Betrayal of Trust

by London St Charles

  “What’s your husband’s name?” the female paramedic asked.

  “Cedrick.”

  Placing a cervical collar around his neck, she asked, “Cedrick. Can you hear me?”

  His eyes flew open and darted about the area. He reached for the tube stuck in his mouth, but the male paramedic grabbed his hands. “I can’t let you do that,” he warned.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” the woman asked while assisting her partner putting Cedrick on a stretcher.

  “I think he fell asleep with the car running.” Sierra paused. “He works long hours.”

  She wouldn’t dare tell them he tried to commit suicide. She was thankful now that she’d ripped the hose from the car’s exhaust pipe.

  “Do you know how long he’s been exposed to carbon monoxide?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted, twirling her thumbs.

  “He’s fortunate you were here, ma’am,” the female paramedic said, lifting the end of the stretcher into the rear of the ambulance. “Let me check you out.”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Sierra insisted, waving her off. “Just make sure he’s okay.”

  “Be careful. Those lacerations could get infected.” She pointed to Sierra’s blood-stained feet. “Removing glass can be tricky.”

  Sierra nodded.

  “We’re taking him to Northwestern Hospital.” The paramedic climbed into the back of the ambulance with Cedrick. “You can meet us there,” she advised before closing the door.

  The siren sounded causing Sierra to flinch. Flashing red lights spun above the ambulance as it zoomed down the alley. She watched until it was out of sight. Frozen in place, she closed her eyes and prayed for continued blessings.

  Firm, thick fingers landed on her shoulders, disrupting her conversation with God.

  “He’s going to be alright,” Rick said in a comforting tone.

  “I know,” Sierra replied, sliding the jacket off and handing it to him. “Thanks for your help, Rick.” She glanced over at the other two men who were sweeping the glass with push brooms they’d found in the garage. “Without you guys––– this may have been a very different outcome.”

  Chapter 6

  “Thanks, mom for grabbing the girls. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Sierra whispered into the phone approaching the front desk of Northwestern Hospital’s emergency department. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Hi. I’m Sierra Dalton,” she blurted hastily. “My husband, Cedrick Dalton was brought in by ambulance within the last twenty minutes.” She pulled her identification and insurance cards from her purse. And––”

  “One moment, Ms. Dalton,” the intake nurse said, picking up the phone.

  “Coming through,” a high-pitched voice shouted.

  Sierra turned to see what the commotion was all about when the man standing behind her stepped forward and coughed in her face.

  “You. Have. Got. To be kidding me.” She reached inside her purse and retrieved a baby wipe to clean the foreign germs away from her skin.

  “I’m sorry, Miss––” the man fumbled.

  “Excuse me, folks, I need more room,” the paramedic pleaded, pushing a pregnant woman in a wheelchair through the congested area.

  Sierra stepped to the side, pumped the hand sanitizer dispenser, and rubbed her hands together with vigor. She then plucked two blue cotton masks from the box on the counter. After securing one over her mouth and nose, she dangled the other one in front of the man.

  “Thank you.” He accepted the mask and put it on. “My apologies.”

  “Ms. Dalton,” the nurse called. “Please step this way. Elise will take you back.”

  “What about the insurance?”

  “Don’t worry. The admissions representative will come to your husband’s room to get it.”

  * * *

  “Where is he?” Sierra spun around after eyeing the empty bed. Without anyone there, the patient room was cold and sterile. She tried to keep the fear from creeping up her spine as she waited for an answer.

  “The tech took him down for some tests,” Elise informed her. “He’ll be back shortly.” She offered a comforting smile before leaving Sierra alone.

  She eased into a metal chair with a tan cushion, wringing her clear polished, manicured hands. Why would Cedrick try to commit suicide? Sierra couldn’t wrap her mind around that no matter how hard she tried.

  His restaurant was flourishing. He’d been in the black for three consecutive years, which allowed him to save a substantial amount of money. Sierra was the personal assistant to Edward Banks, one of the partners at Smithe, Banks, & Wilkerson Attorneys at Law. It was one of the largest real estate firms in the Midwest.

  They bought their beautiful four-bedroom dream home in Lincoln Park during the foreclosure crisis for half of its worth, without having to finance it. Carrington attended the top Fine Arts school in the state, Lena’s well cared for, and all other expenses were covered with ease. They were winning at living the American dream.

  Sierra ran a hand absentmindedly through her hair. It didn’t make sense. Money was the top reason for suicide among men. What other reason could he have for trying to kill himself?

  The ringing phone tore Sierra from her thoughts. She plucked it from her pocket. SB&W flashed at the top of the screen. “Darn it.” She sucked her teeth, then put on her professional voice.

  “Good morning, Edward,” Sierra greeted. “My apologies for not calling. I had a family emergency that required my presence.”

  “Where are the notes for today’s meeting with Phil Archibald of Eastside Development?”

  He could at least act like he’s concerned.

  “On my desk in the manila file folder labeled, EDP.”

  “I’m at your desk, Sierra.” He paused.

  She listened to the shuffling of papers on the other end of the receiver. Edward didn’t have to ransack her desk. The folder was on top of the pile in the left-hand corner. Sierra made sure she’d arranged everything in order of importance while in the office on Sunday. Property values along the lakefront, the accounting, offers from competitors, and possible revenue from tourist were all calculated. Millions of dollars were on the table.

  “The only thing in this folder is your daughter’s school work,” he barked.

  That’s not possible. Or is it? Could she had grabbed the wrong folder?

  Sierra yanked two manila folders from her tote. One had property listings for a client in the Evanston area. The second one had the Eastside Development Project files.

  Tico Torres of Bon Jovi couldn’t have beat his drum harder or faster than the violent thrashing of her heart. She was about to blow the biggest project the firm had ever landed and lose her job in the process. Things couldn’t possibly be any worse.

  “Look who’s here,” the short orderly in light blue scrubs with snoopy designs said, wheeling Cedrick into the room.

  Sierra’s smile didn’t quite meet her eyes, but that had nothing to do with her husband.

  “The doctor will be in shortly,” the orderly informed them, folding the footrest so Cedrick could stand.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  “I don’t know what you’ve got going on, and frankly, I don’t care,” Edward growled.

  It’s worse. Sierra thought, closing her eyes in defeat.

  “Phil will be here at ten. You better make it happen.”

  “Edward–––”

  The call abruptly disconnected.

  Shaking harder than a dope fiend having withdrawals, Sierra stood, placing the phone on the edge of the sink. She struggled to compose herself. Pasting a warm smile on her face, she walked over to her husband’s bed and sat at his side.

  “Hi,” she said in as neutral a tone as she could muster.

  Cedrick jumped right in. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he mumbled with his head bowed.

  Sierra laid a hand across the soft cotton fabric of the hospital gown and caressed his chest. The feel of his h
eart pumping beneath her palm calmed her. They had experienced too close of a call.

  “Cedrick.” She stroked his bruised cheek with care.

  He glanced upward, and she gazed into his troubled orbs.

  “We have to talk.”

  “I know,” he responded as the automatic blood pressure cuff inflated, holding his upper arm hostage before beeping and deflating again.

  “But––– I have to go,” she stated in a regretful tone.

  “I understand if you can’t stand the sight of me right now.”

  “Honey, why would you say that?” She shifted on the bed and traced his arched eyebrow with her thumb. “I’m thankful you’re alright. That you’re here. We’ll get through this, but––– the Eastside Development representatives are on the way to the firm and I have to get the paperwork to Edward,” Sierra explained in a sad tone. “Or else I won’t have a job.”

  “Then you need to go,” Cedrick replied, grabbing the bedrail, gasping for air. His chest rose and fell at quick, uneven intervals.

  “What’s happening?” Sierra asked as the heart monitor beeped faster, and the numbers jumped all over the screen.

  She pushed the call button, then placed her hand over his. “I need a nurse in here,” Sierra shouted, staring into Cedrick’s dilated pupils. “Breathe, baby.”

  “What happened?” the nurse asked, whisking the privacy drape aside, sticking the probes of the stethoscope in her ears.

  “Nothing,” Sierra responded, reading the nurse’s name badge. “We were talking, and then he began to gasp like he isn’t getting any air.”

  “Did you say something to upset him?” Nurse Deidre inquired.

  “No––– I don’t know––– Maybe,” Sierra cupped her hands and blew air into them. “Not intentionally.”

  “Cedrick, focus on me, alright,” the nurse instructed. “You’re not in any danger, okay. You’re having a panic attack.”

  His eyes widened and were transfixed on his wife.

  “Are you sure?” Sierra questioned. “He’s never had a panic attack before.”

  “This is what it appears to be,” the nurse countered, then spoke to Cedrick. “Purse your lips together. Then I want you to take a deep breath in through your nose and exhale slowly from your mouth.”

  “C’mon honey,” Sierra encouraged. “I’ll do it with you,” she said, placing a loving touch to his forearm.

  “That’s it, Cedrick.” Nurse Deidre gave him two thumbs up.

  After several repetitions, his breathing slowed. Sierra watched as it became regular and steady.

  “We’re still waiting for his blood work to come back to see the extensiveness of the carbon monoxide poisoning. It’s important that he remains calm,” Nurse Deidre said, giving Sierra a concerned glance. “So, whatever you were discussing before.” She splayed cracked hands out in front of her. “And it’s none of my business. You need to table it until we figure out what’s going on with your husband.”

  Sierra pursed her lips, then looked down at Cedrick. “I’m staying.” She retrieved her phone from the sink. “You’re more important than this job.”

  “No,” he yelled, sitting upright staring into her eyes. “Go to work.”

  Cedrick’s blood pressure spiked on the heart monitor, and the beeping alerts increased.

  “I need you to calm down, Mr. Dalton,” the nurse said, then placed her focus on Sierra.

  Sierra searched the pleading manner in Cedrick’s dark eyes, then observed the monitor. “I think it’s best that I go.” She leaned in, planting a tender kiss on his tense lips. “I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

  Chapter 7

  As soon as Sierra and the nurse departed, Cedrick reached along the side of the bed and grabbed the clear plastic drawstring bag that housed his clothing. He rifled through his belongings until he found his phone. Pushing himself upward with his feet, Cedrick held the power button down until the white screen appeared.

  The botched suicide attempt had perilous repercussions. Cedrick had to account for his actions, and he didn’t know how he was going to explain to Sierra why he tried to take his life.

  Several emails and text message notifications pinged right after Cedrick entered his passcode. The Smokehouse alerts were sounding off like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Cedrick always came in early to smoke the meat that had marinated overnight. He sent a text to his Sous Chef, handing him the reins for the next couple of days. He wasn’t in any condition to deal with the restaurant business, and since the Sous Chef was second-in-command, he knew the Smokehouse was in more than capable hands.

  Pressing the home button, Cedrick switched to check his email. The suicide letter he wrote to Sierra glared back at him––– unsent. A smidgen of the built-up tension released, causing his shoulders to slump, and the veins in his neck to soften. He’d explained way too much in that email––– more than he was willing to discuss on this side of the grave. Cedrick tapped the cancel icon at the top of the screen, and the next email appeared, but not before the sound of an airplane taking off filtered through the room.

  “No,” he hollered. “What have I done?”

  Staring at the phone in disbelief for several seconds, Cedrick let the phone slip from his hand. It fell in his lap with a dull thud.

  He’d hit send by mistake. Now his suicide note and all the secrets he’d imparted in it was on its way to Sierra.

  Cedrick’s bottom lip dropped open, leaving his mouth drier than sawdust on a wooden floor. He closed his eyes tight, attempting to stave off the wretched thumping inside of his head. “Please forgive me,” he cried, punching the mattress repeatedly with force.

  The heart monitor sang a familiar tune.

  With trembling hands, he picked up the phone and glared with pain in his heart at the empty Outbox folder. The suicide email he’d sent Sierra would reach her in moments.

  “I’ve ruined everything.”

  “I thought I told you to relax,” Nurse Deidre reprimanded in playful banter, rushing into the room with a woman in scrubs and one with a white lab coat in tow. “This is Dr. Simmons.”

  “What have I done?”

  “Hi, Cedrick,” Dr. Simmons said, moving in closer.

  “What––– have––– I––– done?” He snatched the blood pressure cuff off in one motion, swung his legs around, then stood.

  “Whoa! Wait a minute,” Nurse Deidre warned.

  “I have to get to Sierra.” Cedrick pulled his pants out of the bag.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” Dr. Simmons cautioned, touching his arm.

  He moved around her like she was a paper doll, losing his balance. The doctor and nurse braced Cedrick to keep him from falling.

  He shrugged them off and staggered backward. “I have to go,” Cedrick shouted.

  “We could use some help in here,” Nurse Deidre bellowed equally as loud.

  Priscilla walked in, leaning on a four-prong metal cane. Her ash-brown hair caressed her jawline, framing her face. “What’s going on in here?”

  “Mom,” Cedrick called out, still tussling with the doctor and nurse. “What are you––– they won’t let me go.”

  “Ma’am,” Dr. Simmons said, but Priscilla hushed her with the rise of her hand.

  “Let him go. I got this,” Priscilla ordered in a tone too mild for the situation.

  “Ma’am–––”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Priscilla reassured, gazing at Cedrick. “Release him.”

  Dr. Simmons glanced at Nurse Deidre, then nodded. They loosened their grips at the same time.

  Cedrick stood there defeated, chest heaving harder than a toddler who couldn’t have his way.

  “Give me a moment alone with my son, please.”

  Though hesitant, they left the room.

  “Mom. What are you doing here?” Cedrick asked, trying to catch his breath.

  “You’re not happy to see me?” she teased, patting the mattress.

  Cedrick eased down
, and Priscilla covered his legs with a thin white blanket before lowering herself into the chair next to his bed.

  “Sierra called. She told me something I found very disturbing and hard to believe,” Priscilla said in a concerned tone. She leveled a steady gaze on her son. “Is it true?”

  Cedrick lowered his head.

  “Why, son?” Priscilla lifted his chin. “After everything we’ve been through. After everything, you’ve overcome––– why now?” She gently squeezed his chin forcing him to lift his head and meet her gaze. “You have plenty to live for––– a beautiful wife, children who adore you, your dream career. You have much to be thankful for, son. Why risk throwing that away and exposing your family to such a loss?”

  Silence hung in the air for a moment.

  “Victoria’s in town.”

  Priscilla’s brown eyes grew wide with surprise. “The girl with the white patch of hair?”

  “Yes.”

  She fell back in the seat. Her hand was coming up to rest over her heart. “Do you think it’s a coincidence?”

  “I don’t know, and that’s the problem,” he whispered, pressing the button to adjust the bed to a more comfortable angle. He was silent for several seconds, a barrage of emotions scattering across his face. “Is there a statute of limitations on murder?”

  “Self-defense,” Priscilla corrected. She reached out and covered his hand with her own. She squeezed reassuringly. “I’ve told you that you no longer have to worry about that.”

  As much as Cedrick wanted to believe that, he couldn’t. The day his father brutally attacked his mother changed his life forever. Priscilla made the mistake of answering the doorbell without wearing her hijab. She’d spoke with the mailman too long for his father’s liking and no sooner than she closed the door, he accused her of disrespecting him and beat her face beyond recognition.

  “But the cops may say it was murder since we ran,” Cedrick countered.

  “Killing yourself isn’t the answer. Your kids need you, and so do I.”

  “But what about Sierra? Cedrick asked. “I’d sent her an email confessing to everything. She’ll never understand––– her background’s different. She’ll never look at me the same.” He twisted his wedding band. “I don’t want my wife to be afraid of me.”