Mortal Crimes 1

by Various Authors

  Dr. Davis blinked and pulled back. His blue eyes widened with concern above the paper mask covering the lower part of his face. He wrinkled his brow and turned toward the instrument panel.

  In her not-awake, not-asleep state, Aroostine could hear him whispering back and forth with a nurse she couldn’t see. Whatever they were consulting about, she wished they’d hurry up. She didn’t have time to sit here while these two chitchatted. By rights, she should have rescheduled the appointment when the trial was moved up, but she’d put it off for too long.

  The whispering continued.

  Her jaw was beginning to ache from hanging open.

  Should she be able to feel her jaw?

  The nurse floated across Aroostine’s field of vision, a blur of colorful, patterned scrubs. Warm fingers on her pulse.

  “How are you doing, honey?”

  The nurse’s face, calm but intent, swam into view.

  Aroostine couldn’t answer, what with her mouth cranked open like the hood of a car. So she tried to nod. Wasn’t sure she succeeded.

  She swallowed. She suddenly felt hot. And breathless.

  Oh my God, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!

  The nurse must have seen the panic in her eyes.

  “It’s okay, she soothed. There’s been a little … blip … with the machines. Just a hiccup. We’ll get that oxygen flowing in a jiffy. You just stay calm and take deep slow breaths. You hear me now?”

  Aroostine nodded.

  The nurse’s face disappeared.

  A cold metal stethoscope slipped under the paper sheet and settled on Aroostine’s chest. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the feeling that her throat was closing.

  The beaver looked at her over its glossy shoulder and then turned back to the water, thumping its hind leg. It wanted her to follow it. It slipped into the cold stream and surged forward. She did the same. They darted through the water, twin sleek animals.

  The beaver stopped in the long grass and looked up the bank to the woods. Beyond the trees, there it was. That small log house with the yellow square of light in the window.

  She crouched in the shallow stream, water dripping off her hair and on to her shoulders and watched the house for what felt like hours. No one came. No one left. At some point, the beaver glided away. But Aroostine sat and watched. Waiting for something, but she didn’t know what.

  Bright, hot light seeped under her eyelids, and she jerked her head to the side, away from the assault.

  “Aroostine? Can you hear me?”

  She tried to swallow. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Her head ached. Her face hurt.

  She forced her eyes open, wincing at the light.

  Dr. Davis hovered over her.

  The surgery, she remembered. It must be over.

  Time to go to work.

  She struggled to sit up and shivered in the cold room.

  “Are we done? I have a meeting,” she asked thickly, trying to push herself out of the chair and onto her feet.

  He put a gentle hand on her chest and pressed her back into the chair.

  “Slow down. You aren’t going anywhere just yet.”

  She wet her lips and tried to find her voice to protest.

  “Listen to me, Ms. Higgins. Please. There was an … event … during your procedure.”

  An event?

  She stared at him and waited for clarification.

  He cleared his throat and continued. “It appears that the supplemental oxygen delivery system failed. It’s unprecedented, actually. And to compound the problem, the system that monitors your vital signs went dark, too.”

  “Wha—?”

  He held up a hand to cut her off, “Please stay calm. You’re fine. Nurse Loomis monitored your heart rate and breathing manually while I finished off your stitches. Fortunately, we were nearly done when the equipment failed.”

  Aroostine relaxed against the chair. Everything was fine.

  A wrinkle creased his brow and he straightened the tie under his white lab coat.

  “I do need to tell, you, however, that you did go into shock briefly.”

  Or not so fine.

  “Now, that may not have been related to the equipment failure,” he said, the cadence in his voice morphing from reassuring doctor talking to his patient to robotic litigation avoider.

  She raised an eyebrow—or thought she did. It was impossible to know seeing as how she couldn’t really feel her face.

  “Some people react negatively to the sedative. Your blood pressure may have plummeted as a result of some complex reaction you had, which we couldn’t have predicted or planned for.”

  She concentrated on forming the words and managed to croak them out. “It seems pretty clear that the simplest explanation is whatever happened to me was a result of your equipment failure.”

  Although she kept her raspy voice even, he stiffened as though she’d threatened him.

  “I don’t think that’s a fair statement. Your procedure was successful, and you can be sure the office will be investigating the cause of the equipment failure. Now, I suggest you follow Nurse Loomis to the front desk and get your painkiller prescription and discharge papers, so you can go home and get some rest.”

  He walked out of the room so quickly Aroostine half expected him to break into a jog.

  The nurse hovered awkwardly by the door, clutching a plastic bag that appeared to hold Aroostine’s clothes.

  “Here are your things. Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll walk you out. I’ll wait for you in the hall, unless you think you’ll need help.”

  Aroostine wet her cracked lips. “I can manage on my own, thanks.”

  She waited until the door clicked shut and then pulled on her pantsuit and jammed her feet into her shoes. Despite the oral surgeon’s advice, she had no intention of going home. She had too much work to do to spend the day curled up in bed feeling sorry for herself. By rights, she should have rescheduled the appointment when Judge Hernandez moved up the trial, but it had taken six weeks to get on Dr. Davis’ schedule in the first place, and the teeth had been bothering her for months. Having decided to go through with the surgery, she couldn’t burn an entire work day recovering. She’d just have to power through the pain.

  She combed her fingers through her thick hair and slung her purse over her shoulder.

  “All set?” the nurse chirped as she stepped out into the hall.

  Aroostine nodded mutely and trailed the nurse along the thickly carpeted hallway to the front of the office. Speaking was too much effort.

  The nurse caught the receptionist’s eye and nodded toward Aroostine. “Okay, Lindsay, Ms. Higgins here is ready to check out.”

  She disappeared around the corner before the receptionist could ask any questions.

  Lindsay looked up from her computer monitor and smiled brightly at Aroostine. Her fingers flew over the keys, and she scanned the screen. The smile vanished.

  “Do you have someone coming to pick you up?” she asked in a tone that suggested she already knew the answer.

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave on your own.”

  Aroostine dug through the fog that had settled over her brain and pulled out a memory. “We worked this out beforehand. I’m alone here. I don’t have anyone who can come get me. Especially with no notice.”

  Lindsay gave her a pitying look, but her voice was officious and firm. “I see here in the notes that you did ask us to make an exception to that policy.”

  Aroostine nodded.

  The receptionist continued, “Dr. Davis has decided that in light of today’s … situation, we can’t waive that requirement after all.”

  Interesting that Dr. Davis hadn’t bothered to tell her that.

  She tried to summon her inner attorney: she knew she should be able to unleash a stream of well-chosen fifty-cent words intended to intimidate the woman behind the counter into letting her go. But suddenly, her will to argue evaporated; sh
e didn’t have the energy to whip herself into a frenzy. Instead, she mumbled Rosie’s office number and sank into the nearest chair. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes to wait.

  She started awake. A gentle hand was shaking her shoulder.

  She blinked up, expecting to see Rosie. Instead, she met Mitch’s worried eyes.

  “Hey, sleepyhead, let’s get out of here,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  She tried to clear her head and get her bearings.

  “Where’s Rosie?” she asked, pushing herself out of the chair and reaching for her bag.

  He was too quick for her. He slung the bag over his shoulder with one hand and steered her toward to door with the other.

  “When the receptionist told Rosie what happened, I volunteered to get you. I have my car today, and you’re in no shape to be taking the Metro.”

  He guided her along the hallway and pressed the elevator button.

  She blinked painfully at the bright overhead lights.

  “I’m fine,” she protested.

  “You’re not fine. You almost died.”

  Her mouth was cottony. God, she was parched. She’d give anything for a glass of water.

  “I don’t think it was quite that dramatic,” she managed.

  He shot her a look and reached into his overcoat pocket. As if by magic, he produced a miniature bottle of Evian that he’d clearly snagged from the office kitchen.

  “I thought you might be thirsty,” he said as she snatched the bottle from his outstretched hand and took a greedy swallow.

  The elevator bell rang and the doors parted.

  “Thank you so much. You have no idea,” she said, finishing the bottle as he followed her onto the empty elevator car.”

  “Actually, I have some idea. I’ve had my wisdom teeth out. I remember how thirsty I was afterward.”

  “This is normal, then?”

  “The thirst? Yeah. The almost dying part? No.”

  She gave him a grateful smile for the water, ignored the rest of it, and rested her head against the back of the elevator car. They rode in silence the rest of the way down to the lobby.

  He offered her an arm as they walked through the front doors to the parking lot, but she shook her head. She had too much work to do. She couldn’t act like an invalid. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and scrunched herself deep into her down jacket.

  Luckily, his car was parked in one of the closest spots.

  She settled in the passenger seat and blew into her hands to warm them. He started the engine and cranked the heat.

  “It’ll warm up soon.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been cold ever since the surgery.”

  “I’ll bet. So, what’s the best route to your apartment from here? Should I just go down Georgia Avenue?” he asked, checking his rear view mirror and putting the car into reverse to back out of the spot.

  “My apartment? I’m not going home,” she answered slowly, not fully understanding the question. “I’m going back to the office with you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Her confusion turned to irritation.

  “Yes, I am.”

  He put the car back into park and sighed. Then he shifted in his seat and pierced her with a serious gaze.

  “Listen to me. Whether you want to believe it or not, you nearly died. The receptionist told Rosie you stopped breathing, your pulse rate plummeted, and your heart almost stopped beating. So, while it would have simply been a stupid, masochistic idea to come into the office after a routine wisdom tooth extraction, coming to work after what your body’s been through is out of the question. I’m not taking you to the office.”

  She reached for the door handle.

  Fine. She’d take a cab.

  “And,” he continued, “Sid said if you turn up today, he’ll drag you out of there himself and take you home.”

  She froze.

  “You told Sid?”

  “He overheard me and Rosie talking. Now will you please stop being so macho and just give me your freaking address.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her anger rising. He stared back.

  She swallowed hard and tried not to cry. She was too weak to get out of the car and storm off, so she mumbled the cross streets and settled back into the passenger seat.

  The truth was, she didn’t feel up to doing much more than curling up in her bed.

  One day of rest, she promised herself. And then, it’s full steam ahead.

  She realized she’d made that same promise just two days ago at Rosie’s place. Having coworkers who cared about her was starting to interfere with her productivity.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Franklin jiggled his left leg while he watched the notes populate the entry for the lawyer’s surgery in the oral surgical center’s database. The words appeared slowly, on some sort of delay, several letters at a time.

  Only when the entry was complete did he allow himself to exhale.

  She was going to be fine.

  She’s going to be fine, he repeated. The stomach-churning nausea that had gripped him since morning abated, and his body began to shake with relief.

  He gripped his head with both hands.

  He’d nearly killed her. When the device monitoring her heart rate had flatlined, he’d stared at the screen in disbelief. Then her pulse had dropped to nothing.

  It had been just a blip. A moment. But the woman had almost died.

  He had almost killed her, his brain screamed at him silently.

  His eyes fell on the blue and green skeins of yarn that sat on the floor in a wicker basket near his mother’s favorite chair, the knitting needles poked through the balls like chopsticks, waiting for her to start a sweater or scarf or whatever her next project was supposed to be.

  I don’t have a choice, he told himself. The words dug into his skull like claws. He had no choice.

  He and his mother were entirely at the mercy of the faceless, nameless monster who had grabbed her. And that meant Aroostine Higgins was, too.

  Think.

  He scrubbed his face with his hands. He just needed to think of a way out of this. He reminded himself he had a fine analytic mind. If he attacked it like a puzzle or a math problem, he could solve this impossible dilemma. He had to.

  The shrill chirp of the prepaid cell phone interrupted his musing. And his nausea returned like a punch in the gut.

  “Hello?” He couldn’t keep the dread out of his voice.

  “Hello, Franklin.”

  The man waited.

  “Um, what can I do for you?” Franklin asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  “A report, you idiot,” the man finally huffed. “I’m calling for a report on the surgery.”

  “Oh.” In his panic, Franklin had completely forgotten to call in. Now, his fear spiked. “I’m so sorry. I was just about to call you.” The words tumbled out in a desperate rush.

  “It’s no matter,” the man said in an oddly soothing tone. “Your mother’s fingers should heal fine.”

  “Her fingers? Heal?” He couldn’t make sense of the words so he simply repeated them.

  “Yes, her broken fingers. You should have called me two hours ago. You did not. And now, your mother has two broken fingers.”

  Oh, God. No.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Franklin hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until the monster on the other end of the phone answered him.

  “Can I … can I talk to her? Please?”

  “She’s indisposed.”

  “Please!”

  “Let’s focus, shall we? What happened with the attorney? Did you do as I directed?”

  Franklin’s mind spun. He took great gulps of breath and tried to ignore the image that his brain had constructed of his mother cradling her hand, two fingers sticking out at odd angles and grimacing in pain.

  “Yes. Yes, I did. According to the surgery notes, the interruption caused her body to go into shock. She’s going t
o be fine. She was released with instructions to go home and rest. She hasn’t used her card to access the office, so, apparently, she followed doctor’s orders.”

  “Very good.”

  Franklin’s stomach turned at the satisfaction in the man’s voice.

  “She could have died.”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  Not his concern? Was he joking?

  “It’ll be my concern if I’m an accomplice to murder. Maybe I should turn myself in now, before someone else gets hurt, or worse,” he shot back before he could stop himself.

  He gripped the phone and waited for the explosion he was sure would come.

  Instead, the man laughed. When he finally spoke, he sounded genuinely amused.

  “Accomplice? Accomplice to whom, Franklin? I’m no one. A ghost. A specter. What will you tell the police—the mystery man on the phone told you to do it? You might as well blame the voices in your head. No, Franklin. You can wipe the idea of involving the authorities from your mind. And rather than worrying about some attorney who is a stranger to you, your energy would be better spent thinking of the woman who gave you life and raised you, don’t you agree? Your mother’s survival is in your hands.”

  Franklin’s stomach pitted as he considered the man’s words. He was trapped. He was a hostage, no different than his mother.

  “May I please speak to her?” he croaked through suddenly dry lips.

  “Perhaps tomorrow. If you earn the privilege.”

  The sudden click of the call disconnecting echoed in his ear like a shot. He stared blankly at the wall. He was caught in a nightmare with no way out. He had to create an exit. Somehow.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tuesday afternoon

  Aroostine tried to still her trembling hands and stared down at the words swimming on the paper a process server had just shoved at her as she exited the elevator.

  Her day had started out lousy—she’d forced herself into the office at her usual time, despite her aching mouth—only to find that Judge Hernandez had summarily denied her motion nunc pro tunc almost the instant Rosie had filed it. That news had stunned her, but she’d told herself at least her day had nowhere to go but up.

  Judging by the document in her hands, she couldn’t have been more wrong. She blinked as if the words might change: