Clint was numb. He took a seat on the built-in bench and took hold of Charlie’s hand. He closed his eyes and prayed silently: for Charlie; for Mira, for Faith, for Winston, and for himself to stay strong for his family.
As they headed toward town, Clint stared out the window scanning the acres and acres of farmland where he’d grown up. The home and land once held happy childhood memories, but was now a battleground for evil.
Time seemed to stand still, even though the trip to the hospital only took minutes.
When the ambulance stopped inside the emergency entrance garage, Clint followed the Charlie’s gurney through glass doors and into the hospital.
“Abbott?” a nurse asked as they pushed her rapidly down the hallway.
“Yes,” the EMT answered.
“Room eight. We’re ready for her.”
“Sir,” a nurse said when Clint started to follow Charlie into the room. “You can’t go in there.”
He threw out an arm toward the door. “That’s my wife in there. I need to be with her. She’s fighting for her life.”
“And we need to help her win that battle,” she told him calmly. “The doctor will be with you soon.” The nurse turned and rushed into the room filled with staff, closing the door behind her.
Clint knew she was right, but couldn’t stand the thought of him not being with her as she went through this.
When the only physician in Sheffield whizzed past him and went inside, Clint caught a glimpse into Charlie’s room. A nurse stepped away and he caught a glimpse Charlie’s ashen face. She barely resembled the rosy-cheeked, vivacious woman he’d married.
He started to pace the hall, putting together pieces of what happened after he discovered Shannon in the house. God, what a miserable woman.
Why didn’t someone come out and tell him what was going on? What if he’d lost her? What if the oxygen to her brain had been cut off and she was brain damaged? He tried not to think negatively, but damn it, he needed to find out what was going on.
Forty-five minutes of pure agony passed before Dr. Leopold stepped out of the room, his scrubs dotted in blood.
“Clint.” He looked down the hallway. “Let’s go somewhere private, so we can chat.”
As Clint mentally tried to prepare himself for what he was about to hear, the walls started to close in on him. He stopped, leaned over, and put his hands on his knees, taking in deep breaths.
“You okay?” Leopold asked.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
Clint followed the doctor into a small waiting room.
“We’ve called in a surgeon from Omaha,” Leopold began.
“Is she going to be—”
“All right?” Leopold finished, pulling off surgical gloves. “I don’t know. It’s touch and go, but it’s too dangerous to transport her. The bullet is close to an artery and could move. We need to keep her sedated. Immobilized.”
Clint listened.
Leopold put his hand over his top left shoulder, the bullet went in just above the heart. “It grazed the top part of her lung. But we don’t want to take any chances that it could move.”
Clint swallowed hard. “Is she awake?”
“We’ve sedated her, so no, she’ll stay asleep. As soon as the nurses finish cleaning Charlie up, we’ll move her.”
“Where?”
“Second floor. Close to the operating room. She’s lost a lot of blood, so we started a transfusion.” Leopold’s expression was stoic, professional. “You can go with her.”
“What are the odds?” Clint had to ask.
“That she’ll live?” Leopold looked down, the expression on his face solemn. “Honestly, I don’t know. Until the surgeon operates, we won’t know the extent of the damage.”
The walk behind Charlie’s bed as they transported her to her room was agonizing. Not only was Clint worried sick that he was going to lose her, but he had no idea where Winston and Faith were.
Clint sat quietly beside Charlie for a little over two hours until the surgeon arrived. Holding her hand, he told her how much he loved her and that she had to be strong. Silently he asked for strength for himself.
“We’re ready for her, Mr. Abbott.”
He turned his head and saw a nurse in blue surgical attire.
He pressed his lips to the back of Charlie’s hand, not wanting to let go.
“I’ll be waiting,” Clint said, and then watched as she was pushed down the hallway and through the surgical doors.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
WINSTON TURNED INTO A FAMILIAR DRIVEWAY with dormant cherry blossom trees lining both sides. All the upper scale homes in the elite suburb sat several hundred yards back from the boulevard and had been carved between towering oaks, elms, and pines.
It wasn’t until he’d spotted the sign for Kansas City that Jim Anderson’s name popped into his head. Winston become friends with Jim at a conference they’d both attended years ago. Winston and Saul had been guests in Jim and Nancy's home, and the Andersons had visited Winston and Saul in Kentucky several times. They’d even made the trip to attend the celebration of Saul’s life.
Winston recalled Jim mentioning that the couple spent their winters in their home in Arizona. It had been Jim that Winston called when he pulled off the interstate, telling him that he needed a place to stay for a couple of days. Jim was happy to accommodate, telling Winston he was welcome to stay in their home for as long as he wanted.
Three stately chimneys jutted out of the shake shingle roof of the stately rambler. The last time Winston had seen Jim and Nancy was the summer before Saul died when the lawn was a carpet of lush green grass and exquisite flower beds surrounded the home. But now, except for a dusting of snow, the view was brown and dismal.
He checked on Faith and, when he found her still sleeping, he walked to the double front doors. The lights underneath the awning made him anxious thinking that a neighbor might spot him and think he was a burglar.
Just as Jim told him, he found the key in a plastic baggie at the bottom of a bright red flower pot. Any thief would look there first, but then they’d have to contend with the sophisticated alarm system. Not only were all the doors wired, but every window, along with a motion detector in every room.
He turned the key and pushed open the door, anticipating what was about to happen. Even before he stepped into the foyer, a loud, monotonous beep rang out, warning Winston that he had little time before the alarm went off. Quickly, he turned the switch on for the chandelier, and found the key pad for the security system on the wall. After he punched in the code, he let out his breath when a monotone voice boomed, “Disarmed, ready to arm.”
He went back to the car, unhooked Faith’s seatbelt, and carefully picked her up. Winston carried her inside and, except for a dim light coming from the kitchen, the place was pitch black. He stood in a foyer for a few seconds trying to remember the layout. On the way to the bedrooms, he turned on a couple of lights.
Winston decided to put Faith in the master bedroom. He didn’t know how long this would take, or if his plan would even work, but if he needed to take a break the master had a private bath.
He laid her down on the king sized bed, carefully removed her shoes and covered her with the blanket that was neatly folded at the bottom of the bed.
Please make this work, Winston thought, because he didn’t have a Plan B.
She was sleeping so soundly that it might be difficult to get her aroused enough to hear him, but not fully conscious to know what he was doing.
He could use a stiff drink right now, but would settle for a glass of wine.
After he armed the alarm system again, he made his way to the gourmet kitchen off the formal living room. And, just as he hoped to find, Jim and Nancy’s wine rack was fully stocked. Winston made a mental note to replace the Pinot Grigio before leaving Kansas City.
Winston had loved this large, bright gourmet kitchen, he thought remembering how he’d made veal marsala for Nancy and Jim.
C
arrying the half-filled goblet with him back to the bedroom, he set the wine down on the bedside table and took out the gold pocket watch his father gave him when he graduated from Cambridge.
Rubbing his fingers over the cherished time piece he sent a silent message to Saul. You with me?
Always, Saul replied, which made Winston relax a bit.
After he pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down, he leaned over the her and shook her shoulder. “Faith, wake up.”
She let out a sad moan and started to roll over on her side, but Winston moved her onto her back again. “Honey, I need you to open your eyes.”
“I’m tired,” she said.
“Just for a little bit. I want to show you something.”
She batted open an eye.
The cough medicine had made her vulnerable and her mind foggy.
“See this,” he said, holding the timepiece slightly above her eyes.
“Uh-huh.” She yawned a wide yawn.
“I want you to watch it closely and concentrate on my voice.”
“Why?” Faith asked sleepily.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t wanna.” She closed her eyes.
“I really want you to see my surprise and then you can go back to sleep, okay?” God, if he couldn’t get her to wake up, he’d have to try again in the morning. He didn’t like giving her medicine, but it was the only way he felt he might be able to channel her mind.
“Okay.” She opened her eyes to slits.
“Now don’t look away or you won’t see the magic.”
Faith followed the golden watch as Winston swung it back and forth slowly, calmly telling her over and over to listen to his voice.
A few seconds later, her eyes closed.
“Faith?” He put the watch back into his pocket. “Can you hear me?” He picked up the wine glass and took a long swallow.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good.” He set the goblet back down, and cleared his thoughts of everything but Faith. It took only moments before he found himself walking beside her in the foggy tunnel.
“Take me to Mira, honey.” He took Faith’s hand in his. “Take me to your sister.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CLINT JUMPED UP OUT OF HIS CHAIR when a fine-featured man wearing scrubs suddenly appeared in the doorway of Charlie’s room. “My wife…
is she—”
“She’s doing fine.”
Clint let out his breath. “Thank God.” It had been torture waiting for over three hours to hear something.
“Hank Petersen,” the surgeon said, holding out his hand to shake. “Your wife’s surgeon.”
Clint shook his hand.
Petersen pulled off the surgical cap, revealing a thick head of dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples. “She lost a lot of blood. Her lung collapsed, so we inserted a chest tube to re-inflate.”
Clint could barely swallow. “She has a tube in her chest?”
The surgeon placed his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “The bullet opened a cavity that allowed air to filtrate into the space between the chest wall and lung. The pressure prevents the lung from expanding, and breathing becomes difficult.”
All of this was mumbo jumbo to Clint. He just wanted to know that Charlie had made it through the surgery.
“The good news is that the bullet passed through two ribs, so nothing is broken.”
“So, my wife will be fine?”
“She was lucky. The bullet angled up toward the shoulder. It could have gone another way and lodged in her larynx or trachea.”
A shiver went down Clint’s spine knowing that she could have easily died.
“We’ll need to watch for infection. She’s on strong antibiotics that will be ongoing for a while,” Petersen said. “Dr. Leopold will take over from here, and I’ll be available if needed.”
“And the tube?” Clint asked.
“That will need to stay in place for two or three more days just to be on the safe side.” Petersen paused. “You might want to think about setting your wife up with a therapist. A trauma like this is not easily forgotten.”
Clint had another flashback of Charlie coming toward him.
Petersen continued to explain what Charlie would need to do to gain her strength back, but Clint only heard only snippets; his mind locked on the words what Petersen told him: “She’s going to be fine.”
“Thank you,” Clint said when the doctor finished. “Where’s Charlie now?”
“In recovery. As soon as she stabilizes, she’ll be transported back here.” Dr. Petersen stared at Clint for a couple of seconds, making him uncomfortable. “Did I hear someone say that she was shot by a woman who was stowed away in your home?”
“Yes.” Embarrassed, Clint looked down.
“Mr. Abbott?” Looking behind Petersen, Clint saw a nurse.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she apologized, “but there’s an officer here who wants to talk to you. I’ve tried to hold him off, but—”
“That’s okay.” Clint was grateful for the interruption, as he didn’t want to go into details about Shannon Patterson. “Tell him I’ll be out as soon as I can.”
“Will do,” she told him.
Petersen started for the door. “You look like you could use some rest yourself.”
“I’ll do that after I see my wife.”
Clint’s limbs and muscles felt like jello, his mind mush, and now he had to deal with the police.
After Charlie was released from the hospital, he was taking her home. Period. No court was going to keep them apart. Not ever again.
On his way down the hall, Clint wondered why Winston hadn’t called the hospital to ask about Charlie. And where was he? Again, Clint questioned whether he should have let Faith go with him. There’d only been a few times in his life that Clint had felt afraid, and this was one of them. His mind vacillated between thinking about Mira being all alone in a strange place to Faith, whom he’d grown to love.
“Are you Mr. Abbott?” the fresh-faced policeman asked walking toward Clint.
“Yes,” Clint said.
“Detective Andy Jordon.”
“Let’s go back to my wife’s room where we can talk privately,” Clint suggested. Although there was no avoiding gossip, Clint had no desire to let anyone overhear the gruesome details.
In Charlie’s room, the detective took notes as Clint gave as many details as he could remember. When Jordon asked him why Patterson was in his home, it was humiliating for Clint to explain.
“You said that someone named Winston took Mira out of the house, correct?” Jordon asked. “After the shooting?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Jordon studied Clint as if trying to read his expression with each question.
“We… I mean Charlie asked that Winston get her out of the house. She’s only six.”
There was no way anyone would ever understand, or believe, the circumstances of anything Clint could tell them.
“You have a phone number for this guy?” the officer turned the page on his notepad.
“No. Charlie’s cousin probably took Mira to a hotel, but I don’t know where they are. I’m sure I’ll hear from him today.”
The officer stood and closed his notepad. “As soon as you hear from him” — he took out his billfold and handed Clint a card— “have him give me a call.”
Clint took the card and looked down at it. “Sure.” Clint stood and walked with Jordon to the nurses’ station.
“I’m sorry you had to go through this,” Jordon told Clint before he left. “Must have been terrible.”
“It isn’t something I’d wish on anyone.”
“We’ll be in touch.” He shook Clint’s hand again before he left.
On the way back to the room, Clint glanced at his watch. An hour and a half had gone by since the surgeon told Clint that Charlie would be back in her room soon.
He was just about to find a nurse, and ask if she could find out
anything about Charlie when Dr. Petersen showed up. Clint could tell by his grim expression something was wrong.
His stomach balled into a knot. “Where’s my wife?”
“There’s been a complication.”
“What’s going on? You said Charlie was fine.”
“She was… is, but…”
Clint could feel his heart pounding.
“Charlie woke up in pain. When she put her hand over her stomach and started to moan”— he paused— “at first the nurse thought she was just coming out of the anesthetic.”
Clint was losing his patience.
“And then she spotted blood on the sheets,” Petersen continued. “She knew it wasn’t from the wound.”
Clint was confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Abbott.” Petersen shook his head. “We weren’t able to save the baby.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
IT WAS DARKER IN THE TUNNEL this time, with a thick, heavy haze surrounding them.
“Why is it so dark?” Winston asked.
“Maybe ‘cause I don’t come here anymore,” Faith answered.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen Mira?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno.”
“Why?” He paused. “Why haven’t you seen her?”
Faith didn’t answer which made Winston question if he’d made it in time.
Stepping out into Faith’s world was much different than the last time. The air was damp, and it was as foggy outside as it was inside the tunnel.
The water in the ocean was still and the white sandy beach had turned a murky brown. There were no birds chirping or music coming from the carousel where the plastic ponies were at a standstill. He tilted his head back and saw the skies were a dark gray with not a balloon in sight. And, it was eerily quiet.
Winston turned toward the forest, searching for the Hansel and Gretel cottage. But, given the thick haze, all he could make out were the tops of the trees.
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