One Kill Away

by Alex MacLean

  She wondered how long it would take, if it would hurt.

  At the edge of her awareness, she heard the bang of the kitchen door. She got up and went to the window. In moments her mother appeared in the driveway, walking toward her car. She placed her briefcase on the backseat, then climbed in behind the wheel. The engine started. The headlights came on. The car started backing out to the street.

  Heart pounding, Daphne watched her mother vanish down Ogilvie and realized it would be the last image she’d ever have of her.

  < < < > > >

  Audra turned onto Young Avenue, a wealthy boulevard of grand homes and a grassy median with black lampposts running down the center of the street. Mature trees, in full bloom, lined both sides of the sidewalk.

  Audra braked for a stop sign at the corner of Inglis Street and hung a right. As she headed toward the downtown core, she found Daphne’s voice replaying over in her mind.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  Audra winced.

  “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  Audra eased her foot up on the gas pedal.

  “Where’d Dad go…how long will he be?”

  Audra gripped the steering wheel, clenched her jaw. Perhaps it was nothing. Nothing at all. But that chill crawling up the back of her neck felt real and ominous and so did that feeling in her gut, like someone just reached a dirty hand in there and began squeezing.

  She saw a gas station ahead and she pulled in, spun the car around. Taking out her cell phone, she dialed Daphne’s number.

  Clint Eastwood came on, “Go ahead, make my day. Leave a message.”

  Audra hung up, steered onto Young Avenue with one hand, and stomped the gas. Her fingers punched out the numbers for the home phone. No answer. At the 6th ring, the answering machine kicked in.

  “Daphne,” she hollered over the voice of her husband telling the caller that the Price family was unavailable. “Daphne, pick up please. Daphne. Honey, are you there?”

  The beep rang out.

  “Daphne,” she told the spinning tape, “please call me.”

  She raced down Ogilvie Street toward their home. The tires gave an abrupt squawk as she jammed the brakes on in the driveway. She ran to the back door of the house, part of her feeling silly. She pictured Daphne laughing when she saw her mother scrambling through the door, out of breath, hysteria written all over her face.

  “Told you, Mom. You didn’t need to worry anymore.”

  That was all right. At least Audra would only look foolish, maybe a bit crazy. It would be a worthwhile trade-off to make, if she knew her daughter was safe. And maybe she could see Daphne laugh again. Laugh like she used to do. It’s been so long. So damn long.

  Audra fumbled her key into the lock, opened the door.

  “Daphne,” she called out.

  She went through the kitchen into the living room. The light on the answering machine flashed away with the message she’d left.

  As Audra started up the stairs, she heard a thumping on the floor. Maybe Daphne had her earphones in, listening to music and beating her foot to the tunes.

  Audra reached the hallway, saw her daughter’s bedroom door closed.

  “Daphne.”

  The thumping continued. Then Audra heard another sound mixed in, a metallic clanging, like hangers banging together.

  “Daphne,” she repeated.

  She opened the bedroom door. In quick succession, her eyes fell on the empty bed first, the empty desk second. Then she saw the source of all the noise. On the other side of the room, Daphne hung from the bar in her closet, suspended by an electrical cord wrapped around her neck. Her loose limbs kicked and beat the floor and walls as her body thrashed about.

  And Audra screamed.

  She screamed, stumbling toward her daughter.

  She screamed, “No, honey. No. No. No. Not you. Not my baby.”

  She threw an arm around Daphne’s waist and picked her up. Frantically, she tugged at the knots in the cord with her free hand, couldn’t loosen them. They were too damn tight. Panic ripped through her mind.

  Knife. Use your knife, stupid.

  Tears streaming down her face, Audra took it from the pouch on her belt, flipped open the blade. She cut the cord from the bar and eased Daphne to the floor, holding her head in case she’d injured her neck.

  “It’s okay, honey,” she said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  She unlooped the cord from Daphne’s neck and flung it across the room, pressed two fingers into her wrist. No pulse. Her chest didn’t seem to be moving either.

  Audra lowered her cheek to Daphne’s nose and mouth, didn’t hear or feel a breath.

  “Please, honey,” she cried. “Don’t leave me. Don’t you leave me.”

  She opened Daphne’s mouth, gently pulling her jaw forward, mindful not to lift her head like she’d been taught. Then she pinched her nose and began mouth-to-mouth. Two big blows, then she started CPR, pumping Daphne’s chest, fast and hard.

  “C’mon. C’mon, honey.”

  Daphne didn’t respond. Audra checked for a pulse again, felt one this time. Weak. Barely there. She tore her cell phone from the pocket of her blazer, dialed 911. The ringing became a male voice on the other end.

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  Audra fought the emotion in her voice. “This is Lieutenant Price with the Halifax Regional Police. I need an ambulance at five-seven-five-eight Ogilvie Street. Halifax. ASAP.”

  “Five-seven-five-eight?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the number you’re calling from?”

  Audra gave it to him.

  “What type of emergency are you reporting?”

  She stared at Daphne lying on the floor, unmoving, eyes closed, possibly more dead than alive. Audra bit down on her lip and wept.

  “Ma’am?”

  “It’s my daughter,” she said, tripping over the words. “She tried to hang herself.”

  24

  Halifax, June 12

  10:17 a.m.

  Audra continued CPR until the paramedics arrived. There were two of them. One, a stout brunette, dropped to her knees beside Daphne and began checking her vital signs. The second paramedic was a smooth-faced black man, who looked like he just got out of high school. He laid a long-spine board on the floor.

  Audra stepped back a few feet, shaking, trying to hold it together. Fear, uncertainty, and loss of control ate away at her mind and body. She felt like an outsider, powerless to do anything.

  The female looked up at her. “What’s her name, ma’am?”

  “Daphne.”

  “Daphne,” she called loudly, “Daphne, can you open your eyes for me?”

  No response.

  The female rubbed her knuckles down Daphne’s sternum, squeezed the nail bed of her middle finger. Watching, Audra suddenly felt cold.

  “Do you know how long she was suspended?” the female asked her.

  “I don’t know. A few minutes. Maybe longer. She was convulsing when I found her.”

  The female held her gaze for a moment and Audra saw it in her dark eyes—Daphne was in trouble. She could feel pressure building in her chest.

  The male reached into a trauma bag, brought out a portable oxygen tank, a mask, and a J-shaped device used to open a person’s airway. Audra swallowed as he deftly inserted it into Daphne’s mouth, sliding it down into her throat. He placed the mask over her face, hooked a line to the tank, and cranked the valve.

  Helpless, Audra stared at the ligature mark, deepening in color, becoming more prominent around Daphne’s neck, and Audra tipped her head back and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Ma’am,” the female said, “are you okay? Ma’am?”

  Audra raised her eyebrows and looked at her. What kind of stupid question was that? How could she be okay? How could anyone? But deep down, she knew the paramedic was only worried about a grieving parent losing it right in front of them. Then they would have another problem
to deal with.

  Audra had witnessed it herself—parents, mother’s especially, going off the deep end, arms batting, throwing themselves on top of a loved one, unable to console or calm down. Nothing she’d ever heard in her entire life compared to the anguished scream of a mother, one so primal and heart wrenching it could scare birds from the tress.

  “I’m holding it together,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

  The female gave her a rueful smile. “You did great, ma’am. How old is your daughter?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Does she have a history of suicidal behavior?”

  “What?” Audra frowned. “No.”

  “Was she being treated for depression? Anxiety?”

  “No.”

  “Does she take any medication at all?”

  “No.”

  “Allergies?”

  Audra clenched her jaw. She wanted to crawl into a hole. Slam the door on the whole goddamned world and make it go away.

  “Ma’am?”

  “No,” she said. “My daughter has no allergies.”

  “What’s her medical history?”

  “Tonsillitis when she was seven. That’s all. She doesn’t have any serious conditions.”

  “Okay.”

  They were placing a foam collar around Daphne’s neck when a sudden rush of footsteps erupted on the stairs and Audra turned to see Daniel in the hallway. He came to the doorway, out of breath, his face confused and terrified. He glanced at Audra, then his gaze settled on Daphne and his features crumpled.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “Oh, my Jesus.”

  He fell against the doorjamb, like an invisible hand had shoved him out of the way. A tide of panic washed through his eyes.

  “She’s not going to—”

  “We need to get her to the hospital,” the female said.

  “How bad?” Daniel choked. “How bad is she?”

  Both paramedics looked up at him. Neither one offered an answer.

  The pressure in Audra’s chest became painful. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. No way this could be real. No goddamned way. Someone pinch her and wake her up.

  She held out her hand to Daniel.

  “Come here, hon,” she said, “Please.”

  Daniel paused, then went to her. When their fingertips touched, Audra felt the tremor in his body transfer into her like a current.

  The paramedics transferred Daphne to the board and strapped her in. The female squatted down by the foot of the board and grabbed a handle in each hand; the male gripped the two handles at the head.

  “On three,” he said. “One…two…three.”

  In unison, they hoisted Daphne up, rushed her out to the hallway, and down the stairs with Audra and Daniel following close behind.

  Outside, they placed her on a cot stretcher, then loaded her into the ambulance. The female jumped in back with her and shut the doors. The male got in the front. With a shriek of sirens, the ambulance tore off.

  “We’ll take my car,” Audra called to Daniel.

  They hopped in and ripped out of the driveway. Audra hit the emergency lights and sirens, punched the gas to the floor. Ahead of them, the ambulance turned left onto Young Avenue and Audra kept pace with it, blowing through the stop sign at the intersection.

  It felt like chaos, madness unleashed. The speed. The shrilling cry of sirens. The sense of lurching side to side as they hurled around other cars.

  The ambulance straddled the centerline, blasting its air horn at motorists taking their sweet time moving out of the way. It continued up South Park Street, through a set of lights and turned onto South Street where it raced toward the trauma bay of the IWK Health Center.

  Audra watched it disappear into the building, the garage door closing down after it. She killed the lights and siren in the car and whipped into the emergency parking area. Daniel leapt out before she shut off the engine.

  “Wait, Dan,” she called. “Wait for me.”

  He stopped several yards away, a slim figure in shirtsleeves, staring down at the cement. He did not turn to her.

  When Audra caught up to him, she saw the tears on his face.

  “What if…” His voice broke. “What if we lose her?”

  The words hit Audra like a punch to the gut.

  “Don’t,” she said, taking his face in her hands and making him look her in the eyes. “Please, don’t ever say that.”

  He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand.

  He said, “Sorry. I just—”

  “Ssshh,” she whispered. “Come. Our daughter needs us.”

  A nurse directed them to a room outside the trauma unit the ER doctors had Daphne in. Daniel paced the floor. Audra sat in a chair, wringing her hands, as she imagined the trauma team on the other side of the wall working on Daphne.

  Please, she prayed. Let her be okay.

  Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five. The wait felt like an eternity.

  Just past the hour mark, the ER doctor came in, a lean, bespectacled man wearing green scrubs. He introduced himself as Dr. Salinsky.

  “How is she?” Aura asked, walking over to him.

  Salinsky blew out a breath. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your daughter is in a coma.”

  Audra shut her eyes, felt her legs become weak, uncertain. Beside her, she heard Daniel gasp.

  “She’s not brain dead, is she?” he asked, a tremor running through his words.

  “No, no. She still has brain stem reflexes. Her pupils reacted to light. Her corneas reacted to touch. We ran blood work, x-rays, and a CT scan. Her heart and lungs look good. There’s no serious damage to her neck structures. Some tissue bruising, that’s all. She’s very lucky you got to her when you did.”

  “How long can she stay like that?” Audra asked.

  “Indefinitely,” Salinsky said. “Every case is different.”

  “But she will come out? Right?”

  Salinsky’s eyes became sad. “No one can say. Some people do. And they recover completely. It’ll depend largely on how long her brain was starved for oxygen. Cells begin to die after four to six minutes.”

  Audra swallowed.

  Daniel said, “I heard people can slip into a vegetative state and remain that way for the rest of their lives. Even die.”

  Salinsky hesitated. “Yes. That’s true.”

  “Do you know what her chances of recovery are?” Audra asked.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t. Your daughter is in serious condition. I’m not going to lie about that. She does have age in her favor. Typically, younger people have a better recovery rate.

  “The less time she spends in a coma, the better her prognosis when she comes out of it.”

  Daniel asked, “So you’re telling us she could be brain damaged, even if she wakes up?”

  “I’m telling you it’s possible. But we won’t know the extent until she comes out. After twelve hours in a coma, a good prognosis becomes less likely. Sorry.”

  Audra felt sick. “When can we see her?”

  “You can probably get in to see her now,” Salinsky said. “We sent her up to the PICU. Third floor.” He paused. “Just a fair warning, she’ll be hooked up to a lot of machines, so prepare yourselves for that. Some people find it hard to see at first.

  “One will be a ventilator. That’s just for supportive measures. She is breathing on her own. We just want to help get more oxygen into her.”

  Audra and Daniel thanked him, then rushed off for the elevators. Before they were allowed in to see Daphne, the nursing staff explained the type of machines that were monitoring her and what to expect. Like Salinsky had explained, it might be hard to see the first time.

  To Audra, that was an understatement. As she stood in the doorway of Daphne’s room, she found it startling, heartbreaking. Her daughter didn’t look like the same person. She seemed smaller somehow, deflated.

  Audra stared at the tube clamped to her mouth. Another one fed down through her nose. There we
re several small patches stuck all over her head and they had wires coming out of them and led to a machine with soft rolling waves on its display. The ventilator made a hiss, thump, thump noise. Other machines beeped and blipped.

  Composing herself, Audra approached the bed. She took Daphne’s hand in hers, felt the warmth of her skin. Daniel took her other hand.

  Audra opened her mouth, closed it up again. She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak. Talk to her in a calm, relaxed tone, the PICU staff had told her. Even though Daphne was unable to respond, she might hear them.

  “Daphne, honey,” she said softly. “It’s me. Your mom. Daddy is here too.”

  Daniel leaned in close to her face, so peaceful in sleep. “Hey, kiddo. I’m here. Daddy’s here.”

  Perhaps the sound of Daniel’s voice became the tipping point, the hope and worry she heard in it. Perhaps it was just the buildup of everything. But Audra suddenly felt that emotional levee break inside her. And it hurt. It hurt so goddamned bad. She laid Daphne’s hand on the sheets and backed away from the bed.

  Daniel straightened, throwing her a look of concern and inquiry. Audra held up a hand to stop him, then she hurried from the room. She didn’t want Daphne to hear—if she even could—her mother breaking down and crying worse than she ever had in her life.

  25

  Toronto, June 12

  11:30 a.m.

  Brian pointed through the viewing window at Nassir, a nine-month-old Western gorilla, hanging upside down from the end of a thick rope.

  “Isn’t he small, Dad?”

  Allan nodded. “Strong too.”

  They watched Nassir climb up the rope toward a hammock slung between four bamboo poles. Around them came awws and oohs from parents and rambunctious kids of all ages pressing tighter for a look.

  Someone said, “He’s so adorable. Look at him go.”

  They were inside the African Rainforest Pavilion at the Toronto Zoo. The gorilla exhibit was built to look and feel like a natural rainforest habitat. It had grass, logs, green tropical plants, and trees with wall-like buttress roots extending out from their trunks. An interactive log, one half stuck inside the habitat and the other half out into the spectator’s area, allowed visitors and primates to get a little closer.