The woman looked at her with a little bit of suspicion, or perhaps Cindy’s own discomfort and paranoia made it seem that way. Before she could say anything, though, another nurse walked by, stopped and turned back to her.
“Mrs. Silverman. Hi, I was one of your nurses when you were in here a while back. I’ll take you right to your husband.”
Cindy felt herself turn bright red. Jeremiah had been forced to claim that relationship so he’d be allowed to see her and protect her from a serial killer just days after he and she had first met. She had never forgotten, but she had assumed people at the hospital would.
Still, she didn’t say anything, but followed meekly behind as the woman took her through twisting hallways. He was probably still in the emergency section of the hospital and she probably should have parked around that side, she realized belatedly. She felt like she was doing everything in slow motion, particularly thinking.
At last they came to the emergency ward where a long room had several semi-private beds that were screened from each other by curtains.
“I found your wife outside looking for you,” the nurse said cheerfully as she ducked through one of the curtains.
Cindy sheepishly followed her and had a hard time meeting Jeremiah’s eyes. He was smiling, but he was incredibly pale. He was connected up to all sorts of monitors and there was an IV drip hooked up to his right arm.
“Thanks for bringing her by, I was beginning to wonder when she was going to get here,” Jeremiah said, sounding weak.
“Sorry it took so long,” Cindy said, feeling guilty.
He reached out for her and she moved so she could take his hand. “I understand,” he said softly.
“The doctor will be with you in a minute,” the nurse said before leaving.
“Are you okay?” he asked, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.
“I’ve been better,” she admitted.
“I’m glad you came.”
“Well, I couldn’t very well leave you alone here, could I?” she asked, forcing herself to smile. She’d never tell him that she’d wanted to do just that by hiding at home.
“I know it can’t be easy for you,” he said, finally letting go of her hand.
She pulled up a chair. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Now I just have to convince them to let me go home. I’d appreciate your help with that.”
“I think you should stay overnight,” she argued.
He shook his head. “Can’t. Rosh Hashanah starts tomorrow night and I’m behind as it is.”
“But you’ve been shot.”
“I’ll live. Clearly.”
She bit her lip as she thought about seeing him with his shirt off while the paramedics worked on him. There had been so many scars. Small holes, long jagged ones. She had realized even then that the others in the room were shocked by how many scars he had. Some of them were even bullet scars.
“You’ve been shot...a lot,” she said finally.
He studied her quietly for a moment. “You know I spent my required time in the army in Israel.”
“I know, everyone there has to serve. I just thought, I don’t know, that you’d be doing more chaplain kind of duties.”
He gave her what she could only describe as an intensely sad look. “If only things were that simple,” he said, his voice sounding strained.
“You were hurt?”
“Yes. I saw combat. It left its mark.”
She could tell he didn’t want to talk about it.
It didn’t just scar his body, she realized.
She wanted desperately to know more, but she couldn’t push. She instinctively felt it was hurting him just to admit that much. Before she could say anything the curtain parted and the doctor strode in, his head buried in Jeremiah’s chart.
He finally looked up. “You’ve had a busy evening,” he said.
“Yup. Ready to go home now and get some rest.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” the doctor said. “I want to keep you overnight.”
“That’s not acceptable,” Jeremiah said.
She winced at his use of the word which made him sound combative instead of persuasive.
“Please,” she piped up. “He’d be so much more comfortable at home. He’s afraid of hospitals and I know he won’t be able to get any rest here. I can make sure he’s comfortable and has everything he needs bef-” she cut herself off before she could say the rest of her sentence. She was about to admit that she would be going home and leaving him alone which would virtually guarantee that the doctor would force him to stay overnight where he could have help and supervision.
“And just who are you?” the doctor asked her.
“She’s my wife,” Jeremiah said, grabbing her hand again.
“I’m sorry, but I feel you really need medical monitoring.”
“She was an army nurse in Afghanistan,” Jeremiah said. “I’ll be just fine.”
She blinked, struggling not to let her face give away Jeremiah’s lie. It was important enough for him to go home tonight that he was willing to take it that far. She didn’t like it, but she wasn’t going to contradict him.
“Where’d you serve?” the doctor asked.
“Kandahar,” she said the first name that popped into her mind. Her mom had had a second cousin who was there at the beginning of the war. She forced herself to look at him straight on and not blink.
“So, you know a thing or two about gunshot wounds, then.”
“You know she does,” Jeremiah said. “If she’d been there when this happened I wouldn’t have called for an ambulance.”
“Please. Rosh Hashanah begins at sundown tomorrow night. We need to prepare. He’s a rabbi and it would be devastating if this impacted the most important holy days of the year,” Cindy said. “It would severely impair the free exercise of his religious beliefs and those of a great many others.”
Jeremiah was practically crushing her hand. She took that as a sign that she was laying it on too thick. She eased off. “Please, we just want to go home,” she said.
She felt tears begin to sting her eyes, and those at least were real.
“Honey, could you give us a moment?” Jeremiah asked.
She nodded, wiped at her eyes, and headed outside.
She could hear the two men talking in low voices, but not what they were saying.
A minute later the doctor came out. The look he gave her was one of pity. “I’ll release him into your care. I’ll write out detailed instructions for dosages and have the hospital pharmacy deliver the prescriptions here right away. I’ll leave my number. If anything goes wrong...for either of you...call me at any time day or night and I’ll come over.”
“Thank you,” Cindy said, wondering what on earth Jeremiah could have told him.
He looked like he was about to touch her but then dropped her hand. “I’ll have you out of here in thirty minutes,” he said.
Mark dearly hoped that the woman on the floor wasn’t the one they were there to meet, but he had a feeling given how she dressed that she was indeed the art restorer and the owner of the house.
Liam rushed forward toward the body of the woman. Mark grabbed him by the collar as he passed and pushed him sideways into the wall.
“What the-”
“First, we make sure it’s safe,” Mark hissed.
They needed to make certain that whoever had done this wasn’t still in the house as well as ascertain whether or not the woman was a threat before approaching the body.
There appeared to be only two exits from the room - the door they had come in through and the doorway into the rest of the house that the body was blocking. The space was large but there were no closets for anyone to be hiding in.
Mark edged forward, weapon trained on the fallen woman, eyes darting between her and what he could see of the house beyond. Lights were on in other parts of the house making him think she had entered the room either because she had heard a noise o
r in preparation for their meeting and surprised the intruder.
He wasn’t about to take any chances that that was what had happened, though. When he was standing close to the body he reached out and nudged the shoulder with his toe.
There was no response. He watched the back carefully, but could see no signs of breathing. He shifted so he could kick the leg, just hard enough that if she was alive and conscious it would definitely elicit a response. Again nothing.
He handed Liam his gun and then bent down swiftly and felt for a pulse at the base of her neck. There was none.
He stood and took his gun back from Liam. He stepped over the woman, crouching down as he moved quickly through the doorway and out into the hallway beyond.
He let his eyes sweep down it. He was about to turn and open the door directly across the hallway when he heard a crash from the front of the house.
He ran in a low crouch, weapon trained in front of him. The family room and dining room when he came to them were empty. He glanced up the stairway to the second floor but saw nothing. He passed through the front entrance area of the house and headed for the kitchen.
He heard a soft thud and he tensed, lifting a hand to let Liam who was following behind know to use caution. Mark slowed and stood just outside the kitchen, back pressed against the wall. Sweat was beading on his forehead. He took a deep breath, counted to three, and charged through the doorway.
As Mark dashed through the doorway into the kitchen he wasn’t sure who he’d find inside. His finger was on the trigger of his gun and his mind was hyper alert.
His eyes flicked across the room and at first saw no one. Then he dropped them slightly and saw shattered glass on the ground and a pool of white liquid spreading out from it. There, at the edge of the liquid eagerly lapping it up, was a fluffy orange cat.
He felt himself sag slightly with relief. He’d been afraid that someone was about to get hurt, that the killer would fire on him or that he would accidentally fire on some innocent bystander.
He turned to Liam and whispered. “Let’s finish clearing the house and then we’ll call it in.”
Twenty minutes later Cindy was helping Jeremiah into her car. Once inside she headed for the exit of the parking lot.
“I’ve never seen them discharge someone so quickly,” she said. “What on earth did you say to him?”
“I could tell that he wasn’t going to cave even if you were an army nurse, so I told him the truth.”
“Which is?”
Jeremiah sighed as he leaned his head back against the seat. “That you’re suffering PTSD from having been kidnapped and tortured a couple of months ago. I told him you were already afraid of hospitals and that with everything that was happening, I couldn’t predict how you were going to react. I also told him he’d be unsuccessful in trying to get you to leave the hospital and that the best solution for us and for them was to let me go home.”
“I see. Did you also tell him we weren’t married?”
“Not a chance. As far as those people are concerned we’re married and it’s better for us if they keep thinking that. It’s come in handy too many times.”
“Oh. Well, at least I don’t have to pretend to be an army nurse from now on. That could have gotten awkward.”
“You were a real soldier, in there, though. I appreciated it. I’m going to have to make it up to you somehow.”
“Steak dinner when this is done,” she said.
“You’re on.”
“And explain to me what Rosh Hashanah is,” she said.
He actually chuckled. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”
“I’m asking, so talk.”
“It’s the Jewish New Year, but instead of a time for wild festivities, it’s a time for deep reflection on the past year and the coming year.”
“So, like resolutions.”
“Yes, but ideally a bit more spiritual. Rosh Hashanah begins the ten-day period known as Yamim Noraim, which means the Days of Awe or some would say the Days of Repentance. They end with Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. During Yamim Noraim we believe that G-d has books that he writes our names down in and he decides what will happen to you in the coming year, who will die, who will have a good life or a bad life. He writes in these books on Rosh Hashanah and we have until Yom Kippur when the books are sealed to get him to change his mind and rewrite our life for the coming year. That’s why I would say to you L'shanah tovah tikatevi v'taihatemi. It means ‘may you be inscribed and sealed for a good year’.”
“How do you get God to change what he wrote about you?” she asked.
“Good deeds, prayer, and repentance.”
“Yom Kippur is the day you atone for your sins?”
“Only those made against God. Before Yom Kippur if you want to atone for sins against another person you must reconcile with them, and right any wrongs that you can.”
“It all sounds complicated,” Cindy said.
“It’s cleansing,” Jeremiah countered. “It’s starting each year with a fresh slate. Well, as fresh as you can.”
“So, what do you do on Rosh Hashanah itself?”
“It’s a two day celebration. The shofar, which is like a trumpet but is made out of a ram’s horn, is blown in the synagogue one hundred times on each day as a call to repentance. People eat honey dipped apples as they wish for a sweet year. They also symbolically cast off their sins on the first day by emptying their pockets into a stream or other type of flowing water. Usually the pockets are filled with bread crumbs or something of that nature that stand in for the sins being cast off.”
“And it’s actually considered a holiday, right?” she asked.
“No work is permitted on Rosh Hashanah.”
“Which is why you have to get your preparations done before it starts?”
“Exactly. Much of the two days is actually spent in the synagogue and the liturgy is different.”
“So, no working unless you’re you.”
He looked at her. “Well, being rabbi, reading liturgy, that is your job, your work, so you’re still stuck working.”
“You want to know what’s weird?” he asked.
“What?”
“I never actually thought about it that way until right now.”
She smiled. “I’ve been trying to pay attention. It’s like Shabbat in that way, too. You’re the only one working. So, really, on those days where you’re not permitted to work, but people are supposed to go to the synagogue, they should all go and you should stay home and quietly reflect on God or even do something completely different, like golf or something.”
“If I weren’t in so much pain and on so much medication, I’d be laughing right now,” he admitted.
“Then my job here is done. I might as well pull over the car right here,” she joked.
“Don’t you dare,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I promised the doctor I’d take care of you and I will. It sounds like a busy time for you, work wise, though. Do you think you’ll be able to handle everything in your condition?”
“The hard part will be the day after Rosh Hashanah.”
“Why?”
“That’s a fast day, the Fast of Gedaliah.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Wish I was. Fortunately medical exceptions are made. I’ll just have to figure out what those are going to be in my case.”
“That’s a lot to pack in to a few weeks.”
“Oh, that’s not all. Five days after Yom Kippur is Sukkot which is a big deal. It lasts for seven days and then there are two holidays on the two days following it.”
“Stop! Information overload.”
“Not surprising,” he said.
“Tell you what, let’s get through Yom Kippur and then you can tell me about the others.”
“Okay,” he said.
She glanced over at him. His arm was heavily bandaged and in a sling. She thought again of that moment where she realized he’d been shot.
If we live that long, she silently amended.
It took a few more minutes, but Mark and Liam finally finished sweeping the entire house. No one else was there. They headed back into the room with the body while Mark called it in. When he was finished he looked at Liam who was just staring at him.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You assumed that she was alive and dangerous. Why?”
“Years ago I participated in a drug bust. We were searching the house and I saw a guy laying face down on the floor next to a pool of blood. I dropped my guard, bent down to check on him, and he rolled over and shot me. Fortunately I was wearing my vest, but he was aiming at my head when one of the other officers came up behind me and killed him. That’s when I learned never to approach a fallen body without assuming the person could be armed and dangerous.”
“Thanks. I will remember that.”
“I hope so.” Mark took a deep breath. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Liam. “Grab us some gloves. I keep a box in the trunk.”
Liam left and Mark stood gazing around the room, anger burning in him. It looked like whoever had done this had been looking for something. She must have surprised whoever it was and they killed her. The real question was, did they find what they were looking for?
He heard running footsteps outside and he drew his weapon.
“Detective!” Liam said, bursting through the door, eyes wide.
“What?”
“Your car...somebody broke into it and stole the painting.”
11
Jeremiah was exhausted. He was in worse shape than he’d let on to either the doctor or Cindy. He’d lost a lot of blood and that was making him weak. They hadn’t completely immobilized his arm which meant that he kept inadvertently moving it releasing waves of pain through him that the painkillers could only dull but not get rid of. It was incredibly taxing to have to actively try to keep still and then deal with the pain when he couldn’t.
Just getting from Cindy’s car into the house was nearly too much for him. He grit his teeth in frustration. He’d had wounds that were far more serious that were still far easier to work around.
Restoreth My Soul (Psalm 23 Mysteries) Page 11
