by JJ Aughe
Without stopping to think, Melissa used her elbow to make the hole larger, reached in and jerked the door handle up. The door came open and she swung it wide and glanced behind her before stepping around the door. A bullet ricocheted off the doorpost, shattering the glass of the rear door. Thoroughly terrorized, she screamed and jumped onto the front seat. Jamming the key into the ignition she started the engine. Not bothering to turn her headlights on she immediately revved the motor, let out the clutch and felt the car leap backwards as a spider webbed hole appeared in the windshield in front of her. She felt the impact as the bullet hit her shoulder and her left arm went numb, falling uselessly to her side.
Knowing she would likely die if she stopped to take care of her bleeding shoulder, she used her right knee to steady the wheel, stomped the clutch, ground the transmission into first, grabbed the wheel with her good hand and let her foot slide off the clutch. The tires screeched their protest before they took hold and the car shuddered as it slued to the left nearly hitting curbing before she was able to get it under control. She again used her knee to guide the car as she shifted to second, trounced the accelerator and turned the wheels away from the building in hopes of getting to the street before the shooter got in a lucky shot.
She could see the exit wavering from side to side in front of her as the car wildly slued from left to right. Suddenly the rear window exploded. A second later, two more spider webbed holes appeared in the windshield and the rear view mirror fell, bouncing off the dash and onto the passenger seat!
Realizing there was another shooter near the exit and she was caught in a crossfire she knew she would never make it to the exit. Her only chance was to plow though the low shrubbery of the green belt between the street and the parking lot.
In hopes of throwing her attackers off, she shifted into third, pressed the accelerator and weaved back and forth toward the exit. As she approached an area of few shrubs where the city had been working on the water main she revved the engine, downshifted to second and cut the wheels to the right. The front of the car suddenly shot into the air as the front tires hit the curbing then came down hard as the rear wheels made contact, the rear bouncing high. She fought for control as the car shot across the greenbelt, mowing down shrubbery. Nearly sideswiping a tree before she could regain control, she shifted to third as the car shot into the street. The rear wheels squalled as they made contact with the pavement. Again downshifting to second, she cramped the wheel to the right and immediately realized her mistake as the rear of the car began to swing around. Tromping the accelerator and cramping the wheel the other way she desperately tried to bring the car back around.
The rear tires squalling, the car careening side-ways, she turned the wheels into the slide. The car whipped back and again started to skid, sluing in the opposite direction. She again turned into the skid. Bringing the car under control, she went through the gears as the engine roared loudly in her ears. Knowing something had happened to cause the roaring from the engine but intent on distancing herself from her attackers she again tromped the accelerator, racing down the street and into the dark night.
She hoped to attract a cop by speeding with her lights off as she raced down the darkened street. Five, ten, then fifteen blocks and still there was no sign of a police car. “Where in the blazes are all of Bellevue’s finest!” she yelled in disgust into the darkness. “I should have already passed a half dozen cop cars responding to the break-in!”
She could hear weird thumping noises coming from under the hood telling her there was something dreadfully wrong with the engine. That, and the fact that her left shoulder was still bleeding, the arm useless, told her she had to make a decision. The possibility her attackers were pursuing her suddenly entered her mind. Quickly glancing at her side-view mirror, she let out a sigh of relief to see no headlights behind her.
The throbbing pain from her wounded shoulder and her vision starting to blur made it very hard to keep the car on the street. Aware she was getting weaker she automatically shook her head trying to clear her vision and almost hit the curb. “I have to find someplace to hide so I can stop the bleeding,” she muttered.
The stoplight was red when she approached the next intersection. Again glancing at her side-view mirror and seeing no sign of pursuit, she made her decision. In hopes of a cop seeing her, she downshifted, pressed the accelerator to the floor and jerked the wheel to the right. The car frightfully fishtailed before she finally got it straightened out. Shifting gears, she pressed the accelerator to the floor again and sped down the street. Wildly searching every building and parking lot for someplace to hide she kept going until she saw a closed gas station and whipped in behind its vacant main building.
She cut the engine and let the car coast until she was sure she couldn’t be seen from the street, then firmly set the emergency brake. The tires squalled complaint as the car stopped just short of exposing the nose of the car at the far end of the long building.
Weak and hurting she gazed around the interior of her beloved car. Taking in the shattered windows, the ripped upholstery where bullets had torn through the seats, the rear-view mirror laying on the passenger seat and the nick in the steering wheel where the bullet that had wounded her had gouged out a piece of the resin, she moaned, “My poor baby, you’re ruined!” Her anger took hold then. “Whoever those people were they’ll pay dearly for what they have done to you!”
Without thinking about her injured shoulder, she attempted to reach for her cell phone with her left hand. The pain almost overwhelmed her and dizziness blurred her vision. “Oh no!” she cried. “I can’t pass out now! Kerry’s all alone!” She forced a few deep breaths to steady her emotions and used her right hand to search in her purse for her phone.
On the verge of passing out when the 911 operator answered, she gasped, “My name is Melissa Calahan-Hough. I’ve been shot and lost a lot of blood! I’m on Bel-Red Road a couple of blocks north of Northeast Twentieth. I don’t know what the address is. I am behind a closed or abandoned gas st-st-sta, , , , .” Melissa slumped forward, her head striking the steering wheel as she lost consciousness.
8 hours later. Lakeview Community Hospital, Bellevue, Washington.
Melissa opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry but she could see the room was dark and a vague shape of a man standing at her bedside. A gentle male voice tinged with an Irish brogue spoke to her. “Welcome back, Miss Hough.”
She thought she was in her bedroom at home and tried to scream but only croaked like a frog, so she tried to sit up instead. Gentle hands immediately grasped her right shoulder, gently forcing her to lay back. The man’s soft but firm voice crooned, “Hey, little gal. You have been out for quite awhile. I’ve already called for the nurse, so please lay back until the nurse or a doctor can get here.”
A straw was pushed between her parched lips as the detached voice said, “Here, try to drink something. The nurse said you would probably be thirsty when you came around and I could give you some water.”
Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton so Melissa took a long pull on the straw. She tried to focus on the person’s face standing next to her bed. “Who are you?” she asked. “And why are you in my, . . .room?” Nurse? Doctor? Where . . .?”
Memory returned in a rush! The terror she had experienced as she realized she was being shot at! The pain and unbelievable actuality of being shot! Then she thought about how her car had been riddled with bullet holes and started weeping in despair.
Detective Sean O’Donald quickly handed her a couple of tissues from the box on her bedside table. When she had calmed he held his badge up for her to examine and introduced himself. “Miss Hough, I am Detective Sean O’Donald, Bellevue Police Department. I realize you’re hurting and distressed, but there are some questions about last night that need quick answers.” She nodded and the detective quietly quizzed her on the events of the evening before. When he had asked the last of his questions he stood gazing down on her for a time with something s
he assumed was pity.
O’Donald had been a cop for twenty-one years. In all that time he had never encountered a victim he had ever felt this much empathy, compassion and heartfelt sympathy for. It wasn’t that he was unfeeling. He wouldn’t be a good cop if he were. No, most victims he had encountered had someone who cared, someone who came rushing into the hospital in tears or with unabashed concern written all over their faces. This poor woman evidently had no one. Not even a concerned neighbor. No one!
And last night someone had tried to kill her!
When she opened her eyes a moment ago he had almost recoiled. Her ID said she was thirty-nine, had red hair and green eyes. Simply stating that her eyes were green was an understatement if he had ever heard one! He wasn’t sure what color to call her eyes, but simply saying her eyes were green was just, . . Wrong!
The responding patrol officer had informed him that when he had arrived only minutes after her 911call the woman in the car had been barely conscious. The officer reported that she had mumbled something about being shot trying to escape an intruder at the place she worked. That was about it, though, because she had passed out again before the officer could question her further.
A quick run of the name on her driver’s license had revealed where she worked and that officers were on the scene, responding to a break-in. So far the officers had only found a bullet hole in the front door glass and where a vehicle had plowed through the greenbelt.
The bullet holes in the exterior of her car and almost every window being shot out led O’Donald to believe that whoever had been shooting at the woman in the hospital bed hadn’t been the only shooter and wasn’t just trying to chase her away. She had been his target from the first and he and his accomplice were trying to kill her.
She had confirmed his first estimation that there had been more than one assailant. But why, he asked himself. Why would anyone want to kill a paralegal who worked at a real estate office? And why go to all the trouble of breaking in? Why not just kill her as she exited the building?
Then he remembered she had said the first assailant had been in her boss’s office sitting in her boss’s chair. With the security alarm armed and her personal electronic lock activated, he asked himself how in the world the guy even managed to get into the building. And what was he looking for in the CEO”s office?
Thinking about that, he asked her the next two questions without thinking. “Why were you working so late anyway? What was so important?”
She started to answer, her hand going to her throat, her fingers searching for something. “I had taken a long lunch and there was one real estate deal Martin, my boss, wanted ready for first thing Monday morning.”
O’Donald noticed she kept frantically feeling her neck as if something were missing. “Miss Hough is there something wrong? Is something missing?”
“Well . . .” she responded evasively. Then, making up her mind to trust him, she admitted, “My gold necklace and locket are gone.”
“Oh,” Sean replied. “They might be in your personal effects. Describe them for me and I’ll have someone check.”
“The necklace is a braided, heavy gold heirloom chain with a hand-crafted gold, three inch, heart-shaped locket. But the necklace and locket aren’t important. What is important is the flash drive that is inside the locket.”
Sean studied her for a few seconds before asking, “What is so important about the flash drive?” Her reply put his detective’s mind in gear.
“The flash drive has all the information on the Minetsiac real estate deal I was working on last night. My boss, Martin Holstedt, needs that information first thing Monday morning! I had already closed the file and moved the whole folder to my personal flash drive before I realized there was an intruder in the building. I stowed the flash drive in the locket on the necklace for safekeeping. Now the locket is missing!”
“Without that flash drive the company stands to lose millions of dollars!”
The woman was getting more agitated by the second. To calm her Detective O’Donald soothed her with, “Easy, now. Take it easy, Miss Hough. Getting all stressed out won’t do you any good.” Seeing she was still agitated he offered, “Like I said, I’ll check with my partner and the investigating team, but I didn’t notice a necklace with the articles we have as evidence. It might be there, though, ‘cuz I just glanced at the articles. If it’s not there, maybe one of the nurses in the ER removed it. I’ll have the floor nurse check with the ER to see if they can locate it for you. Okay?”
The door behind O’Donald opened and a doctor entered. Before O’Donald could say anything Melissa shouted in a commanding, very aristocratic voice, “Doctor! Where is my necklace and why was it removed from my person?”
The congenial smile that had been on the doctor’s lips as he entered the room vanished as he hesitated halfway across the room, replaced by a serious expression as he glanced to O’Donald then hurried to her bedside. His smile returned as he made a quick, but silent examination of her shoulder and arm.
The physician’s professional mien came to the fore again as, in clipped sentences, he introduced himself. “I am Doctor James, Miss Hough. I saw you in the ER. You were a gunshot victim and in pretty bad shape. You had lost a lot of blood. All of your garments were badly soaked in blood. As soon as we stabilized you the police took your clothing and, except for your purse, all your personal effects as evidence. If you were wearing a necklace when you came into the ER it is probably with the rest of your belongings.”
Not wanting to be rude but needing to see other patients too, Doctor James gave her a confident smile. “Your wound is looking good, so . . .”
Used to giving orders in her position as paralegal and private executive assistant to Martin Holstedt, Melissa became irritated by his off-hand change of subject, snapping, “I don’t care about my wound! Where are my things? I want my necklace!”
The doctor glanced at O’Donald. “You’ll have to ask the Police, Miss Hough. It was a busy night and I had other patients to attend to.”
Melissa turned her head and stared at O’Donald, her green eyes shooting daggers. “Well? What are you waiting for? Go find my necklace!”
Sean shrugged. He had other priorities. In a firm voice he returned, “Miss Hough. Get this straight. There is a real chance you are still in danger and I’m not leaving this room until I know everything there is to know about what happened last night.”
Before he could say more his police pager beeped. Irritated, he grabbed it from its carrier at his waist, looked at the screen and sighed, “Oh Man!” Speaking to Melissa he fabricated a quick story. “I have to call in a preliminary report to my Captain. We’ll finish this interview when I’m done.”
Stepping closer to the door, Sean turned his back to the room and made the call. After speaking for a few seconds he suddenly said, “Just a minute.” and turned back to face Melissa and the doctor.
“Something has come up, Doctor. How soon can Miss Hough be released?”
A serious expression crossed the doctor’s face before he answered. “There are some tests that need to be run and she is still hooked to IV’s. I would like to keep her for another twenty-four hours for observation.”
“Not possible Doc,” O’Donald interrupted. “If she stays here there is a very likely possibility the people who attacked her will try to get to her here. We don’t want to put anyone here at the hospital in jeopardy, so we need to get her to a safe location as soon as possible.”
Doctor James gave O’Donald a grave look. “You really think someone would be that anxious to do Miss Hough harm?”
Melissa grew tired of being left out of a decision regarding her own safety and settled the matter. “Doctor James?” She put a positive, assertive tone to her voice when he turned to face her. “I am feeling much better. And I’ve been thinking about this situation. I’ve come to the conclusion Detective O’Donald is right. I can’t stay here. Those men, whoever they are, won’t stop until they get what they wan
t. And they will kill to get it!”
“Okay,” Doctor James agreed, reaching for the call button. “If you think you are up to it, I guess you can leave as soon the nurse can remove the IV and bring you something to wear.”
O’Donald quickly lifted the phone back to his ear. “I can have her out of here inside an hour.” He paused with a stunned expression. “NO! I’ll have her out of here in minutes, Dennis!” He still had the stunned expression as he snapped the phone shut. “Get that nurse in here! NOW!”
As the doctor stepped out into the hall, Melissa asked, anxiety plain in her voice, “O’Donald? What has happened?”
“I am sorry, Miss Hough. I am no longer in charge of this investigation and not at liberty to discuss it with you or anyone else! It’s a bad situation. So just take that for what it’s worth and get ready to leave.”
O’Donald hurried around the bed, a sense of urgency driving him, jerked open the drawer of her night stand, rummaged through it then shoved it closed and opened the door underneath. Spying her purse, he grabbed it and handed it to her as the doctor and a nurse entered the room.
“We’ve got maybe ten minutes before transportation will arrive!” he snapped as he headed for the door. “Get her ready! Then call me. I’ll be just outside!”
As his words registered in her brain Melissa recoiled from them. She wanted to reject them. She wanted to yell that she had the right to know what was going on. In her own mind, though, she already knew. Whoever had attacked her could already be on the way to the hospital, or were already there! And whoever the detective had been talking to had authority to override even the hospital’s authority.