by Leanne Davis
Then… the world went upside-down as her legs were violently pushed out from under her, and her head forcibly smacked into the stair behind her. She landed with unstoppable force on the concrete stairs. Then the world went black.
****
Erica felt her body before she could open her eyes. She was sprawled out on cold, hard concrete. She opened an eye, but a blinding, nauseating pain stabbed her forehead. She finally opened both eyes fully and found herself lying unnaturally on her side across the stairs she was previously descending. The bags in her hands lay below her. She shook her head and tried to remember what happened. What made her fall down the stairs?
Then she remembered hearing the noise, and seeing someone in black. A faceless person who came at her so quickly, she couldn’t even raise an arm up to protect her face. She’d been hit. And rather hard. Her legs were pushed out from under her and her head collided with the stairs. She put a hand up to the spot on the back of her head and felt the growing lump.
What happened to her? Why? Leaning heavily on her right hand, she grabbed the handrail to pull herself up, and adjust her crooked glasses. Then she gasped at the shooting pain in her ankle. Holy. Shit. Something wasn’t right with her left ankle. It couldn’t support her weight, not without gut-wrenching pain. Looking around, she gasped again with surprise. Bile climbed up her throat from trying to stand up, and her altered equilibrium, but mostly, from what she saw lying around her.
Ten dolls lay scattered on the stairwell around her. Cheap plastic dolls, like the ones sold at markets or dollar stores. All were headless with red bellies. Paint or blood? She put a hand over her stomach. What the hell was going on?
She pulled her cell phone out, but her hands shook so hard, she could barely read the screen. No signal in the stairwell. She groaned. She would’ve run down the rest of the floors, but her damn head was spinning so fast, she felt unable to. She found the two-way radio on the side of her phone. It worked whether the cell had a signal or not. Spencer. She could call him. He was connected to the clinic’s service.
“Spencer?” Her voice was panicked as she pressed at the radio button.
She waited. Nothing. “Spencer?”
Nothing. “Spencer, please. It’s Erica.” This time, she was practically screaming into the device and her hands were slick with sweat.
Finally a crackle. He sounded like he was pressing on the button, while talking to someone else. “Can’t talk now.”
“Spencer! It’s an emergency!” She was holding the stupid phone now between both hands, and shaking uncontrollably. Her frustration nearly made her cry as she pressed the button to speak again. “Someone just attacked me in the stairwell. I think my ankle is broken.”
Pause. “At work?”
“Yes,” she nearly screeched with relief now that she had his attention.
“I’m coming.”
Erica sat down, her legs shaking. She wanted to move, but couldn’t. She felt too confused. Too woozy. Too frightened. She was afraid whoever did this to her would return. Or might be waiting on one of the other floors for her to come stumbling out.
One of the metal doors opened from below, and footsteps raced up the stairs. She tensed, then let out a relieved breath, and tears filled her eyes when she recognized Spencer. He’d taken the stairs two at a time, wearing cargo pants, a white t-shirt, and his hat on backwards. There was sweat on his brow. He’d probably been working outside. But no one ever looked so good to her. He stopped short and checked her over.
“Jesus, Doc, what happened?” He knelt down beside her, brushing her hair away from her face and observed the scene around her and the headless, blood-splattered dolls. His jaw worked back and forth before his eyes met hers.
“Someone came up behind me. I thought he was running and wanted to pass me, so I moved over to the side. The next thing I knew, my legs were kicked out from under me and I fell backwards, hitting the back of my head. I must’ve been knocked unconscious for awhile. A few minutes, at the most. Right before he hit me, I saw someone in all black, his face covered by a ski mask. It happened so fast. Startlingly fast. Then I awoke to this. These dolls. My phone doesn’t work, but I remembered the radio. And you.”
His hand went to the back of her head and he felt around, gently touching the bottom of her skull. She winced when he located the tender spot. Then his eyes went to her feet. His hands felt down her leg, pushing the hem of her pants up, and onto her ankle. She winced at the slight pressure and his eyes came back to her face.
“Can you get up?”
“Yes. I think so. I just got scared. I couldn’t think straight.”
“Can’t blame you. This is freaky. Can you walk?”
“Maybe.”
He put his hand under her elbow. He had long fingers with a strong grip and pulled her up next to him. Her head seemed to swim. She took a step, but nearly missed it. Spencer grabbed her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Being suddenly in his arms, she looked up. She couldn’t focus her eyes, but felt startled at being so close to him. His body was warm around hers and the twinge she felt that seemed to rise up from her gut, wasn’t just from the attack, or the bump on her head.
He suddenly lifted her up and she gasped. The earth moved under her again. She braced herself, but this time, landed on Spencer, resting against his chest, and her arms automatically clung to his neck. And there she was, being carried in his arms. Her face was so close, she could see the slight growth of stubble on his chin, and the way his lips pressed tightly together before his eyes met hers. The look he gave her was very dark, and… what? She didn’t know. Her mind was too fuzzy to remember her own name right then.
“You can’t carry me.”
“You can’t walk.”
“I can walk.”
“Not up or down three flights of stairs.”
“No, I mean, you really can’t carry me. I weigh too much.”
He smiled as he jiggled her. She felt his arm muscles moving, bunching, letting her go, and grabbing her again with all of her weight on him. He carried her as if she were a child.
“I can handle you, Doc, unless you’d rather I leave you here with the dolls of the dead while I find help?”
She didn’t want to sit there for another moment with the headless dolls around her. Her eyes met his, and he looked down at her face. He was so close, she could see the nearly bottomless depths of his warm brown eyes that were the color of dark, melted chocolate. His skin had the same dark glow. She shook her head. “No. No, I don’t want that.”
“I figured as much.” He started his ascent, carrying her up the three flights of stairs. Once he was upstairs, he somehow got all the doors open, and took her back into her office. All the while, he juggled her as his hand grabbed the various door handles underneath her knees. After he went inside her office, he gently laid her on her couch, setting her down as carefully as if she were fine china.
He came back in a moment with two ice packs he got from the break room. He wrapped one in a paper towel and placed it on her ankle, and handed the other one to her. She took it and put it behind her head. The contact was excruciating. She looked up to find Spencer staring down at her, frowning. He was watching her and appraising her condition.
“I’ll call the police.”
She nodded. Of course. The police. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Probably because she’d never so much as even had a fender bender with another person. She never received a single parking ticket. She never had any occasion to call the police for herself and felt somewhat shaken at the idea. The reality was someone had attacked her. In her own office building. At work. In the daylight.
“Why would anyone throw those dolls around me like that?”
Spencer was at her desk, her phone in his hand. His eyes never left her. “You mean, like why would someone hand out specious pamphlets about you?”
She paused and closed her eyes. How could she not have realized that right off? Oh God. Baby killer. Someone thought she was a baby kille
r. Someone like that preacher, Don Ortiss, of the New Trinity Faith and Hope Center. But attacking her? Really? A paper pamphlet discrediting her was one thing, but physically attacking her?
She opened her eyes at the sound of Spencer’s voice calling 911. After he hung up, he came around her desk, and sat on the edge of it.
“I don’t think the preacher would do something like this.”
“Bloody, headless babies? That’s a direct attack on you. Just like that pamphlet was. Who else could it be, Doc?”
“I can’t believe that,” she said, shutting her eyes.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t shut your eyes and go to sleep, in case you have concussion or something.”
She smiled wearily. “Who is the doctor here? I know that. What I don’t know is what I did to deserve this.”
“Don’t. Don’t even think you deserve this for just doing your job.”
“I don’t think I deserve this. It just makes me so sick to think that someone, anyone, thinks I would kill a baby. I don’t see it like that.”
“It should make you feel sick, and scared. And quit taking the goddamned stairs alone! Haven’t I told you that before?”
“Were you hoping to tell me you told me so?” she asked, closing her eyes at the sudden wave of nausea.
“I don’t want to see you hurt, Doc.”
She shook her head and sighed. “I don’t, either. God, this really hurts.”
“Did you recognize who might have done this? Anything at all? Height, body weight, posture?”
“You mean, was it the preacher? I don’t think so. It happened too fast. But I think it was a man, no taller than me, though. Dressed all in black.”
“A follower of our friendly preacher?”
“Maybe.”
Silence fell between them and Erica glanced at Spencer. “What were you doing when I called you?”
“Tamira.”
“You were doing Tamira?”
His lips rose in a half smile. “Not literally. I was talking to her in the parking lot. Getting ready to leave.”
“That’s why you told me you couldn’t talk right now for? For Tamira?” Erica couldn’t camouflage the disdain in her voice.
“I was off the clock.”
Erica fell silent and became annoyed suddenly. Tamira. He almost ignored her for Tamira.
“At least, you finally took my call.”
He waited a beat, then answered, “Yeah, Doc. Next time, I won’t ignore you.”
“So you did ignore my first two attempts? Why? Is Tamira that riveting?”
“No. She isn’t riveting at all. But I was that annoyed with you.”
“About the other night?”
“Yeah, the other night.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so pushy.”
“You can’t help being pushy. It’s just you. Whatever. Forget it.”
They heard sirens pulling into the parking lot of Erica’s building. She sighed, feeling already worn out and certainly not willing to talk about it right then. Or go to the hospital. She wanted to go home, and bury her head in a pillow while pretending it never happened. But it did and she had all the bumps and bruises to prove it.
There were loud voices and shuffling. Spencer left her and met the crowd as they came out of the elevator. Instantly, paramedics and police officers filled her office. They took her statement and Spencer’s while evaluating her condition, and gently putting her on a stretcher, which she adamantly protested. She was outnumbered. She hated the loud, embarrassing fuss of being a patient. She wasn’t the patient; she was the caregiver, the person in charge, directing the paramedics, not the helpless victim of unsolicited violence.
As she was being hoisted into the ambulance, she spotted Spencer’s gaze in the crowd behind her. She looked into his eyes, silently begging him to come with her for some reason. She couldn’t articulate why, other than she felt safer, and more in control with him present. He felt familiar, whereas all of this felt like a chaotic, unreal dream. Her mind was receiving broken fragments, colors and voices of people she didn’t know who kept asking too many questions. Her addled, dizzy head felt ready to spin off.
Then she was lying in the ambulance, and as it took off with sirens blaring, she didn’t have a chance to beg Spencer to come with her.
****
Later, much later, Erica’s ankle was diagnosed as sprained and wrapped up in an Ace bandage. Her head was fine. She was sure of that. But they insisted on keeping her overnight just in case, and despite all her protests. She talked to a plain clothes detective, and gave him a complete rundown of the recent events with Preacher Don. She also told him several times what happened in the stairwell. Her sleep was fitful and interrupted regularly to monitor her condition. The morning sunlight finally crept into her hospital room with welcoming relief. She was ready to bolt out of there. She liked working in the hospital, but not staying here.
She wanted coffee, clean clothes, and to go home. Cranky hardly could describe her foul mood. Hearing a knock at her door, and thinking it was her doctor, coming to discharge her, she yelled for him to enter.
Spencer walked in. She was shocked and… what? Delighted. Yes! She was elated to see him. The smile that cleared the fog in her muddled head was big and genuine, coming as a surprise, even to her.
Spencer came back. Her relief was all-consuming and instant. When did she begin relying on him? And hoping for his company? When did he become the person she most trusted? And strangely enough, she did. She trusted him like no one else in her life. He stepped closer to her, seeming somewhat hesitant. For the first time, it occurred to her what she must look like. She ran a hand through her hair.
“Hey, Doc.” The long, lazy drawl had become somehow familiar, and comforting, sending a thrilling shiver down her back.
She smiled, and replied weakly, “Hey.”
His eyes ran over her, from her face to her body wrapped in the sheet.
“What’s the damage?”
“Sprained ankle, bad bump on the head. Nothing to keep me here. But of course, they wouldn’t listen to me.”
His lips quirked at her grumpy tone. “Now I see what a good-natured, compliant patient you are.”
“Well, I think I have enough medical knowledge to determine if I need to stay here or not. I am a doctor, after all.”
“I don’t think you get to doctor yourself when you suffer a concussion.”
“You sound like them.”
“So you’re okay then?”
“I’m fine. Or will be soon enough.”
“It was ketchup on those dolls.”
“I know. The detective told me. Plain, old ketchup and decapitated dolls. Simple enough. But creepier than anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Sounds like Preacher Don is in the clear. He was conducting a Bible study with thirty people or more at the time it happened.”
“How do you know that already?”
“I stayed around last night while the police investigated the stairwell.”
“It seems like it must have something to do with the New Trinity Whatever Center, don’t you think? Suddenly, I have all these nasty pamphlets written about me, and then the headless dolls, all within a few weeks’ period. I’ve never had any trouble before.”
“I’m thinking, perhaps someone in his congregation instigated this. Taking the preacher’s words to some sick new level.”
“It has to be.”
Spencer looked at her again. “Until that ankle heals, and things calm down, you need to be much more careful than you normally are. Like…”
“Like you? Should I be paranoid?”
“There’s a difference between being paranoid and being careful. Try being careful.”
“Why are you so paranoid?”
He shook his head. “I’m just careful. Shit happens in life, Doc, so why pretend it doesn’t? Just listen to me for once, would you?”
She quieted dow
n. Didn’t she listen to him? She thought so, but maybe she didn’t. “I’ll be careful.”
“Good. Don’t argue then when I drive you to work and back.”
“I’m not that helpless.”
“Your ankle is.”
She considered him. “Okay maybe it is. But I’m not paying you to cart me around.”
“Doesn’t matter. I am. Paid or not.”
“You’ll do it anyway?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He stared at her. “Because you take care of everyone, but yourself. That’s why.”
“Thank you,” she said, after several long moments spent trying to avoid his gaze.
“Have you called anyone?”
“Anyone? For what?”
He rolled his eyes. “For what? I don’t know… help. A ride home. Emotional support.”
“Oh. No. I haven’t.”
“Jesus, Doc. What is it with you? Why don’t you do anything for yourself?”
Her smile dimmed, then brightened. “Because you’re here. You’ll take me home, won’t you?”
He shook his head and sighed at her. “Yeah. I’ll take you home.”
She was glad he was there and taking her home. Was that why she didn’t call anyone? Somehow, she’d come to rely on Spencer. She hoped he’d come to the hospital, which was presumptuous, considering the relationship they had. Then again, what relationship?
But… there was something undeniable between them. And that kiss. And all those intense, heated, curling-her-toes looks. There was definitely a mutual attraction between them.
Her doctor knocked and came in. Spencer abruptly stood up and walked out. Why did he do that? Why did he always assume he had to get out of the way? Did he think other people were more entitled to be near her than he?
****
Eventually, after a final check-up, and signing so much paperwork, she wondered if she wasn’t setting up permanent residence there, Erica was discharged. She awkwardly wore the clothes from yesterday and had to grimace at seeing her hair in the mirror, as well as having no makeup on her face. Then she sat annoyed in the wheelchair as the attendant ignored her scowl and wheeled her out of her room. A sprain did not constitute such overbearing treatment.
