Sweet Baby

by Sharon Sala

  Her answer startled him. He hadn’t realized she’d thought it all through so thoroughly.

  “You’re really serious about getting to the bottom of your nightmares, aren’t you, honey?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?” she asked.

  He nodded and began absently rubbing at her ankle as they rocked face-to-face in the hammock.

  “You know how much I love you, don’t you, baby?”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  He paused as he considered how to word what he had to say next.

  “So, knowing what you do now… I mean, having found the rag doll and all… what would you say to Hale now if you saw him?”

  She looked straight in Brett’s face and then stiffened. He knows something.

  “I found him,” Brett said, confirming what she already knew.

  God help me.

  Her expression stilled, and Brett could have sworn he watched her spirit slide behind a blank wall. But there was an urgency in her voice as she leaned forward, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his pant legs. “Where?”

  “As luck would have it, if you can consider anything about this mess lucky, he’s incarcerated here in this state.”

  She repeated her question. “Where?”

  “Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester.”

  “I need to talk to him. Will they let me talk to him?”

  Without waiting for his answer, she rolled out of the hammock and bolted toward the patio before he could stop her. Midway between the tree and the house, she turned to wait for Brett, who was close on her heels.

  “Oh, Brett, I’m scared.”

  He pulled her into his arms, nestling her head beneath his chin and holding her close.

  “I know, Tory, but I’ll be with you all the way.”

  She drew back, needing to see his face when she asked, “They’ll let me see him?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “When?”

  “I’ll make a couple of calls. We should know something by tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Then he remembered the carton they’d left under the swing. “Give me a minute to clean up our mess and I’ll meet you inside, where it’s cool.”

  He went back to the hammock as Tory disappeared inside. When he bent down to pick it up, he noticed a small green worm floating in the bottom of the carton. He turned the carton upside down, spilling the melted ice cream, as well as the worm, onto the ground.

  All the way back into the house, he couldn’t help wondering how symbolic that might have been. By finding Oliver Hale for Tory to meet, he could very well be opening up a real can of worms. And then he shook off the thought. It couldn’t matter. She needed—no, deserved—to know the truth, no matter how frightening or ugly it might be. As he dumped the carton in the trash and the spoons in the sink, he kept remembering one of his mother’s favorite phrases.

  The truth shall set you free.

  “Or make you crazy,” he muttered, and went to look for Tory.

  ***

  She slept in a tangle of bedclothes, her body curled tightly within the sheet, her hands tucked beneath her chin like a child in prayer. Lightning flashed in the sky as a storm front moved across the northern half of the state, but she didn’t see it. She was too lost in the dream playing out in her mind.

  The child rode the swing hanging from the sweet gum tree, her little legs pumping as she hummed a made-up tune. Now and then the hem of her dress would billow, revealing white cotton panties and little brown legs. All around her was sunshine and light, but she was safe and cool here in the shade, in her swing.

  Her fingers were curled tight around the rope as she flew high toward the overhead limbs. Then, swinging backward in a 180 degree arc, she would give herself an added pump before rocking back down. Higher and higher she flew until she could almost touch the leaves and the sky and the clouds. Overjoyed with just being, she burst out in a cry of delight, “Look at me! Look at me!”

  Behind her, a door slammed abruptly, and as she continued to swing, she heard a voice suddenly cry out, “Be careful! Oh, sweetheart, be careful!”

  No sooner had the words been uttered than her fingers slipped from the rope. The wide, open smile on her face turned into a shrill scream, and she tumbled head over heels into the air before landing on her back in the ankle-high grass.

  Shocked, and with no breath left to cry, she lay stunned and gasping and wondering if she was dead. The sound of running footsteps was loud in her ears as she turned to look. Someone was coming toward her and calling out her name in a high, frantic voice. She reached up, trying to speak, but her lungs were still filling with much needed air, and all she could do was gasp painfully.

  “Oh dear, oh dear, are you all right?”

  Someone was kneeling beside her. She looked up, expecting to see the face of her savior, and was blinded instead by the sun. Instinctively, she blinked, and when she looked up again, there was nobody there.

  Tory woke suddenly, realizing afterward that she’d been holding her breath. She inhaled deeply, taking much needed air into her lungs, thankful that, for once, she hadn’t awakened Brett, as well. Then she closed her eyes, letting herself back into the dream and experiencing a moment of frustration that she’d awakened too soon. There was a knowing within her that if she could have stayed with the dream, she would have seen the face of the person who kept calling her name.

  She sighed. This whole business was making her crazy. It was obvious that her subconscious was trying to tell her something, but for the life of her, either she couldn’t or wouldn’t let herself understand.

  Maybe… just maybe… Oliver Hale will have the answers I need.

  Having to be satisfied with that, she rolled toward Brett, taking comfort in the fact that he was there.

  ***

  The scorpion was almost lost in a wrinkle of the dry, burning flesh of Oliver’s cheek. He grimaced with pain as he bumped the IV needle in the back of his hand and wished to God he hadn’t tried to hold up that liquor store in Ponca City. It had seemed like an easy way to make himself some quick money. That night there had been no customers in sight and only one old clerk. Who would have thought that run-down place had a silent alarm, or that the clerk was a salty old man who was willing to shoot back?

  He moaned, drifting in and out of consciousness and willing himself not to be sick again. Damn, but he hated to throw up. Vaguely aware of someone standing at his bedside, he tried to wake up enough to tell them he hurt, but they kept giving him stuff that put him out like a light. He had yet to connect the two in his mind.

  He didn’t know that the doctors were well aware of his suffering. It wasn’t often that someone in such an advanced state of disease was still walking, let alone enduring his misery without benefit of medication.

  He thought of his place back in Iowa, with all his worldly belongings. LeeNona, that damned old hen, was probably mad as all get-out by now. But the way he looked at it, it was partly her fault he was in this mess. There had been a time in their relationship when he had been living with her, not out back in that little shed of a house. But she’d gotten on her high horse some years back and booted him out of her bed.

  After that, their arrangement had become commonplace. Life hadn’t been spectacular, but it hadn’t been all that bad. And then he’d lost his job at the mill and fallen behind on his rent. He still couldn’t believe she’d threatened to have him evicted. The bitch. She never would cut a man any slack. It was his last conscious thought for several long hours.

  Sometime during the night he came to again and was instantly engulfed in a wave of nausea and pain. A monitor started beeping. It took several moments for him to realized it was connected to him. He moaned, trying to call out, but there was no need. Footsteps sounded on the tiled floor. Someone was already coming. Moments later, a blessed lassitude began spreading through him from the inside out. His fingers relaxed as he rode the morphine into unconsciousness.

 
***

  Brett hung up the phone and then cursed beneath his breath.

  What the hell else can possibly go wrong?

  He heard a car slowing down and glanced out the window, relaxing only after it had passed. It wasn’t Tory. At least he still had some time to figure out how to give her the latest bad news. How was he going to explain that he’d promised her something he might not be able to deliver? But who could have known this would happen? Who could have predicted such a far-fetched possibility?

  He gazed around the room, thankful that at least she’d fallen in love with this house. When he let himself dream, he could almost believe their world was normal—that she was an everyday lady with an everyday life. Then something would happen—something like the phone call he’d just received—and he would be reminded how fragile their world really was, and how much of their happiness was hanging on the word of a stranger.

  A car door slammed, and he looked up. Damn. She was back. He gritted his teeth and headed for the door. Procrastination was not one of his faults.

  “Hey, baby, did you buy out the store?”

  Tory looked up, then grinned. “Make yourself useful,” she said, and handed him a bulging grocery bag in each arm, then took the last one herself and headed for the front door. “I’ve been hungry for pot roast for a week. And you’ll be glad to know I got all the ingredients to make strawberry cheesecake.”

  Watching the sway of her backside as she stepped up on the porch, Brett lost focus on what she was saying and groaned beneath his breath. Without trying, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever known. And right now she was happy. It made him sick, knowing he was about to ruin her whole day.

  He set the bags down on the counter, then took the one she was carrying and set it aside, as well. But when she started digging into the sacks, he stopped her with a touch.

  “Tory, we need to talk.”

  “In a minute. Some of this stuff needs to be refrigerated as soon as possible.”

  “It can wait a minute, okay?”

  The tone of his voice was beginning to soak in. She paused and then turned to look at his face. Her heart dropped. She’d seen that expression too many times before.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Hale.”

  She straightened, as if bracing herself for a mortal blow.

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know if we’re going to be allowed to talk to him or not.”

  “But why? It’s not as if we’re going to hurt him.”

  “I know, honey, but he’s—”

  “I wouldn’t cause a fuss, I promise. Can’t you tell them that I just want to talk?”

  “It isn’t that, Tory. The problem isn’t in what you want to say to him, or even that you want to see him at all.”

  She doubled her hand into a fist in frustration. “Then what?” she cried. “What else could there possibly be?”

  Brett took a deep breath. “He’s no longer in lockup. As of a few days ago, he was moved into the prison hospital.”

  Her expression brightened. “Then that’s okay,” she said. “I don’t mind waiting. After all, I’ve waited all these years, right?”

  “No, honey, it’s not okay, and neither is Hale. I just got a phone call from the warden, denying your visit. Hale isn’t suffering a temporary ailment. He’s dying.”

  Twelve

  Stunned, Tory walked out of the house without saying a word. Brett started to follow her and then changed his mind. After having pinned all her hopes on finding this man, she needed time alone. If a woman had ever needed a break in life, it was Tory. He stood at the window, watching as she crawled into the hammock. When she rolled herself into a ball, he frowned. Pulling away. She was pulling away from everything, including him. He thrust his fingers through his hair in frustration.

  “Dammit! This isn’t fair. There has to be something else I can do.”

  And then he paused. What if…

  He headed for the phone. If the warden wasn’t sympathetic to Brett’s appeal, maybe he would listen to Tory’s doctor.

  ***

  A day later, they drove into McAlester at a quarter past two in the afternoon. Tory was white-lipped but determined to take advantage of the warden’s change of heart. She knew Brett had pulled some strings to make this happen, but she didn’t care. She just needed to see Oliver Hale’s face and hear his voice. After that, if no bells rang, then so be it. At least she had been given the chance.

  She touched Brett’s leg. “I don’t know how you did this, but I will be forever grateful.”

  He dodged a jaywalking pedestrian with a dog on a leash, muttering beneath his breath at the near miss. When he braked for a red light, he glanced at her.

  “Let’s hope you still feel this way after it’s over.”

  She shrugged. “I only want some answers. I don’t believe in miracles.”

  Brett reached for her hand. Her fingers were cold, her skin clammy. In spite of her bravado, he could tell that she was scared to death.

  “No matter what you do or don’t learn today, remember I love you.”

  She sighed and leaned back against the seat. “I know. I keep thinking that all this hell is worth it for that reason alone.”

  He frowned. “No way, baby. I know all I need to know about you. Whatever you learn is for you, not me. Understand?”

  She nodded. “Understood.”

  Within the hour they were being escorted, under guard, into the hospital area of the penitentiary, past the main ward, where normal convalescent care took place, and into the twelve-bed unit housing the critically and terminally ill.

  The moment they passed through the doors of the critical care, Tory sensed the atmosphere changing. She caught herself holding her breath, as if unwilling to share the same air with so much despair.

  A man in a white lab coat met them at the doorway.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “I’m Dr. Levisay. The warden told us you were coming.” He looked to Brett. “I was told you came to question Oliver Hale? Am I right?”

  Brett shook his head. “I’m only here as an escort. This is Victoria Lancaster. She’s the one who wants to see Hale.” He looked around the ward. “Where is he?” he asked.

  But Tory had already seen him—in the bed against the far wall. Even though his face was drawn and pasty, the tattoo was impossible to miss.

  “There. He’s there.”

  Brett looked, then groaned inwardly. He’d seen less wiring on a jet than they had hooked up on that man—and jets could fly.

  “You do understand that he might not be able to talk?” Levisay said.

  Tory heard him but refused to consider the possibility. They’d come so far. Surely fate wouldn’t be this cruel.

  “I’ll see if he’s awake,” Levisay said, and moved toward the bed, his lab coat flapping at the backs of his knees as he walked.

  Tory began to follow.

  “Tory, honey, maybe we’d better wait until—” He gave up. She obviously wasn’t listening to him any better than she’d listened to Levisay. At this point, she wasn’t about to be deterred by a sleeping man, even if he was dying.

  Levisay read the monitors at a glance as he leaned over his patient. Hale had recently been sedated. Chances were it would be a couple of hours before he was lucid again, but there was no harm in giving it a try.

  “Mr. Hale, you have some visitors.” The man barely stirred. “Mr. Hale, do you hear me? You have some visitors.”

  Oliver’s eyelids fluttered as his mind began to focus on the doctor’s voice. Although the words were faint, he could hear him fine. But he wanted to sleep more than he wanted to listen.

  The doctor turned. “I’m sorry, but as you can see, he’s out. If you care to come back in a couple of hours, he will probably be more cognizant than he is now.”

  Once again Tory’s hopes fell, although she could see for herself that communicating with him was impossible.

  “May I just wait here a moment
?” she asked. “I won’t bother him, but I would like to take a better look.”

  The doctor frowned. “I’m sorry, but I was under the impression that you knew him.”

  “I don’t know whether I do or not,” she said. “I don’t have any memory of my childhood.”

  “Then why—”

  Brett interrupted. “It’s a long story, Doc. Trust me when I tell you she’s been cleared to ask Hale anything she wants.”

  Dr. Levisay shrugged. “Fine. I have no problem with you being here, as long as you don’t endanger my patient’s health.”

  Brett took the doctor aside, giving Tory the opportunity she wanted to look more closely at Hale.

  “Look, Doc. Hale’s dying, right?”

  Levisay nodded.

  “Then cut her some slack. She had a hell of a childhood, and Hale may very well hold the key to why she can’t remember anything about the first six years of her life.”

  “No, you look, Mr. Hooker. Three-fourths of the inmates here had miserable childhoods. The other fourth are just miserable human beings. I’ll give her the chance she needs, but it’s not up to me, it’s up to Oliver Hale.”

  ***

  Oliver was floating. The sensation was so real that when he suddenly found himself standing in a corner of the room, he wasn’t surprised. Weightless. That was what he was. Weightless. He looked back at the body lying still on the bed and shrugged. Man, but it felt good to be mobile again. He wanted to laugh. Look at them, standing around his bed like they were at a wake. Not yet! he crowed. I ain’t done for yet.

  He moved toward them, curious as to who they were and why they’d come. Visitors, the doctor had said. It wasn’t likely. He didn’t have any family, and he damn sure didn’t have any friends like them. The woman’s hair was long and blond, just like LeeNona’s had been when they’d first met. He moved closer, frowning as he overheard them talking.

  Dying. Hell yes, I’m dying. If your liver was as eaten up with a cancer as mine, you’d be dying, too.

  His attention strayed to the nurse on the other side of his bed.

  Damn, but she has some pretty tits. I’d give a whole lot just for the strength to squeeze them. But it ain’t gonna happen. There ain’t even enough juice left in me to spit.