To Love, Honor, and Perish

by Christy Barritt

  His head? A brain injury . . . to say that was serious was an understatement.

  Adams’ hand went to my back. It was the first time the detective had ever touched me, had ever offered a moment of comfort.

  That fact made another wave of reality wash over me. I wiped my cheeks, realizing they were wet. I wasn’t sure when the tears had started to flow.

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s in surgery now. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.”

  Two nurses hurried past. A family slipped into a room beside me. The sterile smell of Lysol and rubbing alcohol taunted me. Hospitals could be places of hope—of new life and healing. Or they could be places of life-changing tragedy and death. I had to hold on to hope.

  I straightened, some of my clarity returning for at least a moment. “Who did this? It was Milton Jones, wasn’t it?”

  He shook his head solemnly. “We have every reason to believe that Jones is dead.”

  “But we don’t know that for sure. He could have survived. He makes the most sense.”

  Adams’ eyes held too much compassion for my comfort. “We’re examining every possibility right now, Gabby. Jones is highly unlikely.”

  “If not Jones, then who?”

  “I was hoping you might be able to help me answer that question.”

  I shook my head, trying to jostle my thoughts into place. “I have no idea. Riley’s one of the kindest people I know. He helps people who are voiceless. He’s . . . he’s perfect.”

  “Certainly, in his line of work as an attorney, he’s made some enemies. Not everyone likes a social justice crusader. Not the people he opposes. Has he mentioned anyone?”

  I searched my memories but came up empty. “No, he hasn’t said anything about anyone.” Were there things Riley wasn’t telling me? I just couldn’t see it.

  I had to push through my emotions for a moment, and asking questions seemed like the best way to do that. Asking questions and finding answers was what I did best. It was what I lived for. “Who found him?”

  “One of the neighboring businesses—the accounting firm beside him, to be exact—heard the gunshot. They called 911. The first responders found him.”

  As the scenario played out in my mind, my thoughts came to a grinding halt. “What about Mary Lou?”

  Adams tilted his head. “Who?”

  “Riley’s secretary. Is she okay? She’s an older woman. A grandma. Retired. Sweet as apple pie.”

  “There was no one else at the office. Is today her day off maybe?”

  I shook my head. “Not usually, but maybe she took some personal time. Should I call her?”

  Adams nodded. “Call her. Someone needs to call Riley’s parents, also. Would you like me to do that?”

  I swallowed, my throat raw and sore as I tried to restrain my tears. “No, I can do that. I should be the one to break the news. I’m going to be their daughter-in-law.”

  At that proclamation, my voice cracked. Would I be their daughter-in-law? What if . . . what if the wedding never took place? What if Riley didn’t make it through the surgery?

  A cry escaped from my lips. I had to think positive. I had to focus on what I could do, not on the “what ifs.”

  “I’m sorry, Gabby.” The detective’s voice sounded so soft and sympathetic that it nearly broke me. “You sure you can do this?”

  I pushed aside my angst, nodded, and grabbed my phone just as Teddi appeared down the hallway. She sat beside me and placed her hand on my knee.

  Didn’t people know that every sign of compassion like that only made me weaker? I couldn’t be weak. I had to be strong for Riley. He was going to get through this and be okay. All of this sympathy was for nothing. They’d see that. I just had to wait for the doctor to come out and give us an update. He’d tell us that, against all odds, Riley had come out of surgery okay and just needed some time to recover.

  I stood and paced to the corner. Behind me, I saw Teddi and the detective talking. Teddi’s hand went over her mouth as the detective no doubt filled her in.

  I turned my back to them, unwilling to watch the scene. My hands trembled as I raised my phone and searched my contacts list. I could barely read the names, but finally I found the number I was looking for.

  I hit CALL. I had to make sure that Mary Lou was okay, that some psycho hadn’t abducted her in this whole process. The phone rang and rang again. With each jingle, my heart sped a little more.

  Halfway through the fourth ring, the sound was cut short. A female said, “Hello?”

  “Mary Lou?” I was breathless as I waited for her response.

  “Yes? Who is this?” Her voice sounded soft and weak, like age had worn it down.

  The tension in my chest eased for a moment, and my shoulders slumped with temporary relief. “Oh, Mary Lou. This is Gabby. I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  “Gabby, what’s wrong? You sound upset. Is everything okay?”

  The tension returned as I braced myself to tell her the news. “Mary Lou, Riley was shot at work this morning.”

  It still seemed surreal having those words leave my lips. Surely this was a nightmare. Surely I’d wake up soon, and everything would be as it was supposed to be.

  She gasped and let out a cry. “What? No . . .”

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I had a dentist appointment, so I took the whole day off. Oh my . . . is he—is he . . . okay?”

  I bit back tears. “He’s in surgery now. We’re still trying to piece together the details.”

  “Oh, Gabby. I’m so sorry. I just can’t believe this. What can I do?”

  “I’m sure the police will want to talk to you, to find out if anyone has threatened Riley recently. Anyone other than Milton Jones, that is.” Even as I said the words, I realized that often the obvious answer was the right one.

  The problem was, Milton Jones wasn’t the type to walk into a building in the middle of the day with a mask on and shoot someone. No, he liked sneak attacks. He liked provoking fear. He liked his name to be known.

  Besides, even if he had survived his fall off the bridge, he’d been shot in the shoulder. Could a man who’d been shot in the shoulder actually pull the trigger himself? That showdown had only happened a couple of days ago. He wouldn’t have had time to recover.

  “I’ll go down to the station now. You call me if you need me. If you need anything. You hear?”

  I nodded, though she couldn’t see me, and hung up. The phone was still trembling in my hands as I searched for Riley’s parents’ number. I’d never called them before. I’d never had a reason to. Riley had called to tell them about our engagement, and then he’d called again yesterday when we’d decided to move up the date.

  Riley had handed me the phone after he’d shared the news, and his parents had told me congratulations, that they’d see me soon.

  I’d joked with Riley as I put their number in my Android.

  “Just in case,” I’d told him.

  “Just in case what?” he’d asked.

  “Just in case I ever need someone to set you straight.”

  The truth was, Riley hardly ever needed setting straight. No, that was me. I was the one who put myself in danger. I was the one who was impulsive, who didn’t always think things through, whose mouth got her in trouble.

  So why was Riley the one who’d been shot?

  Using the back of my hand, I quickly brushed away a tear.

  He was going to be all right. If only I could stay positive and think good thoughts. I couldn’t let myself think about the worst-case scenarios here. I had to hold on to my faith.

  Lord, please be with him. Be with the surgeon. Guide his or her hands. Heal Riley from this terrible wound.

  I found Riley’s parents’ number and hit CALL before I realized I had no idea what to say. Before I could formulate anything, on the first ring, his mom answered. “Hello? Hello?” she repeated.

  I cleared my throat, trying to pull m
yself together. “Mrs. Thomas? This is Gabby.”

  “Gabby!” Her voice changed from formal to warm. “What an unexpected surprise.”

  “Mrs. Thomas, I wish I was calling to talk about the wedding. But . . .” My throat burned. I sucked in a deep breath, willing my voice to remain even. It didn’t cooperate. It squeaked up high as soon as the first word left my mouth. “Riley’s in the hospital. I think you should come down.”

  I told her as much as I could. When I hung up, I turned around and saw everyone staring at me. My dad had shown up—Teddi had no doubt called him. He looked like he’d come straight from a construction site. Dust and paint splatters covered his work clothing.

  My dad made no move toward me. Instead, he stood there with an arm around Teddi. But I could tell by the mist in his eyes as he glanced over at me that he was worried.

  Detective Adams was still there, along with another police officer. The pastor from my church—I called him Pastor Shaggy because he resembled the character from the old Scooby Doo cartoons—sat in a chair, his head hanging down in prayer. I didn’t know who’d called him.

  I didn’t want to be around anyone right now. I knew that one wrong hug could leave me as nothing more than a puddle on the ground. So, instead I nodded hello and crossed my arms as I approached them.

  “No word still?” I asked.

  Detective Adams shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “How about from investigators? Do they have any leads? Did they catch the person who did this?”

  Adams lowered his voice. “Gabby, you just worry about Riley. We’ll worry about finding the gunman.”

  But my mind was already racing. Why would someone have done this?

  What if there was no logic? What if this was random, some crazy who just walked in off the street with an agenda to kill someone? Those random crimes were always the hardest to solve.

  Nothing made sense.

  And until I knew that Riley was okay, nothing would make sense.

  That was the only thing I was certain about at the moment.

  CHAPTER 3

  As the minutes dragged on, I leaned against the wall, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the hospital waiting room. Trying to ignore the tremble that had claimed my muscles. Trying to swallow any tears that fought to emerge.

  Everyone seemed to read me well enough that they stayed away. Pastor Shaggy still had his head lowered in prayer. Teddi texted someone—she was probably starting a prayer chain. The detective and police officer mumbled to each other while exchanging glances down at the notepad in Adams’ hands.

  How long would this surgery last?

  I glanced at my watch. Adams said that Riley had been shot around 9 a.m. It was already past noon. Three hours had passed. Three hours. Shouldn’t the doctors know something by now?

  Finally, at 12:43, the door opened and a man in surgical attire stepped out. He lowered his facial mask and tugged his gloves off as his gaze searched the room.

  I started toward him, then slowed a few steps, trying to read his expression. Hope had propelled me forward; fear caused me to stop.

  His gaze fixed on me. “Are you the fiancée?”

  I nodded, my insides like gelatin. “I’m Gabby St. Claire.”

  “The good news is that the bullet only skimmed the left side of Riley’s brain,” the doctor began. “A brain injury to only one side of the brain, and to one lobe, is much more survivable than an injury to both sides.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or not. Conflicting emotions tattered my insides. “Is Riley going to be okay?”

  He pulled his lips into a tight line. “The bad news is that the bullet caused an intracranial hematoma.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” I couldn’t comprehend his words, but they didn’t sound good.

  “It means that a blood vessel has ruptured in his brain. The blood then compressed the brain tissue.”

  “Okay . . .” I tried to absorb the news. I hardly knew what to ask.

  “Usually, when a person is injured—let’s say, he hurts his ankle—then there’s swelling and the skin expands to accommodate that. However, in a case where the swelling is in the brain, there’s a different set of problems. The skull won’t expand to allow for the swelling. So we had to go in and do an emergency craniotomy and clot evacuation.”

  My throat constricted. “That sounds serious.”

  “The good news is that his blood pressure is stable and his oxygen level is good.”

  I hardly heard what he said and, the little bit I did hear, I barely comprehended. “Can I see him? Can I talk to him?”

  The surgeon grimaced. “Right now, we’ve put him into a medically induced coma. He was unconscious when he arrived. A brain injury like the one he’s experienced can do that to a person.”

  “A medically induced coma?” I’d heard they were common after brain injuries, but I hadn’t read up on it lately. Didn’t think I’d need to. My chin trembled. “What does that mean?”

  He lowered his voice. “It means that we wait and see.”

  I raised my head. “What does ‘wait and see’ mean? How long will he be in this coma?”

  “It’s anyone’s guess, ma’am. There’s no timetable for these things. It could be hours. It could be days. Weeks. Months. Or it could be . . .”

  I squeezed the skin between my eyes before shaking my head and raising my shoulders with some type of false bravado. “He’s going to come out of this. I know he will.”

  “I should tell you that the prognosis, even when we’re able to wake him up and bring him out of this coma, may not be what you want. He may not be able to walk or talk. He may have memory issues. Brain injuries are unpredictable.” He paused and locked gazes with me. “Most people don’t survive them.”

  I rotated my shoulders back again. “He will. You’ll see.”

  The doctor gawked at me as if trying to decide whether or not to pop my bubble of illusion. He must have decided not to because he offered a curt nod. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “The nurses are getting him cleaned up. We’ll let you know when visitors can come in. It will only be immediate family.”

  “I’m his fiancée!” I prepared myself for a fight.

  “And you,” the doctor obliged. “We’ll let you know, Ms. St. Claire.” With that, he used his card to unlock the door and stepped back down the hallway.

  Every part of me wanted to fall apart. But I couldn’t. Not now.

  I turned around and drew on every ounce of strength within me. “Pastor, I need you to call everyone we can think of. We need to get people praying. Now!”

  He nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Detective Adams, you need to be out there searching for the person who did this. I’ll call you if anything changes. I deeply appreciate you being here for me. I know you didn’t have to be.”

  He stared at me uncertainly for a moment. “You sure?”

  “I’m positive. Mary Lou should be at the station by now giving her statement. Maybe she can offer something that I can’t.” Because Riley sure didn’t share anything with me about any threats on his life. He wouldn’t have kept that from me . . . would he?

  “Teddi, would you pack up a few things for me at my apartment? Some clothes. A bottle of water. My toothbrush. I don’t plan on leaving this hospital, not until I know something.”

  She stood and nodded. “Of course.”

  “And if you see Sierra or Chad, please let them know what’s going on.” I turned to my father. “Dad, take care of Teddi. She’s been through a lot. And tell Tim what happened. He’ll want to know.”

  My dad nodded stiffly. “You got it.”

  Teddi’s worried gaze remained on me. “How about you? What are you going to do?”

  “I need to wait for Riley’s parents. They’re coming down from D.C., so it’s still going to be a few hours. Besides, I want to see Riley as soon as I can.”

  Pastor Shaggy squeezed
my arm before asking in that raspy voice of his, “Can I get you something to eat?”

  My stomach ached in response to the question. “I won’t be able to keep anything down. Not now.”

  “Someone should stay with you,” Teddi insisted.

  “I’ll be fine. In fact, I could use some time alone.”

  She inspected me another moment before nodding and taking my dad’s hand to walk back toward the elevators. As soon as everyone disappeared from sight, I sank into a chair and covered my face with my hands.

  Finally, I didn’t have to be strong anymore.

  My first sob escaped.

  ***

  My head bobbed up as the door to ICU opened forty minutes later. A young brunette nurse stuck her head out. “I’m looking for Riley Thomas’ fiancée?”

  I stood. “That’s me.”

  I sucked in the tears that had been flowing down my cheeks, using a crumpled tissue to dab the remaining moisture around my eyes. I knew it would do no good. My entire face was wet, yet my mouth was dry. My soul felt as barren as the crumpled tissue in my fist.

  “You can come see Riley now. I need to warn you that he doesn’t look the same.” Her voice was soft, cautious.

  I stood and began following her at a slow pace. I’d been so anxious to see him. Why was I feeling reluctant now? “What do you mean?”

  “His head has been shaved. It’s bandaged. He’s on a ventilator. Those will be the first things you notice.”

  I paused before I reached his curtained off room. “Can he hear me?”

  She nodded. “Most experts say yes. The more you talk to him, the better.”

  I swallowed hard and then turned toward the hospital bed beyond the curtain. I sucked in a deep breath when I spotted Riley. Though the nurse had tried to prep me, he looked even worse than I’d anticipated.

  Riley . . . the man who was so confident and strong and capable. Now he was being kept alive by machines that I couldn’t identify, by fluids in little bags draped beside him, by prayers and by the grace of God.

  After the nurse left, I dropped into a chair at his bedside and grabbed his hand. For a moment—and just a moment—I halfway expected to feel him squeeze my hand in return. But there was nothing.