A Heartbeat Away

by Harry Kraus

  As it was, she didn’t need to push. Phin fell onto the couch as his wine glass crashed to the floor. Tori managed to set her glass down before landing on the couch beside him.

  The wine was drugged.

  She wanted to tell him, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate.

  He looked at the mess on the floor. “Ooops.” He then looked at Tori, but his eyes didn’t seem to focus. “You’re sssso beautiful.”

  She fought to stay awake.

  Phin lifted a hand toward her face but dropped it onto the top of her head instead. He patted her like a dog. “Good girl,” he said slowly.

  They both laughed.

  His expression changed to alarm. “Drugged,” he said.

  Tori nodded but couldn’t seem to control her head. It rocked forward and back like one of those baseball bobblehead dolls. She tried to catch her head in her hands to slow down the wobbling, but her hands glanced off her forehead in an uncoordinated slap.

  Everything around her slowed. What is happening?

  She felt warm. Delightfully so. She had no inhibitions. And she knew it and didn’t care.

  She stared at Phin and tried to focus. Her head fell against the couch and remained still. She was aware that she had fallen partially on top of Phin, their legs tangled and her blouse pulled up. Rather than horror, she felt only amusement at the clumsy and provocative way they had fallen. If she were able to speak, she would have urged Phin forward. She wanted to kiss him, but she felt so tired.

  She closed her eyes.

  When she awoke, she watched a doctor plunge a needle into Phin’s arm. He isn’t a doctor, is he? It’s Bundrick.

  She watched helplessly as the officer dragged Phin across the floor to the railing of the spiral staircase and handcuffed him to a metal post.

  Then Bundrick returned to her, lifting her upright on the couch. She felt only half conscious. Bundrick tugged at her blouse, lifting her toward him by her neckline. Will he rape me?

  Tori fought back an image of a bad man reaching for her.

  “The drugs will help you remember, Dr. Taylor.” He gave her a light slap on the cheek. “Wake up. Tell me where Emily hid the information. Tell me about 316.”

  She shook her head. Even if she could remember, she would fight not to tell this monster.

  “Well then, let’s create an environment that will help you remember.”

  Officer Bundrick walked outside to the woodpile stacked in the corner of the wraparound deck. Fire, he thought. Fire may be just what I need to trigger her memory.

  His cell phone sounded. He looked at the ID. Ellis. He flipped open his phone. “Hello.”

  “Talk to me. Are you getting any information?”

  “Just starting.” He looked up at the main house. “By the way, love the place.”

  “Look, I’m alone now, so I want you to start explaining. What did you do to Mary Jaworski?”

  “I used the fentanyl my sister gave me from the clinic. One big syringe and she snored like a lumberjack.”

  “You’re a sick man.”

  “Well, thanks to this sick man, you’re a rich man, don’t forget that.”

  “I don’t like it. Things are getting too messy. Why did you have to mail the doctor her own heart?”

  “It served a purpose, just like the phone calls. It freaked her out. I hoped she’d have sense enough to stop prying.”

  “Just find out what she knows. Then get rid of them. I want this to be over.”

  “I’m on it. Quit worrying.”

  Bundrick closed his phone, lifted an armload of kindling and wood from the stack, and walked back into the guesthouse.

  He looked at Tori, sprawled on the couch with a glassy-eyed expression. “Hello, doc. I thought a fire might be romantic.”

  Tori watched as Officer Bundrick bent down at the fireplace and lit the base of a stack of kindling. In a few moments, the fire crackled, and he began to add split logs for fuel. He appeared to be in no hurry.

  She kept looking at Phin, hoping his slumped body would begin to move, but he only snored.

  Bundrick looked back at Tori. “Now isn’t this romantic. You, me, a bottle of wine, a roaring fire …” He came back to her and grabbed the edge of her collar. Ripping it open, he sent her buttons bouncing across the wooden floor and exposed her brassiere. He tapped the scar and spoke directly to her chest. “Okay, Tori, or should I say, Emily? Talk to me.” He traced his finger along her scar as a smile curled the edges of his mouth. “Where did you store the evidence?”

  She moaned, unable to think.

  “Emily,” he said, “listen to the fire. Remember how the walls began to burn? Remember how it sounded that day? You and Christian about to die. What did you tell him? Think, Emily, think!”

  “I … I don’t remember.”

  “What did you say on the tape? You talked about a man who hurt you, a man who killed your mother. You hid that during your background check at the academy, didn’t you? Did you change your name, Emily? How did you fool us?”

  Bundrick lifted a knife and pressed the point into her neck. Then, he traced it along her scar and let the blade come to rest under her bra. He lifted the blade and pulled the cups of her brassiere away from her skin.

  “No!”

  He let the bra snap back against her skin. He grabbed her by the back of the head, pulling her forward to the edge of the couch. “Emily, tell me about the numbers. Is it a storage unit? An address? A code?”

  Tori thought about the numbers. Memorize it! It’s the proof. She gasped. “It’s a verse!”

  “A verse?” Bundrick jerked her off the couch and pulled her across the floor toward the fire.

  He shoved her forward, her face warm, then hot, from the flames. He pulled her back to safety. “Three one six!” he shouted. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know such a number.”

  “Where did you hide the evidence?”

  He shoved her face toward the fire again.

  She screamed and closed her eyes. Her world turned red as she sensed light through her eyelids. Then, in a moment, she was transported back. Fire. My arm is burning. Run. Run to the hallway.

  Behind her, a man screamed.

  Evil. An evil man.

  I killed him.

  He will not hurt me again.

  Tori took a deep breath, inhaling hot air and smoke. She choked. “I … I re-mem-ber.”

  Bundrick yanked her back again into the cooler air of the room. “A locker,” she said. “My locker.”

  He pulled her back to the couch. Her cheeks were hot. She smelled the acrid odor of singed hair.

  “Tell me about the locker.”

  But she couldn’t. The room was turning from darkness to black.

  She felt his hand tapping on her chest. “Talk to me. Remember.”

  She tried to answer, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. She listened as Bundrick cursed. She felt her body being lifted and then tossed aside onto the floor.

  38

  Her next conscious thought was of soft, billowy comfort. She opened her eyes and in the dim light could see the outline of her bed partner.

  Suddenly aware that she wore only her undergarments, she quickly gathered a sheet around her. In doing so, she uncovered Phin, who lay next to her wearing only a pair of plaid boxers.

  The scent of smoke was in the air. She nudged him, first gently, then with force. “Phin, wake up.” She pushed down on his chest, pressing him into the mattress. “Phin!”

  He groaned and opened his eyes. “Tori?”

  “Phin! What are you doing here? What did you do to me?”

  His hand explored his face. His lips smacked as if he awoke from a deep sleep.

  “Phin! What did you do?”
>
  “Me? Nothing?” He looked at his own body, apparently as confused as her. He slid from the bed, rolling clumsily onto the floor and pulling a blanket around his waist like a skirt. He wobbled to his feet, reaching for the foot of the bed. Once stable, he lifted his hands to the side of his head. “Whoa, I’m drunk.”

  The wine, she remembered. The wine was drugged. Tori took a deep breath and coughed. “Me too.”

  “I smell smoke.”

  She nodded. Her lips felt thick, her tongue fat and uncoordinated. “I remember Bundrick starting a fire in the fireplace. He used it to threaten me. He wanted me to tell him what Emily knew.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “What did he give us?” she asked. “My head is throbbing.”

  “Not sure.”

  “How did we get here?”

  He stretched. “Not sure of that either.” He rubbed his eyes. “We need to get out of here.” He paused. “Listen. He may still be here.”

  She felt anxiety rising. “Let’s get out of here.”

  No sooner had she spoken than the piercing note of a smoke alarm began to sound.

  “Now!” she said, looking for her clothes. How did I get here?

  She remembered Bundrick jerking her from the couch, shoving her face toward the fire. What did I tell him?

  “Get up,” Phin said.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “Can’t worry … about … that now,” he said. He stumbled toward the door. Halfway there, he tripped on the blanket he’d gathered around him, pitching his body forward against the door. “My legs won’t work.” He shook the door. “We’re locked in.”

  He looked at a window, but it appeared to be covered by plywood. He crawled over and pounded his fists against the window before collapsing again.

  The alarm continued to shriek, each note sharpening the knife of fear in her gut. She turned to the nightstand and lifted a phone from its cradle. She punched 911. “Ugh!” she said. “No dial tone.”

  Tori stood and coughed. The ceiling was dark, swirling. She felt light-headed and nauseated. The room began to spin.

  Smoke poured from under the door. “Stay low,” Phin said. “The smoke will rise.”

  She dropped to her belly. “What’s going on?”

  “Bundrick must have put us in the bed, then set the place on fire.”

  “He’s killing us, Phin. He found out what he needed and now he’s killing us, just like he did Emily Greene. Bundrick must have been the man in the dream.”

  “Think, Tori.” He coughed.

  She fought off the feeling that she would pass out. Phin crawled on his hands and knees beside her, his body shaking with violent spasms of coughing.

  Tori reached for his back. “My head is already fuzzy. He handcuffed you.”

  “Handcuffed?” He rubbed his wrist. He shook his head and spoke haltingly. “I just remember walking on the pier. Feeling drunk.”

  “Not exactly drunk. Remember the wine and cheese.”

  “The w—” Phin coughed again. “Wine.”

  She could hear the noise of the fire beyond the door.

  Where do we go? What can we do?

  She tried to scream, but her voice was weak. “Help!”

  Phin grabbed her wrist and started dragging her with him along the floor.

  Smoke collected in a thick layer just above their heads. Phin coughed and crawled on, pulling her to the master bathroom. “We’ll fill the tub,” he said.

  She looked for windows in the bathroom—there were none. She kicked the door closed, slamming it against the wooden frame behind them.

  Phin turned on the water. “Get in. We’ll soak the blanket and hide beneath it.”

  The water slowly rose around them. As soon as there was an inch in the bottom, they pushed the blanket down to saturate it with water. Tori splashed the water onto her face and hair. Phin did the same. For a few moments, their only communication was the fear they exchanged with their eyes. Then she reached for him and began to cry. Phin gripped her hand. “I’m with you.”

  The tub was big enough for two, one of those fancy ones with whirlpool jets like Tori had in her bathroom back home in Richmond. Once the water had risen over their legs, they covered themselves with the saturated blanket, making a small tent, but the air quickly ran out beneath it. When Tori pulled the blanket back from her face, she was greeted with smoke. The fire just beyond the door consumed the oxygen, leaving them gasping, coughing, and frantic.

  They were not yet burning, but without air, the room seemed a certain tomb. “We’re going to die if we stay here,” she said. “We can break down the bedroom door.”

  But every time she lifted the blanket, the air seemed to vanish.

  “Can’t,” he said. “We can’t even walk.”

  Phin scooted around and encircled Tori with his arms, pressing his face next to hers. “I need to say—” He stopped in a spasm of coughing. “Something before I die.”

  “No,” she cried, coughing against his face.

  “I—” he coughed.

  The room darkened, filling with smoke.

  “Tori—” His voice was barely a whisper. The fire beyond the wall roared its sentence of death. “I … lo—”

  His eyes unfocused. She sensed him slipping away. Every breath brought another series of fitful spasms. The air was not friendly but deadly.

  Tori took a shallow breath and held it until everything went black.

  39

  The sensation of being cold, hands beneath her armpits pulling her toward cool air, the scrape of her back against a shard of glass. Someone dropped her on the grass and disappeared again.

  A minute later, she looked up to see a man dragging a large sack through a window. She shook her head. It wasn’t a sack; it was a body, pulled along the ground and cast as a log beside her.

  A man knelt to listen to the body’s face. He placed a finger against his neck and then began chest compressions.

  Slowly she emerged from a cloud of confusion, a world where images and words were slow and uncoordinated.

  She looked at the body the man was working on. Phin?

  No!

  He wanted to tell me something!

  She struggled to sit.

  “God, please,” she gasped.

  The man doing compressions looked over. “Dr. Taylor.”

  She nodded.

  Phin gasped and coughed.

  She heard the warble of a siren somewhere in the night.

  She moved so that she could see Phin’s face. It was blackened by ash. She put her fingers against his neck and felt for a carotid pulse.

  The man dropped his jacket around her shoulders. “Here,” he said. “Cover up.”

  “He has a pulse,” she said.

  Her mysterious rescuer wiped his forehead. “Is there anyone else inside?”

  She thought about Bundrick. “A policeman was there,” she said. “I’m sure he’s gone.”

  “Bundrick? He left thirty minutes ago.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Gene Davis. I’m with the FBI.”

  She looked up to see a trio of rescue-squad personnel running toward them.

  In minutes both Tori and Phin were on stretchers, wearing oxygen masks and covered in warm blankets.

  “My back,” she said.

  A female paramedic nodded. “Roll over so I can see.”

  Tori cooperated.

  “Ooh, you’ve got a nasty cut.”

  “My fault,” the FBI agent said. “There was some glass left on that bedroom window.”

  Tori coughed. “No problem.” When the coughing spasm passed, she reached for the agent’s hand. “How did you find us? How did you know we were in trouble?”

  “G
us Peterson called me this afternoon. We used to work together before I joined the Feds. He told me he’d tried to reach Phin’s phone and how worried he was in light of the other threats and the death of the psychiatrist.” He shrugged. “I owed Gus a favor. He took a bullet for me.”

  “Sounds like Gus.”

  “I followed the pings of Phin’s cell phone as it communicated with the cell towers, so I knew the general direction you were moving. Meanwhile, Gus did some checking and found out that Captain Ellis had left a money trail. He thought his tracks were covered—he’d set up a dummy corporation and used an offshore account. But his corporation made a major real-estate purchase last spring, and the amount caught Gus’s attention.” He held up his hand toward the house. “You’re looking at Ellis’s beach house. Not in his name exactly, but his, nonetheless.”

  “Whoa. A police officer with a second home?”

  The agent nodded. “Exactly.” He paused. “This place was pretty well hidden from his staff back in Baltimore.”

  Tori understood. Ellis was no dummy.

  The FBI agent pointed at the wooden fence. “I’ve had the house under observation from that vantage point for the past hour. I saw Bundrick leave. A few minutes later, I saw the smoke and realized what he had done.”

  Phin struggled up on one elbow. “Where are we?”

  “A place called Gibson Island on the western shore of Chesapeake Bay.”

  Tori nodded and looked up to see firefighters dragging a large hose across the lawn.

  Tori and Phin were placed in separate rescue vehicles and rushed toward the nearest hospital. On the way, Tori counted four additional fire trucks heading toward their little Gibson Island hideaway.

  Once they were in the hospital emergency department, chest X-rays were taken and blood tests for carbon monoxide confirmed that the pair had significant smoke inhalation. They were admitted for high-dose supplemental oxygen.

  A surgeon repaired Tori’s back laceration.

  Two hours after their ordeal in the bathtub, they were admitted to the same room on the second floor of Anne Arundel Medical Center.

  Gene Davis entered their room with another man wearing a dark suit. Gene smiled. “Glad to see you two alive and breathing.” He nodded at the man to his right. “This is Special Agent Andrew Lightner. He will be assisting in this investigation.”