by Jonas Saul
Instigating him wouldn’t help, but she couldn’t stop him and she wasn’t about to beg him to stop. All she knew how to do was instigate.
“I get it. That’s why you force yourself on women. Because you’re a coward. A fucking coward who couldn’t measure up to his father and never amounted to anything in your mother’s eyes.”
She kicked the bed. There had to be a way out of this.
“You’re wrong,” Williams muttered from the pile of boxes.
He had made it across the floor and was now sitting up against the boxes, gas can in one hand, lighter in the other. The room’s key reflected the single lightbulb five feet from him.
He had made up his mind. A determination flared in his eyes and his forehead shined where fine beads of sweat had emerged.
“I’m not wrong,” she said. “Rape is wrong. You do it because you’re weak. You’re a coward, a rapist and a murderer. You’re an asshole and most of all, you don’t belong here anymore.”
He frowned, as if what she said was some big puzzle. “Belong where?”
“Here, on this plane.”
“We’re not on a plane.” He wiped his face. “We’re in a mental hospital and by the sounds of it, we’re right where you’re supposed to be.”
“Let me assure you, we’re on a plane. The other side is another plane of existence and that’s where you’re headed next.”
“We’re all headed there eventually.”
He began to undo the cap of the gas can.
“You’re going to the other side a hell of a lot faster than the rest of us,” Sarah said, “where you’ll have to answer for what you’ve done down here.”
“Whatever. I’m an atheist. There is no Other Side. When I leave here, I’ll be dust or worm food. Whichever, doesn’t matter to me as I’ll be gone.”
He tossed the cap to the side, turned away from her and started to get up off the floor.
Sarah pulled herself up until her head dangled completely off the end of the bed. Then she planted both feet, lifted her hips, took a deep breath, and pushed off. She curled her legs up toward her head, lifted her lower back off the bed and kept the momentum going forward as the rest of her spine came away from the surface of the bed.
Then her feet were over her head. Next came her knees, and finally, crumpled up, her weight drove her the rest of the way over. Her backwards somersault brought her all the way off the bed, her feet landing flat on the cool floor at the head of her bed. During the flip, her wrists spun the six-link chain in a small circle, twisting it some, but not enough to cause a problem.
Williams was on his feet, his back to her, his neck still craned to the side. He tilted the gas can and let its contents spill from the opening. It splashed on the boxes, the thick scent reaching Sarah’s nose immediately, making her want to cough.
She gripped the edge of the bed and tried to push as it was on wheels, but it didn’t move. The brakes were easy to flip up and off on the two wheels on her side of the bed, but she couldn’t reach the other two.
Williams set the gas can down and turned to her.
“Instead of burning the witch at the stake—” he stopped talking when he saw her standing at the head of the bed. “Hey, how did you …?”
Sarah pushed down, forcing the other end of the bed to lift. Then she spun the bed toward him.
Williams dropped so fast that it looked like he’d collapsed at the waist. He rose just as fast, the lighter in his hand, thumb on the spin wheel.
He smiled wide, his teeth showing. “I see you’d prefer we both die in here.”
She ran, pushing the end of the bed toward him.
He flicked the lighter, a flame appeared. Without attempting to move out of the way, Williams set the lighter to the gas-soaked boxes and braced for impact.
As the bed’s metal frame contacted Williams’ waist, the gas ignited in a huge ball of fire, forcing Sarah back with the immediate and intense wall of flame and heat.
She fell on her ass hard, the bed above protecting her from the immediacy of the flames to some degree. Her wrists yanked back in their restraints, twisting, making her screech at the sudden pain.
Oxygen was sucked up and the initial rise of the flames decreased to a small fire as the dry cardboard of the boxes caught.
As she got to her feet, she scrunched up a corner of the bedsheets and covered her nose to breathe. The partially burned Williams was on the floor, crawling away from the rising flames. She spun the bed toward him, keeping the end with the two locked wheels off the floor. Then she shoved it forward. The bed vibrated violently when it connected with Williams.
Without wasting time, she pushed down so the bed would rise again, spun it out of the way and came around so she could stand beside him. He was bleeding from the side of his face and forehead area. His shoulders showed signs of being singed by the sudden burst of flames, and a large part of his hair, beard and mustache curled up where the fire burned it back.
He lifted his head to look up at her, the side of his face reddened by heat. Fury and hatred oozed off him in waves. The look of disgust on his features made her grin back at him, even though she had an urge to cough. He shoved his hand outward, as if he threw something, and then laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Sarah asked.
“We’re both going to die,” he said, then coughed.
“I agree. Just not on the same day. You will die today, but I’ll make it a few more years, I’m sure.”
“No,” he said, looking up at her again. “You die today, too. I just threw the room out under the door. It’s somewhere in the hallway now. Good luck getting out of here alive.”
She lifted her foot and brought her heel down on his cheek, slamming his face into the floor and the wicked grin from his features.
His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped down as if he was a wind-up toy all out of wind up.
She coughed, then drove her foot into his face once more, harder, for good measure. As she left this building, she couldn’t allow Dr. Williams to become a problem.
When she turned to look at the spot where the room key had been earlier, it was gone. A quick scan of the floor revealed no key.
He hadn’t lied. That arm thrust must have been the key leaving the room.
She was locked inside with the unconscious and partially burned doctor.
And the fire was building with intensity across the wall of boxes at the back of her room with no way to quell the flames.
Chapter 21
Aaron made it to the local hospital within fifteen minutes of leaving the police station. The building stood three stories high with a brick tower that displayed a large H on it. From his position on the east side of the building, Aaron saw a helicopter parked on the roof near the brick tower.
The area seemed calm as the evening wore on, the parking lot half full. He located the emergency doors and stayed to the side in search of the ambulance entrance. Around one corner and past another set of double doors brought him to a restricted area for emergency personnel only.
He pushed open the door carefully, grateful that he didn’t need a keycard. No sirens or buzzers sounded. He breathed a sigh and continued forward.
Footsteps approached.
He hopped behind a wall in a corridor that led to a restroom and flattened himself against it until the person walked far enough away. Then he stepped back into the main hall and started toward the door that led to the ambulances.
From the moment he entered the hospital, until he stepped up beside one of the parked ambulances, couldn’t have been more than two minutes.
Voices moved closer. He ducked down as two men approached, talking about a football game. He lowered himself under the edge of the ambulance.
A few seconds later, the men materialized beside the vehicle and kept walking. They entered the hospital and disappeared behind the sliding doors.
Aaron rolled out and got to his feet. With one more look around to make sure no one was watching, he opened
the ambulance door and checked for keys.
They were there, dangling from the ignition.
Perfect!
He opened the door wider to be able to hop in when a voice stopped him.
“Excuse me? What are you doing there?”
Aaron froze. Steal the ambulance anyway? Knock the guy out and steal the ambulance? They’d have the police looking for him in record time. But what other options did he have?
He contorted his face into a mask of grief and sadness, then turned to address the man who interrupted him. It was one of the ambulance drivers.
“Please,” he pleaded, tears coming to his eyes. “There’s been an accident—” His voice caught and he stifled back a cry. “My wife … I need an ambulance.”
While he talked, the ambulance driver’s partner stepped out to join him.
“You’re not supposed to be in this area, sir,” the first attendant said.
“I don’t have a cell phone. I couldn’t call it in.” He wiped at his eyes. “There’s been a horrific accident.”
The paramedics looked at each other then back at Aaron. In a second he was going to abort this plan, drop the both of them and steal the ambulance anyway if they didn’t buy what he was selling.
“We didn’t get a call. No one has dispatched any ambulances to an accident—”
Losing some of the grief look, Aaron turned it to anger, which seemed easier. “You didn’t get the call,” he shouted. “Because I don’t have my cell. And while we stand here bickering, my wife …” He stopped and lowered his head. “If she dies, it’s on you two.”
The second guy walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle, opened the door and grabbed the radio. He proceeded to call in and see if there were any accident scenes being reported.
Before he received a response, Aaron pulled Kershaw’s business card out and handed it over to the first guy.
“Ask Kershaw. He’s the one who sent me up here from the police station.”
The guy examined the card, then looked up at Aaron. “Okay, I’ll call Kershaw. Then we’ll go to your accident scene.”
The door opened behind the paramedics. Two hospital security guards stepped out.
“There a problem here?” one of the guards asked.
“Fellow here wants to report an accident by stealing an ambulance. Dropped Kershaw’s name as the reason.”
Aaron had heard enough. He hopped inside the ambulance, slammed the door and dropped the locks. When he reached for the keys, the guards outside yelled at him to stop at the same time the radio blasted.
Aaron let his hand fall from the keys. The second paramedic was still inside the passenger side of the vehicle, holding the radio.
The call came in that there was a fire at the psychiatric hospital, ambulances needed.
Aaron’s stomach dropped at those words. Sarah …
“What hospital?” the attendant asked into the radio.
“The Amy Greg Psychiatric Hospital,” Aaron said, urgency in his voice. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
A second later the radio crackled, “The Amy Greg Psychiatric Hospital.”
The attendant met his eyes. “Unlock the door and let the driver in. Then get back there.” He pointed into the back as he held the mic to his mouth and told the dispatcher they were attending the fire.
Moments later, as the trio drove from the hospital property, Aaron leaned forward and said, “Drive faster. And use the fucking sirens.”
He stared through the windshield the entire way, Sarah’s name running through his head.
“I’m coming, baby.”
Chapter 22
Sarah had managed to turn the bed in such a way to get herself facing the door. When she flipped the bed onto its side, she was able to get down on her hands and knees and suck clean air in from the corridor from under the door.
She hacked and coughed, remembering a certain church in Los Angeles where she hid in the crypt until the fire was put out.
More like passed out in the crypt.
Feet shuffled by the door. Maybe someone would spot the key and push it back to her or better yet, open the door.
“Hey—” her voice caught in her throat. She swallowed, cleared her mouth and tried again. “Help!”
The shuffling stopped.
“The key. To my room. It’s on the floor.” She swallowed hard, then coughed. “Please. There’s a fire in here. The key.”
She jumped at the shrill sound of the fire alarm, jerking her left wrist. She winced with the pain.
Shit, how the hell do I get myself into these messes?
“Help,” she shouted, but the alarm all but drowned out her voice. “The key,” she tried again before the coughing started. She hacked over and over as smoke began to escape through the recesses of the door, cutting off any chance of clean air.
A metallic sound chunked above her. Someone had inserted a key.
She rolled out of the way, but not far enough. The door opened and smacked into the small of her back.
“Dammit!” she shouted, but the fire alarm drowned her voice out again. She could barely hear herself, the alarm was so loud.
Two hospital staff rushed in.
“Move out of the way,” the one holding a fire extinguisher yelled.
The other one wore a long white coat and had a crazy thick mustache. He tried to right the bed she was still attached to but it got stuck on her wrists, twisting her arms at odd angles.
She grunted in protest and held them up to show him and then coughed again. The fire was almost out, smoke filling the room. The attendant was using the extinguisher on Dr. Williams now. She hadn’t noticed when she was on the floor breathing through the opening at the base of the door, but the fire had started to burn through Williams’ clothes. Whether he was dead or unconscious, he hadn’t responded to the flames licking his body.
That was a bad sign for her, but she didn’t care. She needed to focus on Cole now. Taking it all in, she knew they would blame everything on her. She killed the doctor. She set the fire. Sarah would be detained, which is what Cole needed so he could get away. Unless there was evidence untouched by flames in those boxes to implicate Cole and cast suspicion elsewhere, Sarah would be held responsible for this arson.
There was no easy way to look at it.
Not only that, the authorities were looking for her in relation to a dead woman found in her car, unless Williams was lying.
The only way out of this was to leave, locate Cole and finish it. He’d confess to whatever she wanted him to when she was done with him.
The fire was out now, only smoke clouded the air, but that was dissipating quickly. The bed was back up on its wheels and both attendants were looking at her hands as they rest on the front corners, still tied as they were.
The alarm silenced, leaving behind a ringing in her ears.
“I bet you two are wondering what happened here?” she said.
They looked at each other in slow motion. Then, just as slow, turned back to her. Without really looking into it or asking her side of things, they had made their decision as to exactly what had happened here. The doctor was on the floor. The patient was trying to escape. The patient, a pyromaniac as she had the Macdonald Triad of psychosis, had set the fire.
They had one job: contain the patient.
“Well, at least let me explain myself,” Sarah said, her fingers tightening around the edge of the bed. “As I was about to be raped and then burned to death, I chose to fight back.” She shrugged. “Believe me?”
The man with the fire extinguisher took a step forward. Mustache man reached into his pocket of his white coat for something.
“I didn’t think so,” she said. “Anyway, gotta go.”
She shoved the bed forward, spinning it sideways to hit the attendant with the extinguisher and clothesline mustache man. The clothesline worked, knocking the attendant, his hand still in his pocket, onto his ass. But the fire extinguisher attendant dodged. Be
fore Sarah could straighten it out and exit the room backwards through the wide open door, he grabbed the end and held firm.
With a strong yank, she almost snapped it out of his grasp. Mustache man was already getting up off the floor.
Forcefully, performing a version of bed tug of war, she backed out of the room as the attendant holding the other end of the bed slipped on the leftover foam from the fire extinguisher. People walked back and forth behind her in the corridor. Rooms were open, patients stumbling around, some agitated, their mental state disrupted with the violence of the alarm moments before.
