Never Gonna Tell

by Sarah M. Ross

  “Not so hot,” I answer honestly.

  The chair scuffs loudly as he scoots a bit closer to me and checks his phone again. “You’ve been out for about three hours. The nurse said you got an infection, and that’s causing your fever. It’s pretty bad, Rea. You really shouldn’t have left the hospital in the first place.”

  No wonder my arm has been so sore. But I don’t regret it. I couldn’t just leave Marco up there. If we’d waited any longer he wouldn’t have made it out alive. I blink away the thought. I can’t even go there. “Any word on Marco?”

  “The doctors confirmed his spleen was punctured, and that was causing his internal bleeding. They have him in surgery to remove it now.” He slides his cell into his shirt pocket and stands. “I’m going to go grab your dad. Your mom is stuck at the police station dealing with the cops about this whole mess. She’s insisting on interviewing a few officers before they’re sent here to guard your door, especially with Nicky still out there.”

  I chuckle. “I’m surprised she hasn’t just hired a private security firm or the Secret Service or something already.”

  Charlie rolls his eyes. “Don’t give her any ideas.”

  “My dad’s here though?”

  “Yeah, he was just grabbing some more coffee in the cafeteria. I’ll go tell him you’re awake. You’ll be okay for a few minutes?”

  I point to my nurse call button. “I’ll be fine.”

  He leans over and kisses my forehead before heading out, closing the door behind him. Left alone, I push the control on the bed until I’m in a sitting position. I am about to call for the nurse when the door swings open, and two uniformed officers I’ve never seen before stand in the doorway. Both of the men are stocky, their uniforms ill-fitting. It’s an odd look and sets me on edge. The taller of the two glances behind him and shuts the door before addressing me.

  “Hi, Reagan. I’m Officer Galloway. This is Officer Soldevilla. We have a few questions regarding what happened to you and Mr. Calotta.” He tries to smile, but it’s forced and comes out as more of a yellow-toothed snarl.

  The duo saunters closer, standing on either side of my bed like a “good cop, bad cop” scenario. Officer Soldevilla folds his thick arms over his chest as he hovers over me, never saying a word. The other man—Galloway—takes out a piece of paper like he’s going to take notes, but he has no pen. He keeps sniffing and his eyes are glassy, making me wonder if he’s high on something. An uneasy vibe shivers down my back and settles in my gut. Something’s not right.

  “Um, I think we should wait until my dad gets back. He just went to get coffee.”

  Officer Galloway reaches out and grabs the nurse call button from my hand, placing it on a counter far out of my reach before swiping the two pain pills on the tray and popping them back like Pez. “Oh, there’re just a few questions. It won’t take but a minute.”

  They’re giving me the heeby-jeebies just looking at me with their beady eyes, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

  Soldevilla pulls a wheelchair out that had been stored behind my bed. “You look a little flushed, dear. Why don’t we go and meet him in the cafeteria? Get you some fresh air? I bet that will make you feel better.” The word “dear” sounds strangely threatening coming from his thick lips.

  No, being far away from these two will make me feel better. My eyes dart around the room, looking for my cell phone, but it’s nowhere in sight. “I’d rather wait.”

  They ignore me. “Here, we’ll help you into the chair.” Officer Galloway grabs me around the arm, his dirty fingernails digging into my tender skin.

  “Ow! Let go.” I yank my arm back, but his grip only tightens.

  “Now, Reagan, be a good girl. I’d hate to see you get further injured.” His hand slides to his hip, fingers brushing the grip on his gun. A gun that looks very much not police issued. “Or have anyone else get hurt, like that nice boy who just left, for example.”

  I swallow hard and shake my head.

  “Good. Now get in the chair. You’re coming with us.”

  PANIC SWELLS IN my chest as my mind races. These have got to be the moles who work for Nicky, right? Are they even police officers? I highly doubt they are, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t have much of a choice but to comply and go with them. Marco is right next door. I can’t let them know. Not after Marco almost died and his dad did die for helping me. I swallow down the lump in my throat and brush the covers aside, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The air is chilly on my bare legs. I wiggle my toes, looking around for my shoes and cell phone, but neither are anywhere in sight.

  “Let’s go, move it already,” Officer Soldevilla grumbles. His eyes dart around, and sweat is forming on his upper lip and temples. I wonder what he’s so nervous about? I need to use this to my advantage. Maybe I can stall long enough to get the nurse or my dad to come back.

  He taps his foot impatiently, but I don’t budge from the bed. “I don’t know where my shoes went. Can you help me look for them?”

  “You’re not going to be walking anywhere, so just get in the chair already.”

  Well, that was a bust. I try a new tactic and reach out for the nurse button. “But my IV. Let me just call—”

  Officer Soldevilla grabs my hand and yanks the needle out of my arm. I yelp and press my hand over the hole where blood now trickles out. “You’ll be fine without it. No more stalling.”

  He tugs on my wrist, pulling me up out of the bed before tossing me into the wheelchair haphazardly. I land twisted to the side, the armrest digging into my sore ribs. “Ow!” Tears well in my eyes from the sudden sting. “I’m in the hospital for a reason, you jerk!”

  I cradle my sore ribs as I unsuccessfully attempt to hold back tears. I’m about to call him a few more choice words that are sitting on the tip of my tongue when something cold and hard digs low between my shoulder blades.

  “You’re going to be nice and quiet as we leave here, ya got it? And quit that crying.” He presses the gun farther into my skin and I wince.

  I brush the tears away and bite my lip to keep from crying further—not from pain but from the realization that I may not be able to escape my fate a second time.

  No one is occupying the nurses’ station when the officers wheel me through the ER. At least they can’t get to Marco since he’s in surgery, I think, passing the room he’d occupied. Desperate to catch someone’s attention, my eyes scour the area. In one of the larger trauma bays, there’s a ton of commotion. All of the doctors and nurses must be dealing with a new patient, giving the “officers” a perfect opportunity to get me out of here unseen.

  My eyes never stop scanning the hallway as Officer Galloway pushes the button for the garage level and we wait for the car. Someone has got to come by, right? This is a major hospital. Where the hell is everyone?

  Galloway taps Soldevilla’s arm with the back of his hand, getting his attention. “Hey, hold the elevator so I can run and grab that meds case over there. No one’s even watching it. That’s an easy score. There’s gotta be like, thousands worth of Oxy and Xanax in there, right?”

  Sodevilla turns to the other man, looking at him like he has three heads. “Are you out of your mind? We’re taking enough of a risk with how high profile this case is. You want to add grand larceny with intent to distribute to that? Just get in the damn elevator before I shoot you too.”

  The car arrives and they wheel me in, but not before placing an “out of order” sign on it, ensuring no one will follow us. My chest tightens as I remember the statistics that say something about kidnapping survival percentages. I’m pretty sure they’re cut in half if a kidnapper manages to take you to a secondary location. I can’t leave this hospital. I can’t.

  “Where are you taking me?” I don’t know why I bother asking the question, I don’t believe they’ll tell me the truth.

  “We’re going to have a chat with an old friend of yours.”

  They’re taking me to Nicky. Shit. Shit. Shit.
How in the world am I going to get out of this alive? There’s a gun pressed to my back, I have nothing to fight back with, I’m barefoot and wearing only a hospital gown, and I’m outnumbered. I rack my brain for any idea, no matter how crazy, but come up short.

  The elevator dings, and the door slides open. They wheel me out into the parking garage and pause near the first row of cars. We don’t move for a few minutes and neither of the men is talking. The gun, which has been dug into my back since we left my hospital room, slips down a few inches, no longer held taut. I nonchalantly turn my head to the right, trying to ascertain what they’re up to. Galloway’s eyes are glued to his phone, his gun slipping farther down as he concentrates on texting furiously. Soldevilla has his back to me, looking around the parking garage for something—or someone.

  “He should be here by now,” Galloway huffs, checking his watch. “I don’t got all day for this. Crystal is up my ass about fixin’ that stupid air-conditioning unit.”

  “Relax. He’ll be here. And tell Crystal that if she’s too hot at home, maybe she can try going out and getting an actual job so she can sit in the AC all day.”

  Galloway rolls his eyes. “That bitch wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it jumped up and bit her. I swear she’s the laziest…”

  This is my chance. They’re both distracted. I have to move now while I can. It’s my only shot at not coming back to this hospital in a body bag. I gently ease my left foot off the footrest and place it on the cement below. My eyes drift up and over, glancing in my peripheral vision that neither caught sight of the move before I stealthily repeat the motion with my right foot. Being barefoot might actually work to my advantage.

  With both feet planted firmly on the ground, I lean forward slightly in the chair, ready to take off. I take one final glance behind me to make sure they’re still distracted and bolt from the seat.

  “Son of a bitch!” Galloway yells.

  I don’t look back. I run at full speed, my legs pumping faster than they ever have, zigzagging as I go in case one of them tries to get a shot off. The wind whips through my hospital gown; I know I’m mooning everyone but couldn’t care less. I need somewhere to hide. I’m too vulnerable out in the open. I duck between a minivan and a Toyota, pressing my back against the minivan as I crouch down near the rear wheel.

  “Where’d she go?” Galloway calls, breathless.

  “She ran that way.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you shoot her?”

  “Because, you idiot, a gunshot would echo off these walls and there’s no way someone wouldn’t hear it and call it in. Besides, she’s a little girl. What can she really do? She’s probably cowering in some corner crying or something.”

  I grind my teeth at the comment. Little girl, my ass. I’ll show you just what this little girl can do. I flip them the bird, not caring that they can’t see the gesture before I try the door of the minivan, hoping I can hide inside. The door doesn’t budge.

  Footsteps draw closer. I can’t stay here. I have to keep moving. I drop to my hands and knees and crawl on all fours between several cars, trying various handles as I go, praying I don’t set off an alarm.

  “You can’t hide, Reagan!” Galloway’s angry words send chills down my spine.

  Footsteps approach and I flatten, rolling under a car and holding my breath. The ground is freezing on my bare skin. I have to bite down to keep my jaw from chattering. The footsteps stop less than two car lengths away.

  “There’s nowhere to hide. Do yourself a favor and come out now, because if we find you we’ll make sure to kill you nice and slow.”

  “The longer you hide, the longer we’re gonna draw out the pain, you little brat.”

  Bile rises in my throat at the thought of either of them putting their hands on me. I close my eyes, not daring to even breathe for several minutes until the voices and footsteps fade, moving away from my hiding spot.

  I wait another full minute, and after another few minutes of silence, I roll out from under the car. I army crawl across the aisle, ignoring the pain shooting through my chest from the strain of the motion. My forearms scrape the concrete as I move, the skin peeling away into a bloody rash. I slide past two more cars when I notice a little black box no bigger than a pack of gum on the ground near the rear wheel of an old-model black Volkswagen Jetta. It looks like… could I get this lucky?

  Palming the box, I give it a tiny shake. Something rattles inside and I say a prayer of thanks. Someone must have tried to use one of those hide-a-key things you hook to the bottom of your car, but it didn’t work.

  Footsteps return, fast and loud. “Any sign of her?”

  The voice is alarmingly close, and I freeze mid-motion.

  “No, but she couldn’t have gotten too far.”

  A sharp whistle from across the garage startles me. “Vincent! John! What are you two meatheads doing? Where’s the girl?”

  The voice belongs to Nicky and raises my panic level even higher. My fingers deftly slide the box open, a single key slipping out. I’m so happy I could cry and take this as a sign that someone’s looking out for me. Maybe Marco’s dad. He wasn’t all bad: in the end, he did everything to try to save his son. I hope Marco can take solace in that one day.

  “Get the hell over here!” Nicky’s voice turns my attention, and I flatten to the ground, peering around the rear tire of the car to get a look at the scene.

  The officers stop their search for me and jog up to where Nicky is leaning against a black sedan, arms folded over his chest and face pulled into a mean glare. He has a few bruises on his face, and I smile thinking Frank must have put up quite the fight.

  “Uh, hey, Nicky! There you are. We’ve been lookin’ for ya.”

  “Yeah, we were just looking for you.”

  Nicky pokes each of them in the chest. “Where. Is. The. Girl.”

  Soldevilla looks down, shuffling his feet. “Well, there’s a funny story about that. Not so funny when you think of it, but sometimes—”

  Nicky slaps him. “Enough babbling! God, I don’t know why I continue to work with you morons. Now tell me where the girl is already. I gave you implicit instructions to have her here ten minutes ago. There are police crawling all over the place looking for me. I don’t have time for you two to dawdle. She and that traitorous nephew of mine are the only two loose ends that can put me away. Without them, the cops got nothin’.”

  “Marco’s still inside. They had him in surgery, so we couldn’t get to him. You just said the girl—” Galloway begins.

  “After I take care of the girl, I’ll pull the plug on Marco. You idiots are useless.”

  I suppress a shudder. Things are escalating quickly, and I need to get the hell out of Dodge and get help before Nicky can get to Marco. I tuck my hands into my body and roll under the car so I’m next to the driver’s side door. The Jetta is an older model, with an actual key instead of a fob like my parents have, which is a good thing because it thankfully doesn’t have one of those obnoxious beeps when you unlock the door. I can’t afford to draw any attention to my direction.

  My hand inches up the side of the car door, my fingers feeling for the metal lock. Finding it, I insert the key and turn until I hear the lock click. Success!

  “Go find her, you morons. Now! What the hell are you still standing here for?” Nicky screams, the last word echoing off the walls and bouncing around the garage. “Soldevilla, take that direction. Galloway, take the other side. I’m headed up the middle. We don’t have much longer before someone questions why the parking garage is shut down for maintenance.” The men take off while Nicky pulls out his gun and heads straight ahead—directly toward me!

  Out of time, I throw open the door and slide up and into the driver’s seat in one fell swoop, jamming the key into the ignition with force.

  Before the engine turns over, I realize my mistake.

  No. No. No! It’s a stick shift! I can’t drive stick. My dad tried to teach me—several times—but I could never get t
he hang of it. What the hell am I going to do? Panic tightens my chest and my vision blurs as I imagine dying here in this dirty garage inside some stranger’s car. No. I open my eyes and grind my teeth. Marco didn’t give up and neither will I. My left foot presses the clutch to the floor as I turn the key, the car starting on the first try. Thank you, baby Jesus!

  I spot Nicky through the rearview mirror scanning the row of parked cars behind me. The engine roaring to life draws his attention. He whirls and spots me. Without hesitation, he raises the gun and fires. I duck low in the seat, cringing as the bullet shatters the rear window.

  “I’ve got you now, you little bitch.”

  My hand is shaking like a leaf as I grip the stick shift. I pull it back with vigor, forcing the car into reverse. Nicky fires again, the shot hitting the side mirror. It shatters and splinters, plastic shards spraying against the car like tiny Legos. I shriek, terrified, as I step on the gas, praying I don’t stall the old Volkswagen. The car sputters once before it shoots backward, the tires squealing. I grip the wheel, barely avoiding hitting the parked cars in the row behind me. I hit the brakes and throw the stick shift into first.

  Before I can stomp down on the gas, Nicky jumps out no more than twenty feet from the car, his gun aimed straight for my head. My heart stops. Time stops. All of my hopes and dreams flash before my eyes as I stare down the barrel of a gun aimed by a man intent on killing me—again.

  Taking a deep breath, I switch my feet, pushing in the clutch as my right foot moves from brake to gas. I gun it, not holding back an inch. I’m playing chicken with a man about to lose everything and who would love nothing more than to see me dead. I have one shot at not dying today, and I’m taking it now.

  The car jerks forward, my knuckles white as I grip the wheel. Tires spin, the smell of burning rubber filling the air around me. I let out a primal yell just as Nicky gets another shot off, this one aimed directly between my eyes.

  Time stands still.

  For the next several moments, everything happens in slow motion. I never take my foot off the gas, ducking my head down and face-planting in the center consol. Level with the speedometer, I see the gauge climb to forty before the tires jump over a speed bump, jarring me around like a ragdoll. Glass shatters as I fly forward, remembering too late that I didn’t buckle up. My head smashes into the radio control as my hand rams into the stick shift. The airbag deploys with a loud pop, white powder spraying everywhere, making me gag.