by Renee Simons
"I know you're up here, Baby Doll. You got no place else to go, so why not stop this and make things easier on both of us?" The oily persuasion in his voice galvanized her.
The girders stretched out into the darkness, two steel beams set several feet apart with nothing but open space between them. She chose the one on the right and stepped forward, keeping one arm out for balance, angling the mini flashlight downward with her free hand to guide her feet.
She moved cautiously, a step at a time across the wide expanse of space. Balancing proved to be impossible with only one arm. She put the flashlight between her teeth and lifted her right arm shoulder high. Better, she thought with a sigh of relief. Her mouth was dry with fear so saliva wouldn't be a problem.
The angle of the light became more difficult to control. She shortened her stride to keep it within the narrow circle. Eventually, she found herself simply sliding her right foot forward and allowing her left to follow behind. The solidity of the steel beneath her soles gave her a sense of security that kept her moving.
Volpe continued to talk to her, cajoling one minute, berating the next, the anger and tension in his voice increasing as he failed to get a response. Suddenly, his tone changed, becoming soft, almost tender and oddly intimate, although his words filled the air.
"Do you know what I'm gonna do when I catch up with you? I'm not gonna kill you right off. You and I are gonna spend some time together. Like we did all those years ago, when you were just a baby. Only now you're not a baby any more. Now you know what to do. How to please a man. And that's what you're gonna do. Please me. So when I'm in the joint I'll have something good to remember. After all, you'll be the last woman I ever have."
She listened in horror as he proceeded to recount in detail what had happened before and what would happen again. She tried not to listen, tried to concentrate on getting across the courtyard. She remembered her hatred for him, the pain his assault had caused, the shame that had taken years to wipe away, the times she'd run from relationships because her fears had kept her closed off from love. She recalled her father's dead eyes and the last tortured year of her mother's life. His voice filled the courtyard, however, its echoes swirling around her as the breeze had earlier, his words circling the inner space of the courtyard to attack her. Finally, she could go no further.
She wrenched the flashlight from her mouth as a scream worked its way up through her body. She forgot where she was and whirled around, managing somehow to maintain her balance as fourteen years of pain and anger tore from her throat. She raised the flashlight to find him in the darkness, directing her anguish at him as he stood some ten feet away trying to maintain his balance. In her distress, the meager light became the flaming torch of her dream and she held it out before her, advancing toward him, flinging wordless sounds of rage and vile epithets like missiles.
He raised his gun and got off one shot that grazed her cheek but failed to stop her. Like a crazy woman, she aimed the light at his eyes and kept coming. He started to back away, more out of instinct than fear, his strange eyes watching her unblinking, the pupils wide and filled with confusion.
She raised her left hand to point at him and he flinched. His flashlight flew out of his hand. Incredibly, he reached out as if to bring it back but it tumbled down and out of reach. The movement upset his already precarious balance on the girder. She stopped screaming. He struggled to steady himself, sawing the air with one arm, feeling for a place to set down his leg.
With nothing solid beneath him, he slipped between the two girders. He grabbed for a hand hold; the gun got in the way. He reached out with his free hand. His jaw hit the edge of the steel beam, driving his bottom teeth through his lip and snapping his head backward. In the quivering light of her mini flash, she watched him drop out of sight. His cry of outraged indignation descended the courtyard, ending in a dull thud and silence.
Her throat felt raw, her cheek burned as if branded. Her chest hurt with every ragged breath. Through the fog encasing her mind, she wondered if her rubbery legs would carry her back across the girder to safety. She forced them to move, repeating the sliding motion she'd used on the way out.
After an eternity, the little circle of light picked up the guy wires. She lifted one shaking leg over, then the other and sank to the deck, stretching flat to feel the solid cold steel against her throbbing cheek. With no tears left to cry, no desperation to fuel her movements, no energy to climb back down to street level, she lay there listening to the quiet until even that faded away.
The darkness wrapped around her, protecting her, soothing her; the hard deck anchored her. As she drifted off, the pain in her cheek, her slow steady pulse and her own warm breath on the hand resting beside her mouth assured her she would come back. The same could never again be said for Anthony Volpe.
* * *
She didn't know how long she lay there before becoming aware of the sound of Drew's voice talking softly to her.
"Time to wake up, dear girl. Time to come back to us. Won't you at least try?"
"I'm here, Drew."
"Good for you. Think you can sit up?"
She leaned against his shoulder. "Why is it so bright?"
"They turned on the flood lights."
"Did they find Volpe? Is he dead?"
"He'll never hurt you or anyone else again."
She looked from one familiar face to the other - Torres and Mahan and O'Keefe and back to Drew - although the movement intensified the fierce headache throbbing behind her eyes. "What are all of you doing here? How did you know? How did you find us?"
"They've been trailing you," Lieutenant Torres explained. "And we've been trailing them."
"When did you start again?" she asked.
"We never stopped. We knew Volpe wouldn't give up and we wanted to get his hired gun so we just kept an eye on you." Torres shook his head. "Never expected to scoop him up in a body bag."
She shivered. "What took you so long? I could've used some help."
"You did just fine."
A paramedic knelt beside her. "'Scuse me, Lieutenant. Got to check the lady's vital signs again before we move her."
When he'd finished, he looked at her. "You got a headache?" She gave him a slight nod, remembering how the movement hurt. "We need to get you to a hospital. Someone's got to look at your cheek and you may have a concussion.
“I want the same hospital as Ethan Caldwell.”
She heard some low murmurs above her and the paramedic said. “No prob. Now here’s the thing - we could lower you in a Stokes basket but it would be easier if you could manage the elevator. Think you can?"
"No prob."
He chuckled. "We'll take it slow. You can use me for support. My partner will go first," he added. "If you lose your balance he'll break your fall."
"Hope you guys are entitled to hazardous duty pay."
The walk to the elevator and the waiting stretcher involved her last bit of exercise for the next thirty-six hours. When she came around in a hospital room, she found herself being poked, prodded, scanned, stitched and observed. Her first thought was of Ethan and she begged a nurse for a report on his condition. She returned with Drew in tow.
"How is he?"
"The bullet nicked a lung and he lost considerable blood. He's stable and relatively comfortable. Except that he's been calling for you."
“I have to see him.” She tried to get out of bed but found herself tethered to intravenous tubing. As her vision blurred and the room began to spin, she decided being tied to something wasn’t such a bad idea. For the moment.
Drew patted her arm in an awkward attempt to comfort her. “Rest easy, Jordan. He’ll be out of it for a while yet. You need to take some time to come back to yourself.”
"What about my car?"
“Why not wait until you’re feeling a bit more chipper. All that can wait.”
“My car?”
"Meade tampered with the steering mechanism."
“And the dolls?”
"Did the lieutenant say why?"
"He's been suffering through some private hell or other. Torres didn't say what. Apparently, he was 'in' to Tony and trying to get clear."
The nurse interrupted. “You’ll have to leave, now. This young lady needs her rest.”
The last thing Jordan heard before dropping off was a promise from Drew to return with updates on Ethan.
A day later, the intravenous tubes were disconnected enabling him to arrange a visit. He parked her wheelchair where she could see Ethan without interfering with the nurse's movements as she checked the bags and tubes feeding nutrients, blood and oxygen to a body in need of all three.
"Nurse Victor, this is Jordan VanDien."
When she finished her work, the nurse turned and looked her over, then thrust out her right hand. "So you're the one," she said.
Fiftyish and trim, she possessed a firm grip. Jordan suspected her capable of handling the most difficult of patients. She decided not to ask any questions for the moment.
"Only one of you can stay at a time," the nurse said, "and only for fifteen minutes." She examined Jordan’s face. “You shouldn’t be out of bed for much more than that anyway.”
"I've had my visit," Drew said. "You stay with him for a while." He pushed her closer.
"Watch out for that vacuum drainage system on the floor," the nurse ordered in a soft voice.
Jordan leaned against the bed rail and watched Ethan. Each time a spasm of pain coursed through him, his body tensed in a subconscious attempt to control the uncontrollable. His fingers clutched the sheet or he tossed his head from side to side, muttering words she couldn't understand and bringing her to tears.
"Why is he in so much pain?" she whispered. "Can't you give him something to make him more comfortable?"
"He's getting what he needs, dear. I don't think he's in physical distress."
"Then what's the problem?"
"Before he went under, he asked about you and his brother. Seemed convinced you were in some kind of danger, hurt or worse. We checked but couldn't alleviate his fears except to say you hadn't been admitted to any of the local hospitals. Not then, anyway. The information didn't seem to satisfy him."
Jordan held his hand until her nurse tracked her down and deposited her in her own room. “And don’t let me find you anywhere else until I say it’s okay.”
As Jordan’s strength returned, her visits became longer. One evening she felt Nurse Victor's gaze and looked up. "If he's yours, honey, do yourself a gigantic favor and hang on to him," she said. "He's more man than I've seen in a dog's age." She patted her on the shoulder and returned to her chair in the corner.
Wanting, needing to give back some of the strength he'd shared with her in her weakest moments, she slipped her right hand through one of the openings in the rail and held his hand. She had no way of knowing how her presence registered in his subconscious until his restless movements subsided. Perhaps she was doing some good.
Nurse Victor must have approved, because Jordan heard no objections from her. Sometime during the night the RN lowered the rail on the side where Jordan kept her vigil, strictly against regulations, she was sure. But then, allowing her to stay as long as she did couldn't have qualified as proper hospital procedure either.
At around four-thirty, she felt the nurse's hand on her shoulder once more. "You should go back to your room before the morning routine begins."
"Thanks for letting me stay."
"You were good medicine."
She returned after rounds. Ethan had awakened twice and asked for her, the day nurse said. On Miss Victor's instructions, he'd been told she would return. Written orders from the doctor gave Drew and Jordan permission to visit whenever they wanted and to stay as long as they liked.
"Has Mr. Caldwell's brother been here?"
"He just left. Said he was on a deadline and would return at five."
Jordan nodded in Ethan's direction. "How is he?"
"He's doing just fine. Resting calmly. You can sit by the bed, if you like. That way, he'll know you're here."
The rail was still down. She took Ethan's hand, fully intending to keep watch until Drew returned, but fatigue hit like a blow. She laid her head down on her free arm and watched the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.
The rhythm of his breathing proved as irresistible as a lullaby. The tranquility of the moment invaded her battered mind and she surrendered to it. Her eyes closed on the thought that being near him would have been comforting if only he hadn't nearly died saving her.
After what seemed like only a few moments, she felt the gentle touch of a hand resting lightly on the crown of her head. When she turned, it traveled down the side of her face caressing her cheek. She kissed the open palm and straightened to find Ethan examining her.
"Take a break," he whispered hoarsely.
"When Drew gets here."
"I'm out of it most of the time. Get some rest. We can talk later." She shook her head. "I'll be here when you return." He caressed her cheek once more. "Promise."
For several days after, she and Drew took turns keeping watch. Each struggled with the desire to do "something" to help Ethan, even if that something meant providing nothing more than their presence and more patience than either of them could muster. They wanted Ethan well, and they wanted him well NOW.
"I'm being irrational, but I can't help it," Drew said. "It helps to know I'm not the only one."
"Maybe we'll feel better when the tubes come out."
He nodded. "That will show progress."
The following morning, she found Ethan awake.
"I wanted to be here when you came around."
"I knew when you were here. I knew you'd be back. How's Andy?"
"A bump on the head but otherwise fine. How do you feel this morning?"
"Like bloody hell," he said. A smile lit his eyes and touched the corners of his mouth.
She examined his features, taking in the pallid skin that not even his tan could disguise, his sunken cheeks and the shadows beneath his eyes. "You look like bloody hell."
"Thanks, love, I needed that."
"Damn you, Ethan, you're always lecturing me about being careful..."
He took her hand and gave her a pleading look. "I know I am, but could you wait a little longer to return the favor? I'm still thanking the gods you and Andy are okay, instead of lying mangled in a heap of metal and concrete."
"I hoped you hadn't heard the crash."
"After you left, I finally remembered what I wanted to tell you - that the MG had been tampered with." His breath caught and he coughed.
"I know what happened. Close your eyes."
"Don't leave right away?"
"I'll stay until you fall asleep."
Within seconds, his eyes closed and his breathing became deep and regular. She watched him for a moment or two, then left.
Eventually, her headache cleared, allowing her to think. She felt stronger, but each time she considered the madwoman up on the girder, she broke out in a cold sweat. What had gone wrong up there?
When Dr. Torino paid a visit he didn't seem to think anything at all had gone wrong. After they caught up on the months since they'd last seen each other, she told him what had happened at the building site and what had led up to it. "How could I have lost control that way?"
"Interesting that you should interpret expressing your anger and pain as losing control."
"What would you call it?"
"Letting go."
"Semantics, Doc. Just semantics."
"How have you been sleeping?"
"Peacefully."
"And how do you feel?"
That took some thought. "Empty, I guess, but satisfied, too." She took a breath. "A bit of both."
"Maybe now you'll have room for love."
"No man is going to want me...and my imperfections."
"The right man will."
"I wish I could believe that."
"This man you love put his life on the line for you.
Would he have done that unless he cared deeply for you?”
Jordan shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
He left after they’d agreed to talk again soon. Jordan went to the window and stared down at the parking lot. Was Dr. Torino right? Was she simply afraid to acknowledge what she already knew? After years of denying that she needed warmth, love and companionship, was she afraid to accept what Ethan seemed to represent? What was within her grasp, if only she could bring herself to reach for it?
After three days in the hospital she was released to the tender mercies of Mrs. Willis, who fed her, pampered her and catered to every casually expressed whim and some she hadn't even imagined. The TLC worked like a tonic. Nights of sleep uninterrupted by the wolf dream that had plagued her for years completed her recovery, telling her she'd turned some kind of corner away from the past.
Ethan was awake and sitting up now when she visited. "We have to talk, you and I, before I leave for the Cape."
"What about?"
His blue eyes, now clear and without pain, locked with hers. "As soon as this thing is over, I'm going back home, to Oz."
"Why?"
"I lived too much of my life there. I miss it - the rhythms, the people, the contrasts. I want to get back to the land, to work with my hands again."
"I'll miss you."
"You wouldn't have to if you came along."
"I couldn't do that." Definitely not, she thought, no matter how tempting the thought might be.
"Why not? What do you have to keep you here?"
"This is where I belong - not this city necessarily, but just here." She shrugged. "I can't explain except to say that maybe whatever is sending you back to Australia would keep me from leaving."
"Too bad. You'd like my country and it would bring out the best in you. I'm sure of that. It's filled with opportunities to test yourself, a place where you could challenge yourself in ways limited only by your imagination. And you wouldn’t have to put your life on the line, like you’ve done these last few weeks."
