by Jaime Maddox
“I’m going back to work, and I plan to give them a few months’ notice. Then I’m coming back to Endless Mountains.”
Jess leaned back in her chair and studied Ward. A month earlier, the news would have crushed her. Now, she was happy. Perhaps she really had made some progress. “Good for you, Ward. You deserve to be happy.”
When Ward shrugged, Jess changed the subject. “Tell me about the trial,” she said. “I had seven phone calls from that cop. Seven. And a dozen emails. Why didn’t you just tell her I was in the nuthouse?”
“I think she figured it out on her own. When she called and asked me to testify, she asked if I thought you were going to be available, and I told her no. She didn’t sound surprised. I guess they could have asked for some sort of delay, but I gathered from listening to them talk that it might have given Hawk an opportunity to get bail, so I think they took their chances on me and Wendy and Zeke.”
“And they came through, huh?”
Ward nodded. “Wendy was a basket case all week, according to Detective Calabrese, but she pulled herself together. It was seeing Hawk that inspired her in the courtroom. They say some witnesses cower before their accusers, but not her. She stood up to him, yelled at him, and gave such powerful testimony there was no way they couldn’t indict him.”
“And my dad testified, too? He’s been a little shaky.”
“Same story for him. Once he got on the stand he was a star. I think they told him to stick to the facts, because that’s what he did. He asked the judge if he could refer to his notes, and of course Hawk’s attorney objected. So your dad cut right in, before the DA could say a word, and addressed the judge. He told him he was an officer of the law, and he’d made an official report, and because of the severity of the situation, he thought it should be read in court, so no one could dispute the facts. So the DA immediately motioned to have the report taken into evidence, and your father testified. It was hysterical. ‘At 10:22, according to my Timex watch, I received a call from Dr. Edward Hawk asking me to meet him at the Towering Pines Sportsman’s Association, in the cabin. He informed me that my daughter was there, having a lover’s quarrel with the coroner.’ Then he looked at the judge and whispered, ‘Jessica is a lezbean. I guess the coroner is, too.’ And then he continued with the testimony, telling the judge how Hawk had you and Wendy tied up at gunpoint, and how he’d told Hawk to call me because I’d put you up to investigating him. It was all written in his report, and he didn’t stray from the script at all. The defense didn’t even cross-examine him.”
Jess swallowed a tear. Her dad had come through for her. And so had two very good friends.
“Thank you for testifying, too.”
They were quiet. “And thank you for the good times we shared, Ward. It took a month of psychiatric exploration for me to understand why we’re not right for each other, but it doesn’t mean it was anyone’s fault. What was wrong was how I handled things and how I ended it with you.”
“You did what you thought was right in that situation. I would have done the same.”
Jess picked a spot in the corner of the room to stare at, because she suddenly lost the courage to face Ward. “In the meetings, they tell us that one of the steps of recovery is to make amends to those we’ve harmed or hurt because of our addiction. So there’s something I have to tell you, and I hope you’ll forgive me for not letting you know sooner, but I was thinking like an addict then. Very self-centered.”
Jess finally gathered her courage and looked at Ward, whose face showed fear. Did she suspect what Jess was about to say? If she did, she should feel happy about the news. Perhaps. Jess only hoped Ward would forgive her. “The night you attacked Em and George, Ward, you were drugged. Someone slipped you Rohypnol. It was probably Em, and he was probably in cahoots with my father, but it was in your CSF. You had some sort of paradoxical reaction to it, thank the gods, because who knows what those two would have done with you if they’d gotten you out of the bar under the influence of that drug. You turned the tables on them and became violent. It’s been known to happen with Rohypnol. So it wasn’t your fault, the assault. You weren’t drunk, just drugged. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”
Ward’s face was an unreadable mask. “When did you find out?” she asked. Jess studied her for a moment, hoping for some sign, but she simply looked stunned. Jess would have asked if she was okay, but what a stupid question it was. How could you be okay after you found out someone had drugged you and probably wanted to kill you, and as a result, your girlfriend threw you out in the cold? How could you forgive her for not telling you the truth when she learned it?
“The day I told you about Wendy. It took a long time for the CSF to come back, you know?”
Jess couldn’t read Ward’s emotions. She seemed flat. “What made you run the test? You said you didn’t check an alcohol level or a drug screen because you thought I was drunk and using drugs, and you didn’t want any proof so it couldn’t be used against me.”
“I know. But they held the spinal fluid in the lab, and after you told me you felt like you were drugged, I put it all together. My dad and Em’s great plan to get you out of my life. I had to know, so I decided to order it. But I didn’t know what to do with the results, you know? If I told you, either Em or my dad would be in serious trouble. And it wouldn’t have changed things between us. The truth is, I needed to get away from you and the constant scrutiny of a relationship because I needed my space to use drugs and function. You stressed me, and I couldn’t handle it, so I took advantage of the situation that night and broke up with you.”
Ward nodded. “So that night was just an excuse, huh?”
Jess shrugged and snagged tissues from the box on her kitchen counter. “I was behaving like an addict, Ward. And I know that sounds like an excuse, but it really isn’t. It just is. And I’m sorry for the way I treated you, not just with the breakup. I wasn’t there for you after the injury. It was all about me.”
“I get it. I do,” she said softly. “And I think I probably enabled you, huh?”
“You’re easy to manipulate.”
Ward laughed. “I’ll work on that. Today, as a matter of fact. Abby and I are heading to the beach. I plan to be very bossy and not allow her to push me around.”
Jess smiled. “I think you have a plan.”
Their glasses were empty, and Ward stood. “Meetings every day, right?”
Jess shrugged. Her discharge plan included a commitment to thirty meetings in thirty days, just to keep her in the right place. Working thirteen-hour shifts didn’t leave much time for meetings, especially if she planned to travel to Scranton or Wilkes-Barre, where she could remain somewhat anonymous. It would be hard, but she’d try.
They hugged at the door, and Jess watched the woman she’d loved leave her for the last time. She was sure they would talk, or text, or email, but Jess had let Ward go, and, at long last, it seemed Ward was happy with that arrangement.
The kitchen was stocked with basics, thanks to Ward, so Jess went about the next order of business. Housecleaning. She hadn’t been home in a month, and a layer of dust had collected everywhere. After emptying her laundry into the washer, she wiped every surface within reach and allowed the fresh mountain air to blow away the musty odor that had taken over. Within a few hours, the house smelled better and looked better, and Jess felt better, too.
During her treatment for PTSD, the psychiatrist had suggested the diagnosis of OCD as well. If she had it, her case was mild, but she did have a tendency to obsess over trivialities and spent inordinate amounts of her time getting things just right. It was a stressful way to live—always wondering if things were good enough instead of just accepting that they were.
Satisfied. That was the word she was looking for. Was the house perfect? No. Could she be satisfied with it? She would try.
A nagging sense of obligation was irritating her, though. Detective Calabrese had left her multiple messages regarding the preliminary hearing, and ev
en though she had her phone and iPad and could have responded, she’d elected not to. It was hard to explain, but when she went to the Hartley Clinic she just wasn’t ready to talk about Edward Hawk. The passing days had healed her, though, and she thought she might finally be able to tell her tale without falling apart. She took out her phone and dialed the detective’s number.
“Hello, Dr. Benson,” a husky voice answered.
It hadn’t occurred to Jess that the number was Calabrese’s cell phone, but apparently, she was in the memory bank. Recovering from that little shock, she returned the greeting.
“It’s good to know you’re alive.”
Jess didn’t detect any emotion in her voice, and she was happy for that. She wasn’t prepared to deal with anyone else’s issues. She was simply being courteous.
“Yes, I’m alive. I’m just returning all your phone calls. And I’d like to thank you, as well. I appreciate your hard work. It’s good to know that Hawk is out of circulation.”
She heard the detective sigh. “Everything went well. The other witnesses—Dr. Thrasher, the coroner, your father—they were great. I still need a statement from you, though. And I’m hoping you’ll be able to testify at the trial.”
“I understand. I can meet with you whenever you’d like. I just have to work around my schedule in the ER. I return to work the day after tomorrow.”
After agreeing to meet after Jess’s overnight shift, they ended the call. Jess couldn’t explain why, but she felt much better after talking to Mac. It must be work, she thought. I’m looking forward to getting back to work.
*
Mac stared at the phone in her hand. So, Dr. Jessica Benson was back from exile. She’d been surprised when the doctor’s name appeared on her caller ID. It had been more than a month since she’d disappeared, and almost as long since the preliminary hearing. Mac hadn’t forgotten about her, but with other cases coming and going, and the Hawk murder investigation taking her time, the kidnapping case wasn’t a priority.
It was funny how things had turned out with the preliminary hearing. Jessica would have seemed to be the ideal witness—she was the first one abducted and had witnessed the other two. It seemed she was Hawk’s primary target, probably to learn what she knew about the investigation Ward Thrasher had started at Endless Mountains Medical Center. With no Jessica around to testify, Mac had been worried about the day in court. It had gone well, though, and the indictment was issued without any problems. Hawk’s bail was denied, thanks to the testimony she’d given about his financial resources and the plane ticket he’d purchased. Unless he escaped from jail, he wasn’t likely to spend a free day for many years.
A phone call interrupted her musings, and when it ended she went back to work. Her day was uneventful, filled with all the usual things a state police detective did—reviewing cases and reports, meeting with her team, interviewing witnesses. There were no traffic fatalities, and no homicides, and no testimony to give in court. When she finally crawled into bed that night, sleep eluded her once again. Thoughts of the mysterious Dr. Jessica Benson interrupted her, and Mac had to admit, they weren’t at all unpleasant.
Chapter Eleven
Back in Business
“Oh, fuck,” Jess murmured, pulling back her face a second before the patient’s stomach erupted, spewing vomit everywhere. “I need suction!” she shouted to the respiratory therapist. As she waited for the catheter, she looked at the medic hovering over the patient’s chest. “Continue CPR.”
Glancing at the cardiac monitor, Jess noted the pattern of waves that appeared one after the other on the screen. The CPR was flawless. The shocks and medications had been delivered. But unless she managed to pass the breathing tube into the patient’s lungs and deliver oxygen to his heart and brain and kidneys, none of it mattered.
After suctioning out milky fluid and what appeared to be Fruit Loops, she tried once again to pass the endotracheal tube. From her position behind the patient’s head, she opened his mouth with her right hand and slid the laryngoscope blade along the tongue and deep into the throat. Pulling upward and outward with her left hand, she turned the scope slightly back and forth, in search of the white membranous strips guarding the trachea’s entrance. “Bingo,” she said when the vocal cords came into view. Without taking her eyes off the cords, she guided the tube into the mouth, down the throat, and between the glistening bands. Once it was in position, she inflated the balloon that held the tube in place and stepped back, allowing the respiratory therapist to secure it and begin mechanical ventilation.
She watched the monitor, first the wavy line indicating the heart rhythm, then the one above it showing the air flow. It looked perfect, and as Jess watched, the oxygen level began to climb. After a minute she turned her attention back to the patient. “Stop CPR,” she instructed the paramedic working on the chest, then looked at the monitor once again. As soon as the compressions stopped, so did the activity on the monitor. “Nothing,” she said. “Okay, keep going.”
Jess thought about her options. The most important step—shock—had failed. It was helpful to know why the heart had stopped, too. Sometimes correcting the underlying problem took the pressure off the heart and it would start again. And although most of the medications delivered during cardiac arrest didn’t help, she gave them anyway. It was still the protocol, and psychologically speaking, it beat doing nothing.
This particular patient, who was only in his forties, had been found by his wife after she heard a crashing noise in her kitchen. A glass had shattered when he dropped it, and the medics found him lying in it. He might have hit his head when he fell to the tile, but likely, the fall had nothing to do with his current condition. Whatever had happened to him caused the fall. Heart attack? Ruptured aneurism? Kidney failure? Blood clot? Not a lot of things could cause such a quick death, without leaving any evidence behind. Trauma could, of course, but there was no history of that and certainly no signs on the body. Drugs could, too, but usually not so quickly, and the medics had treated him for that, anyway. Poisons could stop the heart, but that was an autopsy diagnosis, and not likely something she could reverse. If only they could get the heart to respond, the tracing on the EKG could clue them in to what was going on.
Young healthy men should not fall over in their kitchens and die.
But they did.
After almost an hour with no response to every trick Jess could think of, she ended the code. She asked the clerk to call the family doctor and Wendy, because she was sure this patient would need an autopsy. There was no way the family doctor would sign the death certificate and attest to the cause of death in a young, previously healthy man.
“Come with me?” she asked the medic who’d been at the man’s house and the nurse who’d helped with the code. They needed to tell the man’s wife.
Jess found her, along with three teenagers, in the counseling room set aside for such purposes. The fear on their faces was evident.
This was the hardest part of her job. Give her a budget meeting any day.
Half an hour later she wiped the tears from her eyes and found the doctor who’d relieved her an hour earlier. “Nothing to sign out,” she said as she waved to the staff.
“Oh, Dr. Benson!” the clerk shouted. “The police detective’s waiting for you in the lounge.”
Fuck! Jess looked at the clock. The detective was scheduled to meet her at the change of shift. If she was on time—and something told Jess the detective was punctual—she’d been waiting an hour. Jess picked up her pace on the way to the staff lounge. It was her destination, anyway. Since her return to work, she’d been using a locker there, instead of her office.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as she opened to door to find Calabrese leaning back in her chair, watching the news on the small television suspended from the ceiling.
Mac turned off the television in response. “Tough night?”
Jess closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Do you want me to give you a
little time? Or would you like to reschedule? I can come back another day.”
Jess thought about the four weeks the detective had already been waiting to talk to her. “No, I’ll be okay.” She looked around the lounge and suddenly felt trapped. Longing for escape, she looked at Calabrese and smiled. “But would it inconvenience you terribly if we move our meeting to my place? It’s only a block away.”
Mac nodded. “Sure. How about I pick up a couple of coffees and meet you in half an hour?”
Jess nodded. “Sounds great. Let me give you the address.”
“Dr. Benson, I’m a detective. I’ve already got it.”
For the first time in hours, Jess felt herself smiling. “I’m going to grab a quick shower when I get home. Wash the night away.”
“I’ll see you then.”
*
Mac procured two coffees from the local shop and selected a variety of pastries as well. It wasn’t how she typically conducted an interview, but she suspected Jessica could use the comfort. Besides, she was fragile and needed to be handled carefully. And with the indictment already secure, there was less pressure. Jessica’s statement was important, but Mac would try to keep it light.
Blue eyes met hers through the parted window curtains just seconds after she rang the bell, and Jessica’s mouth widened into a thin smile when she saw the coffee and pastries.
“My favorite,” she said, and though her smile grew wider, Mac thought she looked tired.
“Brilliant minds, I guess,” Mac replied.
“Why don’t we go into the living room? It’ll be more comfortable.”
As Mac followed her through the stately home, she couldn’t help admiring the high ceilings and big windows, the wide planks that made up the floors, and the beautiful molding trimming every doorway. The house had been well maintained through the years. If she ever left her cabin by the lake, it would be for a place like this. “This is some house.”
