Fugitive Father

by Carla Cassidy

  He nodded, reluctant to have her go but knowing she had to. He walked with her to the door. “Park in front of the emergency entrance. There’s always somebody there and the area is well lit.”

  “I will, and I’ll try to be back before Jackie wakes up.”

  “Stay as long as you need to. We’ll be fine here.” He watched her until she got into the car and pulled out of the driveway, then he relocked the door and wandered back into the living room. He knew sleep was out of the question. He hadn’t been sleeping when the phone call had come from the hospital. His earlier conversation with Sarah had pretty much chased sleep away.

  He sank back on the sofa and buried his head in his hands...thinking, rehashing and, finally, regretting. He suddenly realized that at some point in the last couple of hours the bitterness he’d harbored toward Sarah about her decision to leave six years ago had disappeared. It was odd how empty he felt without that cloak of bitterness, without his shield of anger.

  He now realized Sarah had made the only choice she could, given what he’d told her, how he’d acted at the time. Even then he’d been afraid to show her how important she was in his life, afraid that if he loved her too much she would eventually leave him. Had he somehow set himself up with a self-fulfilling prophecy? Having never really known happiness before, had he subconsciously shoved it away, fearing it?

  He got up off the sofa, somehow afraid to delve into his soul for answers. He’d made his decision where Sarah and Jackie were concerned. Now all he wanted to do was find out who was after them and why. Once that was settled and they were safe, they would be on their way back to New York City and their life there.

  He walked up the stairs and quietly opened the door to the bedroom where Jackie slept. The light from the hallway spilled in and seemed to spotlight the sleeping child. He stood at the doorway for a long moment, wondering what in the hell he was trying to prove to himself.

  Despite an inner reluctance, he stepped closer to the bed as if drawn toward her by some magical bond. He had no desire to wake her, just a wish to look at her, get his fill of her, be able to conjure her image in his mind after she was long gone.

  Jackie. Sarah’s child. His child. Jackie, his daughter. The words whirled around in his head. His heart swelled tightly against his rib cage. It had been so much easier when he hadn’t known about her. Even knowing about her existence would be easier if he didn’t know her as a person, as a tiny entity unto herself.

  He wanted to get away, run, but curiously he remained. He knew he was indulging himself in a form of emotional torture and yet he needed to look at her, drink in her presence, love her.

  He stood at the side of the bed watching her sleep, marveling at the way her eyelashes dusted the tops of her cherub cheeks, the way her long dark hair was an exact match to the color of his own. He thought of the sunshine her smile contained, the sweetness of her mouth pressed sloppily against his cheek, the utter trust that radiated from her eyes whenever she looked at him.

  That’s what got him the most—that trust. The simple assurance she had that he wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t do anything to make her sad, that he could be depended upon for whatever she needed. That’s what frightened him more than anything. A child’s dependence on her parents...so incredibly pure, so incredibly needy.

  What if he agreed to marry Sarah, parent Jackie, and eventually the responsibility became too much? Would he run like his mother, or retreat emotionally like his father? He, more than anyone, knew the kind of pain, the sort of emotional scars those actions left on a child. He couldn’t risk doing that to Jackie. He loved her, and that’s why he couldn’t take a chance on being a parent to her. He’d rather not parent her at all than be a bad parent.

  He reached out and lightly touched the smoothness of her cheek. She remained asleep but smiled, the gesture so sweet, so pure, it caused an arrow of agony to shoot through him. He gasped beneath the pain of the emotional assault and slowly backed out of the room.

  He closed the door and leaned against it wearily. Yes, he was doing the best thing for both Jackie and Sarah by not being involved with their lives. He would keep them safe from harm while they were here in Clay Creek, then he knew he had to let them go. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so damned much.

  * * *

  Sarah parked in one of the spaces just in front of the emergency room entrance and hurried inside. She was immediately greeted by the faint medicinal scent and hushed tones of a hospital at rest. It was almost two in the morning and nobody manned the information desk. The tiny gift shop was closed and it was obvious that the Clay Creek Hospital was not accustomed to nighttime visitors. The overhead lights had been dimmed to provide only a faint illumination and the security guard slept in the corner on a chair.

  Sarah hesitated in the dim foyer. Two long hallways led in opposite directions and she wondered which one to take. She had no idea where Lindy was. Reese hadn’t mentioned any particular room number or section of the hospital.

  At that moment she saw Anna come out of a room at the far end of the hallway to her left. She started toward the old woman. As they drew closer to each other, she could tell by Anna’s redrimmed eyes that she had been weeping.

  “Oh, Sarah,” Anna exclaimed, her arms opened to embrace her. “I’m so sorry...it’s all my fault. I should have thrown those pills away a long time ago.” Sobs overcame the older woman and Sarah wrapped her arms around her, trying to soothe her.

  “Anna, I don’t want you blaming yourself for this. I should have seen it coming, warned you that Lindy was on the verge of another depression.” She gave Anna a final hug, then released her. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  Anna pulled a white lacy handkerchief from her coat pocket and dabbed at her eyes, suddenly looking every day of her sixty-eight years. “We got home from the movies and Lindy said she was going straight to bed.” Anna shook her head and swiped at her eyes once again. “I should have known. She was withdrawn and quiet all evening.”

  Sarah nodded and led her over to several plastic chairs pushed up against the wall. They sat down and Anna continued. “Anyway, she went into the bathroom and was there for a few minutes, then told me good-night and went on to bed. I puttered around in the kitchen, then read the paper. It was probably an hour before I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I saw the pill bottle on the sink and knew Lindy had done something crazy.”

  “What kind of pills?”

  Anna frowned. “Sleeping pills. I went through a bad bout of insomnia a year ago and Doc Burwell gave me a prescription for them. I took them a couple of nights but didn’t like the way they made me feel, so I stuck them in the medicine cabinet and forgot all about them.” Again the handkerchief shot up to her eyes and she moaned softly. “I should have thrown them away.”

  “You couldn’t know that Lindy would be in an emotional condition that would make her search for those pills and take them. Don’t blame yourself.” Sarah smiled at the woman. “It’s Lindy’s illness that made her do this—not the fact that you didn’t throw some pills away.”

  Sarah stood. “I’ve got to get in there and see her. There’s no reason for you to stay here. You go on home and get some rest.”

  Anna nodded and also stood. “I’m just grateful that she left the bottle out on the sink where I could see it.”

  “It sounds to me like this wasn’t so much a suicide attempt as a cry for help,” Sarah said more to herself than to Anna. She gave the woman a quick hug. “Go home and rest. And thank you for getting Lindy here so quickly. You probably saved her life.”

  Anna smiled at Sarah and reached out a hand to touch her cheek. “Ah, Sarah, you’ve always been so strong, so much older than your years.”

  Sarah nodded, tears burning at her eyes. “I’ve had to be.”

  Anna dropped her hand. “And Lindy’s always been so childlike. I hope she’s all right.”

  They hugged again, then Sarah watched until the older woman disappeared down the hallway. She tur
ned to go into Lindy’s room.

  Although it was a two-bed room, Lindy was alone, looking pathetically small in the hospital bed. Her head was turned toward the window, away from the doorway.

  Sarah crept in silently, wondering if she was asleep. As she moved closer to the bed, Lindy turned and looked at her, her blue eyes deep wells of misery. “Oh, Sarah,” she whispered painfully, tears brimming and spilling down her cheeks. “I’ve made such a mess of things.”

  Sarah sat down on the edge of the bed, wanting to cradle her sister in her arms but afraid of disturbing the IV that was connected to the back of one of her hands. “No you haven’t,” she replied, smoothing the dark hair off Lindy’s forehead. “You’ve just let us all know that you need some help.”

  Lindy nodded, one of her hands grasping Sarah’s tightly. “I do, Sarah. I need help.” She closed her eyes and released a trembling sigh. “I’m so afraid. I can’t keep living like this.” She opened her eyes and looked at Sarah once again. “It’s not so bad when I’m up and busy. But it’s horrid when I get down. It’s like I’m in a black hole and I can’t get out. Tonight, I just decided it was all too much.”

  Carefully, Sarah gathered Lindy in her arms, stroking her back, her hair, soothing her the way she often soothed Jackie when she was ill or hurt. She looked up as Doc Burwell and a nurse entered the room.

  “Sarah,” he greeted her as Sarah untangled herself from her sister and stood. “I think the best thing for your sister right now is sleep. Karen will sit with her and see that she’s comfortable.” He gestured to the nurse, who smiled sympathetically and sat down in the chair near the bed, then motioned for Sarah to follow him out of the room.

  Sarah leaned down and kissed Lindy’s pale cheek. “You get some sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow to see you. Don’t worry, Lindy, we’re going to get you some help.”

  “Why don’t we go downstairs to the cafeteria,” Doc Burwell said to Sarah as she joined him in the hallway. “There isn’t any food at this time of night, but there’s always a coffeepot working.”

  Minutes later they entered the cafeteria in the basement of the hospital. They got a cup of coffee, then sat down at a small round table. “What a night,” Doc Burwell said, running a hand through his thin gray hair. “I need to retire. I’m getting too old.”

  Sarah smiled. “If you retired, how would you spend all your time?”

  “I’d fish twelve hours and sleep the other twelve.” He grinned, as if finding the fantasy infinitely pleasing. He took a sip of the coffee and shook his head.

  “Sounds good,” Sarah replied.

  “Yeah, sounds good, but I’d probably be bored to death. Anyway...about Lindy. We pumped her stomach and she’s going to be just fine. I managed to get Ben’s hotel number from Lindy and called him. He said he should be here in a couple of hours. I also called in Dr. Westliner. He should be here presently.”

  “Dr. Westliner?”

  “He’s a psychiatrist. Moved outside of town about three months ago. I know Lindy’s been seeing some doctor in Kansas City, but I didn’t think this could wait until he could get here from the city to see her.”

  “No, I want her to see somebody right away. What do you know about this Dr. Westliner?” Sarah asked, remembering she’d heard Ben mention something about the new doctor in town.

  “He seems a straight-up kind of guy. He’s semi-retired, moved his family out here from Chicago. He told me he was overwhelmed at work there and wanted a slower pace.” Doc Burnell offered Sarah a wry grin. “I’m not sure he’ll get a slower pace here—there are days I think the maladjusted far outweigh the well adjusted here in Clay Creek.”

  Maladjusted... Yes, there was definitely somebody maladjusted someplace in the peaceful town of Clay Creek, somebody who had tried to kill Sarah, had choked Jackie and poisoned a casserole in hopes that the Calhouns would eat it. Maladjusted seemed too mild a term for a person capable of such madness.

  “Sarah?”

  She looked back at Doc Burwell. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked how your head wound was doing. Giving you any pain?”

  “No, none. It’s fine.” She reached up and touched the area.

  “Ah, there’s Dr. Westliner now.” Doc Burwell stood as an older, distinguished man entered the cafeteria. “Roger, thanks for coming so promptly.” Doc Burwell quickly made the introductions and it took Sarah only moments to realize she liked the doctor. He listened intently as she told him all she knew about her sister’s condition. His attention didn’t waver from her and his eyes radiated a warm compassion she found comforting and reassuring.

  “I’ll fax her doctor in Kansas City in the morning for her records,” he said when Sarah had finished. “I can’t do anything for her until I see what her treatment has been to this date.”

  “I know she’s on some kind of medication, but I don’t know what it is.” Sarah held her hands out in a gesture of helplessness.

  “I’m going to insist that Lindy remain here for a couple of days, order a complete physical workup and then we’ll decide where to go from there. The only thing you have to worry about is being your sister’s friend. You leave the rest up to me.”

  Sarah nodded, his words causing an overwhelming sense of relief to cascade through her. It was nice to let somebody else share some of the responsibility. He stood and offered her another smile of reassurance. “And now I think I’ll go in and check on your sister.”

  “There’s nothing more you can do here,” Doc Burwell said to Sarah. “You might as well go home for the night. Lindy will probably need you more tomorrow. Go home and get some sleep. I’d better catch up with Dr. Westliner. There are a few things I need to discuss with him. You okay?”

  Sarah nodded. “I’ll just finish my coffee and go on home. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Doc Burwell gave her a quick pat on the arm, then disappeared in the same direction Dr. Westliner had gone. Sarah sipped her coffee and leaned back in the chair. The cafeteria was silent around her, the quiet and the dim lighting conducive to thinking.

  Her head was filled with questions and worries, and her heart was filled with pain. She was worried about Lindy, although some of that concern had been alleviated by putting her care in Dr. Westliner’s hands. She hoped he would be able to take over her treatment and find some sort of therapy or drug that would help Lindy live a more normal life.

  Then there was the fear of knowing somebody was after her and the people she loved—somebody unidentified, somebody with a motive she wasn’t aware of. Raymond Boswell? Ben? Who was behind the attacks on Sarah and her family? Who could possibly want them dead?

  Swirling around with all the questions was the remaining pain of the last conversation she’d had with Reese. She hadn’t realized how much hope she’d foolishly harbored in her heart—hope that somehow he would overcome his past and live a future with her and their daughter.

  Sarah had always known that his bravado, his anger and intensity had hidden a deep core of insecurity and a feeling of unworthiness. She’d hoped he would outgrow those feelings along with his teenage rebellion. Unfortunately, he hadn’t, and she knew now there was nothing more she could do or say to help him heal. It was time to truly put Reese in her past.

  She drained the last of her coffee and stood. She needed to get home and get some sleep so she could be here first thing in the morning when Lindy awakened. Grabbing her purse, she left the cafeteria, her shoes echoing hollowly in the hallway that led to the elevator. She punched the up arrow and leaned against the wall. The burst of adrenaline that had flooded through her after the phone call about Lindy was gone, leaving her drained of energy.

  She pushed herself off the wall and turned, frowning slightly. Had that been the sound of a footstep? She peered down the darkened hallway, noticing how the lighting created deep shadows along the outer edges of the corridor. Was somebody there...hiding in the shadows?

  “Hello?” she said softly, her voice sounding abnormally lo
ud in the silence. “Is—is somebody there?” There was no answer, no noise at all to indicate the presence of anyone else.

  She turned back to the elevator and punched the button once again. I’m tired and on edge, and my imagination is obviously playing tricks on me. She pulled her purse close against her side, tensing as once again she thought she heard the sound of distant footsteps.

  Wild thoughts jumped into her head, caution lights exploded in her brain. She should have left with Doc Burwell. She should never have allowed herself to be in such an isolated place alone when she knew somebody was after her. What better place for mayhem than a hospital basement in the middle of the night?

  The footsteps came closer, sounding furtive, as if deliberately camouflaging themselves in the pounding of her heart. At that moment the door to the stairwell burst open. A scream crawled up Sarah’s throat, a scream she swallowed as a young nurse came through the door, eyeing her curiously as she headed toward the cafeteria.

  As the woman hurried down the hallway, casting a backward glance at Sarah, Sarah leaned against the wall once again, trying to still her racing heart.

  She suddenly realized that she was an emotional wreck. She hadn’t been fully aware of it until this very moment. The strain of the past several days came crashing down on her head. Dealing with a broken heart, frightened by somebody who was stalking her family, Sarah knew that if she wasn’t careful, she would be the second Calhoun to end up in Dr. Westliner’s care.

  The elevator dinged and Sarah stepped on, fighting back a sudden sob as the doors whooshed shut. What she really needed was strong arms to enfold her and make her feel safe. She needed a man who could make her forget the broken dreams of the past, the horrifying fear of the present, and make her look forward to the future with renewed hope and love.

  She wanted her mother. And damn it, she needed Reese. Unfortunately, one was no more accessible than the other. Her mother was gone forever, and she had to face the fact that Reese was, too.