this is the same bullshit you tell her. I know about all of this. I know about her uncle and her brother and Bleekman’s. I know everything and you know why I know everything? Because when she was with me, she wasn’t drugged or out of her right mind. She was thoughtful and insightful, open and free. You’ll pay for what you’ve done. I’ll make sure of it.”
He stormed out, but before he reached the sidewalk, the man he didn’t know called him, “You’re Hazel?”
Taylor stopped and looked over his shoulder, taking one step back up. He was surprised to hear that name from anyone other than Jude. “Yeah?”
“One moment.” He disappeared, but a few minutes later, just as Taylor was starting to lose patience, he returned with her suitcase and his phone. “Bleekman’s won’t be open tonight. You won’t be able to get on the property until after nine in the morning.”
Taylor took the phone and the suitcase. “Thank you,” he said, somberly. “When was she taken?”
“Around six.”
Around six, Taylor thought. Forty minutes after she’d left our home. He wondered how that was possible. Had Isla given them forewarning? As if Roman could read Taylor’s thoughts, he added, “Bleekman’s has a location here in the city, a satellite office. As if he’s ordering a pizza, Mr. Boehler calls and they deliver two men to your door within thirty minutes.”
Taylor pondered the lost hours—wasted—where he could have saved her. He didn’t understand completely what that meant, but felt fueled with anger. “I saw the hole in the wall. Did they hurt her?”
“She felt nothing once they injected the shot.”
His phone was almost crushed as Taylor imagined how it played out. “What’s your name?”
“Roman. Say hello to Hummingbird for me.”
“Hummingbird?”
It was slight, but Roman smiled. “She’s small, but fast, a good escape artist—usually. She’s strong. She’ll be okay tonight. She won’t wake until morning.”
“I’ll be there when she does.”
“I have no doubt.” Roman stepped back inside, and said conspiratorially, “Good luck.”
“Thank you.” Taylor watched as the man shut the door and was left with a small shred of hope that maybe Roman had helped Jude as he had helped him. That maybe when Jude was here, she had him. No one could truly help her in the past, but hopefully she had someone on her side to listen, to be there, to comfort her when she’d needed it most.
On the ride home, he saw his missed call on the phone, but there were no other signs of use. Setting it down, he researched Bleekman’s and noted it was three hours northeast of the city, close to the Berkshires. He would get a plan together as soon as he got home. There was no way he would leave Jude in there.
When he arrived home, the suitcase tipped over just inside the apartment and Taylor bent down in the middle of the entry to open it. He felt around the edges, searching for anything besides clothes and shoes, a clue to something, anything that would give him an answer, a lead, something to pursue. Or to solve the mystery that was Jude. As he patted the clothes that looked as though they had been thrown in the case in haste, the fact that she had been packing to come home to him hit hard. He became desperate to find something of her, needing a piece of her to hold on to before he lost his mind.
Rifling under a soft blue sweater, he felt something hard and pulled the photo frame. The eyes staring back were familiar, the same coloring as Jude’s but maybe more green than blue. Ryan. He flipped it over needing the reprieve from her brother’s piercing eyes. When he looked at the photo again, guilt engulfed him. He hadn’t just let Jude down, but he had failed her brother. Taylor was supposed to take care of her. How could he let them take her away? Why had he let her go in the first place?
Remorse ravaged his soul and the tremors appeared. Fisting his hand, he pounded the hardwood floors trying to make it stop, trying to gain control over his weakness. When his hand was sore, leaning toward bruised, he stopped. He stretched his fingers. They ached, but it was better than the shakes. Getting up, he looked around his apartment, looking for her presence that was lacking in her suitcase where her life once touched. Reaching down, he took the frame and put it on the kitchen bar and went to his computer. Taylor stayed up until midnight contacting his lawyer and making arrangements.
Since he couldn’t sleep, he showered and changed clothes, packed his overnight bag, and put some of Jude’s clothes in along with some of her toiletries from the bathroom. The GPS was set on his phone, and he sat, waiting. Five o’clock couldn’t come soon enough. Eager to see his wife, he was standing curbside when a taxi pulled up to take him to the rental car company. The sooner he could get there, the better. With his charger, snacks, bottled water, and overnight bag in hand, he got in, ready to retrieve his wife, ready to have her home again.
The drive was long and uneventful. Taylor’s eyes were on the road, but his mind was on other things. Things like was Jude hurt—physically. He knew she was already hurt emotionally, but if they touched her… He tried not to let himself go down that path or he’d kill every doctor there. He redirected his attention to the plan. He would first try playing by the rules. If that didn’t work, he couldn’t guarantee people’s safety and something about that welling emotion even scared him. He just hoped that playing by the rules worked first.
He found the “center” at half past eight and sat in the parking lot. Scoping out the dreary cream-colored building and the fence that wrapped around it, he looked for entry and exit points. He’d seen enough movies to know this information would be useful if everything went to shit once he was inside.
At nine a.m. sharp, he watched a nurse help a patient out through the front doors to a bench in a little garden area. He got out, stretched his legs and back, and grabbed his wallet before heading to the front gate. His body was stiff, but he could fight an army if he had to. He would for her. He would do anything for Jude.
He pushed the call button on the speaker.
“Good morning. How may I help you?” a scratchy voice answered.
“I’m here to see Judith Boehler.” Barrett.
“One moment please.” The intercom buzzed, then went quiet.
The sound was blown out when it came back on. “You may come to reception.”
The gate unlocked and Taylor headed for the desk just inside two glass double doors. Putting his most charming smile on for the two women stationed there, he tapped the counter lightly when he reached it. They both glanced his way, then did a double take. One said, “Good morning.”
“Good morning. I’m here to see Judith Boehler.”
He saw a flash of recognition in her eyes when he mentioned Jude’s name, but she quickly looked down at her computer. “When was she admitted?”
“Last night. Maybe overnight.”
She hummed as she typed. The other receptionist told her to stop because it was driving her nuts. Then
they laughed. “Nuts. Crazy.”
Taylor was not amused, but he tried to hide his disdain for their poor taste in jokes. The second lady looked up at Taylor and said, “She’s not been processed yet.”
“What does that mean? Checked in?”
“Correct. So she can’t have visitors until she’s been checked in and resided at least twenty-four hours inside the center.”
“Reside? That sounds like she’ll be here for a while.” He kept his voice light, inquisitive, but not on the offensive. Yet.
“Yes, it says she’ll be here for a month this time. So she’ll be placed in the residency hall when she’s processed.”
Processed? Like an animal. What the fuck? Covertly he took a deep breath, trying to keep his temper even. “Does it say when she’ll start this processing?”
The first lady looked up and smiled. Her lashes fluttered and her intentions were clear when she started to flirt. Flipping her short hair out, she leaned closer to him. “They’ve started. She’s been in holding since she hasn’t woken up yet.”
Leaning closer to her, he read her nametag, then returned her smile. “Woken up?”
“Yes,” she said, then giggled as if the people admitted here don’t mean anything to her at all. “Patients are given a light sedative to help make the transition easier.”
Easier on the patients or the doctors? He didn’t ask that though.
She asked, “Are you family or medical?”
He lowered his body so he would be closer to her and whispered, “I drove such a long way. What would it take to get back there for just a few minutes to visit with her? Is that a possibility, Maxine? Is there anything I can do to make that happen?”
“Sir—”
The other receptionist cut her off and said, “I would just about do anything for an extra large peppermint mocha from the coffee shop in town.”
Maxine stared at her, then turned back to Taylor. “I do like the ice they use in the large pear-berry teas.”
Taylor stood up smiling. “I’m gonna go on a quick coffee run. Would anyone like breakfast, you know, since I’m going?”
They both giggled and said they would love some donuts. Taylor was out the door and in his car within a minute. He found the coffee shop easily off the main road that ran through town. He placed the order, stressed while he waited. Every minute that ticked by felt like an eternity.
With drinks and donuts in hand, he was promptly buzzed back into the facility. The ladies oohed and ahhed over the service, the kindness, and how attractive Taylor was as they tucked away the monetary bonuses they conveniently found under their coffees. Maxine walked him to a hallway and instructed, “She’ll most likely be asleep, but she’s down this hall at the other end, second door from the emergency exit, on the right. You’ve got ten minutes.”
Taylor had rarely relied on his charms or good looks for gain, but he would use whatever it took to get to Jude. “Thank you, Maxine.”
“Don’t get me fired. Now go.”
Taylor kept his head lowered as he walked down the hall. Orderlies were cleaning and nurses were helping patients in their rooms along the way. The other doors were closed. Locked, from what he could tell. He was conflicted. He didn’t know if he wanted her room to be locked for safety or open for him.
Grabbing the handle of her door, he turned and prayed it would open. And it did. The door opened and he stealthily slipped in. His breathing changed when he saw her on the bed, her hands and legs strapped to the bedrails. He sucked in an angry breath as he rushed for her.
Jude’s eyes were closed, her breathing even. She was sound asleep, but he went to work unfastening the straps at her wrists and then her ankles. Sitting down next to her, he brushed her hair away from her face and admired the beauty that lay beneath the dark circles under her eyes. Leaning down slowly, he kissed her just as she exhaled, her breath replacing his. “Jude? Jude, can you hear me? Wake up, baby. Wake up.”
She didn’t move. Her skin was pale and her lips dry. He knew she was alive, but he needed more, so he put his ear to her mouth. Her breathing was faint. Lifting up, he started gently shaking her. “Jude, wake up!” Each time he got more demanding. They were running out of time and he needed her awake. “Jude! Can you hear me? It’s me, Hazel.”
“Hazel.” He heard it, but it was so feeble he wondered if he was imagining it.
“Jude. Jude. Please wake up. It’s me. Hazel.”
The door opened and a doctor stopped, obviously startled by the presence of someone other than his patient. He backed out and shut the door quickly. Taylor was done for, but he needed to see her awake, so he shook her a bit harder. “Jude, please wake up. Wake up!”
The door crashed open and two large orderlies came in. “Sir, you are not allowed in here.”
Taylor stood next to his wife’s bed, and took her hand, squeezing it. “I’m her husband. I go where she goes and I stay where she stays.”
One of them came forward just as the doctor reentered the room. “Not this time, Sir. Now, please come with us peacefully.”
“Fuck you.”
The doctor stepped in from the doorway. “Mr. Barrett, we were warned about you and that you might show up. We’re prepared to call the police if you don’t leave on your own accord.”
“I’m her husband. You can’t deny my right to be with my wife.”
“Your wife is under strict care of not only this facility, but the state has granted conservatorship to her parents. So actually, you have no rights when it comes to Ms. Boehler.”
What the fuck? The hospital has a say over her? “Barrett. It’s Mrs. Barrett to you. She’s my wife and will be addressed and referred to as such.”
“Not until it’s recognized by the court and rights are granted to you. This is a private facility, so I suggest you leave and take care of the legalities before your next return or face the consequences of trespassing.” He stepped around her bed to the opposite side of Taylor and said, “Please excuse us while I conduct an evaluation on my patient.”
The word evaluation sent flashbacks of Jude telling him what happened during these “evaluations” and his fists clenched as he stepped to the end of the bed, trapping the doctor in the corner. “You touch her and I will kill you.”
The doctor held up his clipboard as if that could save him. With his already beady eyes, he narrowed them even more, and said, “I’ll make sure to take good care of Mrs. Barrett for yo—”
He never saw the punch coming. The doctor’s smug smirk was knocked right off. The blow would cause quick swelling and soon it would be tightly shut.
The orderlies were on him, grabbing each of Taylor’s arms and pulling him backward. Taylor fought the best he could but he knew they were trained for worse. He yelled, “Don’t you dare touch her.”
Antagonizing Taylor, the doctor took one of his fingers and poked Jude’s leg. Taylor went ballistic, freeing himself just to be tackled to the hard linoleum. A two-hundred-fifty-pound man had him pinned as the other put a cable tie around his wrists and pulled hard. Despite Taylor’s best efforts to escape, the tie cut into his skin and he continued swearing as he was dragged to his feet and yanked backward to the door. “Jude? Jude!” he shouted. Just before he was taken around the corner, her eyes opened and connected with his.
She mouthed, “Hazel,” then the door was slammed shut and locked, keeping him out and the doctor in.
“SIGN THIS.” THE doctor stood over Jude with a pen. “Sign this,” he demanded, much more forcefully. He had never spoken to her like that before, but she was groggy and couldn’t land her thoughts on reality.
Striving to focus, the form in front of her was blurring as well as the pen. Her arms felt heavy as they lay at her sides, but she reached for the pen anyway, and missed. Reached again and missed. The doctor took her hand and wrapped her fingers around it, then brought the ink to the document. “What is it?” she asked, too tired and closed her eyes.
“Just sign it!”
His
angry words penetrated her foggy brain and she opened her eyes again, this time in fear. The doctor stood over her, the green of his irises intimidating. Her gaze went from the doctor to the pen, and back to the doctor again, noticing his swollen face. He held an icepack to his upper cheek with one hand and with the other he pushed the pen on her again. “Sign. I have rounds to make.”
She took the pen in hand this time and tried to work out the words that jumbled through her blurry vision.
“You got married, Judith. That has caused a lot of problems for us.”
Married. She moved her thumb to touch the underside of her rings. When she didn’t feel them, panic rose, and she held her hand above her to visually verify. “Where are my rings?”
“You know hospital policy. No jewelry. Nothing of any kind can be brought in.”
“Give them back,” she said, attempting and failing to sit up.
“You might get them back if you’re a good girl over the coming month.”
She stilled. Her vision may not be focused, but her mind understood the ramifications of his words perfectly clear. “Month? What are you talking about?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling while flipping through her chart. “You’ll be spending the next month with us. Isn’t that good news?” His dark gaze hit her, penetrating her heart. “Even better news. That means we’ll get to spend lots of time together.”
Everything was clear now, including her vision. “I want to see my husband.”
“I’ve added that you’ll not be allowed any visitors during this time of recovery. But you’ll be able to see him once you’re returned to the care and custody of your parents. Now sign this and let’s start our month off right.”
She flailed up, but was easily pushed back down, her body weak compared to his. “You’ll pay for that!”
“Actually,” he said, “you’ll be paying that.”
Her body shuddered under the fear. “I won’t sign until I see him. What is this anyway? And how does my marriage affect you?”
“Do you really think we’re going to share this with your new husband? After all the planning we’ve done?” The clipboard was taken from her and slammed down on the bed. Through a clenching jaw, he gritted out, “Are you going to sign?”