by Brinda Berry
I buck, freeing my hand from Ace. I wobble to my feet and lunge forward, my feet falling into steps I can't stop.
The lunatic with the gun dances to grab the hostess and snakes his arm around her neck. He taps the gun against her head and she cries harder. He points the gun at me. "What's wrong with you? I told you not to move. I will…"
I follow the line of his eyes and see what he sees.
JT lies on the floor with his mouth open in a perpetual gape.
A heavy thump echoes off the walls and distracts the man. I run between tables, for him. The gunman shoots twice, throwing the restaurant hostess to the side.
A terrible burning sensation erupts in my left shoulder.
I'm suddenly thinking of the candles on the cake.
No more birthdays with JT.
I reach the gunman in an instant and my hand shoots forward, palm aiming for the man's face. The heel of my hand moves in a perfect, upward thrust to ram his nose cartilage directly into his sinus area. Exactly like JT taught me for self-defense.
A satisfying crimson spray of liquid squirts out and covers my face and arm. I want to run into him again, but the murderer's screaming and falling backward.
"Police. Freeze."
The voice comes from far away. My vision is closing in; a black outline frays the edges. My hearing is fading. Everyone sounds so far away. My mind is a black hole that threatens to fold in and disappear.
I hear Ace's voice near my ear. My knees buckle. "She's been shot."
The floor comes up to meet me. There's blood and my hands slide forward, banging my elbows against the cool, hard tile. If I could put my head down for a second, I might be able to catch my breath.
My head is fuzzy. Sounds are all around me and I want to think, to move, to do something to help JT.
Because he cannot be dead.
I open my eyes and see Ace leaning over me. The lights form a white halo over his head for a second time tonight. He's angelic in that moment. Dark, ocean-blue eyes. Stormy blue. He places a hand high on my chest and presses.
"You're going to be all right. Hang on.” He looks up, a flash of fear on his face.
He's still pressing on my chest. Harder now. Why is he pressing on me?
I can't breathe. But it doesn't matter. I want my gift from JT. Somewhere in the darkest recess of my mind, I know this is stupid. And in another part of my brain that's struggling to remain in the moment—conscious—I think I knew this would happen.
Lucky girl, they'd say. Right. Lucky people don't lose the people they love. Lucky people don't walk around waiting for the next horrible thing to happen. I'd rather not be so lucky. I cause people to die.
Ace is shaking his head. "You'll be okay. You're going to make it. Hang on."
I focus on his eyes and they steady me.
"Please don't leave," I whisper. "Don't leave me to die alone."
He shakes his head. "Not gonna die."
And then I close my eyes.
The voices above my head talk like I can't hear them. "You with this lady?"
Another voice. "She was crazy to attack him." I feel my body being rolled on the gurney. Hands on each side of me move the gurney up and I think about protesting that it hurts a little. Only a little. I don't mind if it hurts.
I think about the fireman with the gray eyes who took me from the rubble in what seems a different life. My other life. Before JT.
"I want to ride with her," a deep voice says. I attempt to open my eyes to locate the voice, but my lids are heavy as cement.
I feel a prick in my arm and a warm sensation moving through my veins. I’m shaking hard, my teeth clicking together and telegraphing my body's lack of control. The warmth spreads through my body in a liquid massage.
I open one eye lazily. "Are you taking me to the morgue? You know, I've been dead before. Dead. But the man with the gray eyes brought me back."
Mr. Blue Eyes—and that's all I can think to call him, because I've forgotten his name—isn't in the ambulance with us. I look at the paramedic who sits in the back of the ambulance. He ignores my question.
"Don't try to talk," the paramedic says.
"My birthday present." Why doesn’t he help me? "My birthday bag?"
The paramedic looks at me and shakes his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. Your husband is in the front. He probably has it. Don't worry."
"My husband? I want to be cremated. Don't put me in a coffin. No coffin." I move my fingers, thinking I'll touch him, but I can't move my hand.
"I’m talking to you!” I say it louder this time. My voice sounds like I’m inside a barrel. "I said cremated. Not buried. My mom…" I trail off, too tired to finish and not even sure what I'm going to say.
The paramedic doesn’t answer. He's moving away toward the doors of the ambulance.
I close my eyes and see the inside of an elevator. An explosion rocks my body. People scream and shove and sob. A burning smell in the air. The heavy weight of bodies crushes me.
I blink, and I'm back in the ambulance. The doors open. Both paramedics move me to the ground.
"Is she going to be okay?" It's Ace. That's his name. Ace. He hovers at my side.
"Move back, sir. Please, out of the way." The paramedic blocks my view of Ace. I'm frantic now and reach my hand toward him. Fingers grasp mine for an instant before I'm wheeled inside.
I close my eyes and I'm back to the place from before. Before the firefighters found me. Before the smell suffocated me. Before the thirst numbed me. After I wished for death.
4
Ace
“Death held out a hand for me, beckoning like a lover to be. I run for his embrace.” ~ Jelly Bean Queen
The paramedics fling the ambulance doors open and lift the gurney holding Malerie. The paramedics are my age and both wear wedding bands. I said I was her husband so I could ride along.
Malerie's scared she'll die. I've seen that look too many times before.
One paramedic yells, "She's going into cardiac arrest." Both guys pop the wheels of the gurney down, ignore me, and push hard and fast.
I run inside the emergency room doors after them. At a second set of doors, a nurse stops me. I'm standing at the double doors holding this gift bag like an idiot.
"Did you come in with the victim?" A nurse in bright pink scrubs holds a clipboard in front of me.
"Yeah," I answer, not wanting to say more. Do I say that I really don't know her? Will they make me leave then?
The nurse frowns and points to the chairs in the waiting room. "Let's get her checked in."
"I don't know all her info." I'm not looking at the nurse but at the doors. "You full staffed in there?"
"We're doing our best for her. It's early and she's critical. Can you tell me her name?"
"Yeah. I can do that." I'm not the girl's family and they'll probably kick me out. Malerie’s outstretched hand and the fear in her eyes haunts me into staying.
The nurse puts the clipboard in my hand, gives me instructions, and walks away. I stare at the forms, knowing I won't have answers to the pages of questions hospitals ask on a medical form.
I'm left, holding the clipboard, not knowing what the hell I'm going to fill in besides her name and I'm not even sure I'm spelling that correctly. Utilitarian chairs line the walls and only a few are empty. Why am I here? I hate hospitals more than traffic jams and country music.
I finish doing what she wants and apologize to the nurse when I hand back a mostly blank form. I knew Malerie’s name, as well as John Toombs's name and address. He said she lived with him.
And then I remember he’s dead.
I sit in the tiny room watching people come and go near the nurses' station. I've already read the discarded newspaper and a Time magazine. I've listened to a family bicker and a kid cry. The coffee tastes like it could be leftover from last night. Strong, bitter, and undrinkable.
After an hour, I call Mrs. Prata to let her know that I'll bring her the flour soon, that
I'm at the hospital with a friend, and that I'm sorry if she needs it. She chatters on and on about hospitals and me staying away from people who look sick. She says hospitals are where people get sick from sitting around in waiting rooms.
She's a funny old lady. I assure her that I'm keeping my distance and not to worry.
I've been here for three hours and need to have my head examined. I don't even know this girl. How did I go from going in to retrieve my keys to sitting in a hospital emergency room?
I’ve just stood to leave when a man in blue scrubs approaches the nurse behind the counter and looks around the waiting room. He says something to her that I can't make out and the nurse points at me.
"You're a family member waiting for Malerie Toombs?" He walks over without waiting for me to answer. "She's out of surgery."
"I guess I am. Waiting for her, I mean." I ram my fingers through my hair. "Is she going to be all right?" A feeling of stifling unease and responsibility has settled in my core and I want to shake it. Staying here has been a mistake.
"She's recovering now, but we did almost lose her. She flat-lined on us, but we were able to bring her back." The doctor’s eyebrows pull to the center. "She’s a fighter. I’ve never seen anything like it. Of course, she’s not completely out of danger. We’ll monitor her progress and there’ll be tests."
Tests. The word gives me a headache. I stare at the wall beyond him.
"But she's all right now? Good." I rub my hand along the base of my neck. "I don't really know her. I wanted to make sure she made it and I felt bad for her. Her uncle was killed tonight in the restaurant."
I glance over at the bag. That stupid bag. I decide to give it to a nurse the minute this doctor walks away from me and I'll be free of any obligation.
"She's very lucky. She's stable now."
"Good. I'll probably leave now that she's okay." The guy frowns at me like I've kicked a puppy into ongoing traffic. I watch him turn to leave and I grab the bag. I hand it to a nurse seated behind a horseshoe shaped desk. "This belongs to Malerie Toombs. Could you see that she gets it?"
"You can give it to you herself if you want. I know you want to go back to ICU now that she's stable."
This woman is obviously not with the program. She's going to let a complete stranger go back to see Malerie? The nurse only knows I came in with Malerie and nothing else about me. I'm two seconds away from telling her that I’m not family or anyone who should get visitor privileges when an old man rushes through the ICU double doors.
A young nurse in brightly patterned scrubs runs to catch the old man's arm and stop him. She succeeds in grabbing him, but it does nothing to slow the guy down.
"You are not allowed past this area, sir," she says with a stern schoolteacher voice.
"I know the girl back there and you will not stop me from seeing her." The old man's voice is rising. "I have to make sure she's okay," he says to her in a voice more pleading than threatening.
The nurse exhales loudly. She looks pointedly at me like I'm the one doing something against hospital rules. "Why don't you two wait together until the doctor comes out again?"
"I'm leaving," I say without looking at the old guy.
"So, give Ms. Toombs this bag? What's your name?" the nurse asks.
The old guy roughly grabs the handle of the bag Malerie had thought so valuable and I think for a minute the nurse is going to wrestle him for it. She's determined and he releases it.
The old man glares at me. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you don't know Malerie. Why does this nurse think you're here with her?"
I narrow my eyes at the guy and breathe through my nose. I don't need this. My good deed for the day's turned into a good-Samaritan headache.
Even if I keep hearing Malerie’s small voice ask me to stay.
"I'm Ace," I say and extend my hand, but he doesn’t take it. "I was at the restaurant. I also rode in the ambulance with her. She asked me to stay and make sure to hang onto this." I point to the bag, feeling stupid. She was out of her head at the time and I'm not sure what this guy will think about me hanging around. Should I try to explain that I had met with John Toombs before he died?
The old guy rubs his face, visibly working to regain his self-control. "You came with her to the hospital? I apologize. You never know who’s a scam artist these days. Thank God she wasn't alone. I'm William Vandol.”
"Yeah, God wasn't helping her out. And she almost got herself killed in there. She must have been half-crazy over her uncle, because she ran straight at that shooter to take him out."
The old man grimaces. "She's a foolish girl. Was JT already dead?"
"Yeah." I continue to rub my neck, needing to get out of here. "There wasn't anything anyone could have done at that point. That maniac with the gun had a restaurant employee as hostage and had shot your friend."
The old man's eyes water and I can sense he's going to cry. I don't want to deal with seeing this man break down in front of me.
I look away. "Here, Mr. Vandol, why don't you have a seat?"
"Call me Billy." The old man gives a crooked smile. "And thank you for staying with Malerie." He places a wrinkled hand on my shoulder for a second.
"Anyone would have done the same." I shift from foot to foot, look at the exit, and then back at him. He's got this grateful expression, like he owes me something—which he doesn’t. I am relieved I can leave and Malerie will have somebody looking out for her.
The sooner I can leave the hospital, the better. The place closes in on me like the lid on a pine box.
"Don't forget that bag. She was seriously jonesing for it and I brought it to calm her. She even asked for it in the ambulance." I nod at the bag. The nurse is back to her paperwork and computer screen. The gift bag waits on the counter.
I shove the bag in his direction, like pushing a chess piece, signaling it's his move. Take over. I'm out.
"It's her birthday," he says.
"Helluva bad birthday." I'm looking at the exit again.
Billy lowers his graying head and peeks into the bag, fishes his hand inside, and pulls out a wood box. He examines it quickly, and then tucks it back into the bag before shoving the bag under one bent arm. "You may have saved her life."
"Maybe the doctor did, but not me." I laugh awkwardly and shake my head.
His hand trembles slightly. "I know you may have somewhere to go. I appreciate what you did—staying with Malerie. She's special and she's been through a lot in her lifetime."
"No problem. Anyone would've done the same." That's a lie. The world isn't full of people who do things for nothing. But I don't want anything from the girl or the old man.
Billy holds out his hand to shake. "We'll never forget this. Can I get your name again?" He pulls a pen from a shirt pocket and a wallet from his pants.
I shake my head and hold up a hand, "No, no. Like I said, it was nothing."
"Could I ask for one last favor?" Billy's question hangs in the air, more a demand than a question. His watery eyes are red-rimmed and tired.
"Of course." I don't hesitate for even a second. I look at the age spots on the hand of the old man now holding the brown bag Malerie thought so important. The hospital is quiet as a morgue at midnight and the nurse now stares at us, willing us to find a waiting area instead of holding our conversation near the nurse's station.
"Would you mind keeping details of tonight to yourself? Malerie and I would appreciate it if you don't talk about it to the press. We keep a quiet life and you'll be asked a lot of questions by people trying to make a dollar."
I look at the old man, surprised at the request. "The press wouldn’t ask me anything."
"Yes, they will. JT was Malerie's guardian and extremely wealthy. And there will be speculation about JT's wealth. It could be very hurtful to her. She was like a daughter to him. She's been somewhat sheltered."
"Yes, I could see they were close. You can trust me." I look at my watch pointedly. "Take care of yourself and Malerie. I'm
very sorry for your loss."
I recognize the doctor in the blue scrubs walking toward us. It's my cue to leave and I'm glad to escape.
5
Malerie
“Bitter taste in my mouth, drink this poison with me. My world is black and blue. Be a good friend and let me be. Hiding all alone in my world of bruises.” ~Jelly Bean Queen
“You need to give me some freaking space,” I say to Billy on the day he brings me home from the hospital.
“You should be resting. The doctors said you’re lucky the bullet didn’t hit the subclavian artery. ” He frowns at my laptop on the dining room table and walks behind me to look over my shoulder.
I pivot the screen away from him. “I’m recording my monthly cycle in my journal. Want to talk tampons and cramping?” I look behind me and repress a smile at the tightening of his mouth.
Billy turns to leave but pauses in the doorway. “Half an hour until you take your pills again.”
His comment makes me grind my teeth. I’d welcome the throbbing ache in my shoulder over the fuzzy haze of painkillers.
I’ve always said you can find anyone on the Internet. This is entirely true unless you live off-the-grid or your name is Ace Sloan. I only know the last name because of a police report. It takes me a seriously long time to come up with a phone number tied to a business license on a government website.
No Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, or Tumblr account. How does this guy expect to succeed in his business if he's not on social media?
The phone rings twice before he picks up, his voice that husky, cocky tone I remember.
"Hello."
"You have my present. You have to give it to me." I blurt it out like a demanding kid, but I'm nervous and talking with him makes me think about the restaurant. That present is the last thing I’ll ever have from JT and I want it.
He doesn't answer right away. For a minute I'm afraid he's hung up on me. "No. I don't."
I exhale the breath I've held. "What do you mean you don't?"