by E J Kindred
I lay back on my pillow, relieved that Mo was safe and in good hands.
Just then, Grandma Natalie and Joe came in, walking quietly in case I was still sleeping. Dean stood to leave, but I caught his arm.
“Get him, Dean. Take him off the streets or off the planet, I don’t care which. He killed his own father. He would have eventually killed us, too.”
“We will. He’s probably figured out by now that you got away, especially if he was down the road with Elise and saw the activity at the barn. We didn’t find him at the Wentworth house or at home in Seattle. But we’ll track him down. Try not to worry about it.” He stepped to the door. “Oh, when you’re up and about, I have something to show you.” And he was gone.
The next day, I was home with Grandma Natalie, my broken ankle resting comfortably on a pile of pillows. Joe hovered over me like a mother hen, tucking my lap blanket and bringing me cold drinks. Patrick alternated between lecturing me about following Elise and interfering in the investigation and holding my hand as if he thought he’d never see me again. Shadow all but glued himself to my lap, purring.
Grandma Natalie had tears in her eyes. “I was so worried. But I knew you’d come home.”
All of my friends came to visit. Sally and Rachel wanted to hear every detail. They hadn’t met Mo, but they promised to correct that mistake as soon as they could. Ada and Hal spent hours sitting with me and Grandma Natalie. Lupe brought me a fruit basket and Freddy brought me pastrami. Sharon showed up with the biggest flower arrangement I’d ever seen.
Joe said, “I never knew so many people actually liked you.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, but in truth, I felt loved. These people had all worried about me for the two weeks I’d been locked away in the old barn. An argument could be made that my kidnapping was my own fault for meddling, so I felt a vague guilt at the worry I’d caused. But when I mentioned it to Grandma Natalie, she hushed me.
“You saved Mo. You risked your life for your friend. You have nothing to feel guilty about. We’re all proud of you.”
The next day, Grandma Natalie took me to see Mo. She was in the same intensive care unit that my grandmother had occupied.
“You go on up, honey,” she said. “I’ve seen enough of that place to hold me for a lifetime.”
I hobbled into the unit with my crutches, gratified to see a security guard at the door as Dean had promised. When I stopped at the nurse’s station, I was greeted by two of the nurses who had cared for Grandma Natalie.
“I’m here to see Mo—I mean Maureen Shaughnessy. How’s she doing?”
“Better.” The nurse who spoke was the same one who’d stroked my grandmother’s hair when we weren’t sure she’d ever wake up. “She has a long recovery ahead, but she’s doing okay.” She directed me to Mo’s room, but before I could move away from the desk, she whispered, “You got her out of there in the nick of time.”
I squeezed her hand in gratitude and went to visit my friend.
In the light filtering into Mo’s room, she looked worse than when I last saw her. The darkness of the barn must have masked how emaciated she’d become. Her skin appeared translucent, and patches of her hair were missing. Her breathing was harsh, and she was getting oxygen through a nasal cannula. She’d been bathed, her clean skin now revealing sores and bug bites from her time as a captive. She also had multiple bruises on her legs and arms, either from mistreatment at Carl’s hands or from poor nutrition. I didn’t want to think of what he might have done to her, especially if he’d discerned that she was a lesbian.
I sat near her bed, listening to the softly beeping machines. She was either unconscious or sleeping, and in either case, she didn’t need to be disturbed. I was content to sit with her for a while, moving only to let the nurses change IV fluids or adjust the machines. Mo’s doctors were in and out a few times and were kind enough to give me what updates they could. They felt she would recover, but it would take time. The insults to her body were extreme and healing was slow.
I visited almost every day. For the first few visits, she was either sleeping or awake just enough to know I was there. She wasn’t strong enough to sit up without help or eat much, but she started to get some color back in her face. Any little step was an improvement.
In the meantime, Dean had no news about Carl’s whereabouts, though I was sure he was tiring of my daily texted inquiries. My own recovery continued. The cuts and bruises I’d gotten were healing, except at a follow-up appointment, my doctor thought that the blow I’d taken to the head when Carl struck me might have lingering effects on my hearing on that side. Only time could answer that question. My fractured ankle was healing well, too. I still had the occasional bout of insomnia and suspected I’d truly believe that the last vestiges of my captivity had worn off when I lost my deep aversion to soup.
In between visits to Mo, I resumed driving by Dad’s shop. Nothing had changed. The portable storage unit was there, its contents intact. The damaged building itself still stood, its fate undecided. Joe and I hadn’t talked any more about what to do with it, but I had an idea to propose to him when the time was right.
Lupe kept me apprised of goings-on at the Wentworth house. She was working there only one day a week, but she said it was one day too many. Lupe told me Elise spent her days moping like a teenager with a case of the vapors because Carl had disappeared.
“She carries on like her life is over,” Lupe said with disdain. “He killed her husband and she cries for him? I don’t get it.”
Without saying so, I wondered if Elise was crying crocodile tears. I asked Dean if he thought Carl and Elise had conspired to kill the doctor. He said it was possible, and evidence existed that their affair started before Doc Wentworth died.
One day, I went up to the ICU to see Mo. She’d been recovering slowly, eating better, and taking short walks. When I arrived at the ICU door, I found no security guard, so I hurried to the desk.
“She’s been moved to a regular room,” the nurse said. “She’s doing well, better than expected.”
I went down to Mo’s new room, concerned again for her safety. Fortunately, the guard I usually saw at the ICU was sitting in a chair outside the door. I thanked him for being diligent and went inside.
Over the next several days, Mo’s condition continued to improve. She was still far too thin, but her appetite had returned, which was good news. Even better, her sense of humor was back, and she regaled me with her critiques of hospital food. I’d always heard that doctors made the worst patients, but it was clear to me that chefs could give them a run for their money.
Grandma Natalie visited Mo almost every day, sometimes with me, sometimes on her own. Mo had no family in Oregon, and since she’d been living at the Wentworth home in Charbonneau, she’d never had the chance to get out enough to make many friends. She immediately adopted mine and they reciprocated with enthusiasm. There was nothing unusual in finding Rachel or Sally in Mo’s hospital room during visiting hours. Grandma Natalie and I were surprised one time to find Freddy there.
After the two older women exchanged greetings, Freddy said to me, “You thought you could keep her from me, didn’t you?” Her smile couldn’t have gotten any wider. “Maureen indeed!”
Seeing Mo’s puzzled expression, I explained. “Remember I told you I took Freddy a piece of your carrot cake? She’s been wanting to find you ever since, but I hadn’t told you what I’d done, so I told her your name is Maureen.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Hey, I didn’t lie.”
“Always walking the fine line, Annie,” Grandma Natalie said in a teasing tone.
“Here’s the deal,” Freddy said. “The Charbonneau Bakery is closed for good, and I have customers who are about to march on my place with signs and torches if I don’t get some desserts back on the menu. When you’re back on your feet, you think you’d be interested in helping me out?”
Mo’s entire face lit up. “Would I ever! I’m going to need a job. There’s no way I’m setting foot anywh
ere near the Wentworth house again.” She and Freddy shook hands. “You have a deal.”
Freddy gave me a triumphant look, Mo a salute, and Grandma Natalie a hug before heading out the door.
“This is good news for me, too,” Grandma Natalie said.
“Oh? Why?”
“Yeah, now I can get a piece of this amazing cake that you’ve been talking about.”
“You’ll love it.” Thinking of what Mo had said about the Wentworth house, I turned back to her. “If you’re never going back to the doc’s house, we’ll need to get someone to pack up your stuff.”
“There isn’t much there. Clothes, a few books, and the usual sundries. Most of my stuff is in storage. You think Lupe could help?”
“Let’s check with her. She’s only working there one day a week, and as soon as she can find another gig, she’s done, too.”
The nurse stopped in to check Mo’s IV line. “Have you been out for a walk yet?”
“No, but this is as good a time as any. I’m getting tired of lying in bed.”
“Okay,” the nurse said. She eyed Grandma Natalie. “But no dancing.”
I broke out laughing.
After the nurse left, Mo said, “Dancing?”
Grandma Natalie laughed heartily.
I said, “Long story. I’ll tell you while we walk.”
Two days later, I headed to the hospital for another visit and found out that Mo was strong enough to leave the hospital soon. Without family nearby, and because she was technically homeless, Grandma Natalie and I insisted that she stay with us. Lupe enlisted the help of her nephew to pack Mo’s stuff from her room above the Wentworth garage. He was kind enough to tote the boxes into the house and into the room that would be Mo’s when she was discharged. She was right; she didn’t have much. I’d also starting emptying her hospital room, marveling at how many gifts she’d accumulated during her stay.
“At least it’s not two dozen helium balloons,” I said one morning at breakfast.
“Oh, I can solve that problem for you,” Grandma Natalie said. “I’ll order up a bunch.” She reached for her phone.
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re incorrigible. And I think she’d love it.”
Later, as I hobbled on my crutches toward her hospital room, I contemplated what Mo’s ten-by-ten-foot bedroom would look like with the ceiling covered in balloons. Between the stacks of boxes and the plants, fruit baskets, and other gifts I’d taken home for her, we had scarcely enough room to walk around the bed. Sure, why not add a bunch of wobbling, crinkling balloons with their trailing strings. Just what the place needed to spruce it up. Shadow would turn them into cat toys at the first opportunity.
Amused at my grandmother’s antics, I headed toward Mo’s room. I was surprised to see the security guard headed down the hospital corridor toward me. I waved to stop him.
“Where are you going? Is someone watching the room?”
“The doctor’s in with her. I haven’t had a break all day, and I gotta pee like a racehorse. Two minutes, and I’ll be back.”
He rushed past me and into the nearby restroom.
When I arrived at Mo’s room, the door was closed, which was unusual. I pushed it open and peeked around the edge, concerned, but not wanting to intrude.
Dressed in hospital scrubs, Carl Wentworth stood beside Mo’s bed, injecting something into her IV tube. Mo lay motionless, eyes closed.
“No!” I slammed the door open and crutched toward him. I screamed, “Help! Someone help me!”
He stiff-armed me away. I fell against a nearby chair and landed hard on the floor, crutches going every which way. He continued pressing the plunger of the syringe.
Still yelling for help, I grabbed one of my crutches and struck at his legs. He snatched it from me and threw it across the room where it ricocheted off the wall and clattered to the floor.
I scrambled to my feet. Only slightly encumbered by the cast on my ankle, I tackled him, driving him against the wall. He dropped the syringe.
I grabbed the IV line and jerked it out of Mo’s arm, sending blood spraying onto the bed and IV fluid pouring onto the floor. She didn’t move.
The security guard ran into the room, followed by four nurses and aides and two people in street clothes. A nurse avoided the tangle of Carl and me on the floor and leapt onto Mo’s bed to stanch the flow of blood coming out of the torn IV site in her arm.
From my spot on the floor, it appeared that the room was filled with arms and legs and people shouting, but within moments, Carl Wentworth was immobilized.
“He was putting something into her IV,” I said, pointing to the syringe. I turned to Carl. “What did you give her, you bastard?”
All he did was glare at me. I summoned all the restraint I had left to keep from smashing my remaining crutch into his face.
One of the nurses collected the syringe from the floor and put it into a plastic bag. Another nurse was taking Mo’s vitals and yet a third started to set up a new IV. Within moments, a doctor from the emergency department ran into the room.
“Until we know what he was giving her, we’ll assume it’s some kind of drug overdose. I doubt he was giving her vitamins.” The doctor injected an antidote for drug overdoses into Mo’s IV line. To the nurse he said, “Let’s get her up to ICU.”
By then, another hospital security officer arrived. The two of them hauled a stonily silent Carl to his feet just as two Portland police officers appeared. They handcuffed their prisoner, and after I told them that he was wanted for murder and kidnapping, the cops tightened the handcuffs until he squirmed. The officers agreed to call Dean and took the killer away.
After the nurses wheeled Mo’s bed out of the room, Grandma Natalie collected my crutches for me, and she and I made our way to the waiting room near the ICU. I was still quivering with rage and with fear for my friend. She’d endured so much at the hands of that monster, and just when I thought she was safe, that we were both safe, there he was, a stone-cold Grim Reaper in the shape of a human being.
I stumbled into one of the waiting room chairs as a nurse walked by. Concerned, she asked if I needed help and didn’t believe me when I said I was all right. She took my pulse while I told her what happened. Grandma Natalie caught up with me and sat beside me, holding my other hand.
“You were very brave,” the nurse said. “You probably saved your friend’s life.”
Without warning, I started crying, deep sobs that wracked my body. The nurse stopped a passing aide and sent her to get food from the cafeteria, and held my hand, trying to comfort me. When the young woman arrived with sandwiches and drinks, I started crying again.
“Thank you,” I said through my blubbering. She patted my back and told me to rest. She and the aide went back to work.
Sometime later, after Mo was settled into the ICU room for observation, we were allowed in to see her. She opened her eyes and looked around, groaning.
“I hate the ICU,” she mumbled. “Annie?”
“Right here, hon. With Grandma Natalie.”
“Did you bring my battery?”
I peered at her. “What battery? I don’t understand.”
“Anyone else who wants to attach electrodes to that sick bastard’s favorite body parts will have to get in line.”
Grandma Natalie said, “Hmmm, I believe I wouldn’t mind standing in that line.”
Mo gave tried to sit up, so I found her an extra pillow, mother hen that I am, and helped prop her up.
“What the everlasting fuck did he do to me?” she said. “I feel like twelve kinds of shit.”
I said, “He sent the guard away and injected something into your IV. They’re testing your blood and the syringe now, but to be on the safe side, they gave you something that reverses drug overdoses. It’s only been a little while and you’re awake, so I think we can do the math.”
“In that case, I get to kill the guard, too.” Mo stre
tched a little and held up her left arm, which was bandaged. “My arm hurts.”
I bit my lip. “That’s my fault. Sorry.”
She looked at me as if in disbelief. “Let me understand this. A maniac was trying to kill me, and you thought you’d twist my arm off, just to add to the fun?”
“He was poisoning you, smartass. I yanked your IV out. It was the only thing I could think to do.”
“And she tackled him at the same time according to the hospital staff.” Grandma Natalie beamed with pride.
Mo stared at me. “You actually saw him doing it?”
“I did. When I came into your room, he had a syringe in his hand. What else could I do?” I decided to lighten the mood before they went all hero worship on me. “Hey, I worked too damn hard to get you out of that barn to let him win. Can’t let so much work go to waste, right?”
“I’m glad you have your priorities in order,” Mo said.
“And don’t you forget it.”
Chapter Twelve
The party was in full swing when I pulled into the driveway with Mo. Joe must have taken charge of the music because we could hear the bass reverberating even though the car windows were closed. I already had a mental image of Patrick rolling his eyes and Grandma Natalie entreating Joe in vain to lower the volume.
“The neighbors are going to love this,” I said. “I’ll be surprised if they don’t call the police.”
“Maybe they did.” Mo pointed out the window. “There’s a Portland cop car on the street and I think this is an unmarked one right here.”
Sure enough, to the right of where I’d parked sat a black car. I was sure I’d seen it before and I had a pretty good idea where.
“Oh, look at that,” I said.
Stretched across the front of the house above the garage door was a massive banner reading “Welcome Home, Annie and Mo” in bright yellow on purple. I got tears in my eyes. In the darkest days in that old barn, I’d had moments when I was sure I’d never see this house again.
