by Ladew, Lisa
“It was right here. My ear, the top was gone, and here.” She ran a finger the length of the side of her head, even with the top of her ear. It had all been hamburger.
West leaned closer and pressed his fingers into her skin. “There’s nothing. No wound. Right here and here is pinker than the rest of your skin, but that’s it. Turn your head. Let me see the other side.”
She did and he looked quickly, then turned her head back. He ran a finger above her ear. “Your hairline is higher on the other side. And right here, there’s a slight depression in the top of this ear that isn’t in the other one.”
“Scar,” she whispered. “Is there a scar?”
“No scar,” he whispered back, as magic seemed to crackle around them. Had she healed her own gunshot wound? With just her hand? Not even leaving a scar or a sign of it? Was such a thing even possible?
Sirens sounded in the distance. Katerina looked at her blood on the hand that had covered the wound, marveling at its normalness. How had she done it? She couldn’t remember anything but an overpowering sleepiness. And the heat in her hand-she remembered that.
West pulled her close. “I’m so glad you’re OK. I saw the blood and I saw the wound when we were hiding behind the car. It didn’t look awful, more like a groove than anything, but I couldn’t be sure. I was so scared. I would’ve died if I lost you.”
Katerina felt her throat close at his words. “You saved my life. Again,” she whispered into his neck.
“You can thank me later,” he replied his fingers tangling in her hair.
Katerina felt hot blood rush through her center and shook her head. The situation was ridiculous. They were again caught in the middle of something that shouldn’t concern them. Getting shot at on the street like criminals. She’d somehow magically healed her own ear. And they were thinking about sex. Ridiculous.
West stiffened.
“What?” She pulled away from him and followed his gaze. They were in his truck idling, parked illegally a block from the hospital and traffic was passing them like normal on the street.
“That truck was across the street of the parking lot at the diner. I saw it as we pulled out. It was parked at a funny angle so I noticed it.”
A huge dark-green truck approached them slowly. As it passed them, the driver slowed and a window rolled down. Katerina saw the muzzle of a gun raise slightly and protrude towards them. West shoved Katerina down and slammed his foot on the accelerator, the truck shooting forward into traffic as the booming sound of a gunshot split the air.
Chapter 9
Katerina slid across the seat and buckled herself in as West weaved in and out of traffic, watching his rear view mirror. They were unhurt. She wondered where the bullet had gone.
“They’re turning around,” he said, his voice tight and thin. “Hold on.”
West took a quick right turn, then another, trying to shake the pursuers.
“How do they keep finding us?” Katerina cried.
West gritted his teeth. “Maybe they have a tracker on us somehow?”
“On what? The truck?”
“Maybe,” West said as he sped up and passed the car in front of them.
“If that’s the case then we’re sunk,” Katerina said forlornly. “What about our phones? Could they do that?”
“I don’t know,” West admitted.
Katerina pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at it questioningly. They needed their phones. They were a lifeline. But were they also going to get them killed? She put her phone on the dashboard and West pulled his out of his pocket and gave it to her.
“Call Blaise, tell him where we are.”
Katerina tried to turn on his phone, but the battery was dead. They hadn’t had any chargers with them at the safe house. She checked hers but it wouldn’t turn on either.
“Phone’s dead,” she told him, trying to keep panic out of her voice.
“We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”
West glanced at his rear view mirror searchingly. He hadn’t seen the truck since their first right turn. He pondered the wisdom of ditching his own truck, but then what? Rent a car? Steal a car? He wanted to go to the police station but was nervous too, knowing they almost certainly had to expect that. Maybe they would pick him and Katerina off as they walked through the parking lot to the receiving door. A plan formed in his mind. He would park as close as possible to the door and have Katerina run out, then he would slide onto her side and follow her.
West drove quickly, recklessly, not caring if a police car stopped him. He would welcome it. But as he drew within two blocks of the police station, he saw the green truck parked on the side of the road, in their way. Panic bit at him with sharp teeth. Could they make it past? Would they be shot dead as they drove on? Were there more trucks with more killers in them parked closer? He sucked in a deep breath and took a hard right turn, praying they hadn’t seen him.
“Police station’s out for now,” he said, trying to keep desperation out of his voice.
“Oh God,” Katerina said, but she didn’t complain or cry, she just held on, trusting him to find some sort of safety for them.
West drove quickly, recklessly, using his extensive knowledge of the city to bypass traffic. They approached the city limits and he wondered if he should just keep driving. Head south somewhere. Los Angeles maybe. He looked at Katerina. She had her hand up to her left ear, probing the new pink skin there.
He couldn’t believe what she had done. Could she do that to anyone? And how had she managed it? Healing her own skin in an instant. And how far did this power extend? Could she regrow limbs or heal a severed spinal cord? Excitement coursed through him at the thought, even as he drove faster and watched the rear view mirror. Katerina could change the world … if people would just quit trying to kill her.
“Do you think we should ditch the truck?” he asked Katerina.
“Where are we going?”
“I was thinking we could hole up in a hotel. Call Blaise and have him come to us.”
She nodded. “Yeah, maybe leave the truck a couple of miles away and walk or take a cab.”
West thought about it, desperate to choose the safer option. Desperate to keep Katerina safe. “Why don’t we stop at a gas station where you can wash up and then we’ll call a cab. I’m thinking of a particular hotel that Blaise and I stayed at once when we came out here for a blues festival.” West didn’t add that they were too drunk to drive home and that’s why they stayed at the hotel. He also didn’t tell her what he thought at the time - that the unusually heavy metal fire doors of the hotel could hold off an explosion. He had laughed at the time at what seemed like overkill, but now the thought was appealing. If they could just get inside, maybe they would be safe.
They found a gas station with a field behind it where people left cars with for-sale signs on them. West parked his truck at the end of the row and stood outside the bathroom while Katerina washed the blood off of her. They found an old-fashioned pay phone around the front and called for a cab.
When they arrived at the hotel, West paid the driver and hurried Katerina into the building. He was starting to wonder if these people could track him by his credit card.
Don’t be silly, he told himself. They weren’t dealing with the government. He hoped.
He and Katerina got a room easily on the third floor and they rushed upstairs, double-locking it. West even braced a chair between the lock and the door jam to the bathroom. He felt as safe as possible considering the circumstances.
Katerina sat on the bed, watching him. When he turned to her, her face was stricken. “What’s wrong?” he asked, going to her.
“Look at the time. We’re late to work. We never even called in to tell them. I’ll be fired for sure.”
West didn’t say anything. He prayed she wasn’t right. “Let me tell Blaise where we are and then I’ll call in to work.”
West gave Katerina one final hug and picked up the hotel room phone. He called
Blaise’s cell number, speaking quickly when Blaise answered. “Blaise, it’s me, we were the ones who were shot at over at the Rise and Shine Cafe.”
“West! Thank God, man. What about Katerina? The witnesses said she had been injured.”
West looked at Katerina who sat miserably on the bed, her hair still slightly damp from the rinsing she had given it, but no injury and no blood visible anymore. “Yeah, she was. But she’s OK. It wasn’t serious.”
“Was she shot?”
“Blaise, uh, I’d rather explain it to you in person.”
The line was silent for a moment and then Blaise spoke again. “The FBI has taken over but so far they are sharing information with us. Where are you? You need to come in to the station.”
West shifted on his feet. “I’m nervous about saying where we are on the phone. And we tried to come to the station but the bad guys got between it and us.” He described the truck they had seen three times. “They don’t seem to be too worried about being caught. Plus, they must be tracking us somehow - either that or the cops at the safe house told them where we were.”
Blaise didn’t say anything for a few moments and West wondered if he was offended. Then he spoke, his voice resigned. “I’ll talk to the chief and the FBI and see what we can do. Maybe you should head straight to a safe house and the FBI can interview you there. Or maybe The FBI will want to place you in their own safe house until this is over. How can I find you?”
“Remember where we stayed after the blues festival three years ago?”
West heard a smile creep into Blaise’s voice. “Yeah I remember! I can be there in thirty minutes.”
West hung up but immediately picked the phone back up again. He dialed the fire department number by memory, reaching Lieutenant Masterson’s secretary. “Sylvia, This is West Shepherd. I need to speak with Lieutenant Masterson.”
“She’s in a meeting right now. What happened to you West? You’re a no-show today.”
West sighed, trying to keep sarcasm out of his voice. “I’ve been shot at a few times today. Nothing big.”
“Oh my God! You were shot at? What is going on?”
“It’s a long story, Sylvia. I’ll tell you another time. When will Lieutenant Masterson be available?”
“She should be out of the meeting in five or ten minutes.”
“I’ll call back.”
West hung up and checked on Katerina again. He didn’t like the dazed look in her eyes. She had sat motionless on the bed while he had his two conversations, her eyes unfocused. Could she be in shock?
She moved then, slowly, without meeting his eyes. She retrieved the television remote from underneath the TV. “Let’s check the news and see if anyone’s talking about the shooting,” she said.
She flipped on the TV and started scrolling through channels, seeking out the city’s twenty-four hour news station. An image of one of the serial killer brothers filled the screen. Frank Phillips. The first one Katerina had had to deal with. “Oh my God,” Katerina whispered, remembering everything she had been through with him. He’d gone into her place of business for a massage and that’s when she had first discovered her power, pulling images out of his mind like pictures out of an envelope, of women he had killed. She and West had found the bodies of the women and eventually he had tried to kill her in the old morgue. She had somehow drained him of his strength and escaped, shooting him when he came after her. But later in the hospital, he was different. He seemed simple, quiet, and regretful. Almost childlike.
They had heard that he had gone to Tetam State Mental Hospital instead of prison, testing too unstable to go into general population. Blaise had said the doctor called him autistic, and wondered if blood loss to his brain had damaged some necessary neurons.
The TV showed Phillips sitting placidly on a plain bed, looking openly at the camera. Behind him, the walls were covered with pencil drawings and even some simple paintings. The paintings looked like simple watercolors but were no less spectacular because of it. Each and every painting was of Katerina’s face. Someone off-camera asked Phillips a question and in response he picked up a sign that was sitting on the bed next to him. He held it up, pointing it at the camera. Support the psychic paramedic, it said. Katerina felt the blood rush to her head. She clutched at West. “Oh my God, West. What is he doing?”
West shook his head. “Being a psycho,” he whispered, then turned up the volume on the TV, but the piece was already over. The picture flashed back to an anchorwoman in the newsroom. She looked grim and serious. “Thank you, Claudette, for that gripping story.” She turned back to the camera, flashing a plastic smile. “We have breaking news regarding the ‘psychic paramedic.’” The Westwood Harbor Fire Department has confirmed that Katerina Holloway no longer works for them. They would not comment as to why. In other news, the fire index-”
West snapped off the TV hard enough to make it wobble on its stand, then turned to hold Katerina close as she shuddered against him.
“Well that’s it,” she said dejectedly. “They fired me, and everybody in the state knew before I did.”
West hugged her for a few moments, then stood up and crossed to the phone. “Don’t give up yet, sweetheart. I’ve got some favors to call in.”
Katerina shook her head. “Don’t West. I don’t want to work there anymore anyway. I’m too much of a liability to them. They’re right about that. Besides, I’ve been thinking, and maybe I do want to go to medical school after all. Are you still willing to send me?”
West crossed the room again, back to the bed. He sat down next to Katerina and hugged her, kissing her chastely on the cheek. “Of course I am, Kat. What changed your mind?”
Katerina bowed her head and looked at the floor. “I just can’t stop thinking about that guy who drove away when we needed him. I just feel like if I didn’t use this … whatever power that I have, I’d be doing exactly what he did. I’d be deserting people who were desperate and crying for help. I don’t want to do that.”
West was silent for several moments. He rubbed her back and she could feel waves of contentment coming off him. “You have such a big heart,” he finally whispered. “Are you sure you don’t want me to try to get your job back?”
“I’m sure.”
“I should call just to be sure, maybe the news station made a mistake.”
Katerina didn’t object, so West stood up and went back to the phone. He called the same number again and was put through to Lieutenant Masterson.
“Lieutenant, we just saw on the news that Katerina has been fired. Is that true?”
Lieutenant Masterson spoke, her voice full of regret. “It is, West. I’m so sorry. I did everything I could but the chief and the fire commission wouldn’t listen to me. They don’t care how good of a paramedic she is or how none of this has been her fault. They just care about personnel numbers.”
West nodded. He understood that. He spoke softly. “Emma, I don’t blame you, and neither does Katerina. But you can tell them I quit too.”
“West, no!” Katerina cried, jumping up from the bed and approaching him.
In his ear, Emma Masterson spoke also. “West, don’t do that. You aren’t even in trouble. Please, West. I don’t want to lose you too.”
West put an arm around Katerina. “I’m sorry, Emma. I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry I didn’t give you two weeks’ notice, but under the circumstances it’s hardly practical. I will send you an official letter as soon as I can. Goodbye.”
West hung up the phone lightly, hoping Emma understood. He looked at Katerina and saw tears on her face.
“West, you love being a paramedic,” She said, her voice full of emotion.
“I love you more.”
Katerina shook her head, frantic. “I don’t want to be the reason that you quit your job!”
He held her at arm’s length so he could look her in the eye. “Katerina, I did love being a paramedic, but there are other things I want to do too. I’ve just never had the chanc
e to do them yet. Working forty hours plus overtime on the ambulance puts everything on the back burner.”
Katerina sniffed, but the tears had stopped flowing. He pushed on, hoping to set her mind at ease. “I want to do lots of things. Learn how to fly helicopters and planes. Have kids. Travel. And now I want to support you. Put you through medical school. Let’s just get through what’s going on right now, and then we can talk about all of our possibilities.”
West watched Katerina shake her head, her face still anguished. He didn’t want her to regret his decision. He didn’t regret it. Being a paramedic had always been his life, but here he was, thirty-one years old and never having done a few of the things he had dreamed of as a child. Now it was time. He had money, he had the most amazing woman in the world, and if she no longer worked at the fire department, he didn’t want to either. Who knew, maybe they would move to London, or Tokyo, and she could attend medical school there. The world was their playground, if they could just stay alive long enough to play in it.
Chapter 10
West held Katerina for a long time as she tried to convince him to change his mind. Finally, she gave up. He could not be swayed. A knock sounded on the door and West held a finger to his lips. He tiptoed over and peeked out the peephole. It was Blaise, standing there in uniform, looking down the hallway.
West pulled the chair away from the door and opened it, ushering his friend in. He locked and barred the door again behind Blaise.
“Are you sure no one followed you here?” Blaise asked.
West looked to Katerina, then back to Blaise. “We don’t think so, why?”
Blaise shook his head. “I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing. I felt like I was being watched in the hallway.”
West looked back out the peephole and saw nothing. He turned around. “What’s that?” he asked Blaise, pointing to the folder in his hand.
Blaise took the folder to the small desk in the room and opened it, pulling out pictures. “This is the man who has been trying to kill you.”
Katerina and West crowded around him, eager to hear the story. Katerina gasped as she saw the man’s scar from chin to throat. It made him look hard and evil.
