by Trixie More
Hands on his shoulders.
“Doug.” She was behind him. He knew where she was. There was nothing to hold him back now. He fell to his knees, lurching forward. Feeling the skull, the face of his foe, digging his nails and fingers into the flesh, feeling it give. He pulled back his arm, she grabbed at his biceps, but he was all fury knowing she was behind him. His fist plowed into the unseen face.
“Doug!”
He clutched his enemy close, lifting as he got down low, his knee pistoned up into the soft central body. He leaned forward, an ear there. He bit into it. Sophia was pulling Doug; he was still trying to find a way to end this person, whoever it was, whoever had hurt her.
“Stop, he’s dead, I think he’s dead. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Her words filtered into his mind.
Dead? No, not dead. Not dead, surely? He could feel her chest against his back, her arms around him, gripping at his arms, pulling, tugging, one hand circling around his face, holding his cheek, pulling his head back. She dragged him with her as his legs worked of their own accord, kicking at air, his fists launching at nothing.
He stopped moving.
“You came.” She was crying now. He could feel her chest shaking, could hear her gasping for air, the piteous sound of Sophia sobbing. Doug’s head swam, he couldn’t see her. He got his ass underneath him, legs out before himself and swiveled, reaching toward the sound, slowly feeling for her face, a softness there beneath his fingers, the edge of satin hair. Doug could feel his fingers curling around her skull.
Be gentle, gentle, he warned himself. Sophia’s hair was tangled. No, not like this. This should never happen. Is she safe?”
“Shh,” he willed himself to whisper. “Are you sure he’s down? Sweetheart, it’s important. Are you looking at him?”
She answered with a hiccupping yes that broke his heart. “Are you sure?”
He felt her head move. Frustration collapsed into him, making his chest and jaw tight. He couldn’t see what she was indicating. Gently, gently, he thought.
“You have to say it, sweetheart,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, he’s not moving.”
“Are you...can you stay right here? Will you be okay?” Distress flared inside him. He couldn’t see, Goddamn it. “I want to feel his pulse.”
More movement from her.
“Sophia, answer me.” He wanted to see her. “Please.”
“Yes. I can stay...You won’t...You won’t keep...”
“Not if he’s dead,” he answered. Images in his mind of men fighting long after they should stop, the horror of watching that kind of rage. She shouldn’t have seen that. “I promise.”
He forced himself to wait, all the while, his back and scalp prickled, expecting an attack.
“Okay,” she breathed.
He turned too fast.
“Doug!”
“I promised you,” he said. “I promised.” He felt before him, hands sweeping the concrete.
“You can’t see!” she said.
“No.”
“Wait, I’ll help.”
“No!” He forced himself to lower his voice. “I can’t do that again, worry that I might hurt you. Stay back.”
“Your finger’s broken?”
“Sophia. Tell me which way to move.”
“Straight, go strai...”
Above him, a thunderclap detonated; behind him, Sophia cried out. He lunged back toward her. Oh God, why had he left her? There! He got his hands on her arm, pulled her toward him, instinctively curling around her. Tearing and ripping sounds shrieked above them, and he began to feel the sharp pings of things falling on him.
Beneath him, she clutched him back. Curling her arms around his skull, elbows digging into his shoulders, forearms between his head and the falling rain of...
“Explosion?” He just had time to ask before he was struck across the back and the pain took him under.
Chapter 21
Where was Doug?
Sophia woke with a start, her hands flailing to the mattress. Where was Doug? She was in a hospital, she was in a bed, her ass was cold, and her back was bare. Where was Doug?
Sophia struggled to a sitting position, tugging the damn gown around her, trying to cover her exposed back. A window, the TV on the wall, tubes in her, the bed railings, a curtain, half drawn, the end of another bed, a door to a hallway, she saw them all in an instant. Immediately, she knew she was alone. A toilet flushed, water running behind a closed faux-wood door. The door opened and a woman, about sixty, short and in a blue hospital gown, bare white legs with purple veins disappearing into puke-green fuzzy socks twisted, their non-slip pattern uselessly decorating the tops of the woman’s feet.
“You’re awake,” the woman said prosaically.
“Where’s Doug?”
The woman shrugged. “Don’t know. Who’s Doug?” She sat on her bed and struggled to get her legs in, grunting and tugging on the rails, finally flopping back on her pillow and laying still, panting for a moment. When she recovered, she continued. “Damn it. ‘At shit hurts.”
“Are you okay?” Sophia asked.
“Eh.”
This could have meant anything for all Sophia knew, but the woman’s face was relaxed again.
“Do you remember being brought in?” the woman asked, apparently uninterested in her own issues.
“I...” Sophia thought. They’d been in the basement of the house in Jersey when it had exploded. “What state am I in?”
The woman raised her eyebrows.
“I mean, am I in New Jersey or New York?”
“Oh, New York, honey,” she said. “I don’t think the five cops that came in with you would have had it any other way. Is Doug a cop?”
At that, Sophia laughed and instantly regretted it. Her face felt like it was on fire. She froze.
“What does my face look like?” she asked, and the sympathy she saw flood her roommate’s face alarmed her. She struggled with her covers, swinging her legs out of bed. She looked at what she assumed was a saline bag filling a tube connected to her arm. She grabbed the rolling stand and dragged it behind her as she staggered into the bathroom. If she’d been home, she would have screamed. As it was, she just started to shake.
Her hair was a rat’s nest, splinters of wood, and what looked like slate roofing tile were stuck in it, and there was a bald patch near her temple. Bruising streaked down from that bare and reddened spot and bloomed over both her cheeks. She had a black eye, and her lips were swollen, discolored, and split. Her nose had a bandage over it. She remembered that from the ambulance ride. She remembered the cold packs they’d laid gently against her face. Around her neck, the outline of fingers made a purple and red necklace.
I almost died, she thought. Behind her, the sound of a person entering the tiny bathroom. Sophia startled and screamed even as her mind tried to tell her it was a nurse.
“It’s okay, honey,” the nurse said. She had magenta lipstick on and an exhausted, kind face.
“Where’s Doug?”
“Who?” The nurse rubbed her shoulder softly. “Do you need to use the toilet before you get back in bed?”
“Where’s Doug? He was with me.” Sophia’s chest tightened, and to her embarrassment, she started to cry. “Where is he? Where is he?”
The nurse held her. “Is that the guy that hurt you? No, it’s okay. Here.” She offered Sophia a tissue. “I get it. This is important for you. I’ll see what I can do.”
Sophia blew her nose and nodded. “He was hurt with me. We were together in the house when it collapsed. They tried to put him in a different ambulance, but I wouldn’t let them. They promised me. They promised me.”
“Promised you what?” the nurse asked, and for a moment, she heard Doug’s voice in her mind, I promised you. I promised.
“Promised me I could go to the same hospital as him,” she said.
“What’s his full name?” the nurse asked.
“Doug Lloyd.”
&n
bsp; Head tilted to the side, the nurse frowned at her, peering closely into Sophia’s eyes. “You mean the man that they found you with? The man who tried to kill you?”
“No, not him. I think he’s dead, isn’t he?” Was Jacob alive?
“Don’t worry, they have an officer posted right outside your door. They aren’t going to let that monster within a mile of you.”
“What? He’s alive?”
“He killed a city prosecutor, and tried to kill you, so I’m sure he’s not going to have much of a life.”
“What?” When the house exploded, Doug covered her with his body; she’d tried to shield his head with her arms. Boards, debris, and even furniture had fallen through the first floor to land on Jacob’s body, the freezer, and Doug. A floor beam had fallen across his back; he’d passed out from it. She had been staring up into the yawning hole in the ceiling, watching as the kitchen stove teetered on the edge of the gap, when she’d heard the wailing of sirens, and then, police, rescue, and firemen were there, telling her to stay still, until they were able to climb down into the debris and move the boards off Doug, get him in a cage basket and winch him out. She had come out next, and last, Jacob. The state police wanted to take Doug into custody right there on the bail violation, but he’d been too injured. The last she knew, the rescue squad had promised her they would be in the same hospital.
Pushing away from the sink, clutching her gown with one hand and the wheeled IV drip with the other, she checked the door. Sure enough, a police officer was sitting outside her room.
“Hey,” she said.
He looked up and smiled at her. His name tag read Wisniak, he was mid-forties with brown hair and light brown eyes. “Hey. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Where’s Doug Lloyd?”
The cop frowned. “That bastard won’t get in here, rest easy on that.”
“No, I’m not afraid of him. Where is he?”
“It’s not a good idea for you to confront him, either. Give us time to do our jobs, get the evidence, get him behind bars. You won’t have to handle this yourself.”
She put her hand to her forehead. “What do they think Doug’s done now? I mean, if this is because he went outside of Manhattan, I think we can forgive that given what he did, right?”
“You mean try to kill you? Kill prosecutor Park?”
“Is that what they think happened?” She felt sick. “They’ve got it all wrong. Jacob Park tried to kill me. Doug, he was following me, trying to keep me safe. He saved my life.”
The officer looked at her doubtfully. “Look, Park’s dead, and he died from trauma inflicted by Lloyd. The guy took a bite out of the man’s ear.” He stared at her. “Maybe you hit your head? It was an intense scene, you might be confused.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Sophia said. She returned to the room, where both her roommate and the nurse were staring at her. “No way. That man saved my life,” she insisted.
A thought occurred to her. She had a video of Jacob scrubbing the inside of the freezer. Her phone was in her coat pocket, the coat she’d taken off in the fight. So the jacket and the cell phone were somewhere in the rubble or in evidence.
Did anyone from her family even know she was here? If Doug hadn’t followed her, she might be dead and missing just like George.
That did it. If Doug could follow her and break his bail agreement, she could find him. Sophia turned to the nurse.
“What do I have to do to get out of here?”
Nobody would answer his question, but Doug found out what he needed to know anyway. As they wheeled him into the building, they were whispering to each other.
“She wanted to be in the same hospital as him. Munchhausen’s.”
“Are you sure? Maybe she meant not the same as him, that would make more sense.”
While he was lying there, Doug listened, with his eyes shut to the people around him.
“He’s a murderer.”
“He killed a prosecutor and tried to kill her, but she got away.”
“Why don’t they have him handcuffed?”
“He needs to be in prison.”
“How is she?”
“She’s here, can you believe they brought them both here?”
“Oh my God, I would be terrified! Poor thing.”
So, he knew she was alive, and that was all that mattered.
They were treating him medically, but they certainly didn’t care for him. That much was amply clear to Doug. If the conversations around him hadn’t confirmed this, it was evident by the way the doctors spoke to him, by the rough hands that yanked him into a wheelchair and the way that nobody came to assist him when he called out. He’d managed to find the bathroom attached to his room by pretending he was in an Edgar Allan Poe story, walking along the walls until he encountered the toilet. Given the fact that he was functionally blind, and this was a hospital, he expected a bit of aid. Given the fact he was a certified ex-con and had just killed a man, he got his own ass back into bed. Fuck help. Nobody was going to help him now.
Footsteps, the sound of them coming nearer, caused Doug’s pulse to accelerate. Damn it. He hated this feeling of helplessness, it was terrifying. He was incapacitated in a way that prison hadn’t managed to bring to bear. He was—helpless. Every single footfall that came his way indicated a chance for some life-giving assistance, something he couldn’t do for himself. Yet. Because even if he wasn’t able yet to walk out of here and even if the doctor didn’t see a need for anything beyond life-saving assistance, since, as the deep voice had said, they’d take care of that once he was moved to prison, Doug had no intention of staying this way. So he screwed his courage to the sticking place and asked for help.
“Hello?” Doug held his breath. The feet stopped moving, turned, and then advanced. He felt an almost electric tingle along his right arm. He angled his head that way, his right eye seeing some wash of light blue color. Was his vision more defined now?
The voice came from above his right ear, confirming that this sensation he’d felt had been accurate. A woman was standing to there.
“Can I help you?”
He closed his eyes. “I would appreciate it very much,” he said.
“What can I do?”
“I need three things. First, is my cell phone here?”
He felt her walk around the bed. Was she ignoring him? He could tell when she stood on the other side, and he heard her rustling, opening drawers.
“Sorry, I don’t see one.”
“Okay, I need you to get me the phone number for William Jackson, Attorney, Manhattan, and then dial it for me on the room phone.” He heard the sound of something being pulled across what must be the bedside table. He heard her punching the buttons.
“Do you want to talk to him?” she asked.
“Just tell him where I’m at and what phone number this room has.”
“Okay...” he heard the rise and fall of her breath. Then she said, “Hi, William Jackson? I’m calling for Doug Lloyd? He’s in the hospital, and he wanted me to give you his information.”
“Tell him to call me back,” he said.
“Can you call him back in a half hour?”
“Or bust me out,” he said and smiled faintly. The woman snorted.
“Thanks,” she said, and it sounded like she hung up. “He’ll call back.” She came back around to the side of the bed nearest the door.
“My brother’s in the joint. I don’t think there’s going to be any getting out for you either,” she said. “Okay, what else you need?”
“I need to talk to the doctor assigned to fix my eyesight. Doctors have been in, but I don’t know who’s who.”
He heard her walk to the end of the bed, fearing she would leave. He couldn’t stop her.
“Dr. Bennington. She’s a woman, high, soft voice,” the woman said.
“Thank you again. When’s the next visit?
“Early tomorrow,” came the reply.
“Are you a nurse?”
&nb
sp; “I’m Diane, your physical therapist.”
He thought about that. “What’s my prognosis? And where am I?”
It was only twenty minutes later that she left and he felt a bit better. His fingers, other than the one in the splint, and his feet worked, he had sensation everywhere. He made private toiletry his primary objective for the next twenty-four hours. That and finding out what happened to Sophia. Before Diane left, he asked her the most important thing.
“I was with a woman when I was injured. Her name is Sophia Moss. Can you tell me if she’s here, in this hospital too?”
Of course, the answer was no, that was private information.
He was alone when the room phone rang, and he had a moment of panic before his fingers found it next to the bed.
“William?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Doug,” he said.
“Jesus, where are you? You sound like shit.”
“I’m in, fuck. I’m in a hospital.”
“Are you all right?”
What could he say? They thought he’d murdered a second person; they thought he’d tried to kill Sophia of all people; he was blind, and his only goal was to pee by himself.
“I’m fine,” he said.
I just wake up in screaming panic every time I realize I can’t see.
“I’m going to need some serious damage control,” he said.
“How come for the first ten years I knew you, all I did was contracts, and now, you can’t go a day without getting in trouble?” William sounded tired and a bit peevish.
“What time is it, Will?” Doug hesitated. “Look, I’ve lost my eyesight, I can’t tell where I am or what time it is, I...”
“You can’t see?” William sounded more alert. “What the hell happened?”
Footsteps in the room again. “What room am I in?”
Nobody answered him.
“Will, you have to get over here.”
Doug had no way to know how much time had passed. He had nothing to occupy himself with, other than listening and thinking. Funny how prison had prepared him for being blind. He just kept breathing.
“Doug, I’m here,” William’s voice, off to the right, heels on the floor, not business shoes, maybe hard rubber?
