Wake for Me (Life or Death Series)

by Irons, Isobel

  “Oh,” the old man’s smile turned into a stern frown. “Well, that’s a serious problem, son. In the wrong hands, that badge could be used to cause all kinds of trouble. Someone could get into the pharmacy and steal a bunch of drugs, and your name would be the only one on record.”

  Sam froze, as a bead of sweat dripped down his back. This was an outcome he hadn’t considered, the fact that he could get into serious trouble for pretending to misplace his badge. Never mind the other thing he planned on doing.

  The guard laughed, slapping him on the back.

  “Calm down. I’m just kidding son. It won’t take more than a few minutes to deactivate the old one and print you out a new one. With this new computer system, it’s as easy as printing out a hotel key.” He looked over his shoulder, lowering his voice as he jerked a thumb at the other officer in the room, a very overweight and sweaty individual with a military buzz cut, who sat hunched over a desk in front of a security monitor. “Just don’t let Steve find out I told you that. He likes to make a big to-do about losing badges, and he’ll always charge you twenty bucks for a new one.” He winked, as he rounded the reception desk. “Between you and me, I think you’re better off putting that money into your mountain of student loans.”

  Sam laughed, allowing himself to relax slightly. “That’s right, I forgot. Beverly said your oldest daughter just got into…was it St. George’s?”

  The older man smiled proudly, and Sam finally snuck a look at his nametag. Ken.

  “Actually, she’s our youngest,” he said. “But since the other two are already settled down with children and such, I’m guessing she’s going to be the only doctor in the family.”

  “That’s great,” Sam told him, feeling genuinely happy for the man even as his trepidation about ‘the plan’ continued to grow. “Does she have any idea what specialty she wants to go into, yet?”

  Ken shook his head, as he tapped a password into the desk computer. “No, she’s thinking maybe emergency medicine or OBGYN. Personally, I’d rather she stuck to family practice, though. It’d give her more time to settle down and get married. But Kendra isn’t really the settling type. What’s your ID number, son?”

  Sam rattled off the number, as his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Sorry,” he said, fishing it out. “I hope they don’t need me back upstairs. I just got off a 24-hour shift.”

  The text message was from Brady, of course. What the fuck is taking you so long?

  Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Sam texted back. Give it 2 more minutes, then go.

  Sliding his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, Sam looked up and met the guard’s eyes, forcing himself to keep a straight face. “Fellow interns, just going out for drinks.”

  Laughing, Ken shook his head. “I’ll never understand how you kids find the energy, on top of all that stress and the hours you work. Just thinking of the partying my daughter will be getting up to when she’s in school, it gives me heart palpitations.”

  “Well,” Sam made a face. “You can always say no to the partying, but then you run the risk of fusing with your study desk.”

  “That’s a fair point.” The guard smiled, as the printer started whirring.

  A few seconds later, he handed Sam a shiny new badge.

  “Thanks, Ken,” he said, glancing up at the clock above the desk. By his calculations, he had to kill about thirty more seconds. “Oh, hey. You wouldn’t happen to have any extra clips, would you? You know, the kind with the little zip spool on the end? I’d be happy to buy one.”

  “No, don’t worry about it,” Ken said, reaching to open the top drawer of the desk. Sam casually glanced down, and there it was, in the front tray of the top drawer. The key. “Here you go.”

  As Sam reached to take the badge clip, the desk phone rang.

  Ken picked up the receiver, smiling as Sam stalled at the desk, fiddling to attach the little plastic clip to his new badge.

  As the old security guard’s face went from friendly to dead serious, Sam could only imagine the amount of drama that Brady had added to the plan.

  “Come on Steve,” Ken barked over his shoulder, after he’d hung up the phone. “We’ve got a code yellow in the lobby.”

  As Sam and Ken watched, the chubby guard almost knocked over his chair in his attempt to get up and do some actual, almost police work. Somehow, he got the feeling that Steve wasn’t ex-military or retired anything, but had taken this job more as a hopeful stepping stone to a future career in a more dangerous section of law-enforcement. Sam stepped to one side as Steve barreled past him with an excited look on his face. Ken hung back, gesturing to the door.

  “After you, Dr. Philips.”

  In spite of his nerves, Sam didn’t hesitate. He followed the husky security guard out of the office and watched as Ken pulled the automatically-locking door shut behind him. Then he waved and took off down the hallway, in the opposite direction the guards had taken.

  Thirty seconds later, he circled back, heart pounding. After double-checking to make sure that no one else was in the hallway, he pulled open the door to the security office and pulled off the small strip of duct tape he’d put on the doorjamb to cover the deadbolt hole. It was something he’d learned back in undergrad, when he’d lived in the dorms. All the guys had used that trick to keep from having to use their keys on the auto-locking doors whenever they left the room for short periods of time.

  Stepping quickly inside the office, Sam went behind the reception desk and pulled open the top drawer, fishing out the small metal key before quickly walking to a tall gray filing cabinet at the back of the room. Brady had assured Sam that there were no cameras inside the security office, and that if anyone discovered the item in question missing, they’d probably just assume it had been picked up by the owner, since their inventory system for the lost and found and confiscated items drawer was practically non-existent.

  When Sam had asked Brady how he knew where the valuables were kept, he’d simply shrugged. “I’ve been known to lose a lot of expensive shit.”

  Opening the filing cabinet as quietly as possible, Sam sifted through a small pile of rubber-banded plastic bags before finding the thing he’d been looking for. Shaking his head, he wondered if any of the people whose hands it had passed through had considered stealing it. Then again, this was New York. So maybe everyone had just assumed the designer watch was an impressive Canal Street fake. He probably would’ve too, if he didn’t know its owner as well as he did.

  Pocketing Viola’s beloved watch, Sam re-locked the cabinet and put the key back in its rightful place. Breathing shallowly, he opened the door and peeked out into the hallway, making sure the security guards weren’t returning from their call. Even though there were about ten or fifteen guards on at one time, most of them were stationed separately throughout the hospital—in the ER, on certain high-risk patients, etc—but when a code was called, they tended to converge. Still, you never knew when one of them would decide to return to the roost.

  Slipping out the door, Sam forced himself to walk calmly through the labyrinth and into the main hallway. When he reached the security elevator that led up to Psych, he calmly scanned his new badge and stepped inside. When the doors closed around him, he finally let his breath out in one long, shaky sigh of relief. So far, so good. His phone buzzed again, and he jumped.

  Pulling it from his pocket, Sam braced himself for bad news. But it was just another text from Brady. It is done.

  Apparently, Sam was supposed to take that to mean that all had gone according to plan. After dropping Sam’s gym bag in an inconspicuous area of the lobby, Brady had picked up one of the courtesy phones and—in Dr. Bel-Air’s voice, no doubt—had reported a suspicious and unattended package to security, or in other words, a code yellow. As per protocol, the guards would rush to the area, and inspect said suspicious package before they took further steps. Like calling in a bomb squad, for example.

  To keep anything that drastic from happening, Brady was supposed to wai
t out of sight until the security guards showed up, and then walk back into the lobby with a stupid expression on his face. Walking through the guards to pick up ‘his’ bag, he’d probably said something super obvious, like, “I can’t believe I left this here. What a random thing for me to accidentally do.”

  Normally, if anyone else had done the same thing, it would have raised a ton of suspicion. But even after less than a year at Our Lady of Mercy, Brady already had a reputation for being a guy that did a lot of stupid shit. Hence, he was the perfect scapegoat. With his record, chances were the security guards wouldn’t even bother to look in the bag.

  Thanks, Sam texted back, grateful that phase one of the plan had gone so smoothly, even as he shook with dread over how wrong things might have gone. I owe you so many beers.

  Hell yes you do, Brady replied, almost instantly. Then, Give her hell, Samwise.

  Sam’s relief was destined to be short-lived, though. The moment the elevator doors opened into Psych, he immediately snapped back into stealth mode—which was extra ridiculous, considering that his street clothing made him stick out like a sore thumb. Luckily, the few people he passed in the hallway seemed to be patients, either headed to or from the cafeteria for dinner. Reaching the door to Viola’s room, Sam glanced at his watch. It was 6:49 PM. He couldn’t believe how quickly he’d just gone from law-abiding citizen to reckless felon. But at that moment, imagining the look on Viola’s face when he handed back her most prized possession, it felt worth it.

  Pushing the door open, Sam felt his heart sink to his knees.

  The room was empty. Dark, except for the yellow glow of a streetlamp from outside the window. Both beds had been stripped. The only thing left was a small stack of hard-cover books on the windowsill.

  Sam went over and sat down on the bed, palming his face in defeat.

  Viola was gone—probably moved to an outside psychiatric facility by now. Or hell, maybe she’d just requested another room, with an alias. Whatever it took to keep herself away from her psychotic doctor, who had apparently misconstrued her kiss as something it absolutely wasn’t. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Sam looked over at the stack of books on the window. Apparently, she’d learned everything from these that she needed. As he reached for the book on top of the stack, which was a leather-bound copy of Wuthering Heights, the door creaked open.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “A woman should soften but not weaken a man.” –Sigmund Freud

  Viola had started planning her escape five days ago, but even after Sam had sent word about the three-day letter, she’d soon discovered that getting out of the psych ward would only be the first step toward freedom. Once she was finally outside the walls of the hospital, all bets would be off.

  Yesterday, by illegally borrowing Kevin’s cell phone, she’d discovered that all of her credit cards had been flagged by her father’s company, so that whenever she used any of them, an alert e-mail would be sent to the main Bellerose Co. address. Which now, only Jacques had access to. That was just one of the many ways Viola feared her ‘uncle’ planned to keep tabs on her, tracking her whereabouts, spending habits and—worst case scenario—having her followed. Worse than that, she supposed, he could decide to send someone after her, to get her out of the way for good. Viola didn’t think he’d do it himself. Not in person. Not to her face. The direct approach just wasn’t Jacques’ style.

  No, if he was going to come after her, Viola reasoned, he’d start by taking away her freedom. First, physically, with this attempt to have her committed. Eventually, he’d have her declared ‘mentally unfit,’ so he could use his power of attorney to transfer ownership of Bellerose Co. into his name. He’d take away her name, her financial freedom. No one would bother to listen to her after that. She’d be nobody.

  Of course, if that didn’t work, he could probably have her killed. According to the research Viola had done into inheritance law, Jacques would only gain uncontested control of the company if there were no survivors with the Bellerose family name. It would take time and a lot of lawyers, but it could be done.

  At any rate, as the last Bellerose standing in his way, Viola knew that her days were numbered. Unless she could strike first and prove that Jacques had conspired to kill her parents.

  Unfortunately, before she could prove anything, she needed money, and a place to stay. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Viola finished her cup of tapioca pudding—because hey, it was actually kind of good once you got used to it—and headed back to her room for the last time. As she passed the windowed-in nurse’s station, she tapped lightly on the glass.

  From behind the desk, Kevin looked up at her and smiled.

  “I’ll meet you in five minutes, up at the front desk,” she told him, putting up five fingers just in case he hadn’t heard her. Then she moved her fingers up to her hear in the international ‘phone’ symbol. “Don’t forget to write down those phone numbers for me, okay?”

  Kevin nodded. “I’ll call down to security and have them bring up the rest of your stuff.”

  Viola nodded. “Thanks, Kevin.”

  She’d already decided to hand over her one-carat diamond earrings to Kevin, as a thank-you for all his help, before she left. He’d probably try to refuse, but eventually he’d break down and take them. Viola knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the thought of giving them to his grandmother as a Mother’s Day gift.

  When she made her way back through the hallway, Viola smiled or nodded at most of the patients she passed, even Naked Ronald. She wasn’t afraid of them anymore, just as she was no longer afraid that her mind was playing tricks on her. For the first time since she’d woken from the coma, she felt like she was back in control of her body.

  Now, all that was left for her to do was take back control of her life.

  As she went through the next few steps of the plan in her head, Viola found herself stuttering over step three. Maybe because it involved trusting someone else, which she’d always hated doing. More likely, it was because as things stood between then now, she still didn’t know whether or not the person she needed to trust would even want to help her.

  For the past three days, she’d tried to give him space, tried to create a bit of distance in his mind between the Viola who had lost control and attacked him—which had probably just proved how unstable she was, at least in his mind—and the Viola she was now. Cool. Calm. Collected. And completely sane. It was so important for her to turn over a new leaf, to show Sam the side of her that he’d never seen. The kind of girl who could take care of herself.

  Of course, even the most self-sufficient girl needed to ask for a favor, once in a while. Right? That was another reason she hadn’t let him come to see her. As cruel as it seemed to keep him wondering, she didn’t want to risk his coming to her with yet another apology and a guilty conscience, before she was ready to tell him what she needed. When it came to her endgame, even guilt-tripping Sam into helping her seemed a worthwhile price to pay.

  When she opened the door to her now empty room, Viola froze in her tracks. All thoughts of planning went out of her head, as she saw a dark shape sitting hunched over on her bed. The first thought that skittered across her consciousness was one of fear.

  Oh, God, she thought. I was wrong. Jacques isn’t going to wait until I’m free. He’s going to have me killed right now. Tonight.

  But Viola wasn’t the kind of girl to quaver in the face of death. Not anymore, not after all she’d survived. Instead, she drew herself up to her full height and asked, in her sternest voice, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Slowly and silently, the dark shape unraveled itself, until it was standing tall in front of her empty bed. Very tall. In spite of her fear, Viola’s heart gave a tiny leap of hope.

  “Sam?”

  “I thought you were gone.”

  At the familiar sound of his voice, Viola’s muscles relaxed and her skin warmed. She stepped towa
rd him, her feet seeming to move of their own accord. As she got closer, she noticed that he was holding something. Her fingers tensed, automatically going to the bulge in the front of her jacket—the notebook was still with her. Sam was only holding one of her other books.

  “You got here just in time,” she told him. “In a few more minutes, I will be.”

  Sam made a sound, and Viola tilted her head to look up at his face. His jaw was clenched, and there was something about the way he was looking at her that made a chill run through her body.

  For the first time, they were standing on even ground, so to speak. Viola found herself wishing for the added advantage of a pair of Christian Louboutin stilettos, instead of the ballet flats she was wearing. His height had never seemed like it could be threatening, until now.

  “Were you even going to say goodbye?” he asked, taking another step toward her. “Were you even going to tell me where you were going?”

  “Actually,” Viola licked her lips, suddenly nervous. “I had planned on calling you right after I left the hospital. I was going to ask you…something. But I wanted to wait until I wasn’t your patient anymore.”

  Sam reached a hand toward her, and in the shadows of his face, Viola thought she saw the hint of a smile. But not his usual smile. Something darker.

  “You haven’t been my patient for going on a week now.”

  “Oh,” she sucked in a breath as his hand brushed against the side of her face. “Well, I suppose that’s…technically true.”

  “Your speech is almost perfect.”

  Viola’s heart skipped. Did he know what she was planning? But no, he was talking about her aphasia—her ability to speak properly.

  “Thanks, I’ve been working on visualization….” She blushed, grateful that the lights weren’t on. “You know, picturing myself at a podium, talking to a room full of people…and all that. It’s basically the opposite of what you’d want to do, if you were afraid of crowds instead of words.”