Mark felt a deep relief wash over him as the two men neared. Sara knew that something was wrong from the way that Mark acted and his constant looking from side to side.
"What's goin' on? Why do you keep looking all around," Sara demanded to know.
"No reason really. I thought I saw somebody, though maybe it was a friend of mine. It looked like him a ways off. Anyway, I guess we don't have any more to talk about, huh? I should probably get goin'." At that moment, Dan Brady rushed to within twenty feet of Sara while Officer Mike Hardeman came from the other side, within thirty feet.
Sara saw that the men walked in her direction and wondered what was happening. Fearing the worst, she ran for her car but was run down by Mark, throwing her against the car before she could get into it. "You son of a bitch! You set me up!"
Mark could not hold back his words, feeling that Sara must be warned to stay put. "Don't even try to run, Sara. I got a gun. You're had. You know it. I know about Macon, about the robberies and the other charges. You're gonna go away and get the help you need. You need a doctor!"
"No, Mark. You're gonna need a doctor if you don't let go." With that, Sara pulled a twenty-five caliber Browning pistol from her waist and pressed it to Mark's stomach, pulling the trigger before any more could be said or done.
Brady and Hardeman rushed in, Brady throwing himself against the car next to Sara's while Hardeman secured himself against the side of the building.
"Sara Kenner," Dan Brady announced, "Throw down the weapon and step away from the vehicle. There are officers on either side, ready to shoot! More are on their way! You will not come out of this alive if you do not comply. We are prepared to fire to kill. I repeat, throw down your weapon!"
Sara pushed Mark away from her car and ducked inside, peeling out of the parking lot as Hardeman called in the shooting and Sara's evasion. Four officers were quickly in pursuit of Sara. Unfortunately, Hardeman only knew the make and model of Sara's car but not the license plate number. He hoped that a red mid-2000s Grand Prix that was full of bullet holes would be easy to spot.
As Sara fled, but before she could get out of the motel's parking lot, Dan Brady fired all thirteen rounds from his Glock forty caliber twenty-three pistol in her direction. All but four of the rounds passed through the vehicle. Unbeknownst to anyone but Sara, one of the bullets pierced through the driver's-side door and into her leg. Brady, however, wished that he had gotten an ample opportunity to shoot out one of Sara's tires.
Sara was on the loose. Mark was still on the ground, shot through his gut and bleeding out profusely. Brady tried to stop the bleeding with Mark's shirt, pressing his hands firmly on the wound. It was not a big enough wound for Mark to necessarily bleed to death, but no chances could be taken. Now, Brady had a vendetta against Sara Kenner. He vowed to Mark that he would never rest until Sara was caught and prosecuted. Surely, Sara's claims against the estate had now ended, but Mark's life hung in the balance.
Chapter 26
Mark was soon taken to the hospital to remove the bullet from his stomach. Dan Brady immediately notified Shylah of the shooting and its aftermath. Shylah was beside herself. She had no idea what to do and worried that she would lose the love of her life and father of her child before being able to at least say goodbye. She had no way of getting to the hospital without getting a ride from someone.
When Shylah informed her brother of what happened, he dropped his phone and fell to his knees, leaving Shylah to wonder what was happening. She screamed into the phone for her brother to pick up and to come to get her so that they could be with Mark. Darius soon noticed what had happened and picked T.L's phone from the floor, letting Shylah tell him everything. He quickly hung up and slapped his son across the face to snap him out of his daze.
"Boy, you gotta get up and go get your sister! Go now! Get your ass up from that floor, Boy! Get up!" No matter what Darius said, T.L. could not bring himself around to remove himself from his prostrate position.
Darius tried time and again to get T.L. to rise. T.L. was so lost in prayer and confusion that he could not hear any of it. It soon necessitate the help of Pearlina who tried coaxing, yelling, even rubbing T.L.'s back and begging him to come to and help his sister and best friend. It finally took Darius and Pearlina grabbing T.L. under his arms and attempting to lift him for him to come back to reality. When he realized what was occurring, T.L. ran from the house and sped down the driveway and headed toward Mark's house, traveling as fast as his truck would travel.
T.L. felt so grateful that he was not stopped by a policeman, sometimes, reaching speeds of eighty miles per hour on narrow country roads. When he arrived at the house, Shylah was waiting on him outside and quickly pulled herself into the truck, the two of them barreling back down the drive and onto the gravel road beyond it, reaching the county highway in less than two minutes. T.L. never slowed the truck to less than sixty, even on the narrowest and most populated of streets, including the main street of town. Before long, he saw flashing lights in his rearview mirror and stopped his truck at the north end of town. He knew that he had serious explaining to do, but everyone, including all of the police officers, knew him very well and already knew of Mark's having been shot. Surely, T.L. reasoned, no matter who the officer was, he or she would understand and let him go. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a state policeman that stopped him.
"Where the hell you headed so damn fast, Buddy," the officer demanded, shining his light into T.L.'s eyes.
"Sir, my best friend was shot. This is his fiancée here. We have to get to the hospital right now, Sir! I'm sorry for speeding, but this is an emergency," T.L. screamed, not even realizing the tone or volume of his voice.
"That so, huh? I reckon you're talkin' about the shooting a little while ago at the Pine Tree Lodge, huh?"
"Yes, Sir. That is exactly it. The victim's name is Marcus James Crady, twenty-six. You can check on it. This is his fiancée, my sister, Shylah King. Ask anyone. They'll tell you. We have to go right now. Please write me whatever ticket you want, but we have to go!"
"No, Sir," the officer replied, smacking his lips as he chewed his gum. "No, Sir, I will not write you a ticket. I heard about the shootin', and I'm damn sorry. You get right on to the hospital. I'll give you an escort! You just let me get on ahead of you, and you follow me! We'll blow through any stop signs along the way. You just keep on up with me there!"
T.L. and Shylah were both annoyed that they had been stopped, and though incredibly worried, very happy to now have a police escort. They knew that Mark would not be out of surgery or awake any time soon, but they knew that they must be there, just in case. Darius and Pearlina agreed that they would soon be on their way to the hospital as well, but T.L. and his sister did not want to take any longer that physically required to get there.
Shylah tried, desperately, to keep from cursing Sara, but no matter how she tried, she just couldn't hold back. "That little bitch, she's gonna get it!"
"Whacha mean, Shy? What can you do to her? The law's already tried. You gotta let go and let God. The cops'll get her! Trust me! You know as good as I do that Dan Brady ain't about to let this go! He'll hunt her to the ends of the Earth!"
"Well, he better," Shylah yelled. "He better find her and throw her ass away for good! She's trash and needs thrown in the trash can! If I get near her, I'll beat her and strangle her to death! I'll do so much worse than I did to her that day at the house! I beat that bitch somethin' terrible, and I ain't afraid to do a thousand times worse to her if I get ahold of her!"
"Oh, I know you will, Sis," T.L. agreed. "I know how you are. You'll cut her open, skin her from head to toe, and fry her up like a catfish. I know what you can do, and I don't blame ya for wantin' to, but let's just get through this night. I'm just as scared as you are. I'm sayin' like a hundred silent prayers about this every minute! I'm worried about Mark. I can't lose my best friend, and you can't lose your husband and father to your child."
"Husband," Shylah confusedly asked.
"Well, you're havin' a baby together. You're engaged. You might as well say husband. He's gonna be your husband real soon. It can't hurt to call him that, and if you have to, you tell the people at the hospital that he IS your husband! Ok?"
"Yeah. Husband. Yeah. If he makes it."
"Don't talk like that! Don't say that! He's gonna be fine. I know it! The Lord is on our side! When you got right on your side, it can't go wrong! It just can't! If anything went south on us, I think all of my faith might go right out the window, and I know God ain't about to let that happen!" T.L., never taking his eyes off of the road or off of the police car ahead of him, was more adamant than ever he had been.
As T.L. stopped his truck at the stop sign just before the entrance drive to the E.R. wing of the hospital, Shylah jumped from the truck and ran until she stood at the front desk. T.L. wanted to stop her somehow but knew that he couldn't. Shylah had too much a strong will to be stopped. "Mark Crady," Shylah asked, huffing and struggling to catch her breath. "Mark... Mark Crady, please."
"Let me check on him for you, Ma'am," the receptionist answered calmly. "Are you a spouse or a family member?"
Shylah thought for a moment. She wanted to tell the woman that she was Mark's wife, but she wasn't his wife yet. If she were found out for lying, she could be asked to leave. Not wanting to risk anything, Shylah replied, "Well, I'm gonna be his wife really soon. We're not married yet."
"Ok, Ma'am. I'll check on him and let you know, but they may not let you back there since you're not married. You might have to wait until he's admitted, or if he gets released, wait until that happens. I'll see what I can do, if you wanna go have a seat. I'll call you when I find somethin' out. Ok? Take a seat right over there." The receptionist pointed toward the familiar seats on the other side of the room, the seats that Shylah had already sat in so many times recently and deeply dreaded.
T.L. quickly came in and joined his sister, but neither could think of anything to say to one another for a very long time. Both felt their mind weighed with worry and regret. Nothing seemed as if it would ease any of the burdens, except perhaps, prayer. More than a half of an hour went by without word from the receptionist or between brother and sister. When Shylah heard the receptionist called for Shylah to come back to the desk, she excitedly jumped from her chair and rushed to the desk as fast as her legs could carry her, nearly panting once more. Shylah was a very thin woman, despite her habits of eating heavy quantities of food, but the stress of everything lately and her return to smoking had begun to cause her, at times, tremendous difficulties in breathing.
"Is he ok," Shylah demanded to know, fearing that the worst may have occurred.
"Well, Ma'am, he's still in surgery. I just thought you might wanna know that and know that the surgeon will come out here and speak to you when it's all over. I let them know that his fiancée is here. I was told to let you know that when he's out of surgery and has been admitted to a room and is awake, though it's so late, they will allow you to go visit him. If anyone asks, you are his wife. We're not supposed to allow it, but given the circumstances, they are willing to make an exception. I hope this all helps. As far as I know, he's ok for now. I don't know any more, though. I'm sorry."
"Thank you so much," Shylah smilingly said, and after asking for paper and a pen, she quickly returned to her seat.
After another hour of almost complete silence and staring aimlessly and endlessly at the double doors leading to the E.R. waiting room, Shylah finally noticed a very blood-soaked doctor emerge. She felt her heart sink at seeing so much blood and knowing that it was probably Mark's.
"Is there someone here for Marcus Crady," the doctor shouted, though there was only one other person in the waiting room besides Shylah and her brother. "Marcus Crady," the man repeated.
Shylah was already within several feet of him before he got halfway through repeating the name. "How is he, Doctor? Is he alright?"
"I think he's gonna be fine. He's a very lucky man. Had the bullet been bigger or had it directly hit a major organ, I don't think we'd be having the same conversation, but the bullet managed to pierce through both of the intestines. It got him right about here," the doctor added, pointing to a spot on his own abdomen. "It tore through the small intestine as it wraps around just under the large intestine and got the lower side of the large intestine with it. Both have fairly large holes in them. Had the shooter aimed higher, he would've been shot in the stomach, the liver, or any number of other organs. Also, if the bullet had been bigger, it would have done far more damage and could have even passed through the spinal cord. Luckily, it didn't. It lodged between the intestines and the spine. I was able to remove the bullet and most of the fragments. There could still be a fragment or two hiding somewhere, but there also may not be any more of them. Now, the bullet may have caused some nerve damage somewhere, very possibly in the spine. Though the bullet did not pierce the spine, the entire spine is just loaded with nerves, so many that your mind cannot even imagine them all. When you get into nerve damage anywhere in the body, you're talkin' about some pretty serious stuff. Any damage to the spinal nerves, though there is no damage to the spinal cord or vertebrae, could result in paralysis. We'll know more later, once there's been time for him to heal some. Right now, what is important is making sure that the bullet and fragments are removed, making sure that the intestinal punctures are tended to, and waiting for the swelling in the area to subside. Be thankful that there was someone there with him when he was shot. He very well could have bled out, and you'd be seeing him in the morgue instead of in the hospital. Whoever it was that was there with him, if I were you, I'd be thanking that person. They saved his life. I'm sorry that I don't have any more information for you, but we are going to allow you to visit him when he's awake. That may not be until well into the morning, however." Choking down the feeling of a lump swelling his own throat from having to bear such bad news, the doctor walked back through the double doors without saying a further word.
T.L. was there to hear the majority of the doctor's words. As he and his sister walked back toward the waiting room chairs, T.L. grabbed his sister's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Well, Sis, you said it was Dan that was with him, right?"
"Yep. Dan Brady."
"We best be bakin' Dan a cake or somethin'. I guess we owe him big time for savin' Mark. This is gonna be kinda weird. He saved Mark's life, so what does that do? Mark ain't ever gonna be able to repay a debt like that."
"I know, T. I know. Right now, let's just give a big thanks to God. He must really be watchin' over Mark! I almost wanna call this good luck, but it's not good. It's just a relief that Mark pulled through." Shylah now grabbed ahold of her chair and slunk to her knees to say a prayer of thanks. Seeing this, T.L. did the same next to her, both never more thankful in their life for a miracle.
Several more hours passed by before word was received. It was now nearing three in the morning. Shylah was told that she could see Mark, but only for a few minutes and that her brother would have to remain where he was. Shylah did not want to have to leave but also did not want to anger anyone. If she and Mark were, after all, already married, she knew that she might be able to sleep in Mark's room, as well as anyone might be able in a chair. She hated it that she and Mark had not eloped instead of trying to plan out a traditional wedding. It seemed ironic and spiteful that on the very day that plans were begun, Mark nearly died.
Shylah joyously, yea, triumphantly, turned through the doorway into Mark's room as if she were a Roman general returning from a winning military campaign. It felt wonderful to know that Mark had not been taken away and that she could be there for him at such a time as it was; however, knowing how close she had come to losing her one true love and the father of her soon-to-be-born child filled Shylah with a near hatred for life.
"How are you doin', Baby," Shylah wept as she saw Mark's face. Mark was clearly very groggy and likely not to be as responsive as might be desired.
"I... I umm... I'm..
. ok."
"Did they tell you what happened, Baby," Shylah asked, using every ounce of strength in her body to fight her tears.
"Yeah. L... love... you."
"I love you, too, Baby," Shylah cried, the tears streaming down her face, picking up force as if that of a mighty river, as she ferociously grabbed Mark's hand and pulled it to her heart.
As Mark felt Shylah's heartbeat, so fast that it seemed it might cause heart to burst from chest, he smiled. The smile, though obviously weak, was everything that Mark had. It gave Shylah an overjoyed sense of hope and honor for having such a loving man. Shylah, however, wanted to tell him how stupid he was for doing what he had. She knew that it would be gravely unfair and uncalled for in many ways, but it trampled her mind. She wanted to let Mark really have it for allowing himself to nearly die over something so seemingly unnecessary as protecting his fortune.
"Here, Baby," Shylah said, setting Mark's hand by his side and pulling a piece of paper from her pocket. "I wrote this for you while I was downstairs. Don't laugh. I'm not the poet you are, but I wanted to tell you exactly what I think of you, how much I love you, and how scared I was. Ok." Shylah cleared her throat again and again, feeling unable to find the nerve to begin. Finally, she mustered her courage and continued,
"Our love grows wild and free
Like the tall cypress tree
If it washed away
From the winds and the rains,
That cold, dark water
The aches and the pains
And the straining of the loss of my gain
Would leave me as nothing
For our son or our daughter
I don't know what I may be
I'll love you forever and a day,
Under the Cypress Moon Page 44