Meeting Midnight: Ankarrah Chronicles Book One

by J. D. Dexter

  Dr. Jamison drops the newly opened gown over my lap, making sure to tuck in the sides to keep it tight to my body.

  Brian moves in after the last tuck is done and pulls the gown I’m wearing up to just under my breasts so that the full bandage is on display.

  Red splotches dot the pristine fabric. Laying down, I can feel the slow seeping of the wound under the gauze. My skin is flashing hot and cold. But I’m pretty sure that’s because I’m getting ready to feel Dr. Jamison’s hands on my body for the first time, not because my body is still trying to heal. Being unconscious doesn’t count.

  “You’re bleeding a little. I need to pull the bandage to see what kind of damage we have to fix.” He sets his warm hands against the sensitive skin over my hip. My muscles bunch and jump under the light touch.

  His eyes dart up to meet mine, a flicker of heat deep in his eyes. My own cheeks burn slightly in response.

  “This is going to sting a little bit,” he tells me, his brows furrowed slightly.

  “Just do it,” I say, squishing my eyes close, taking a big breath to brace myself.

  I yelp when he rips the tape off the bottom edge of the gauze. “Yeesh. You weren’t kidding.”

  “One more for the side and I can move the bandage to see under it.” He doesn’t even look at me before ripping the tape away.

  Another squeak leaves my lips before I can contain it. I haven’t felt this uber-girly in a long time.

  Brian’s chuckle fills my ears. I turn to look at him, my eyebrows raised.

  “A little tape ripping turns you into a girl. Who knew? Wonder what Josh will say when I tell him.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, laughter lurking on his upturned lips.

  “Please, Josh will love it. Think it’s payback for all the times I call him Whiny Wendy.” My laugh is a little pitying. “Not my fault he’s a pansy.”

  I hear Dr. Jamison chuckle under his breath, the puffs of heated air brushing lightly over my skin.

  “What’s the damage, doc?” I ask, turning back to him.

  I’ve always wanted to say that. I’m a little giddy with realizing a life-long dream. I smile at him.

  “Well, you’ve ripped the stitches, so we’ll need to replace those. Although, I’m not sure we’ll need as many as the first time. The amount of healing you’ve done in two days is extraordinary. I’ve never seen healing this fast before.” The surprise on his face is not something I want to deal with. Nor do I want to have to deal with him trying to figure out why I’ve healed so quickly.

  “I’ve always been a fast healer, Dr. Jamison,” I tell him in a rush.

  Brian backs me up. “She is, it’s sickening.”

  “Let me clean the wound, see what we’ve got to work with, and see if you even need stitches.” The wonder in his voice is easy to hear. He gets up, disposing of his gloves in the trashcan beside the door as he walks out to get the supplies he needs.

  “Ms. Tindol,” Detective Wallace says from the doorway. “If you’re ready for it, I would like to get these questions out of the way, so you can get back to healing without so many interruptions from me. If that’s alright?” He looks between me and Brian as if asking permission.

  I look up at Brian, still holding the gown over my boobs. He nods, a little resigned.

  “In your own words, tell me what happened?” The detective starts.

  “Which time?” I ask sarcastically.

  “We’ll start with the most recent first, that way we can get you moved. I’ll come back tomorrow after you’ve had some time to recover to get the rest of your statement.”

  “Bad Guy McGee over there came in. He said my name and woke me up. He looked to be about five foot six, maybe seven, mid- to late-forties in a rumpled suit with a tired and haggard face,” I begin.

  I see the surprise on Detective Wallace’s face. I nod at him. He turns to look at the stunning beauty sprawled on the floor, the eyes as dead as a doll’s.

  “I know. He doesn’t look like that now, but that’s what I saw when I first opened my eyes,” I say a little angrily. I have a feeling this interview is not going to go well.

  “Go on.” Detective Wallace nods, scribbling something in his notepad.

  “Okay. He began asking me questions about what brought me to the hospital. I gave him a brief rundown of events. The thing is, something about him was off. It started out as just something wrong, and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. By the end of my explanation, my weird-o-meter gauge was zinging off the charts. I asked to see his ID, he put his hand in his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out a gun with a suppressor on it.”

  “Have you been able to think what was ‘off’ about him, as you called it?”

  “He was really interested in our family meeting, when that really had nothing to do with why I ended up in the hospital. He wanted specific information, but I was unwilling to give it to him since it involves more than just me and my life. I wasn’t going to share it unless I absolutely had to, or I had talked to the rest of my family first.” I tip my head towards Brian.

  “He was also really interested in the fact that I know my way around firearms. I don’t think that’s all that surprising in Wichita. A lot of women know how to use guns responsibly.”

  “He also was really interested in if I owned a firearm. I can’t really explain how I thought he was overly interested in it, but something about how he asked the questions, and the way he looked when he was asking the questions just set off my radar somehow.” I take a deep breath.

  “After I asked to see his ID, something about his…body language,” I just manage to catch myself from saying Spectrum, “told me I was in danger. I screamed for help when I saw him pull the gun. I was able to jump out of the bed, but I just put myself closer to him.” Shaking my head again at that bit of idiocy, I go on, “he grabbed me and put the gun against my head. I was just hanging onto him when he dropped dead to the floor. Everything about him had changed. Brian got to me first, and then everyone else showed up. Now here we are.” I let my shoulders drop.

  “Well, Ms. Tindol, you are a very lucky lady. Can you tell me where in the room he stood as he talked to you?” he asks, his pencil poised above his own small notebook, his eyes intent on mine.

  “Yeah.” I close my eyes for a second to bring it all back into my mind. Opening them, I gesture with my chin. “If you back up about three steps and move two steps to the left, that’s where he was standing when he first walked in. He leaned into the hall and talked to someone about getting me some more ice chips. I only had water in my cup, and the nurses said I couldn’t drink anything yet.” I nodded towards the overturned cup on the table that I had pushed over in my leap from the bed. A small puddle of water now on the floor.

  “Do you know who he talked to?” A spark lighting his eyes.

  “No, sorry. I just heard a female voice answer, but I couldn’t even tell what she said.”

  Wallace nods, more intense scribbling.

  “And you have no idea why he dropped dead?”

  “No. Not at all.” I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure that’s not normal. Unless he had some type of disease. In which case I probably need to get checked out for that as well.” I choke out the lie.

  I actually killed a man. Granted, he was trying to kill me, and I had no idea that what I was doing would really kill him. But still, a man is dead because of my direct actions. A queasy feeling invades my stomach.

  “Detective, I told you, you would have to wait until I finished with Ms. Tindol before you could question her.” Dr. Jamison’s aggrieved voice comes from the doorway, his hands full with a new suturing kit.

  “I said it was okay, Dr. Jamison. I feel pretty good,” I offer

  “Yeah, she said I could.” Wallace smirks at Dr. Jamison.

  Dr. Jamison laughs. “Well, I guess she would know her own body. However, if you’re done now, we’ll get her stitched up and moved to a different room. You can come back tomorrow.” He nods his head at the door, a cle
ar indication that it’s time for Detective Wallace to leave.

  “Here’s my card, if you think of anything else. No matter how small or insignificant.” He hands me a card, his name emblazoned across the middle in no-nonsense black, his contact information just below it. “Please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

  “Thanks. I will. I appreciate you and the work you do.” I give him a smile, looking him in the eye.

  He seems a little startled, but nods and smiles at me in return before leaving the room.

  I look back at Brian, wondering if his arms are getting tired holding up the boob-shield.

  “Getting tired there, buddy?” I ask him, wagging my eyebrows at him.

  “Nothing’s making me drop this shield before you’re covered up, so no worries.”

  Dr. Jamison huffs another snort under his breath as he’s sitting down. “Alright, let’s get this finished up so we can move you and you can keep recovering.” He lifts the edge of the bandage again.

  The feel of his hands on my skin makes me jump, not to mention tingle in interesting places. I feel my cheeks heat once again. Brian snorts just above my left shoulder. I reach back and smack him.

  “Easy there, tiger,” Dr. Jamison says. “I’ve got some scissors in my hand, not sure you want them through your skin. Just settle down.”

  I still as I feel the cool metal brush against the sensitive skin covering my hip bone, awakening nerves that had no business coming to life in the present situation. I suck in a breath, trying to remain as still as possible. I don’t usually react this way to men I’ve only just met. As touchy-feely as I am with my boys and family, I don’t like it from random strangers or mere acquaintances.

  I can feel my stomach muscles begin to quiver ever so slightly, attempting to keep my skin out of the way of the sharp implements. Dr. Jamison leans over my hip as he moves the tip of the scissors to the first black thread over my wound. He’s close enough that I can feel the brush of his breath across my skin.

  Trying to keep my brain focused on something other than how close Dr. Dreamy is to my body, I accidently lose my grip on the Spectrum as I watch Dr. Jamison huddled over my lower body.

  His Spectrum is a beautiful symphony of blues, greens, and purples. Each color distinct in it’s richness before seamlessly blending into the next. I’ve never seen anything like it before.

  I feel my body relaxing, melting into the lumpy hospital bed beneath me like the ice chips left in the cup.

  “Doing okay?” Dr. Jamison asks, his face rising a couple inches over the plane of my stomach.

  “What?” I hurry to tighten my grasp on the Spectrum, blinking over into normal vision. I can hear Brian’s faint chuckle to my side. I’ve lost track of time, my body, and reality again watching his beautiful energy patterns.

  “You made a noise. I wanted to know if you were in pain at all.”

  Oh, Sweet Freaking Bessy! Now I’m moaning—but for very different reasons. Pain is nowhere in my mind.

  Get a grip, Fin. You’re an adult woman, not some quivering little school girl. I mentally snort in disgust.

  “All good. No pain at all.” I shake my head, my hair floating over my shoulders with the movement.

  “Good.” Dr. Jamison hunkers back down, his focus once again on removing the thick black thread from my abused skin.

  Another waft of heated air slides across my skin, a wave of goosebumps following in its wake.

  “Ow!” I glare up at Brian, his whole face wreathed in smiles and mirth. I reach up to rub my ear where he flicked me. “What the heck was that for? Rude!”

  “I’m keeping your mind focused.” A smirk covers his full mouth, an exaggerated wink from one dark blue eye.

  I roll my eyes at him. I pucker up a kiss and blow it at him. “Thanks.” I mouth to him.

  Dr. Jamison leans back, a look of surprise and astonishment on his face. Putting down the scissors, he picks up an alcohol swab and rubs it against my skin. The shocking cold of it, mixed with its harsh scent stinging my nose, removes any happy thoughts from my brain.

  The mended skin is itchy and irritating, but it doesn’t hurt. I look down and see that the remains of the wound have closed, the only thing left are the barely discernable marks from where the thread was. And even those are disappearing.

  Crap, crap, crap. This isn’t something a doctor can overlook.

  I try to blank my face before he lifts his eyes to meet my own. I’m not sure how successful my blank face is because now he’s looking at me like I’m keeping secrets.

  “I don’t think you’ll need any more stitches, Ms. Tindol.” He intones, his head tipped to the side.

  “Finley, please. I keep looking for my mother when I hear Ms. Tindol. I’m good to go? I don’t need to pass any more metal through my skin to get it together: needles, staples, nothing?” I ask him quickly. The sooner we are off this line of questioning, the better it will be.

  “No need at all. I’m curious though.” He gently pulls the blanket up to cover my lower body. He motions Brian to drop the boob shield.

  “About what?” I ask. Like I don’t already know.

  “Even for someone who heals fast, the fact that you’ve recovered enough to not even need stitches or, hell, a butterfly bandage, brings up some pretty serious questions.” His solemn eyes meet mine. I watch as his dark chocolate eyes move to Brian, a thoughtful look moving through them.

  I feel Brian’s hand clasp my shoulder and give it a subtle squeeze. I take it as a warning.

  “Sorry, Dr. Jamison. I have no idea. I’m just as surprised as you are.” I give my surprised face a shot. Pretty sure it’s a miss if his scrunched nose is any indication. My tummy being upset doesn’t lie, and right now, it’s rolling uncomfortably. It’s my guilt detector, and it’s never led me wrong. Lying to Dr. Jamison is a lot more unpleasant than I thought it would be.

  “Right. Well, we still need to keep you under observation, to make sure nothing else is wrong. I would also like to do some more tests to see if you have anything the attacker might have brought in with him. Considering how he died, I’m legally obligated to be sure you’re not a health concern to the greater populace.” His words are short and curt as he starts gathering up his supplies.

  “We’ll get the chief medical examiner in here to take away the body and do a full autopsy, so we can compare results between your blood and his. I’ll get that set up now.” He heads towards the door.

  I look up to Brian. I have no idea what I should be doing. I don’t know that I want Dr. Jamison to have any idea that I’m as special as I am. I certainly don’t want him doing anymore testing on me. Especially since I’m the reason the bad guy is dead the way he is. I’m pretty sure I’m clear of all communicable diseases.

  Brian gives me steady eyes. He’s letting me make the decision.

  “First, we need to get you into a new room, and this one cordoned off for the coroner’s office. Let’s get that started, and we’ll have you moved in no time.”

  “I would like to talk to my dad, when he gets here. He’s a doctor, too, so he would have a better idea of what might be happening to me as well as what tests he thinks I should submit to,” I tell Dr. Jamison.

  “We can definitely wait for him to arrive. Do you have any idea what time he should be getting here?”

  “I actually have no idea where he and my mom are. I assume one of my boys called them. They retired to the Caribbean,” I explain hurriedly, looking to Brian for confirmation. Now that I think about it, my parents should have gotten here already.

  “They’re getting back in…” Brian looks at his watch. “They just got in about thirty minutes ago. They’re probably on their way here now.”

  Speak of the devils. Raised familiar voices carry down the hall. Josh and Brent walk into the room, my mom and dad rushing in behind them. Mom almost barrels Josh and Brent over in her haste to get to me. Which, considering she’s a couple inches shorter than I am and only weighs about one-twenty is quite the f
eat.

  “Finley! Baby, what happened? We’ve been going crazy with worry!” Mom rushes over, pulling me gently into her familiar and comforting arms.

  “Hello, Mrs. Tindol. I’m Dr. Jamison, I’m in charge of your daughter’s care. I would like to keep Finley as calm as possible, especially with all of the extra dramatics of the last hour. If we could get Mr. Hastings—Brian—to give you a run down while Finley listens, and adds anything he misses, I think that would be best.”

  “What does he mean, ‘all of the extra dramatics?’ What the hell else happened?” Josh explodes, recovering from mom’s hip-check, pushes his way farther into the room.

  “What did I just say about keeping Finley calm?” Dr. Jamison’s dry voice coats the rage in Josh’s.

  “I’ll explain everything,” Brian agrees.

  I block out the recap, content right now just to let Mom hold me.

  Dr. Jamison and my dad are out in the hall, discussing tests that Dr. Jamison wants to do. We’ve finally moved rooms, and mom’s in the bed with me. My head on her shoulder. Still one of the safest places in my world.

  I look up to see Dad come back in. The flashing of a white coat in the hallway indicates that Dr. Jamison is walking away, his head bent over his tablet as he turns the corner.

  “When Mark called to say that you were on your way to the hospital in critical condition, we didn’t ask any more questions. We just packed as fast as possible and hopped on the earliest flight we could get. By the time we made it here, it felt like a million years had passed. Your mother and I have been going crazy with worst-case scenarios,” Dad says. He looks like he’s aged more than he should have in the Caribbean.

  His silver hair is a wiry cap, showing off his tanned skin to best advantage. His clothes are wrinkled beyond repair, and I’m pretty sure his glasses are so smudged he can barely see through them. His dreamy blue eyes show mostly clearly the stress and worry he’s been dealing with.