Everything hurt inside.
Pain! More pain.
He flung open a drawer, pulled out a straight razor with one of his best bone handles. He looked at one arm, shifted to the other, then back and forth until he found the right spot.
He cut deeper than he ever had before, watched the blood race from the wound, spill onto the table until it formed a growing puddle.
Pain.
Nothing stopped the pain.
He drained, but there was still the pain.
He pressed a hand over the wound, thought of Jenni. Her blood had sprayed everywhere.
He should have left her alone, should have ignored her.
But she laughed. Laughed at me.
His mother had laughed when she caught him watching her with a man. His foster sister laughed at him, too.
Jenni laughed and called him Russ ... wouldn’t stop. Russ ... Russ ... Russ.
The nurses laughed. Women laughed. Gina laughed.
But no more.
* * *
Russell stood outside Gina’s apartment house. It was after midnight and everything was quiet except for the terrible static that filled his head.
He looked at the window where he’d seen Gina the last time he followed Jenni to the apartment house. He stared at the window for a long time. He was waiting.
Waiting.
He took in a tree next to one of the outside windows.
He’d seen that tree in the daylight. It was a rich green, thick with leaves, leaves that he could hide in, like he hid from his sister in the surrounding woods at Dad Todd’s cabin.
He would hide while she stalked him with her bow and arrow; she wanted to use him for target practice, wanted to kill him. She would keep him treed for hours sometimes, or until Todd came looking for him and chased her away.
His head was pounding as he crossed the street, walked up to the tree, reached up for the lowest limb, grabbed it, and pulled himself up.
Up. Up.
He sat on one of the highest limbs and tried to see through the glass, see if Gina was in the room, but it was dark inside.
The window was cracked open enough so he could wedge fingertips under the frame. Stuck. He tried again and again, harder and harder until he threw himself off balance and almost fell.
He gave it one more shot; it started moving up bit by bit, inch by inch. He avoided pushing too hard, fearful of a telltale squeak. Static filled his head, growing louder and louder with each push.
Quietquietquietquiet!
* * *
Gina could hear a hear a faint voice from deep within: “Get up! It’s a work day. Get up!”
Her head was heavy, almost made her tumble forward as she struggled out of bed. She shuffled to the bathroom in the dark, sat on the toilet, started to doze.
Trying to shake off the drowsiness, she stood, filled the washstand glass with water. Drank. Filled the glass again and again. It wasn’t working. Her eyes fixed on the glass. It was dirty ... needed washing.
Gina headed back to her bed, thought she wasn’t going to make it, had to swim through the heavy, thick air. She was so hot, and her head was pounding.
Not the flu ... just sleepy ... need a little more rest ... a few more minutes.
Curling back under the covers, she drifted off, thinking she was still sitting on the toilet staring at the dirty glass.
* * *
Russell finally lifted the window all the way and eased into the room. His eyes adjusted to the darkness; he could make out a bed, someone was in it.
Gina sleeping.
He wrapped his hand around the human bone-handled razor in his pocket.
Jenni would never laugh at him again.
Now Gina would never laugh at him again.
He stumbled in the dark and fell.
* * *
Helen jumped at a sound. Reached for the bedside light.
A hand grabbed her wrist and squeezed.
She screamed.
The attacker flung himself onto the bed, straddled her hips.
* * *
Gina heard a scream ... from far, far away.
Helen! Someone was hurting Helen.
She stood, almost fell over, grabbed the nightstand. She moved on wobbly legs to the hallway, then went hand over hand along the wall until she reached Helen’s room.
“Get off me, you bastard!” Helen screamed.
Gina could see the shapes of two people struggling violently on the bed, the one on the bottom twisting and kicking violently.
Gina tried to rush to the bed, but her legs moved in slow motion. She reached out through a sea of goo to grab the bedside lamp, held it high, and brought it down hard against the attacker’s head. As the intruder started to tumble over, she struck again.
Helen jumped out of the bed, flipped on the overhead light. They both stared down.
Russell Thorpe was on his back, out cold. A straight-edge razor was splayed out on the floor, just beyond the fingertips of one hand.
Gina pointed to Helen’s chest.
A spread of blood was blossoming across the PJs, where Russell had slashed her.
* * *
Mulzini, still sitting in his car in his own driveway, was on the last bite of the tuna sandwich when he heard the radio call. He recognized the address—Gina’s apartment building.
He backed out of the driveway, planted the mobile police light on top of the car, and sped off.
When he arrived, three police cars and an EMT vehicle were parked haphazardly outside Gina’s apartment house. Red, blue, yellow lights flashed out of synch with each other.
Every window in the building was flooded with light that framed the tenants looking down on the scene.
Russell was cuffed and a pair of SFPD cops were escorting him to a squad car.
Jeez!
Mulzini flipped open his wallet to show his badge and hurried up the steps to Gina’s apartment. The door was open. Gina’s friend Helen, her ashen face contradicting her wise-cracking at the EMTs, sat with a pressure dressing plastered against her chest.
“You should come with us,” one of the EMTs said. “That’s a nasty gash. Could use some stitches.”
“I’ll steri-strip it and it’ll never leave a scar. Besides, I can’t leave my friend. She’s pretty sick and I’m her nurse.”
Mulzini looked closer at Gina, who was sitting in a chair, staring glassy eyed.
That’s one sick duck.
Gina was covered in a robe and looked as though someone had pulled her plug. Blood-less face, totally stunned.
Mulzini nodded at Gina, who didn’t respond, then turned to Helen and said, “Remember me?”
“Who could forget the great Mulzini?”
“Listen, you go with these guys. Really. I’ll stay with Gina. Don’t have to be a medic to see she’s got the flu bug real bad.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty damn sick,” Helen said.
“I’ll take care of her until you get back.”
Helen looked closely at him for a moment. “Okay, boys. Let’s get this over with. Take me, I’m yours.”
The EMTs laughed. “Yeah, sure,” one of them said.
Chapter 57
Mulzini finally got Gina to drink a glass of juice, then tucked her into bed. He thought everything was nice and calm now until she started crying.
“Hey, hey. It’s all right, Gina. That Russell guy is going away, and for a long, long time.” He pulled a tissue from a bedside box and handed it to her. “And I’ll bet when it’s all said and done, we’ll get what we need to hang Jenni’s murder on him, too.”
“I know. It’s not that.”
“What is it?”
“Harry ... he’s gone.”
“Listen, forget about Harry for now. You need to rest. I’ll be sitting in the living room until Helen gets back. Take a little nap and don’t worry.”
* * *
Harry used his key to get into Gina’s building and hurried up the stairs. When he opened the door, Inspe
ctor Mulzini was sitting on the sofa staring back at him.
“Heck of a way to spend what was supposed to be my day off, wouldn’t you say?”
“Where’s Gina? I thought Helen would be here.”
“Gina’s resting; asleep, I hope.”
Mulzini stood and they shook hands. “It’s been a while.”
“Has something happened to Gina?”
“She has this damn flu ... like everyone else.”
“Well, what happened to Helen? Why isn’t she here?”
“Don’t worry, she’s okay. I just checked in with the Ridgewood ER. They’re about to release her. Seems that lab tech, Russell Thorpe, came here to kill Gina and got into the wrong room. Helen got slashed trying to fend him off, but Gina came in just in time to clobber the creep.” Mulzini smiled. “That’s the short version.”
Gina’s shaky voice called from the bedroom, “Harry? Is that you?”
“Thanks for everything, Inspector. I think you can go now. I’ll take care of her.”
Mulzini laughed. “You nurses are so bossy.”
* * *
Harry wrapped his arms around Gina; they kissed, then kissed again and held onto each other for dear life.
“I’ve got some news for you,” Harry whispered in her ear.
“Mmmmm, what?”
“Your ex is gone.”
“Oh, Harry, I know that. But the bastard will be back.”
He held her at arms’ length. “When I say gone, I mean really gone. Dead.”
Her eyes widened. “Dead? How? Are you sure?”
“He was killed in a shootout in Tucson.”
“Oh, my God, Harry.”
He pulled her hard against him again. “It may take a while for it to sink in, but you’re finally free of that scumbag.”
“Are you really, really sure?”
He squeezed her tighter. “Without a doubt.”
Her voice turned to a whisper. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Baby, I hate to say this, but you look like hell.”
“And I always thought you were so romantic.”
He buried his face in her neck, kissed her several times. “I missed you, doll.”
“I don’t know why you love me ... I’m such an idiot.”
He eased her back down onto the pillow, pulled the comforter up around her shoulders, and kissed her lips.
“True, but you’re my idiot.”
# # #
Acknowledgments
As always, our gratitude, thanks, and love to what has to be the world’s greatest critique group —
Margaret Lucke, Shelley Singer,
Nicola Trwst & Judith Yamamoto
About the Authors
Bette Golden Lamb, a feisty ex-Bronxite, writes crime novels and plays with clay. Her sculptures and other artistic creations appear in exhibitions, galleries, and stores. She also hangs out with her 50+ rose bushes, or sneaks out to movies when she should be writing. Being an RN is a huge clue as to why she writes medical thrillers and Sci-Fi novels. Award-winning The Organ Harvesters is her latest stand-alone novel, a dystopian medical thriller.
J. J. Lamb intended to become an aeronautical engineer/pilot, but was seduced by journalism. An AP career was interrupted by the Army, which gave him a Top Secret clearance; a locked room with table, chair, and typewriter; and the time to write short stories. A paperback PI series followed, the most recent of which, No Pat Hands, a 2014 Shamus Award nominee from Private Eye Writers of America.
The Lambs, who live in Northern California, have co-authored seven medical thrillers - Bone Dry, Sisters in Silence, Sin & Bone, Bone Pit, Bone of Contention, Bone Dust, and a suspense-adventure-romance novel, Heir Today.
www.twoblacksheep.us
Books in the Gina Mazzio RN Medical Series:
Bone Dry
Sin & Bone
Bone Pit
Bone of Contention
Bone Dust
Other novels by Bette Golden Lamb & J. J. Lamb:
Sisters in Silence
Heir Today...
The Killing Vote
By Bette Golden Lamb:
The Organ Harvesters
By J. J. Lamb (Zachariah Tobias Rolfe III P.I. Series):
A Nickel Jackpot
The Chinese Straight
Losers Take All
No Pat Hands
Bone Dus Page 23