“Thought you were off tonight, taking the baby trick or treating with . . .”
“You son of a bitch,” he said, his teeth gnashed together. “You fucked Celeste!”
I glanced around, hoping no one heard that. Everyone seemed either busy or doing a good job of faking it. I’d hoped this day would never come, but now that it had, I’d man up and be honest. There was no point in lying, but I wished Brent had a little tact. I couldn’t give a fuck about my reputation, but he was hurting his wife, too. “She told you that?” I asked.
“No,” he barked. “I was paying some bills and stuff and saw the paperwork and receipt for Lulu’s crib. Why in the hell would you buy my daughter’s crib unless you were screwing her mother?”
“Did you ask her?” I asked.
“She said it was brief while she and I were broken up and that it’s over,” he said.
“Then you’ve got your answer.”
“I want to hear it from you,” he said and pushed my shoulder slightly. I got to my feet. I didn’t want a fight on the hospital floor, but I wasn’t going to be pushed around, either.
I’ve always known there are two types of men in the world. Those who’ve been in a fight, and those who haven’t. The latter often think they know how to throw a punch, but they seldom do. I knew Brent was in that category. I was in the former—I mean, I was one of three boys, and we fought sometimes. It had been a while for me—probably since high school—but some skills never leave you.
“How many women did you nail while you two were broken up?” I asked.
“None of them were her best friend,” he said.
“Look, I . . .”
Suddenly, we heard Celeste’s voice. “Please don’t do this,” she said, coming towards us with Jason.
And fuck if my heart didn’t miss a few beats seeing her, her body already back to pre-pregnancy shape. “Go home,” Brent barked. “You should be with the baby.”
“She’s at your parents’,” Celeste said. “Please, Brent, you promised me you wouldn’t . . .”
“Fuck that,” he said, looking at me. “All these years, we never went after the same woman. Never, not once. And you . . .”
“Come on,” Jason said, pulling Brent down the hallway. “This isn’t the place. You aren’t even supposed to be here tonight.”
Celeste turned to me, “I never planned on telling him.”
“Why are you even here?” I asked.
“I knew Brent was coming to confront you and I . . .”
“I’ve got to go,” I said and looked away from her, taking one more look at Brent and Jason down the hallway.
I walked away, but Celeste followed me, stepping in front of the stairwell door. I couldn’t help but make eye contact now, and saw her eyes red-rimmed, like I’d seen so many times before when she was with Brent. “Can we talk for a minute?” she asked.
“Talk to your husband.”
“Please, I miss you.”
“You married him. I told you if you walked down the aisle, that was it.”
“I thought if we got married, he’d change,” she said. “Please, it doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Holt,” she said, reaching out for me, tears streaming down her face. “Everything that happened was real. I wasn’t using you. I really did . . . I do love you, but Brent’s her father, and I had to try for Lulu.”
I had no idea how she expected me to react or what she wanted from me at this point. Did she expect me to continue to listen to her bitch about Brent, watch them rip each other apart, wait for her to come to her senses, then rescue her? Whatever it was, I was done, and I wasn’t going to stand there and watch her cry anymore.
I turned around, leaving her there, and heard her whimper my name as I walked away. I just kept moving to the elevator bank, unsure how I was going to make it through the rest of my residency seeing her every day once she came back from leave. I simply had to refocus.
With my parents gone, I needed to be strong for my brothers. There was no room for Celeste and her drama.
I waited at the elevator bank, stepping back as a few people got off, a couple guys dressed in costumes, one a pirate, one as Dracula. Poor bastards—all decked out for Halloween, their wives must’ve gone into labor unexpectedly. Looked like I was getting off work just in time.
I got in the elevator and pressed the button to the main floor, watching the numbers tick down one by one. Four . . . Three . . .
Before I could make it the five floors to the lobby, I heard it over the hospital intercom system.
Code Silver.
Hospitals have many codes. Pink for missing baby. Red for fire. Blue for cardiac emergencies. Black for bomb or terrorist threat. They vary a little hospital to hospital.
It came again.
Code Silver—fifth floor.
Silver means shots fired.
My heart stopped. My body froze.
Celeste.
I pounded on the elevator buttons, over and over again, willing the thing to stop. I had to get out. Finally it stopped, after what seemed like an hour. I jumped out on the second floor, and flew through the stairwell door. I raced up the stairs—only three flights until I could get to her. I was running so fast, going two steps at a time, grabbing the handrail to make tight turns at the corner.
As I got closer, from inside the stairwell, I began to hear cries for help from men and women alike echoing off the walls. I could hear Code Silver still blaring, too, and a loud, ringing alarm of some kind. I didn’t hear shots, though. Hospital personnel and patients began barreling down the stairs past me. I ignored them all—there was just one person on my mind. What the fuck was happening?
I pushed open the door on the fifth floor and, my eyes wide and frantic, searched for her face, through the screams of personnel and patients trying to escape or cowering in fear. I moved through the crowd, probably knocking a few people down along the way. I can’t say for sure if that happened; I just don’t know. And to be honest, even looking back now, I don’t care.
I had one thing on my mind.
And I didn’t see her—or Jason or Brent, either.
The cries and screams slowly began to fade away, only a heavy silence left along with a trail of blood ahead of me. My eyes focused in on the trail, hard, and it seemed to beckon me to follow. No, she couldn’t be that way. She couldn’t be. But something inside was telling me to follow, like I was being called by death, a new sense all its own. Its taste: metal. Its smell: sickly sweet. Its sound: complete silence. Its look: crimson red. Its feel: bone-chilling cold.
I followed death’s lead, seeing the bodies of a few co-workers lining the corridor. I bent down, checking each one for a pulse. A guilty thankfulness overcame me each time it wasn’t Celeste or my friends. A few patients were peeking out their doors, and I motioned for them to stay quiet and go back inside. Then I saw Nurse Wicks slumped over the nurses’ station, her head resting close to her bowl of candies, her eyes wide open, the shock permanently captured inside. There was no need to check her pulse.
I looked around the corner, my heart thundering, my legs heavy. Two bodies came into view, their faces covered in blood. I knew it was them. My two best friends, their bodies twisted on the floor. I hustled towards them. As I crouched down beside them, it suddenly occurred to me that the shooter might still be on the floor. Fuck. My eyes darted around, looking for someone, anyone, and then turned back to my friends. Dear God, let them be alive.
I rolled Jason over, and saw the entire left side of his head was missing. I turned away in horror, but my eyes quickly found two bullet holes in Brent’s chest. He was gone, too. My sins, my betrayal were all known to him, and my chance to make amends gone. How the fuck did this happen? We were just talking a minute ago. And now the only words in my mind were, “I’m sorry.”
I had never seen anything like this in my life. Losing my parents was terrible, watching my mom suffer, having my dad die without warning or reason—all horri
ble. But this was something entirely different. I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. There was no processing it. It couldn’t possibly have been real. And this was no movie, either. I hung my head in disbelief. This couldn’t possibly be happening. Where were the police? Where was Celeste?
“Holt!” I heard her scream—and I can still hear it today, echoing the halls.
I quickly stood up and found her down the hall in front of me, with the working side of a gun pointed at her head—and I can still tell you the exact number of tears on her cheeks, where every strand of her hair lay.
The pirate from the elevator was holding the gun, the very guy I’d walked past only moments ago. If only I’d stopped him. But it was Halloween, and I’d thought nothing of it—and neither had anyone else.
“Dr. Miller,” the man said, lifting the eye patch from his eye.
I recognized him immediately. My gut clenched, knowing why he was here, knowing my friends, all these other people, were dead because of me.
“Mr. Dodd,” I said, holding out my arms to try to calm him. “Please let her go. It’s me you want. It’s me that you’re upset with.”
“No, Holt,” Celeste whimpered.
He tightened his grip. “You killed her, my wife, my Stephanie.”
That wasn’t true, of course. There was nothing I or any other doctor could’ve done. Sometimes shitty things just happen. Silent killers. But it wasn’t the time to argue that point. It wouldn’t have mattered. He needed to blame someone, make someone pay, and that someone was me.
I heard footsteps behind me, but I didn’t take my eyes off Celeste. “Think about your baby daughter,” I said.
“I do, every day,” he said, pressing the barrel of the gun deeper into Celeste’s skull. “She doesn’t have her mother.”
“Security,” a loud voice yelled out. “The police are on their way. Lower your weapon.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but now all these innocent people are dead.”
“Shut up!” he yelled.
“I was your wife’s doctor. It’s really me you want dead, right? You can let her go.”
My words perhaps reaching him, Mr. Dodd turned the gun on me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I would have gladly died to save Celeste.
“Drop the gun!” security yelled out again.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “I don’t want you dead. I want you to know the pain that I know, the pain of living without the woman you love.” His eyes held mine, as he turned the gun towards Celeste.
“No!” I screamed. “Don’t . . .”
“And now you will,” he said and calmly fired a bullet into her head.
I screamed out and lunged forward, trying to catch her before she fell to the ground. But I couldn’t make it in time. As security pinned Mr. Dodd to the ground, I scooped Celeste from the ground and held her lifeless body on the white and gray-checkered hospital floor.
I’d never screamed so hard, so violently, not words but haunting, hollow yelps from so deep inside me that it felt as if my very soul was being fractured and then burned alive. There was so much pain as I held her, I was begging for my own death.
After a minute or two, the police arrived and tried to pry me away from her dead body, but I couldn’t let go. Celeste loved hugging people, and the only thing I wanted to do was hug her one more time, one last time, for as long as I could.
So that’s what I did, kissing her gently and stroking her skin as I held her in my lap on the cold floor, stained red with her blood. There was no way to let go.
Despite the many funerals the following week, I never really let go of any of them. There was no rest for their souls or for mine. Of course, Celeste’s funeral was the worst. As far as most of the world knew, I was only a friend. I had no right to feel the way I felt, to be brought to my knees in grief. So I found myself remaining stoic as my friends, co-workers, and the woman I loved were put in the cold, dark ground.
As for Mr. Dodd, the asshole district attorney pled out the case. Mr. Dodd’s bullshit lawyers used his grief as his defense, and argued extreme emotional disturbance or some shit. So instead of being convicted of murder and getting the death penalty or at least life without parole, he got put away for manslaughter for five years. I was enraged. The community was enraged. It was obvious what Mr. Dodd did was premeditated. But I suppose it turned out okay since the fucker hanged himself in prison the following Halloween.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HOLT
Annalyse whispers my name. I’m sure she can see the state I’m in, my heart rate through the roof, sweat wetting my hairline, my breathing shallow, in a full-blown panic attack.
“It hurts my heart to see you like this,” she says, cupping my face.
“I’m alright,” I say. “It will pass.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
I shake my head. “I’ve learned to control them through the years. If I kept my life simple, things in order, no room for error. Basically if I felt in control, they stayed away.”
She smiles a bit, as if she understands.
Sticking my hands in the front pocket of my jeans, I can’t believe I told her everything. The words came out easier than I thought they would, like they were thankful to be released. Everything I’ve never said aloud, everything that has haunted me for years. I didn’t sugarcoat it; I didn’t leave anything out. There wasn’t an ounce of small talk or bullshit. All the junk in my head, I simply laid it out for her.
“They’re all dead because of me,” I say.
“No,” she says, grabbing my face, forcing me to look at her.
“Lulu will never know her parents because of me.”
“Holt, none of what happened was your . . .”
I interrupt her, and proceed to confess everything to her again. “It’s my fault . . .”
“No,” Annalyse says again, stopping me. “There is only one person responsible, and it’s not you.”
“Didn’t you hear me? They were only on that floor because I fell in love with . . .”
“No.”
“Maybe I wasn’t clear . . .”
“No,” she says for a fourth time. “Maybe we should blame Celeste. She kissed you first.”
“It wasn’t her fault. I’m . . .”
“Or perhaps we should blame Brent. If he would’ve treated Celeste better, then none of this would’ve happened, either.”
“It’s not his fault. It’s me. Don’t you understand? None of them would’ve been on that floor that night if it wasn’t for me. Celeste and Brent should’ve been trick or treating, but Brent found that damn receipt. Jason was off that night. He was only there to try to help. . .”
“Holt,” Annalyse says with force. “This is survivor’s guilt. Your patient did not die because of you. You had no reason to think anything of a man dressed like a pirate. Brent was on that floor because of choices he made. And there was nothing you could do to save Celeste.”
“No, I should’ve . . .”
“Just because you lived doesn’t mean you aren’t a victim, too. Perhaps you’re the biggest victim. The one who has had to carry all this alone,” she says, squeezing my hand.
For the longest time, I’ve been alone. I had my brothers, but no one else got it. It was how I thought I needed to be, but I was wrong. I look down at Annalyse, seeing the wheels spinning in her head. She’s bound to have questions, and I know it’s killing her not to ask them. “You’ve never held back a single damn thought from me, so don’t start now. What are you thinking?”
“Are you sure?” she asks, and I nod. “Do you think Celeste really loved you?”
That’s a question I have a different answer to every other day. Some days I think she was just using me. Guess I was having one of those nights when I met Annalyse, telling her Celeste was “ugly.” Other times, I’m convinced she loved me. Maybe the answer isn’t what’s important.
“What’s important is that I loved her. I loved them all, and now they’re gone.”
>
She’s shakes her head a little, searching for something to say, but there’s nothing. Her saying she’s sorry or that it’s not my fault won’t help, won’t change anything. And she’s not one to throw out meaningless, trite condolences. Maybe she thinks I need therapy. I tried that right after, because the hospital insisted, and it didn’t work. I know she didn’t take that route, either. Still, if she wants me to talk to someone, I will.
“I want to show you something,” I say. The last and perhaps the biggest thing I need to share, the thing that has held my secrets for years—all the things I didn’t want to look at, but felt compelled to in my guilt. It’s the last thing she needs to see. The thing she’s wondered about for weeks.
Holding her hand, and standing in front of the open dresser drawer, she looks up at me with those big blue eyes of hers. Slowly, I pull the drawer open further then take a small step back, motioning for her to look inside. She looks up at me then places her hands on the open drawer, peeking inside. There’s no hesitation. If there’s fear or nervousness, she just plows right through it. There is no hell, no demons, no flames that Annalyse can’t stand.
“Holt,” she says, her voice cracking as she pulls out a strand of black rosary beads.
“My dad,” I say. “He died holding those.”
“I remember,” she says, taking out another item.
“That’s the shot glass from Jason’s party when he finished residency,” I say. “He kept that in his desk. I took it when I cleaned out his office and shipped his stuff to his parents.”
“And Brent’s lucky hat,” she says, turning it over to see if he really had the answers written inside. “I remember reading about that in the letter you left on my computer.”
“His mom and dad gave that to me at his funeral.” I reach inside and pull out a bag of candy. “Those were Nurse Wicks’ favorites,” I say.
“These are beautiful memories,” she says, placing the cap on my head.
She reaches inside and takes out my mom’s scarf. It still smells like her, and I gently wrap it around Annalyse’s shoulders. “She was always cold.”
She lifts it to her nose, smiling a little, but her eyes shift to mine—my love for one person still left inside that drawer. “Celeste?” she asks.
The Reason for Me Page 22
