by Wayne Jordan
She stopped and turned to face the intruder, not surprised to see George.
He appeared calm, just as he had in court. Yet she’d noticed a greater sense of presence in him. There was a spark of excitement in his eyes she had not seen at the last trial.
“Rachel,” he said when he reached her.
“George,” she replied. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing really. I just wanted to say hi.”
“And you think that’s a good idea? We’re in the middle of a trial and we’re on opposing sides. Experience should tell you that’s not a good idea.”
“How’s your mom doing?” he asked, ignoring her comments.
She hesitated. She didn’t want to know where he was going with this, but her mother had always liked him.
“She’s not doing too well. She has been having frequent headaches. I’ve finally convinced her that she needs to see a doctor.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve visited her a couple times over the years. She was still working the last time I spoke to her, but I’m assuming she’s retired now.”
“Yes, she retired about a year ago when she turned sixty. We’re hoping the headaches are not serious.”
He nodded sympathetically. “I’ll try to come see her when the trial is over.”
“No,” she shouted, startling him with her response. “While I appreciate your concern, I’d prefer our contact to be work-related.”
“We used to be friends, Rachel, long before we were lovers,” he stated. “We can be friends, can’t we?”
“I’m not sure about that,” she said gently, looking him full in the eyes. “There are too many things in our past. I prefer my life to be void of conflict. This is a bit too unnerving right now.”
“As you wish,” he replied, his eyes emotionless. “I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible. You have a good evening. Tell your mom I send my love.”
She watched as he walked away, sadness weighing heavily on her heart. He had tried to appear indifferent to her rejection, but she knew the signs of his anger. The George she’d known would have had no problem with showing his anger.
But she couldn’t feel sorry for him. She had to protect her son from him as long as possible. He had made it quite clear back then that he didn’t want marriage or a family. She didn’t want him to hurt her son.
Later that night, she turned into the driveway, glad to be finally home; the stress of the day’s events had left her fatigued.
Her day’s work still hadn’t ended. She had to check on her mother, spend time with her son and then prepare for tomorrow’s court session.
At least she’d be able to purge George’s image from her mind for a few hours.
* * *
By the end of the two weeks of the trial, Rachel was exhausted but she was sure she’d done her best. Her closing arguments had been perfect, but George had done a great job too. She felt the jury would be on her side, but verdicts could be so unpredictable.
It was early afternoon when she received the call that she was needed back in court.
Minutes later, Rachel held her breath as the verdict was read. She could not contain her excitement when the politician was found guilty. Her gaze immediately went in George’s direction. What she saw there surprised her. He threw a grudging look of admiration her way, nodded and smiled.
She nodded in acknowledgment.
When her co-council asked her to step outside for the press conference, she complied.
The steps of the courthouse were a hive of excitement. Police officers tried, with little success, to keep the crowd under control. When the reporters saw her, they rushed in her direction, shoving microphones rudely at her.
She stepped back, raising her hands, insisting on a semblance of order. The crowd settled slowly; the noisy buzz dimmed until there was silence.
Rachel made her brief statement and answered the questions posed to her. Thanking the media, she glanced to the left and saw George standing a short distance away.
He was alone.
A sense of longing gripped her and she walked toward him, startled when a young man rushed toward her, screaming loudly.
In his hand, the blade of a knife flashed menacingly.
Instinctively, Rachel shifted her body, but the outstretched hand plunged forward. Pain, red-hot pain, startled her with its strength. Her knees buckled and she started to fall, raising her hands in anticipation of another stab.
Instead, nothing came and she crumbled slowly to the ground, the darkness, ominous and overpowering, consuming her. Urgent hands grabbed for her and the last thing she remembered hearing was the fear in George’s voice as he shouted, “Call an ambulance!”
* * *
The waiting room in the E.R. was surprisingly empty. George stood for the hundredth time and then sat again. He felt helpless. What could he do? He needed to call Rachel’s mother, but he didn’t have a number for her in his cell phone.
His body shook with the fear he’d experienced when the man had raced toward Rachel. George had acted on pure instinct. He didn’t know he could move so quickly. Just as the man was about the plunge the knife for the second time, he had tackled him to the ground.
Other hands had helped subdue the man and George had moved quickly to Rachel’s side where she lay on the steps, a bloodstain spreading across her white blouse.
When the ambulance had arrived, his hands, numb with pain, still pressed two handkerchiefs against the wound, stemming the flow of blood.
The short drive to the hospital had been nerve-wracking. He’d refused to leave her, taking control at the hospital and shouting orders like a tyrant, until the doctor in charge had asked security to intervene.
Now, sitting in the waiting room of the E.R., he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He needed to call Shayne and Troy. He needed to change his shirt and get someone to collect his car. He needed to…
He closed his eyes, riding the wave of nausea that washed over him. He breathed deeply and slowly until his stomach settled.
His hands shaking, he punched in Troy’s number. Troy answered on the first ring, an unusual occurrence. He sighed in relief.
“Troy, are you at the hospital?” he asked.
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
“Rachel’s been stabbed. I’m in the E.R. She’s in surgery.”
“I’ll be there.” The phone went silent.
Tension flowed from his body. It was good having a doctor as a best friend. Troy would know what to do.
Two minutes later, Troy walked through the “Staff Only” door, his cell phone to his ears. On seeing George, he ended the call.
“I just called Shayne. He’ll be here as soon as he can. You stay here and I’ll go and find out what’s happening.” Troy touched his hand briefly, and its warmth offered comfort. Troy was here. Things would be all right.
Troy turned and disappeared through the door.
George sat slowly. He glanced around the room. A few anxious faces, like his, glanced around the room, looking nowhere and everywhere.
The images of what had happened played across his mind’s eye like the trailer from a movie. In all his life, he had never experienced a fear so intense. He had felt helpless and lost. Time had stopped and all he could think of was that he had to save Rachel. He had to stop the man intent on killing her.
Fifteen minutes later, Troy reappeared.
George jumped up. “How is she doing?” he asked.
“I haven’t heard anything much yet. She is still in surgery.”
He sat without responding. The waiting was killing him. Troy lowered himself into the next chair.
“She’s going to be all right,” Troy reassured him. “She’s in good han
ds. Dr. Roland Thomas is the best. If there is anyone who can save her, it’s him.”
He was about to respond when the doors of the E.R. slid apart and Shayne stepped inside.
“How is she?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” George responded.
“She’s still in surgery,” Troy added.
Shayne sat. “What happened?”
George related the story, remaining as brief as he could. When he was done, he sat back, closing his eyes. Reliving the event was not easy.
“You’ve had something to eat?” Shayne’s voice broke the silence.
He realized that he had not eaten since he had left home that morning. With his focus on the case and now Rachel, he’d clearly forgotten. A nagging hollowness in his stomach signaled his hunger.
“No, but I’m not sure I can eat anything right now.”
“You need to eat,” Shayne insisted. “I’ll go to the canteen and get a sandwich for you.” He turned to Troy. “You need something?”
Troy shook his head. “I ate just before I came downstairs.”
“Good. Troy, you take care of him for me. I’ll be back.”
When Shayne left, George sat quietly, his thoughts on Rachel. He couldn’t lose her a second time. He’d realized something in that moment when the attacker had raised the knife. He would have died for Rachel. She’d been his lover, but she’d also been his friend and no matter what had happened between them, they needed to let bygones be bygones.
He turned to Troy. “Thanks for coming.”
“Come off it, George.” Troy scoffed. “What else did you expect me to do? We’ve been best friends forever, remember? Haven’t we always been here for each other?”
“I know. I’m just glad you and Shayne are here.”
“You still care about her?” Troy asked.
“It’s that obvious?” he replied.
“Yeah.”
“I know I can’t lose her again. I’m not sure if this is a second chance I have, but when she’s all right, I’m going to do everything in my power to win her back.”
Another sound of footsteps. He looked up. A doctor was walking toward them.
Troy stood immediately. George followed suit.
“Roland, is she all right?” Troy asked.
“She’s going to be fine, Troy,” the doctor responded. “Though the wound was deep, there was no damage to any vital organs. She did lose a lot of blood, but the paramedics say that the man who came to her rescue did a good job of controlling the bleeding. He saved her.” He glanced at George’s shirt. “That must be you.”
George nodded.
“I expect her to be here for a few days,” the doctor continued. “She can go home then, but she has to take things easy.”
“Can I see her?” George asked anxiously.
“Yes, of course,” he responded. “She’s still out from the effect of the anesthetic. She’ll probably sleep for the rest of the night.”
“I’d like to see her now.”
“That’s fine. Troy can take you up to her room. She gave your name and her mother’s before her surgery. She said I should ask you to contact Mrs. Davis.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his board and handed it to George.
George turned to Troy. “Can we go now?” He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to see her as soon as possible.
“Let’s go,” Troy said, leading the way.
* * *
When he stepped inside the room, he shivered. On the bed, Rachel lay still, too still, but when he moved closer, the rise and fall of her chest reassured him she was alive.
Damn, he was being paranoid. He sighed deeply. Her caramel complexion seemed even paler, but her breathing was soft and steady.
Unexpected tears stung his eyes. He seemed unable to control their flow.
The realization that he’d almost lost her tormented him. He’d never stopped loving her.
He whispered a soft prayer upward. He’d been given a second chance and he had almost lost her again.
A sharp pain tightened his chest and he could not breathe. He turned and rushed out of the room. He had to get away.
Outside, he breathed in deeply, trying to bring his body under control. He glanced along the corridor. It was quiet. No one had seen his moment of weakness. But he realized something. He didn’t care. He felt no shame in his display of emotion.
He remembered he had not called Rachel’s mother. He pulled out the paper Dr. Thomas had given him and dialed the number.
Her mother picked up on the first ring.
“Mrs. Davis, this is George.”
“George?” she said cautiously.
“George Simpson.”
“George, I haven’t heard from you in ages. How are you doing? Rachel’s not here.”
“I know she isn’t there, Mrs. Davis. I have some news for you. Rachel had an incident this afternoon. I couldn’t call you before because I didn’t have your contact information. She’s at the hospital and has had surgery, but she’s all right now, so there is no need for you to worry.”
“Oh, dear. I’ll get my neighbor to bring me to the hospital. Which ward is she in?”
“Ward B5. I’ll wait until you get here.”
“Thanks for calling. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be here.” He disconnected the call.
He walked briskly back down the corridor to the waiting room.
He found Shayne and Troy chatting. Upon seeing him, they beckoned him to an empty chair next to where they were sitting.
He sat, the aroma of food causing his stomach to grumble.
“She looks fine. She is still unconscious, but she’s breathing easily. Her mother is on her way here, so I’ll use that time to go home, take a shower and come back. I’ll take a few days off from work so I can be here.”
“Good, but you need to eat this,” Shayne said, handing him a brown bag.
He opened it and took the sandwich out. He devoured it quickly.
As he’d expected, his friends made no comment about his situation. He didn’t have to tell them anything and even if they found his involvement surprising, they would leave him to do what he had to.
When he was done eating, he turned to them, and smiled weakly. “Thanks again for being here.”
“You know it’s no problem, George,” Troy responded, a hand reaching out to pat him on the back.
They sat quietly, occasionally one of them making a random comment.
When Rachel’s mother appeared, he walked quickly to greet her.
Mrs. Davis immediately started to cry.
He placed his hands around her, holding her closely and offering what comfort he could. When she’d stopped crying, he, with Shayne and Troy, took her up to the room where Rachel still lay asleep.
* * *
Mrs. Davis had added some personal touches to the room. Flowers of all colors bloomed in a small vase. A gift basket of local fruit had been placed on the tiny dresser.
George glanced across at Rachel where she lay asleep. She’d been sleeping for almost twelve hours now and he wondered when she would wake. He needed to see her open her eyes before he could totally relax.
He rose slowly from the chair. Fortunately, it was comfortable, but his body was sore from the long hours sitting. He had drifted off to sleep for a while, but for the past thirty minutes he’d been wide awake.
He sorted through the fruit, finally settling on a golden apple and a few grapes. He hoped Mrs. Davis wouldn’t mind, but he was hungry.
He was returning to the chair when a soft whimper came from the bed. He turned toward the sound. She was awake. His heart soared.
Rachel slowly o
pened her eyes and glanced around the room, her gaze landing on him. Her face contorted in confusion.
“Where am I?” she asked, her voice raspy. She shifted and grimaced in pain.
He moved quickly to her side, his hand resting on her shoulder. He couldn’t bear to see her in pain, but he was helpless about what to do.
“You’re in the hospital,” he replied gently.
Realization changed her expression to one of distress.
“The man…he stabbed me,” she accused.
“Yes, but you had surgery and are okay.”
“It hurts,” she said.
“Do you need me to call the nurse?” he asked.
“No,” she said, her voice labored and strained. “I’ll be all right.”
“Well, just let me know if you need someone.”
She whispered something in reply, and he moved closer. He could tell she was already tired.
“Water,” she rasped.
He glanced around, noticing a pitcher and glass.
He reached for the glass and filled it. He raised her to a sitting position and handed her the glass. She took it and raised it to her head, drinking deeply until all was gone. She handed the empty glass to him.
“More?” he asked.
She shook her head, resting back against the pillow. “Thanks,” she said. Her eyes closed slowly, the hint of a smile on her face.
He watched her until she fell asleep. He glanced at his watch. One o’clock.
He needed to go home and get some rest and return in the morning. He would drop by the office to make sure all was well and then he would come back.
He glanced at her one last time before he left. When he reached the door, he turned around and walked back to the bed. He bent and kissed her gently on her cheek.
He loved her.
* * *
During the night, Rachel came suddenly awake. Her body shivered with a fear of the unknown. Where was she?
As she glanced around, images flashed in her mind’s eye…standing on the steps of the courthouse, the bright flash of the knife, the pain, George standing with her.
She tried to raise herself up, but excruciating pain pierced her side.