Point Blank

by Diane M. Campbell

  Lance nodded without comment.

  “Yeah. We’ve been great friends, both on and off the field, and now…” He raised his hands to sight-in with an imaginary rifle. “Pow. We’re homing in on the draft. Gonna go pro this year.”

  Lance swallowed. “Congratulations. Looks like you guys have put Hillman in the news.”

  Brock nodded agreement, but something in his expression changed. Maybe something to do with Hillman’s other news.

  Lance tested the subject. “Speaking of news, I hear there’s a girl from Hillman who turned up missing recently. You know anything about it?”

  Brock had picked up some fries from his plate, but at this, he set them aside. “Only what the news reports said a couple days ago.” He rolled the edge of the napkin beside his plate.

  “So maybe you haven’t heard. They found her body.” Lance studied his face. “She’s been murdered.”

  Brock picked up his burger without reaction. “Sounds like you know more than I do.”

  “I was curious whether you or Penny might know this girl.”

  “Penny might have known her.”

  “But not you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He took a bite and chewed. “We may have met. Hillman’s not a big campus.”

  Lance straightened in his chair and took another forkful of pot roast. That cool demeanor made him uneasy, and his instincts were flagging against further pursuit of the subject. Clemens might be interested in talking with this guy, and in the meantime, it might be best not to give him reason to clam up entirely.

  You should have seen the look on his face.” Hope stood inside her apartment door and held out the bus ticket toward me, a wide smile across her face. “It was priceless.”

  “You saw Brock?” I took hold of the printed stub, sandwiching it between my hands.

  “No, not him.” She pulled off the wig and loosened her neon hair with a rake of her hand. “I’m talking about Sean, the bus manager. When I waddled in, his eyes got big as saucers. I told him I was trying out a costume for a new role.” She giggled, tossing the wig on the sofa, where it resembled a deflated Carlisle. “He remembered me playing Rizzo in Grease last year, so—”

  “But was Brock there?”

  “Yeah, but not at first. He walked in a couple minutes later. By then, I’d already told Sean I was researching a role as a runaway maternity patient.” She removed her coat. “Good, huh? Sean doesn’t know anything about theater, so he just went along with everything I said.”

  “Was Brock paying attention to your conversation?”

  Hope flung her coat over a chair back and it slowly slid to the floor. “Don’t worry. He didn’t hear the part about me playacting, but he probably heard stuff after that.”

  “Like what?”

  She patted my arm. “Like I said, don’t worry, Penny. I think this plan will work. I even signed in for you, so you won’t have to go inside the station. When I was leaving, Brock was standing by the door and he opened it for me. I looked right at him and thanked him, so now he associates my face with ‘the pregnant girl.’ You shouldn’t have any trouble at all.”

  She pulled off her boots and plopped onto the sofa next to the wig. I picked it up so I could sit too. “I wish I had your confidence. It all seems scary to me.”

  Hope leaned sideways, examining my face. “What happened to you?”

  I’d forgotten the mascara streaks. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but weird things are happening to me. While you were gone, I could swear I heard my dad’s voice for a while. I thought he was outside, trying to talk to me.”

  She put her arm around my shoulder with a squeeze. “You’re weird, but that’s cool. Soon you’ll be home, and everything will be fine.”

  I lowered my gaze. “I hope so. Dad and I haven’t gotten along so well since Mom died.”

  “How old were you when that happened?”

  “Sixteen.”

  Hope pulled back with a pat to my arm. “I’m sure you’ve both changed since then.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  She was right. We had struggled, but that didn’t mean we always would. We both had changed. Hearing his voice, even in my imagination, had fueled my desire to get home. I needed family, and for the first time, it seemed my ache about Dad might actually be yearning instead of worried frustration.

  Hope was hungry so we rummaged in the fridge, and after eating a snack, I put on the pregnancy costume. She worked her magic once again with my makeup. When I finally donned the wig and stood in front of the mirror, I didn’t see myself at all.

  Hope fussed with the back of the wig where it lay over my collar. “You’ll have to let me know how all this works out.”

  “Sure. Write down your number.”

  Before we knew it, the time had come to leave. I put Hope’s phone number in my coat pocket along with the ticket, and left her apartment just before nine o’clock. I walked to the side street trying to appear leisurely. When I reached the far corner of the consignment store building, I waited for the bus, grateful to have an inconspicuous vantage point. Temperatures had dropped well below freezing since nightfall, but the pregnancy pillow and extra layers kept me warm.

  Soon the bus came up the street and rounded the corner where I stood. It pulled in front of the station’s big plate-glass windows, where light spilled onto the walkway. A wave of panic seized me. Brock could be watching from inside those windows. And in the light that spilled onto the sidewalk, he would be able to see me clearly.

  Hope’s plan suddenly seemed to border on insanity. What were we thinking? Even more, what could I do when he saw through my ridiculous costume?

  The driver stepped down from the bus door and went inside with a clipboard of papers. I swallowed my fears repeatedly while waiting for him to return. After a minute he did, and I took a deep breath. I rounded the corner and put on my best impression of confidence while marching up the block.

  Brock or no Brock, this was it.

  A couple people exited the bus and paused to speak with the driver while I walked their way. When they went inside the station, the driver noticed my approach. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  I attempted a smile and pulled the ticket from my pocket. “Here you go.” The light of the station window seemed like a spotlight. I trembled at the exposure. Was Brock watching? I didn’t dare look. A knot caught in my throat, and I shifted my position subtly toward the bus to minimize my facial profile.

  “No luggage, ma’am?”

  His question jolted me. I swallowed the knot and took a breath. “No. I’m only going as far as Clearmont.”

  He studied the ticket. “I see. Do you have your ID handy?”

  “My… ID?” I choked and covered my mouth. “I… uh.” I groped in my bag as if to search, knowing full well I couldn’t produce anything that would work.

  The bus station door behind me creaked open, and my heart rate shot up. Was Brock coming outside? I froze, unable to breathe. An unfamiliar voice called, “Hey, Hope. What day did you say you were coming back?”

  Though it wasn’t Brock, I didn’t dare turn my head. What was the ticket guy’s name? I couldn’t remember. I lifted my shoulder for cover and turned my face ever so slightly. “Tuesday,” I called out with a cough, hoping he wouldn’t notice my voice, which sounded nothing like Hope’s.

  The driver scanned my ticket’s barcode. “You know this lady, Sean?”

  “Oh sure. But don’t believe everything you see. Hope’s always playacting something.” He laughed aloud and I heard the door close.

  The driver handed back my ticket. “Looks to me like you’re good to go.”

  I climbed the bus steps and discovered more people onboard than I’d expected. Toward the back, I chose a pair of vacant seats on the side opposite the station window. While I crammed my coat into the overhead bin, I saw Brock’s SUV across the street. Its presence taunted me with thoughts of my suitcase, my phone and ID—all so close, yet hopelessly out of reach.
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  When I turned to sit down, I caught sight of Brock through the opposite window, and my heart skipped. He had come outside the station door and was looking down at something on the sidewalk. He stooped to pick it up—a scrap of pink paper.

  Hope’s name and phone number. It must have slipped out of my pocket when I pulled out the bus ticket. He looked it over, then glanced up to scan the dark-tinted bus windows. My mouth went dry. Could he see me?

  He started toward the bus door and the driver stopped him. By Brock’s hand gestures, I could tell he intended to come aboard. I looked around, desperate. The only place to hide was in the bathroom at the back of the bus.

  I maneuvered down the aisle as fast as my pillow-wrapped tummy would allow and locked myself into the cramped cubicle, uncertain what to do next. Minutes passed while I studied my worried face reflecting back from the vanity mirror.

  A soft knock on the door disrupted my thoughts. “Are you okay, Miss?”

  “Yes, almost done.”

  I smoothed the wig and tried to swallow my panic. The bus lurched, pulling away from the curb as I slid the door open and scanned the back of the passengers’ heads. Brock was not among them.

  A guy in the back row beside me looked up. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was starting to wonder if you were going to give birth in there.” He chuckled and I attempted a smile before navigating back to my seat.

  Sitting heavily, I exhaled a sigh. Soon I would be home. Once again, I envisioned walking up the driveway and through the arbor to the entry alcove. Surrounded by a hedge of boxwoods, Mom’s potted flowers always filled the space with fragrance and color, and the small café table and chairs positioned beside the door added a sense of welcome. When I imagined pressing the door buzzer, I took a deep breath. A moment later, Dad opened the door, but the expression on his face made me step back. His brow creased with unspoken sorrow—the same look I’d caught sight of when my grandpa remarked how much I had grown to look like Mom. He’d nodded with an expression that made it clear I’d become a reminder of his greatest loss.

  A woman with a baby on her lap, leaned toward me from across the aisle. “When are you due?” Her voice startled me back to the rocking jostle of the bus.

  I hadn’t prepared an answer. “Oh … umm … in a few weeks, I guess.”

  She nodded. “Ah, no wonder you had to travel by bus.”

  “Well, I’m only going as far as Clearmont.”

  “I see. Well, that’s a short trip.” Her baby cried, drawing away her attention.

  I settled back into my seat with a sigh. Against all odds, Hope’s plan had worked. In about three hours I would be in Clearmont, and now that I’d gotten away from Brock, he would have to accept the finality of our relationship and head back to Hillman.

  Of course, that wouldn’t solve all my problems, but it would be a good start at getting my life back to normal.

  Lance checked his watch—8 a.m. Two hours since the ventilator had been removed. Fortunately, Penny’s breathing and vitals were holding. A slight twitch had recently begun in the corner of her eye, evidence of a REM sleep pattern. He took it as a sign she was edging closer to consciousness.

  He lifted her limp hand and held it between his own. “Penny. Do you know I’m here?” He stared at her lashes. Two little tremors at the corner of her eye, then after three or four seconds another small twitch. “Don’t you worry about a thing, sweetie. I’m going to be right here when you wake up.”

  A light tap at the door drew his attention. Dr. Matheson entered with a sheaf of papers and a smile that brightened the room. “Good morning. Looks like your daughter has managed the transition off the ventilator nicely.”

  Her accent, which he’d learned was Italian, made him smile. “I agree. They reduced the machine to fifty percent around midnight, and she sailed through the next six hours without a hitch. She’s still doing great since they shut it off.”

  Dr. Matheson held out the papers. “Her vitals have remained consistent. Everything’s looking very positive. I’ll put in an order to have the trach removed this morning and, if all goes well, we might see her emerge from this coma late this evening or early tomorrow.”

  Lance accepted the papers, though he already knew the results from his own overnight monitoring. “Thank you.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” She smiled. “I’ll check back later this afternoon. Until then, ciao.”

  He glanced at the papers, yawning. After little more than brief dozing through the night, he needed coffee and a toothbrush. Shaving would be a good idea too.

  Fortunately, his cordless shaver was still tucked into the glove box of the car. Since Penny was doing so well, he could probably slip out and take care of that.

  On his way to the elevator, his phone rang. Pastor Mark. “Hey, good morning, Mark. How are things in God’s country?”

  Mark chuckled. “Fine, I guess. I put Penny on the prayer chain last night.”

  “Great. God’s already begun answering those prayers.” He reached the elevator and punched the call button. “They weaned Penny from the ventilator last night, and I think she’s showing signs of returning to consciousness.”

  “Thank you, Jesus.” Mark cheered.

  “Amen.” Lance’s heart warmed at having openly acknowledged God’s goodness.

  “Listen, I have some time available this morning. I’d like to drive up, maybe pray with you both.”

  Lance glanced through the windows of the adjacent waiting area. “Looks like a good day for traveling up the canyon. The sun’s out, so maybe those slushy roads will clear.”

  “Great. I’ll see you soon.”

  Lance took the elevator down and went out to the parking lot, found his car and rummaged in the glove box for the shaver. Sitting in the passenger seat, he tilted down the visor mirror. As he finished, a dark SUV pulled into a spot in the row behind him. It looked a lot like the SUV that had parked in front of his house. A young man in jeans and a black sweatshirt climbed out, removed his baseball cap and tossed it inside. It had to be the same guy who’d been parked by his house.

  The man locked his SUV and glanced around before heading toward the hospital door.

  Lance’s heart skipped at seeing the man’s face—Penny’s boyfriend.

  He waited until Brock entered the building before getting out of his car, then went to the SUV and checked the license plate. It matched his memory of the one that had been parked near his house. That meant Brock was in Colorado at least a day earlier than he’d let on, but why? And why set up surveillance?

  Lance went inside, but Brock had already left the foyer, undoubtedly on his way to the third floor ICU. Lance took the stairs, his pulse quickening. At the second floor he slowed his pace, hoping for inspiration on what his best course of action should be.

  Reaching the third floor, he stepped out to a corridor behind the elevator and whispered a quick prayer. Lord, guide my actions and words. A flurry of options blurred his thoughts. Should he confront Brock? What answers could he hope to get? He rounded the corner and saw Brock at the end of the hall, talking to a nurse at the ICU desk. Something in the young man’s posture didn’t sit well. He was quizzing the receptionist; either that or pressuring her somehow. She glanced Lance’s direction and waved him over.

  “Dr. Doyle,” she said, when he reached the desk. “This young man has requested to visit your daughter, but I see that her chart currently indicates ‘family members only.’ If you would like to—”

  “That’s correct.” Lance cut in. “Family members only. Pardon the intrusion, but I would like to speak privately with Mr. Harper.” He looked Brock in the eye and nodded toward the empty waiting area. “If you’ll step this way.”

  Brock’s eyebrows raised. “Mr. Doyle … I mean, Dr. Doyle. You won’t let me visit Penny? I drove all this way to see her—to be a help to her, if I can.”

  “Right now I need you to be a help to me.”

  Brock’s eyebrows rose. “How?”

  L
ance gestured again to the waiting room. After Brock took a seat, Lance pulled another chair over to sit opposite him. “You can start by telling me in detail, just how you came to know that Penny was hospitalized here.”

  “It’s like I said yesterday—”

  “No. It’s not.”

  Brock’s eyes blinked twice, his mouth open, before speaking again. “Okay, maybe I oversimplified a bit, but—”

  “That’s why I’m asking, Brock. I’d like a clear picture.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Lance leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees. Brock sat back, his brows angling defensively. “I’m not sure what you want to know.”

  “Everything. Details.”

  Brock stared back, his mouth working as if chewing his tongue, but he didn’t speak. Lance waited, forcing his expression to remain neutral. Perspiration began to show on Brock’s forehead and he scratched his neck. “I first talked to Penny while she was traveling.”

  “What day was that?”

  His eyes shifted to the side. “Umm … had to have been Thursday or Friday. Thursday, I guess.” He nodded.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Nothing special.” He shrugged. “A little about school … and why she decided to leave on this trip.”

  “Okay. What did she say about that?”

  Brock bit his upper lip. “She regretted not going home for Christmas. She wanted to patch things up with you.”

  This was unexpected. A knot formed in Lance’s chest and his mouth went dry. “Thank you. I didn’t know that. Did you talk with her any other time?”

  “On… uh, Saturday. I thought she was at your place, but she said she missed a connection and was waiting for the next bus.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t answer my calls anymore. When I heard about the bus rolling off the mountain, I decided to drive up here.”

  “How did you know she was on that bus?”