by A J Rivers
He hoped he wouldn't have to do much convincing. He hoped she would see what he had for her and know instinctively. She would see it was what she should have always had. What she had always deserved.
He hoped it would be easy to reveal to her all the lies and manipulation that stopped her from fulfilling her true potential and being the person she was meant to be. Every day he had to gently guide her into that understanding. But every day she spent gone was another day he couldn't just live alongside her and experience the world together.
It's why she needed to get out of Sherwood. Achieving all he wanted would be much harder if she was further engrossed in a new life.
He’d taken care of that once. Had made her and Greg nothing more than a distant memory.
It wouldn’t be as easy to do again. Not with someone like Sam.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
By the time I've called the ambulances, alerted the hospital, and run back into the diner, several more people are sprawled on the floor. I run up to Sam, who is standing near the door, preventing anyone from leaving.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"I don't know," he says. "Not everybody is showing symptoms.”
“No, not now. But that doesn't mean they won't,” I tell him. “We need to keep everybody here. With something like this, we can't let anyone leave without being seen and documented. We can’t risk whatever this was spreading.”
"You're right. There could be delayed symptoms, and we'll need as much information as we can," he nods. "Are the ambulances on their way?"
I nod a quick confirmation and head to the kitchen, rolling up my sleeves to wash my hands. For now, all we can do is administer first aid and make them as comfortable as possible.
Sam and I get to work checking in on the people closest to us and recording their information. There really isn't much we can do for any of them. All are complaining of the same symptoms. Severe abdominal pain, cramping, nausea, vomiting. Two have passed out, and I watch as a third stands, trembles, and collapses to the floor. A woman standing a few feet from me immediately rushes toward the man now crumbled to the floor. I follow her, and she looks up at me as she takes his pulse.
“Violet. I'm a nurse,” she explains. “I'll help in any way I can.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Do you have any idea what might be happening?”
She shakes her head. "No. Foodborne infection doesn't generally hit this quickly. Unless there was something very severely compromised about the food, I don't understand how it could happen this extensively, and this quickly."
"The ambulances should be here soon," I tell her.
"Help!"
The scream is chilling. Violet and I both jump to our feet and whip our heads around. A woman is sagging beneath the weight of a younger woman who is crumpled in her arms. The younger woman has a hand pressed to her chest and is gasping for breath. Her eyes are widened with fear, and she's struggling to get to her feet but can't support herself. The woman holding her, who I assume is her mother, slowly drops to her knees and brings her daughter down into her lap. Violet and I run toward them just as the girl takes a wheezing gasp and falls still.
"Help her, please," the woman sobs. "She's not breathing."
"Put her down," the nurse commands.
The woman lowers the girl to the floor. I take her hand to pull her back out of the way. Violet needs to do CPR, and most people are not prepared for how traumatic it can be to witness a loved one getting worked on in that way. The sound of ribs cracking and the violence that seems to go into each compression can be too much. I don't want the woman to interfere and potentially compromise the effect of Violet's efforts.
"I'm Emma," I say to the older woman, trying to get her to focus on me and instead of what's happening on the floor. "What's your name?"
"Jacqueline," she stammers.
I nod encouragingly. "It's nice to meet you."
The words feel slimy and inappropriate on my lips. It's one of those phrases people say, a collection of words that don't really mean what they seem to at face value. The worth is in the transaction, in filling the moments between two people who have little else to pass between them.
"That's my daughter," she sobs. "Nicole."
"How old is she?" I ask.
It really doesn't matter. A child who can't breathe is a child who can't breathe, whether they are a baby in your arms or a grown adult.
"Twenty. She's visiting from college."
Jacqueline's voice cracks as she says it. I rub her arm to try to soothe her. Finally, the ambulance sirens slice through the air, and bright red lights flash through the glass front of the diner.
"Come with me," I tell her, rushing toward the front of the restaurant where Sam has returned. I reach for him and tug on his arm to turn him around. "Jacqueline and her daughter need to go first. Nicole is twenty years old, not breathing. Violet is doing CPR."
Sam nods and runs out to meet the ambulance. Seconds later, legions of EMTs clad in vibrant yellow, carrying heavy medical kits, push through the door into the diner. Sam shouts above the din in his most commanding voice, instructing everyone to move out of the way so the stretcher can get inside. There's just enough space, and Violet relinquishes responsibility for Nicole's heartbeat as she's brought up onto the rolling bed and given an oxygen mask.
The next hour is an intense, frightening blur. Sam and I do what we can to help the paramedics process the scene and get everybody out of the diner. Those who aren't showing any symptoms, or who are mild enough to get to the doctor on their own, give us their names and contact information so we can get in touch with them if we need to. After an exhausting rush, everyone is out, and it's our turn to head to the hospital. Neither of us are showing any symptoms, but we want to be there to tell the doctors everything we can and get any information that's available.
The ride in the squad car from Pearl’s is completely silent. We pull up and quickly march into the ER.
Around us, the hospital is in chaos. Nurses and doctors run from bed to bed. Every examination room is filled, sometimes with two or three people in the same family, and affected people have spilled out into the waiting room as well. More wait on the other side just to be seen.
They’re so busy, we can’t even check in yet. All we can do is stand and wait.
“How could this happen so fast?” Sam finally asks. “What could possibly have caused this?”
“I don't know,” I tell him. “Violet says foodborne infections usually don't act like this. Something else is going on.”
Just as I say it, Pearl, the owner of the diner, comes toward us. Tears are running down her face, and her hands pull and twist at each other in front of her. She reaches out for us, then pulls her hands back into her chest again.
“What happened?” she asks in somewhere between a stuttering gasp and a whisper. “How could this have happened? I'm so careful. I run a clean place. The health inspector just came last week. There were no issues.”
“We don't know what happened,” Sam says. “We're trying to figure that out. How about you, Pearl? Do you feel alright?”
“Yes,” she says. “Physically, anyway.”
“Good,” I smile. The diner is all Pearl has. It’s been an institution in Sherwood for longer than I’ve been alive. I can only hope that whatever this was won’t ruin her business for good.
“Emma, I want you to go back to the diner and talk to the investigators there. Tell them everything we saw and find out if they know anything. There are going to be people who are curious and try to get in. Make sure the rumor mill stays shut down about this. Understand?” Sam asks.
I give him a nod and start out of the hospital. As I'm leaving, Bianca Hernandez comes toward me, her arms open. She and I aren’t the closest of friends, but I’ve come to trust her ever since she and her daughter helped us out on a case this summer. She has a history with Sam, too. It’s long over now, but if Sam trusts her, that’s good enough for me. I give her a hug and pull ba
ck to look at her.
"Are you okay?" I ask. "Do you feel sick?"
She shakes her head. "No. I'm fine. Gloria is, too. We just came as a precaution."
"I'm glad. Sam is over there." I nod toward him. "I'm going back to the diner."
She nods and heads over to Sam. As I'm turning back to the door, I see Derrick stumble across the waiting room and drop down into one of the chairs. I rush over to him.
"Hey, Emma," he says, grimacing through pain he clutches in his stomach.
"Have you been seen yet?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Not yet. I'm not vomiting and I'm still breathing, so I'm low priority."
"They'll get to you soon."
He nods weakly, then opens his eyes more to look at me. "Have you seen Pamela?"
The question strikes me as odd. "Pamela? She wasn't there."
"Yes she was. She had a showing, so she met us there. I lost sight of her in the confusion and don't know how she is."
"I don't know," I sigh. "I have to go back right now, but I’ll make sure someone tells you how she is when the doctor sees her."
He nods again, and I stop by the front desk to ask the flustered receptionist if she had heard Pamela's name. She looks at me like she can't fathom why I would be asking her such a question. I ask her to let Derrick know if she does and rush out to my car, feeling thankful the sickness passed over us but worried about all those who weren’t so lucky.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Pearl’s is already crawling with people from the health department when I get back. Two officers stand right outside the door, blocking people from going inside. As I walk down the sidewalk, I notice another officer taping up pieces of butcher paper over at the glass of the huge windows making up the front of the diner.
“What's going on?” I ask the officers on guard.
“They don't want people snooping,” Cole answers. “We've already had to turn away a bunch of people with their phones out. I'm guessing any minute now the newspaper is going to show up. Sam instructed us to keep the media away and keep the situation as contained as possible.”
“That's why I'm here,” I nod. “He sent me to make sure everything is locked down and to find out what's going on with the investigation.”
“The Health Department's here,” Liza, one of the youngest officers in the department, chimes in. “They're picking apart everything, trying to find food that wasn't prepared correctly or that wasn't the right temperature.”
She says it in the tone that tells me she puts absolutely no stock in that theory.
“It wouldn't have struck that quickly,” I tell her. “It can't just be a normal foodborne pathogen. After the nurse who was here helping told me that, I talked to one of the doctors at the hospital, and he all but confirmed it. There are some instances when a foodborne infection can set in within just a few minutes, but the vast majority of the time, it takes a minimum of two hours. Usually, it's even longer than that. It doesn't make any sense that this many people got sick at the same time.”
As we're talking, a severe-looking woman in a dark gray suit steps out of the diner.
"Can I help you?" she asks.
"I'm Emma Griffin. Sheriff Johnson sent me to get any new information," I tell her.
"Annette Rickley. I'm with Sherwood County Public Health, Division of Environmental Health. I'm leading the investigation into this incident," she announces stiffly. She may work for the county, but she’s definitely not from around here.
"You got here quickly," I note.
"There's no time to waste when there's a risk to public health. A mass foodborne infection incident like this could indicate severe systematic problems throughout the area," she tells me.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.
"Incidents like these usually point to lax food service supervision and policies. Kitchens get away with breaking rules because they know people, vendors, and suppliers aren't held to high enough standards. It might not seem important when you are looking at it from a narrow perspective, but it compounds. Eventually, it turns into situations like this."
"That might be a problem in other places you have investigated, but not here. This isn't just some random little place roadside shack. This is Pearl's Diner. It's been here for fifty years. And before it was Pearl's, it was Rosie's. Rosie was Pearl's father. He owned it for almost thirty years. It's a beloved establishment for the people of Sherwood, and the staff takes that very seriously. Pearl is stringent with food safety, and she just passed an inspection with flying colors," I argue.
The compulsion to defend Pearl feels like I'm defending the whole town. In the grander scheme of the situation, it might be trivial, but in the moment it feels essential.
"Like I said," Annette says, her mouth curving into a mocking smile, "things get by."
"According to the doctors treating the affected patients, foodborne infections don't occur this quickly," I point out.
"And what is it that you do, Ms. Griffin?" she asks.
"FBI," I tell her simply.
“And are you on this case, Agent Griffin?”
“No,” I tell her.
"And do you specialize in foodborne pathogens and their incubation periods?"
"No.”
"Then perhaps you should let us do what we specialize in. And when the CDC arrives, let us handle it. We are currently gathering samples of all the food in the diner and will find the source of the problem. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
She steps back into the diner. It's a dismissal, and anger twists inside me.
"Has she been like that the whole time?" I ask.
"She's delightful," Cole confirms.
"Well, she can be Satan incarnate if she wants to be. I don't care, as long as she actually does her job and finds out what's really happening. Because I highly doubt more than half the people inside that restaurant were hit by the same infection within ten minutes of each other. It doesn't make sense," I say.
There’s nothing new here, so I head back to the hospital. I need to talk to Sam. Obviously, there's something much more going on here than some improperly washed vegetables or a hot dish kept out a bit too long. Something happened to the food, which means someone is responsible.
The main road leading to the hospital is always more crowded, especially at this time of day, so I choose the back road. It's narrower, twisting along the path of the landscape rather than cutting directly through. Even with the slower speed necessary, this way feels faster than having to battle the traffic.
Apparently unsatisfied by my speed, a green sports car comes up beside me and slips ahead. It’s one of my biggest pet peeves. I’m already pushing fifteen miles over the speed limit, and this guy wants to head into the oncoming lane, in front of a nearly blind curve, and for what? To save thirty seconds getting to his destination?
The car already in front of me maintains pace for a few seconds, then both speed up and race ahead. They disappear ahead of me.
“Assholes,” I mutter.
When I come around a sharp corner, and as the two lanes converge into one, I see the green car that passed me dip dangerously close to the pale gold Saturn in front of me. The Saturn tries to avoid it, but the sports car swerves again, speeding up to force the other car off the road. The Saturn nearly careens wildly off the road, only barely slowing down enough to prevent from crashing headlong into the tree line.
It's shocking. With a burst of exhaust, the green car disappears into the distance. I pull off the road to check on the driver of the Saturn, but before I can open my door, that car’s tires squeal and the driver peels off. The bizarre situation locks my attention. What the hell is this about?
I speed up to follow the gold car. At this point in the road, the curves lessen, and the way becomes straighter. It allows me to catch up closer, but I realize I can't see a license plate on the Saturn. Suddenly, the driver takes a sharp turn and disappears down a residential street. I slam on my brakes and back up, but I can't
see it anymore. I'm not going to follow it. I need to get back to the hospital. Whatever is happening between those two cars will just have to stay between them.
The parking lot is nearly full, and I have to park in the back row when I get to the hospital. I run across the lot and into the emergency room door. As soon as I see Sam, I rush up to him.
"Sam, something really strange just happened while I was driving back here," I start.
He shakes his head, his bloodshot eyes closing slightly like he's trying to avoid listening to me.
"Emma," he says.
"Just listen. Are there any officers available right now? If so, I think you need to get them out to the Crystal Farms subdivision. You know that one off Orchard? I was driving down it and saw a car run another one off the road," I continue.
"Emma, please," he protests.
I'm too invested in spilling out the bizarre story, I steam right past his interjections.
"When I stopped to make sure the driver was alright, they took off down the road. Drove away from me. There was no license plate on the car, and I couldn't see who was driving. But they went into that subdivision. There might be something really dangerous going on," I tell him.
"Emma, stop," Sam interrupts fiercely, almost aggressively. "I can't listen to any more of your ramblings right now."
I fall silent and for the first time, really look into his face. Seeing it clearly takes away any desire to snap back at him. It's not just drawn from the stress of the whole situation, and his eyes aren't just red from the strain and tiredness. He looks emptied. Devastated. I step up closer to him.
"Sam, what's wrong?" I ask.
"Nicole is dead."
Chapter Thirty
I can't have heard what I think he just said. I close my eyes for a second, then open them to look at Sam again.