by Zeller, Jill
The two dogs tumbled, wove, jumped. Growled. Blood spattered me and Bruce. Grabbing Bruce’s sweatshirt hood, I pulled him back into the Sanatorium basement and with strength I didn’t know I had, slammed the door shut.
Chapter Twenty-One
My own private Hell
The sky wheeled in an agitated fashion above me, black specks swirling like chocolate chips in a mixer. The spinning also contained familiar faces in front of the sky, starting down at me. I saw Bruce first, raised my hand to touch him, to feel the warmth of life. Or were we both dead?
But no, we were alive, standing in the moldy dark basement of the old Sanatorium. As my head steadied and my eyes focused, I saw my nephew leaning against the wall, his right hand gripping his left shoulder, blood welling through his fingers. His face, even in the dim light, was grayer than it should be.
I had to get him out of here, into the daylight. Quickly I slid myself under his right arm, made him hold onto my hand, and we limped, dragged, and stumbled up the stairs and through the loading dock door, which thankfully opened easily at my kick.
Once outside in the glaring sun, I let Bruce fall to the ground. Breathing heavily he lay, eyes closed, but still conscious. I pulled off my fleece, bunched it, and held on while getting out my cell to call 911.
My head burst with worry. I had nearly killed my nephew. I had surely killed my dog. And I had to get home, back to Zoe. A horrible black fear crept over me as I held pressure on Bruce’s wound.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Bruce lay quietly, as I ordered, and bent up his knees on my command. Blood flowed readily from his shoulder. The dog had gotten a big vein; I didn’t think the brachial artery was punctured, but I wasn’t going to let up my pressure to find out.
It seemed like shaky years as I pressed down. My arms were steel, but the rest of me jittered and quivered with the biggest adrenalin rush ever seen. The paramedics came quickly from the aid car.
One of them pried my hands away. Set me aside on the dry, prickly grass. “Ma’am, can you tell me what happened? Are you hurt?”
Yes and no. Dog bite. Don’t know where the dog went. I am not hurt. They had an IV in Bruce’s arm, stuffed dressings into his wound. “Ma’am, what is your relation? What is his name? Does he have any allergies? Is there someone you can call?”
I’m his aunt. Bruce Olds. I don’t know about allergies. My god I need to call Ivy.
I rang the house, hoping Zoe wouldn’t answer the phone. How was I going to tell her about Pepper? Tears coursed down my face and I wiped them away. I got the answering machine.
A stretcher appeared; they got Bruce onto it. He groaned a little—a good sign, I thought. Brain function. He would need surgery on that shoulder, I thought. Antibiotics. Transfusion.
Meekly I followed behind, holding my cell, rang Ivy again. No answer. Damn. Probably out by the pool, ignoring the phone. Zoe buried in a book, not even hearing the phone. A bomb could go off beside her when she was reading and she wouldn’t blink.
They wanted me to get into the back of the aid car. No argument. I had to make sure Bruce was OK, safely into surgery; I hoped the emergency room at the local Quantum City hospital was competent. I hadn’t told the paramedics I was a critical care nurse. But as I climbed in, I thought of Zoe.
“No, I should go home. My daughter—”
“Ma’am, please, come with us. Try the phone number again. Is there someone else you can call?”
Yes, there was.
Sawyer answered on the first ring. “Hi, Annie.”
I started to speak, calmly I thought. I was proud I could sound so calm.
“What happened. Are you OK?”
Guess not so calm-sounding. Quickly I told him, Bruce was injured. We were going to the hospital. Could he drive past Ivy’s and let her know. I couldn’t reach her on the phone. Could he get bring her and Zoe to the hospital?
He agreed promptly. When we got to the emergency entrance, staff was waiting. My knees almost failed as I climbed out of the aid car. A nurse or aid took my arm, guided me to a wheel chair.
“I’m OK,” I protested. “It’s my nephew. He needs surgery.”
The aid, an Asian woman of indeterminate age, said nothing, just pushed me through the doors, and into the cubicle next to Bruce.
Staff swarmed around him. I got up, walked out, trying to stay out of their way, remembering how I hated it when family tried to tell me how to do my job. A young man with a clipboard asked me Bruce’s name, address, age, mother’s name. Then asked if I would like to use the bathroom to clean up.
I looked at my hands, crusted with my nephew’s blood. I did as he suggested, and wept a long time at the sink. When I came out, the surgeon asked me to sign a consent for surgery, as they couldn’t get a hold of Ivy.
As they waited for the OR to be ready, I stood beside Bruce’s stretcher. They had drawn blood for a type and cross. Bruce’s hematocrit was not too bad, the surgeon told me, but he expected it to drop lower. Bruce lay, pale, eyes closed. When I took his hand, he squeezed mine. I told him I’d called his mom. She was on the way.
“Call Agnes, huh? Her number’s in my cell.” His voice was small, weak. They gave me his cell, wallet. I held them as they rolled him away.
I sat in the waiting room with a Mexican family of multiple children who played with a battered doll house. The air conditioning was on, and I shivered. Someone brought me my blood-soaked fleece jacket in a bag.
I rarely felt lonely, but just now I did. No one was around to talk to, except a two-year-old boy who gazed at me curiously, his hands on the arm of my chair. I managed to give him a smile. What was I thinking? What would I do now? I hadn’t solved the problem of the F.O.D, I hadn’t helped Baby Justin, I hadn’t thwarted Dominique. All I had done was hurt my nephew, taken advantage of a good friend, and put my daughter in jeopardy.
Standing up, I closed my fists. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to Zoe. New energy flooded my muscles. I walked out of the waiting room, called Ivy again. No answer. They must be on their way.
The surgery would take a couple hours, the surgeon surmised. I went outside, into the heat of the day. No ambulances were pulled up at the moment; the place was silent, as a sleepy suburban hospital should be. I wondered where the nearest trauma center was, if a helicopter could land here and take Bruce away.
I went back inside. My mouth was dry as stone and my hands weak as I held my cell, checking the battery, looking for messages that somehow were late coming through. Nothing. A black hole opened in my gut.
At the hiss of the emergency doors opening, I turned. Sawyer was walking toward me, in a big hurry. He was alone.
I think it was then I lost all power to walk.
Sawyer caught me. He eased me down to the floor and sat next to me. He waved the aide who came running away.
“They’re not there. They left this note.” His hand shook as he handed me a yellow post-it.
Note? Note? What about a fucking phone call! A message. I would have known. I should have known. I read it, dropped it. Got up. Started for the door.
Sawyer grabbed my arm, led me to his car. Pushing me into the passenger seat, he got in beside me.
“Oh my god.” Was all I could say. I think I said it a dozen times.
“What is this all about?” Sawyer turned to face me, took my hand. “Why would Ivy go see Dominique?”
I looked at him, shook my head. He was blurry, because there were tears pouring out of my eyes. They stung as if I had just dripped acid into them. “She knew it wasn’t a good idea. How stupid can she be?”
To my amazement, Sawyer said, “Maybe she had a really good reason. And she knew better than to leave Zoe alone at home.” Turning away from me, he started the car. “I’m taking you home. I’m sure everything will turn out fine.”
My mind snapped, turned to fuzz then sharpened fiercely. “Drive. Take me to Dom’s house. You must know where she is living.”
Sawyer settled his hands on the wheel,
tightened, released. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why do you need to even see her?”
“Because she threatened Zoe.” I turned to stare at him, and he met my glance, eyes narrowed. “I can’t explain it now, but I’m calling on you as a friend who knows her well enough to understand what she’s capable of.”
His jaw set tightly. “You forget. I was married to her. I loved her. She’s Agnes’s mother.”
“Jeff Nash loved Dixie Nash. It took him years to admit his wife was a murderer.” I knew what I said was cruel, hurtful. But I didn’t care. I had to make Sawyer see how evil his ex-wife was. But how could I, without sounding like a head case myself?
Now he looked at me in a shocked way, as if seeing me for the first time. “Get out,” he said, leaning over and pushing at the door. “Get out. Stay here with your nephew. Try to keep him alive at least.”
I sat frozen, my throat dry, my stomach churning in knots. I had really hurt him. What a horrible thing to say. I felt as if I had been possessed by demons. How could I ever, ever be forgiven?
Getting out of the car, I backed away as Sawyer pulled the passenger door closed and burned rubber pulling out of the parking lot. A pair of technicians having a smoke along the wall watched him go.
I stood, unable to move. I felt little better than the worm I was. And I didn’t know where my daughter was. Frozen, I watched my shadow on the tarmac, a skinny frozen woman. All alone.
Moments, years passed. The growl of an engine, crinkling noise of tires on the tarmac. The dark blue Beamer was back, the door fell open. “Get in. We’ll go see Dom.”
I got in beside Sawyer. “I’m so, so sorry,” I murmured.
He drove us from the hospital. We followed streets lined with the hope of suburbia and got to the freeway entrance before he said. “I was an idiot, a blind fool. You’re right, Annie.”
I took his hand. It was warm and dry.
Sawyer happened to know that Dom took this afternoon off every week to work from home, call patients, catch up on paper work, deal with all the little details that needed her attention, like kidnapping Novaks.
Dominique Delphine MD lived in Piedmont, an exclusive, wealthy enclave in the Oakland hills. Her home was one of those 1970’s-built places, meant to blend into its environment. Built of stone and wood, privacy from the winding boulevard provided by multiple native trees and shrubs. It looked small from the street, but Sawyer told me it had six bedrooms, sauna, workout room, movie theater, and a killer view of the City.
We parked along the narrow, deserted street. The area smelled heavily of sage, birds chattered in the acacia trees. Sawyer looked at me, and without a word I got out of the car.
“Wait a minute.” Sawyer pushed his door open. Getting out he ran his hand through his hair. His black eye was less swollen, but darkening to a plum-colored bruise. “What are you going to do?”
In truth I wasn’t sure, except of one thing. I had to find out if Zoe was inside this house and get her out of there.
Turning, I stomped up the driveway, past a line of pots holding expensive, rare agaves. I felt like turning them over, one by one, ripping out the plants, but I refrained. Behind me I heard Sawyer coming, and I felt a little better, knowing he had my back.
At the front door I rang the bell. Sawyer waited several feet behind me, on the curving driveway.
Waited. No answer. I rang again. Certainly she would have servants—no—slaves, purchased from Africa or Thailand. But nothing. Not a sound. The huge house was empty of any living thing, except the variegated Ficus I could see through the vertical front window. And maybe even that was fake.
Turning, I left the porch and stood beside Sawyer. “We need to break in.”
He snorted. “No way. She has more alarms than Fort Knox. And probably cages to drop down on us. And a private army.”
My stomach twisted, my heart raced to think of my little daughter in the hands of this monster. “You could do it. You know her, you know how to get inside places.”
Squinting at me, Sawyer took my hand. “Annie. She’s not here. Zoe is not here. And besides, I’m not going to even try to break in.” He pulled at me; I tried to get free, but his grip was really strong. “I’m taking you home. That is where you should be, waiting for her, making phone calls, doing what you need to do to find her and Ivy.”
I couldn’t resist him as he dragged me down the driveway. A breeze poured over us, bringing along the odor of baking grasses. We could hear the distant rumble of the freeway. Everything up here was muted. Even if Zoe called my name, I wouldn’t be able to hear.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ghosts United
Sawyer came inside with me. Ivy’s house was silent except for the drippy faucet and the hum of the air conditioner. I stood in the kitchen, unable to move or think, while Sawyer made coffee.
“Where was the note? Outside on the door?” I pulled it from my pocket again. It was indeed my sister’s tiny printing. And something I hadn’t registered: a heart with a Z in side. Zoe’s special note to me. Please, please make this be OK. I should have insisted Ivy get a cell phone so I could keep track of her. I should have gotten one for Zoe too.
Sawyer filled two glasses with ice. “I found the note on the counter.”
I looked at him, and he shrugged. But I was very glad he had broken in to find the note. At least I had something to go on, a clue about where they might be. “Maybe they went to the City, to her office.” I hated to think of Ivy driving all that way, especially the way she had been feeling lately.
Leaning against the counter, I held my iced coffee. Sawyer stood next to me. My phone buzzed with a message, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin.
I had three text messages. I hadn’t even noticed when the first two came in; perhaps the cell phone gremlins had held them back, then sent them all at once.
The first one was from the surgeon, informing me that Bruce was in the recovery room, stable, in good condition, with good circulation to his arm. A flood of relief relaxed my body, and I had to grip the counter for a second. The second message was from Agnes—how is it she has my number?—asking if I knew where Bruce was. I didn’t bring this one to Sawyer’s attention, and I felt bad that I hadn’t called her as Bruce requested.
The third was from Dominique. My hand shook as I read it. Sawyer moved closer, watching me.
Can we meet? Heard your proposition. Jack’s office 5pm
“What proposition?” Sawyer looked at me.
What would be worse for Sawyer to hear? That I had just come from the Land of the Dead and my nephew had been bitten by a ghostly dog? Or that I had let Jack Easton know I could put money into his venture with Dominique.
Partial truths work, sometimes. I opted for the venture story, but said I wasn’t serious, just trying to find out what they were really up to. Sawyer was actually vaguely impressed, interested. If Dom was planning to meet me in Quantum City at 5, it meant two possible things: Ivy and Zoe weren’t with her, might even be on their way home, or, and my heart thudded at the thought, Dom indeed had them both, and wanted to negotiate a trade.
We had two hours. I tried to convince myself that Zoe was safe, Ivy hadn’t even found Dom. Did Ivy even know where she lived? Two hours seemed like an impossible amount of time.
“Who don’t you take a shower, and try to rest?” Sawyer looked at his watch. “I can stay, if you want.”
I almost said, no, don’t bother, but I really didn’t want to be alone. Nodding, I left him, walked down the hall and straight into the bathroom, shed my clothes, stepped into the steaming water. Scrubbed off Bruce’s blood. Leaned my head against the tiles and wept.
When I came out in my robe, Sawyer was sitting at the counter, on the phone. He spoke softly, friendly, and I realized from what he said he must be talking to Agnes. He was telling her to wait, he could come pick her up and take her to see Bruce as soon as Bruce was in his hospital room.
I needed to see Bruce, too, I realized, before I went t
o see Dominique and Jack. I called the hospital, and found out he was about to be transferred.
As soon as Sawyer was off the phone, I told him what I wanted to do. He agreed, and we left as soon as I got dressed.
On the way to pick up Agnes, Bruce told me he had given Jeff Nash’s confession to the paper with his story; one of the full time reporters was editing it for him, and it would be out this evening in the online edition. He also had phoned the county sheriff, who reassured him that it was unlikely anyone would pursue charges against the man.
Glad I had one less thing to worry about, I concentrated on what I had to do next. We stopped by Sawyer’s little house on Fourth Street, a stucco bungalow built in the thirties. Agnes hurled out to the car; she wore a tank top and cutoffs, no apparent make-up, and her black-dyed hair was pulled back in a pony tail. Except for the more mature body, she didn’t look any older than Zoe. I could see she had been crying. At least the girl did have some feelings.
When we found Bruce in his room, he was asleep, the head of his bed up, his left arm positioned on pillows, a massive thick dressing with a drain covering his shoulder. Agnes went a little gray at the sight of the drain, and I got her to sit down in the chair beside the bed. Sawyer waited just outside, and I leaned over and called Bruce’s name.
“Aunt Annie.” His voice was soft as he opened his eyes, tried to focus. “This hurts like hell.”
“Are you getting good drugs at least?” This from Agnes, who leaned forward, touched his knee.
“Hi, Libra. Good to see you.” Bruce looked at me again. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? I need to apologize to you. I should never have taken us there, and I got lost coming back—it was my fault.”
“I’m sorry. Did Pepper—?”
I shook my head, kept back the tears as the entire horrible scene scrolled through my head. I cut it off. “Bruce. You’re safe here. They’re keeping you here all night. But something else has happened.”
As gently as I could, despite the fact that Libra was listening and probably knew the whole crazy thing anyway, except maybe how evil her mother really was, I told him what I was worried about.