Kit

by S. M. West

  Kit

  As weightless as a piece of paper, Caro crumples to the hard ground. Her name rushes from my lungs like a roar of thunder. Jesus Christ.

  My feet grapple to gain purchase to stop my own fall. I’ve got to get to her.

  The pop of my bones, knees hitting an unyielding surface, jangles everything in me. My open palms scrape along the cold, abrasive pavement, trying to slow or stop me from sailing any farther.

  My head bows forward from the sheer force of the explosion, so close I may kiss the ground, and my cheek smacks into the road, skin ripping on impact.

  Finally, I’m motionless on my stomach, arms and legs outstretched like a dead starfish. Acrid smoke fills my nostrils and adrenaline kickstarts my brain, numbing any pain and filling me with only one thought.

  Caro.

  She’s three feet ahead of me, on her front, seemingly lifeless. On hands and knees, pure instinct driving me, I scramble to her side.

  “Caro.” My voice chokes on her name. “Caro.” My frenzied tone is nothing like the soft strokes of my fingers, brushing her hair from her face.

  I want to take her in my arms, get some help, but I can’t move her. There might be damage to her spine.

  “Caro.” This time I shout, or at least that’s what I think I’m doing but I can hardly hear myself. The incessant ringing in my ears drowns out almost everything.

  Except for the fear. Like a black inkiness, it spills throughout my insides, darkening and intensifying my senses, tormenting me with the worst.

  The fear the blast may have killed her.

  Fuck, no. She has to be alive. Though her eyes are closed, blood streams from a gash on her forehead. I can’t tell if she’s breathing.

  My trembling hands fumble to find her pulse point on her neck and a rushing, buzzing noise in my head is the only thing I can make out.

  “Fuck, no,” I shout, trying again to find her pulse, a sign of life.

  My soul collapses onto itself at no sensation where my fingers lie against her clammy skin. I can’t…no, I will not fathom a world without Caro.

  It’s only when I detect the faintest pulse that I curl around her, releasing a sob. Gradually my breathing slows and I will my heart to steady. The beat grows stronger, the throbbing of her heart against the pads of my fingers bringing tears to my eyes. Thank God.

  A leg twitches and her mouth opens on what could be a gasp. I can’t hear much from the buzzing in my ears and the hisses and crackles from the fire. She bends her arms and tries to push up from the pavement.

  “Hey, I got you.” All too eager to hold her, I lift her onto my lap and my lips lift into a smile even in this insanity—she’s alive.

  She tucks her head into my chest, arm against my side, and I say loudly, “A bomb.” It’s as if I need to say it out loud to fully comprehend what happened.

  Pulling back from me, she wrinkles her nose and looks up questioningly. She’s saying or mouthing, “What?” She can’t hear me.

  “A bomb went off.” I slowly mouth the words, and she nods once, casting her gaze to the now-burning clinic.

  The heat from the blazing building wafts through the dense, cold night air and I hold her head in my hands, once more saying the words slowly and loudly. “I’m so sorry, Caro, but the clinic is gone.”

  We were inside only minutes ago, and now it’s a charred marshmallow. Whatever she is mixed up in, it’s serious shit, and whoever is behind this means business.

  “Oh crap…” Or that’s at least what I think she says as she jerks upright, leans over my arm, and vomits onto the asphalt.

  I hold back her hair, murmuring words of comfort. She must be concussed. What other damage did her body take in the blast? We need a doctor. Her muscles spasm and she expels the contents of her stomach.

  “Sorry.” She straightens, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Again, I’m guessing at what she’s saying as there’s a five-alarm bell going off in my head.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m not sure. What hit me?” Now she’s shouting too.

  Her hand tentatively touches the back of her head, gingerly picking her way through the mass of hair.

  “Something from the blast. Metal.”

  “There’s no bleeding.” Her fingers skillfully trace a bump the size of an orange at the back of her skull.

  “Oh my God, are you all right?” A woman rushes at us and I can just make out what she’s saying.

  I tighten my grip on Caro, scanning the area for more people and potential threats. Where the fuck are the cops? For the first time in my life, I want them here, or at least an ambulance. Caro needs a doctor.

  “I called nine-one-one. Help’s on the way.” A teenager is at the woman’s side and the sirens cleave the bleak, smoke-filled sky.

  It’s about time.

  The following minutes or hours are a blur of action. Firefighters are first on the scene, and we’re hauled farther away from the inferno. Not long after, two ambulances arrive along with the police.

  Caro’s on a gurney, oxygen mask plastered to her soot- and dirt-covered face with a belt across her legs and middle, securing her.

  “I want to go with her.” I grab at the EMT’s arm, and at the same time, someone tugs on my shoulder.

  “Sir, you need to be examined too,” a male voice from behind me says, and at the suggestion, the impact of the blast and many bruises start to throb and ache.

  “We’re taking you to the same hospital. You’ll be with her.” A paramedic, tall and lean as a flagpole, attempts to steer me in the direction of another waiting ambulance.

  I don’t want to leave Caro. She finds my eyes, and her expression pleads with me to do as I’m asked. Fine. I don’t want to cause her any more stress by resisting, and she needs medical attention. The sooner I get in an ambulance, the quicker we can get to the hospital.

  “I’ll see you at the hospital.” I squeeze her ankle gently and quietly follow him to the other ambulance.

  At the hospital, I’m checked out and given the all-clear. As with most people, hospitals are the last place I want to be. I’d rather be with Caro, making sure she’s taken care of, and I’ve got to call Nick.

  Nick. I’m not looking forward to that call. The guy will jump in his car and come home once he hears what’s happened to his sister.

  With the exception of the minor scrape on my cheek and some cuts on my hands, I’m none the worse for wear. I’ll be stiff and sore for the next few days, and there’ll be bruises, but nothing I haven’t lived with before.

  Before the nurse leaves the small room I’m in, I ask her for directions to Caro’s room. Unfortunately, I don’t get very far.

  Outside of the examining room, I’m faced with a cop in uniform and an older man with a receding hairline. He’s in charge, judging by the stern expression he throws at me. This is going to be fun. Not.

  Despite his day’s worth of stubble and haggard appearance—it looks like he’s slept in his clothes for easily a day, if not more—he wants me to know he means business.

  “Mister… er…”—the man pauses, looking at a small notepad in his hand—“Jensen, I’m Detective Holman. I’d like to ask you a few questions about tonight’s explosion.”

  It’s meant as a question but comes out more like an order, and he doesn’t wait for a reply, ushering me into a room across the hall.

  “I can’t, I’ve got to see Caro.” I turn to go the other way, even if it’s in the opposite direction from Caro’s room, but the uniformed officer steps into my personal space.

  “We’ll be quick. I had a chat with the doctor. Your friend is going to be fine.” Once again, he doesn’t leave room for anything but acceptance.

  Holman shuts the door to the small waiting room, leaving the uniformed officer in the hall. “Sorry for the less than private surroundings. I figured it was either here or down at the station.”

  The mention of the police station is meant to intimidate me, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ve
done nothing wrong.

  “Fine. But make this quick, I need to see—”

  “Ms. Caroline Archer,” he says, making an effort to appear comfortable in the hard, plastic chair.

  “Doctor Archer.” My jaw tightens, immediately disliking this guy and how readily he focused on asserting control rather than concern. It’s as if he’s already decided we have something to hide.

  “Why don’t we start with why you were at the Jane Walk-in Clinic this evening?” Pen poised to take notes, his bleary eyes settle on me.

  It would be easy to insist on seeing Caro. If he tried to force this on me, imagine the media shitstorm I could bring down on him and the police department when I was a victim of an explosion. But I don’t need the attention, and maybe I can spare Caro the ordeal.

  I recount most of what happened, giving the impression of cooperating but omitting Nick’s call, the texts to Caro, and the secret container under the floor. Caro’s in danger and that fucker Elliot knows what it’s about.

  If I hand everything over to the police at this stage we’ll be told to stay out of things, and even if they assure us that they can protect Caro while they get to the bottom of this, I’m not willing to put Caro’s life in their hands.

  Nick and I can resolve this a lot quicker and easier and without police involvement. We need to get to Elliot as soon as possible. He knows what’s going on and should be able to call off the hounds who are after Caro.

  As for Holman, if he’s any good at his job, he’ll soon find out about the men who showed up at the clinic today. That’s if the police even logged the call.

  Shit, the security footage. I didn’t grab the recording of the break-in before the explosion. So that lead is dead, or in this case, ashes.

  “Are you a patient of the clinic?” Holman stares intently, expression blank.

  We’ve been at this for about twenty minutes, maybe longer, and he’s already covered this ground.

  “No. Like I said, Caro’s my friend, that’s my reason for being there.”

  “Kit Jensen, you have a record—drug possession at seventeen, a bar fight where you were charged with assault—”

  And of course, he brings out my past. It doesn’t matter that I’m a victim in this situation. This is why I don’t rely on cops in general. I’m guilty without anything to suggest so.

  “I’m well aware, you don’t need to give me a rundown. And none of that is relevant.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the small table. “What’s your point?”

  “I find it hard to believe you have no idea what tonight’s explosion was about.” He relaxes into the chair, raising his arms above his head as if he’s chilling and has all night. “Seems to me, Mr. Jensen, you have a knack for getting yourself mixed up in trouble. So let’s cut the crap and tell me what’s going on.”

  “Already told you, I don’t know.” Fury boils my insides; this guy isn’t listening. My hands curl into fists and I force some kind of calm into my next words. “We were inside the clinic so Caro could grab something, and she saw one of the rooms was broken into. She called the cops and we waited. We got tired of waiting inside and left. Then the place went kaboom.”

  “Why were you even in the place when the 911 operator told you to stay outside and wait for the police?”

  Okay, maybe he isn’t a complete idiot. Good question.

  “We were curious.” I shrug. My response is weak and I wish I had something better to give him. My lame answer will only fuel his suspicion.

  “Why’d you exit from the back of the building when your cars were in the front?”

  He’s been busy. He must have already run the plates on the cars in the plaza parking lot to know both our cars were there.

  “We decided to go outside and wait.”

  He eyes me skeptically. “You had to have been several feet from the building when the explosion happened. Or else your injuries would have been more severe.” His harsh gaze lands on the bandage on my cheek.

  He hasn’t asked a question and so I keep my mouth shut, matching him blink for blink.

  “How did you just happen to get out in time?” He arches a gray brow triumphantly as if he’s got me.

  “Already told you. We realized we should listen to the operator and wait outside.”

  “Isn’t that convenient. I’d say you’re lucky and you should buy a lottery ticket.” He scribbles something on his notepad before lifting his eyes to mine. “Let’s take it from the top.”

  “Already asked and answered.” I lean forward, unable to curb my snarl. Even with the table between us, I’m almost in his face. This has gone on long enough. “Unless you’re going to arrest me, I’m out of here.”

  I stand, staring down at him. He has no grounds to keep me, and we both know it. “I’ll call you if I remember anything else.” I’m quick to add the common wrap phrase cops love to use to keep the door open for future visits and questions.

  Briskly, I march from the room, brushing past the bored officer leaning against the wall. Holman doesn’t say anything, nor does he follow, but I feel his shrewd gaze on my back as I turn the corner.

  Caro is where the nurse said she’d be. Her eyes are closed and both of her hands are bandaged. I tiptoe into the room, an odd sinking feeling ghosting up the back of my neck at the scratches, swells, and bruises marring her pure smooth skin.

  Shit, she looks how I feel. No, worse. As if she’s been to war and I’m not sure if she won. Most of the blood has been cleaned from her face but some dried patches still remain around her hairline.

  My hands ache to touch her but I’m afraid to hurt her, cause her any pain. Dammit, why didn’t I get us out of there sooner?

  Deep chocolate-brown eyes open, blinking long and slow, trying to focus, and a crooked smile skates across her dry lips. I try to ignore the tightness in my chest, as if her simple smile isn’t robbing me of my breath.

  Who am I kidding? Just one look from her and I’m already feeling all kinds of things I shouldn’t.

  “Hey, how are you doing?” I clear my throat, sounding way too vulnerable.

  “I’ve been better.” Her voice is more a croak.

  “What did the doctor say?” I sink into the chair beside the bed, resting my forearms on my dirty jean-clad thighs. For the first time since stepping into the clinic, I feel almost relaxed to hear her voice and see she’s mostly okay.

  Her complexion is waxen and movements sluggish. “I’m fine. I have a concussion, but the symptoms are mild, relatively speaking.”

  “Really?”

  She nods as if a concussion is just a scratch, no big deal—bullshit, and as if to contradict her words, she winces with the movement.

  “To be safe, they took me for an MRI and everything looks okay.”

  “You know this already?” I’m surprised at how quickly they had her examined and got the results. Usually, people wait hours for those kinds of tests.

  Her lips crest at the sides of her mouth into a sad excuse for a smile. “What can I say? Just one of the endless perks of being a doctor. I’m waiting on discharge papers, then we can go. I’ll have to take it easy for the next couple of days.”

  “Good. I was worried. That hit to your head was brutal.” I’m still a little concerned, but I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.

  I wipe at the back of my neck, and grit scratches at my skin. We both look like we’ve been through a war. Her hair could pass as a home for a small feral animal and I’m covered in dirt, flecks of debris, and ash from the blast.

  We got lucky. A piece of metal whacked her in the head; just the thought sends my stomach into a tailspin. She dropped to the ground like a dead fly, head cracking against the asphalt. I don’t know what I’d have done if she… No, she’s going to be okay.

  I shift in the chair. “The cops questioned me. Has anyone talked to you yet?”

  “No. What did they ask?” Her fists push into the bed on either side of her body, aiding in her attempt to sit up straighter.

&n
bsp; I repeat everything I told Holman, and she frowns when I mention we finally decided to go outside like we’d been told to from the beginning by the nine-one-one operator.

  “Why didn’t—” She stops talking when a young woman in scrubs strides into the room.

  “Here you go.” The young nurse hands her a clipboard and turns to me. “Ah, I see your husband is here, good.”

  A strange sensation, a loosening followed by a vise grip, bands my chest at the mention of me being her husband. How long had I wished for that? How long had that been my future?

  She pats at the bed and from the corner of my eye, I see Caro open her mouth, likely to correct her, when the nurse says to me, “She’ll be fine. She’s got a nasty bump on her head so keep icing it. The scan shows nothing unusual in the brain. No swelling, bleeding, or fractures.”

  “Good.” I’m grateful for the update from someone other than Caro.

  While she’s a doctor and understands all of this and how to treat a concussion, she’s also more inclined to downplay it and omit things. She’s a formidable force and doesn’t like to admit when she needs help or time to get better.

  “She needs to rest in darkness, no stimulus for tonight. And will need to take it easy for the next week or so, listen to her body when she’s had enough. Headaches, fatigue, that sort of thing. As for full recovery, it’s likely a few months. It’s hard to say because every situation is different, but the symptoms will lessen and fade over time.”

  Caro sighs. “Thank you, Marie. I’ve got it.”

  Marie purses her lips and glances from Caro back to me. “We all know how doctors don’t make good patients. I’m only sharing with your husband so one of you knows what to do.”

  She winks and Caro thrusts the clipboard toward Marie, worry lining her forehead.

  “Your clothes are there.” The nurse points to a pile on another chair beside the bathroom. “You can get dressed in there and then you’re free to go.”

  Finally, what I’ve wanted to hear since we got here. I’ve got to call Nick, and Caro will come to my place. She can’t be alone tonight for many reasons.

  Holman walks into the room, notepad at the ready, and the man ignites a fire within me.