by Amy Gamet
“I want to come, too.”
He turned to Gwen. Anyone else, and he would have said no unequivocally. “Why?”
“I’ll be needed.”
He nodded. “Keep your gun ready. You are my shadow. Stay a foot behind me, one hand on my back so I know exactly where you are.”
She nodded.
Then they were moving, four flights dimly lit by security lamps and emergency exit signs, each of them on high alert.
Hank knew Julie was in danger. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones, as if the love he felt for her tethered them together on some cosmic level. Would she be alive by the time he got to her? The idea that he could lose what he had waited so long to find was incomprehensible. Would he be able to save her or was he already too late?
Pushing the thoughts away, he brought his focus back to the steady rhythm of his shoes on the stairs beneath him. The last flight came into view, ending at a single black steel door with the Systex logo in royal blue.
The team emerged silently onto a long corridor with brown industrial carpeting. Hank recognized it as the outer perimeter hallway. At the other end, two doorways spilled light into the darkness. Just then, a sliver of someone’s head popped out and peeked in the opposite direction.
Was that Julie or McDowell?
The team inched forward, the men checking the offices along the way before giving the all-clear. It was a necessary step, but Hank itched to race toward the lit doorways, protocol be damned.
They were twenty feet from the same doorway when she emerged from it, walking away without ever turning in their direction.
Hank hesitated, unsure if McDowell would enter the hallway as well, when Julie turned into the second room. She was gone in a heartbeat, and so was his chance to alert her to his presence.
The smell of burned coffee reached his nostrils as he hovered close to the wall and inched toward the door. He heard McDowell’s voice trailing out of what must be the kitchen.
“You’ll never get there first.”
“What?” It was Julie, so close. Right in the next room. His palms were hot and clammy, his eyes fixed on the doorway as he forced himself to take deep, slow breaths.
“The gun. You’ll never make it to the gun before I do.”
He’s going to shoot her.
Hank’s grip tightened on his weapon and he gestured to the men, holding three fingers up in the air, a countdown to action. He gave Gwen a shake of his head, telling her to stay put.
“I’m trying to help you, Dad.”
He heard the stress in her voice, and knew that McDowell could hear it, too. Julie was running out of time. Two fingers.
“Of course you are.”
One finger.
The ring of the elevator interrupted his countdown, unexpected and loud.
Hank froze and the men looked to him for direction. Sounds of a scuffle came from the kitchen, and Hank rounded the corner, weapon drawn, just in time to see McDowell exit the room from a door at the opposite end of the galley.
Julie was held securely against his chest in the classic hostage position.
“Gwen, stay here,” he barked in a harsh whisper. “You two, take the perimeter hallway left. I’m going right.” He jogged back the way the way he came, passing the stairwell and continuing on to the lobby.
Who the fuck was in that elevator?
The thought mocked him as he ran, heading toward a back entrance to the same lobby McDowell just dragged Julie into. He would have the advantage of surprise, though he had no idea what he would see.
Ten feet from the final turn to the lobby, gunfire exploded, one bullet for each of the three steps he took too late. He rounded the corner and watched Julie’s legs bend and buckle under her lifeless form, collapsing at Gwen’s feet.
A tortured howl ripped from his gut as he charged into the lobby, sweeping his gun from side to side in the shadowy space. The slightest reflection off the metal elevator doors caught his eye as they slipped silently together.
He fired his gun and the bullets embedded themselves into steel, never coming near their intended target.
The other men charged into the lobby from the opposite direction, weapons drawn. “He’s in the elevator,” barked Hank. “Split up and take the stairwells, now! I’ll call for backup.” They took off running at Hank’s instructions. He dialed 911 as he rushed to Julie’s side.
She lay on her stomach in a thick pool of black blood. He heard a rhythmic wet sucking noise, which he realized with horror must be her breathing. Gwen worked Julie’s shirt up to see the damage the bullets had caused.
“I need an ambulance, quickly,” he said to the emergency operator, giving him the address. “And police assistance. A fugitive has escaped from the same scene.”
~~~
“I’m looking for Julie Trueblood,” Becky said, hearing her voice waver. “She was brought in by ambulance about an hour ago.”
She had been in hysterics since Gwen phoned, and knew her eyes must be bloodshot as all hell. The woman behind the information desk gave her a sympathetic look, clearly used to seeing visitors skirt the border between life and death.
“She’s in the ICU. Follow the signs to the blue elevators. It’s on the fourth floor.”
Becky swerved around people like pylons as she followed the blue ceiling tags to the elevator bank, only to find a crowd waiting for the next available car. She opened the door to the stairwell and bounded up four flights instead.
Not bothering to look for a reception desk, she grabbed the arm of a young man in scrubs. “I’m looking for Julie Trueblood.”
A voice called out behind her, “Becky?”
She turned to see a man who looked weary with fatigue and stress, his clothing covered with stains that might be blood.
Too much blood to come from someone who was still alive.
“Are you Hank?” Her nostrils flared, eyes squinting as she approached.
“Yes. She’s asleep, but you can…”
Her hand connected solidly with his face, a crisp clapping sound in the quiet of the hospital corridor.
“You were supposed to protect her!”
Hank cocked his jaw back into alignment. “I know.”
“She trusted you to keep her safe, and now she’s fighting for her life because you did a shitty job of it!” Becky glared at him, accusing eyes boring into his.
Hank met her gaze, seeming to accept her rage as just punishment. Then Gwen was there, holding her, telling her it was all right, which of course it wasn’t.
“Come see her. She has lots of tubes sticking out, but she’s still our Julie.” Gwen put her arm around the younger woman and ushered her toward another tiled hallway.
“Is she going to be okay, Gwen?”
“It’s too soon to say for sure.”
“What do you think?”
Gwen squeezed Becky’s shoulder and frowned a small smile. “I think we should hope for the best.”
~~~
Hank stood staring out the window, unseeing. The waiting room was angular and blue, full of squared-off metal chairs and rectangular couches, the people on them subdued.
He was giving the women time alone with Julie, but every moment he was away from her was its own special torment. McDowell was out there somewhere. Who’s to say he wouldn’t come here looking for the daughter he had failed to kill?
His cell phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out to look at the screen.
He turned back to stare at nothing as he answered. “Jared.”
“You are the biggest fuckup I’ve ever had the misfortune to command.”
“Sir.”
“Not only did you manage to let a notorious fugitive escape in the middle of downtown Boston, you allowed him to seriously injure a civilian.”
“What do you want?”
The silence lasted so long, Hank was about to hang up.
“I want you to get back on track, Jared. This McDowell business is a goddamn train wreck, and yo
u’re the conductor. I’m shipping you out to Seattle. There’s a case there…”
He interrupted. “I’m not going.”
“Pardon me, son? What did you just say?”
“I said, I’m not going.”
“I was under the impression you’re an enlisted officer of the U.S. Navy.”
Hank took the phone away from his ear while Barstow continued to speak. Snowflakes began to fall from the gray December sky and an image of Julie came to mind, standing on the church steps in her blue silk dress. Flurries swirled around her in the crisp night air.
Turning the phone over in his hand, he stared at the red button for several seconds before he pressed it, firmly. He was never one to do something without considering the ramifications of his actions.
~~~
Becky stared at the thin layer of orange grease on the pepperoni pizza as the elevator stopped on each floor between the basement and the ICU. This time the wait didn’t bother her, having seen enough of Julie’s eerily still form tucked into a hospital bed to last her for a while.
The tray was laden with food, from Cobb salad and rice pudding to the pizza and a small turkey sub with American cheese. She sipped at a chocolate milkshake as the doors opened onto the fourth floor, and she went in search of Hank.
She found him at Julie’s bedside, bent over in a chair, his forehead resting on the white sheet next to her hip. His hand held Julie’s tightly, and Becky felt even worse for having attacked him.
He’s in love with her.
He had changed into scrubs, the green color highlighting his bronze skin as it contrasted with Julie’s pallor. But it was the way he sat, as close to her as he could be, that struck Becky most.
She considered herself to be an excellent judge of character, and she knew instantly that Hank Jared was a good man.
Crossing to the window, she curled up in a blue vinyl recliner and placed the tray on the table beside her. She was wrong to have said what she did, wrong to have slapped him. Her temper was fiery and explosive, often getting the better of her, but it was nothing compared to the remorse that typically followed.
Becky was a pro at apologizing.
The room was overly warm, hot and stuffy, a view of twilit Boston visible from the tall window next to her chair. She reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved a ponytail holder, quickly snapping her wild red locks into a loose bunch on top of her head to help her cool down.
She stared at the John Hancock building, her mind quiet. In the reflection of the hospital room, she saw Hank sit up and gently stroke Julie’s arm from shoulder to wrist.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” said Becky, turning to face him.
“I was awake.”
She noted the dark circles under his eyes. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“Night before last.”
“Gwen, too?”
He nodded.
“You can sleep at my house.”
He looked at Julie, and Becky suspected he would not leave.
“Hank, I’m sorry.”
He held up his hand. “Don’t be. You were right.”
“I’m sure you did the best you could.” She reached for the tray. “I brought you something to eat.”
His eyes took in the veritable buffet. “Just a little something?”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”
“I could really go for a milkshake.”
Becky’s eyes went wide.
“I told you I wasn’t sleeping.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How’d you know it was a milkshake?”
“I can smell ice cream from forty paces.”
“Harrumph.”
Gwen walked in, her normally graceful posture now rounded and lax. “I spoke with the doctor.”
“And?” said Becky.
“He says the next twelve hours are critical, but she seems to be holding her own.”
“Thank God,” said Hank.
“I need some sleep,” said Gwen.
“You can sleep at my place. I was just telling Hank.”
“I’ll take the first watch,” he said. “Go get some rest.”
“Thank you, Hank. Ever since I lost David…” her voice trailed off and she grimaced, looking at the floor. “Hospitals are difficult. But I’ll be back.”
~~~
Julie felt like she was swimming in thick water, unable to surface. She drifted in and out of consciousness as she paddled, her haze interrupted by vivid dreams and less tangible oddities from the world around her hospital bed.
She saw her mother standing in a field of tall grass, at once laughing and beckoning for her to come and play. At one point she could feel the hospital bed beneath her own still body and smell Gwen’s favorite chicken soup, as if the woman were sitting beside her.
And there was Hank.
He wasn’t with her in the water, but she could feel him somewhere near the water’s edge. He wanted her to come out, but she didn’t know how.
As she let herself drift in the current, she could smell his special scent and wished she could follow it. She could hear his voice.
“Please come back to me.”
The love she felt for him swelled in her heart, making her buoyant in the water. She tried to move closer to him, deliberately pushing at the thickness around her with limbs that were tired and heavy. The water began to thin, becoming less fluid and feather-light, like a cool breeze.
She became conscious of her body, her closed eyelids. She worked to open them. The room was bright, sunlight streaming through the window onto the white sheets around her.
Hank held her hand, his unfocused gaze not realizing she was awake. She wanted to tell him, but speech was too hard.
This was a hospital room. Was she in an accident? She tried to remember what happened. An image of Gwen’s stricken face emerged in her mind, and she saw herself fall to the ground.
Gunshots. There had been gunshots.
My father tried to kill me.
Panic had her suddenly jerking her arms up, her head moving from side to side.
Hank was there, touching her face. “It’s okay, Julie. You’re all right.”
“My father?” she asked, her voice a dry rasp.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Shot me.”
“Yes. He shot you. The bullets punctured your lung, severed an artery. You’re going to be okay.”
“Where is he?”
Hank grimaced. “He got away.” The terrified look on her face bored straight to his heart. “You’re safe now, Julie. I promise. I won’t let him get close to you again.”
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Her own father had shot her with a gun, hoping she would stop living. The enormity of the thought defied comprehension. Looking back into Hank’s eyes, she saw they were glistening and full of emotion.
“I let you down. I’m so sorry, Julie.”
Julie shook her head as she reached up to stroke his cheek. “Not your fault.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, Hank.” Forgiveness filled her eyes. “His fault.”
He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. “I love you, Julie.” He looked into her eyes. “I knew it before, but I didn’t say anything and I almost lost you. I’m not going to lose you again, and I’m not going to go another day without telling you how I feel.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
~~~
Thomas Barstow stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor and entered the ICU. He was dressed in khakis and a white polo shirt, an unremarkable choice. He met the eyes of no one as he strolled comfortably through the corridor and slipped into Julie Trueblood’s room.
Two hours earlier, he called the front desk from a hospital courtesy phone and got her room number, then he waited in the lobby until he saw Hank leave the building.
He was virtually invisible.
It was always unfortunate when a situation required him to act directly. Whenever possibl
e, he preferred to have others take care of the messier parts of his job. Still, the young soldier in him thrilled at the squeeze of adrenaline, the covert performance he was enacting on a live stage.
She was sleeping, and he took a moment to admire her simple beauty, so much like her mother’s. It was ironic that her end would be at his hands, just as Mary’s had been. Mrs. McDowell had been mere months away from death when he killed her, the cancer’s havoc near complete when he learned she intended to name him in a lawsuit about the ionizing radiation at the worksite.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Barstow walked to the head of the bed and examined the IV lines that entered the back of her hand, reaching into his pocket for the small glass vial and syringe.
“Hi.”
The voice behind him made him drop the drug back against the lining of his pants. He turned to see a lanky redhead holding a cafeteria tray laden with desserts. He donned his warmest smile, the grandfatherly tone. “Hello there.”
Becky stepped forward and put the tray down, eyeing him warily. “Who are you?”
He had only a moment to consider the question. “Tom Barstow,” he said, offering his hand.
“Becky O’Connor.” She scowled at him. “How do you know Julie?”
“I don’t, actually. I’m Hank Jared’s commanding officer.” He carefully smoothed his features into an expression that exuded authority and trustworthiness, watching as she visibly relaxed in response.
They always do.
She picked up a macaroon. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak with Ms. Trueblood about what happened. I heard she’s regained consciousness.”
“Yes, but she’s very tired.”
“Of course. I wish it could wait, but with her father out there somewhere it’s important that I speak with her as soon as possible.”
Becky nodded. “Do you want me to wake her for you?”
“That would be good. Thank you.”
Becky leaned in and touched Julie’s arm. “Wake up, Jules. Someone’s here to speak to you.”
Barstow watched as she slowly opened her eyes.
“Hank?”
“Hank went back to my place to sleep for a while. This man needs to talk to you about what happened.”
He forced the breath in and out of his lungs despite his desire to hold it. Julie turned her eyes to his. As soon as they connected with his own, he knew he had made the wrong decision.