The Mistaken

by Nancy S Thompson

  She nodded as she answered a phone call. I waved a silent thank you and took off.

  I returned to my car and drove around back until I located the lot designated for employees. I was lucky and found Erin as she was unlocking her car door. I pulled into the empty spot next to her car, rolled my window down, and called out her name.

  “Ms. Anderson? I’m sorry. May I speak with you for a moment, please?” I shut off my engine, climbed out, and walked in her direction.

  She narrowed her green eyes as she tried to figure out who I was. It disgusted me that she couldn’t even remember her victim’s face, and the rage started to boil up inside me again. I clenched both my teeth and fists to keep myself from clawing her clueless eyes out.

  “Do I know you?” she asked, one finely groomed eyebrow cocked up at an angle.

  I took a deep breath to chase away the butterflies and ease my fury. “Yes, you do. Very well.” I looked her in the eye, willing her to recall my face, but all I got back was a blank stare, both auburn-tinted brows now raised in question.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Are you a guest here at the spa?”

  I slipped in between the cars and stood in front of her with my hands placed on the vehicles on either side of me, corralling her as best I could. I bit my lip to keep myself from hurling names and accusations at her. Though her mystified demeanor rankled me, it would all come out in good time.

  “I was here, a couple of months ago,” I admitted. “You might recall my name if not my face. I’m Jillian Karras. Jillian Demetrio Karras. Do you recall that name, Ms. Anderson?”

  An uncomfortable flash of recognition sparked within her eyes before she smoothed it over with a false smile. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. Now you’ll have to excuse me. I have an appointment I’m already late for, so if you don’t mind...” She turned to open her car door.

  I took a step closer, forcing her to retreat a step. “Well, I do mind, Erin. You see, I know what you’ve done, and the police do, as well. And you’re about to face the consequences for it.” I smiled to punctuate the threat.

  Her jaw dropped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now please, get out of my way.” She advanced and pushed me, but I held my ground and shoved her right back. “You’d better get out of my way before I call security,” she warned.

  I swung my arm wide and gestured toward the building behind us. “Oh, please, by all means, call security. I’d love for them to know what you’ve been up to while in their employ.”

  “I’ve done nothing, you crazy bitch, now back off!”

  “No, you’re the bitch. You’ve cost me everything. I lost the home I was trying to buy, all because of you and your sleazy greed! But you’re going to pay, even if I have to drag you to the cops myself.”

  I reached for her arm, but she pushed me backwards again, hard. I stumbled. With both arms wrapped around my belly, I fell in between the cars. I knocked my elbows against the hot metal then rolled onto my side, my arm grinding into the gravel and asphalt while Erin maneuvered forward and opened her car door.

  “Watch it, you lunatic! Can’t you see I’m pregnant?”

  Erin jumped into her car and looked down at me as I lay on the pavement. “Well then, you better get the fuck out of my way before I run you both over.”

  She slammed the door shut as I scrambled to get out of her way. She started her car and raced the engine in warning, glaring at me through the closed window. I pounded on the glass as she pulled out in reverse. I jumped back so my toes wouldn’t be flattened by her tires.

  “You won’t get away with it!” I screamed. “I’ll make damned sure of it.”

  She gave me one last sneer, flipped me off with her French-manicured finger, and threw the car into drive. Her tires squealed against the pavement, spraying me with loose gravel. While she sped away, I scrambled back into my car and took off after her.

  Erin drove like a mad woman with me hot on her tail. I could see her glaring back at me in her rear view mirror, her mouth spewing what I could only assume were obscenities. I hurled them right back. She gunned her engine and pulled away, barreling at breakneck speed down the country roads toward the busier city streets with me still close behind. As she entered the downtown area, Erin turned from one street onto another in an attempt to shake me. She hardly slowed for stop signs or red lights.

  My fear grew at her recklessness, but my fury overrode any instinct that told me to slow down and back off. I drove onward, pushing the car even harder so I wouldn’t lose sight of her. I turned left and swerved sharply to avoid other cars and pedestrians. I pulled back when my car fishtailed, barely missing an older couple who’d entered the crosswalk. They called out after me as I squealed past, their fists raised in anger.

  I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure they were unhurt, but kept my foot on the gas. As I turned back around, I saw Erin run through a red light. I didn’t even have time to slam on the brakes before I pushed into the busy intersection. I barely caught sight of the large SUV as it slammed into me from my left.

  Glass shattered and metal screamed. The air bags exploded in my face. My thoughts flew to my baby and Ty as the heat from the SUV’s engine rushed against my side. My breath was expelled violently from my body in a loud whoosh, and I felt myself snap from within.

  Then everything went quiet. And all I could see was black.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tyler

  With an active business to run, my mobile phone rang often during the day, and I answered every call, even if I didn’t have time to talk. I didn’t want to miss a call from Jillian, especially after our last argument and the scene with Nick at the house. I’d been waiting all day for that call, the one where Jill would say how sorry she was. Every call that came in I answered hoping it would be her, knowing just from the number alone that it wasn’t. But it was already mid-afternoon, and I hadn’t heard from her yet.

  Jillian and I hadn’t spoken much in the last two days, though when we had, we sparred in anger. When I returned home from work last night, she stood in front of me with her arms crossed over her chest, obviously still stewing. She was upset that I had intervened with Nick, and embarrassed that I’d found out about their plans. The calm had ended, and the storm was about to be unleashed.

  “I’m not angry at you, Jill. I’m just worried. You must realize that,” I explained as I reached for her, but she stepped nimbly out of reach. I rested my hands on my hips and turned around after her.

  She shook her head and narrowed her eyes, a sure sign she was about to have one of her tantrums. She never saw reason when she was angry, and her pregnancy seemed to make matters worse.

  “You could’ve fooled me,” she said then pointed her finger in my face. “‘You let this go. You hear me?’ ” she mimicked. “I don’t know about you, Ty, but to me that sounded an awful lot like you trying to control me, and you know damn well I hate that.”

  “Oh, come on, Jillian, stop twisting this around. Yes, I am angry that you went behind my back, but this is about Nick. After everything that’s happened, you still don’t seem to understand how serious it is to get involved with him and his friends. How dangerous it is to be indebted to his boss, even through a tenuous connection. For God’s sake, don’t you remember what they did to me? You know better. You were the one to warn me off.”

  “Well, I can take care of myself. And besides, this was something between Nick and me. Not his boss or his friends. He would never let anything happen to me.”

  “That’s bullshit! Nick can hardly take care of himself, let alone you, especially where those people are concerned. What, you don’t think they’d love to have another reason to keep Nick under their thumb? Or me, for that matter? For God’s sake, Jillian. What the hell are you thinking? You’re pregnant. You have a responsibility. How could you even consider taking that chance? This is not just about you any longer. You’re putting our baby at risk. Do you even get that?”

  She hitched her hands
up on each hip. “I’m not a child, Tyler, and I don’t appreciate being treated like one.”

  “Then stop acting like one, godammit!” I roared.

  I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth, even more so when the hurt flashed in her eyes, but Jill needed to know how serious I was about staying away from Nick and letting the police and District Attorney’s office handle the situation. With a stare that could have frozen hell over in an instant, she stormed off, slammed the bedroom door, and locked it. I followed, knocking quietly on the barrier between us.

  “I’m sorry, Jill. I shouldn’t have yelled like that. Let me in, okay? We need to discuss this.”

  “Go away, Ty. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

  I slammed my fist against the door. “Come on, Jillian, if you want me to treat you like an adult, I expect you to act like one. Stop pouting and come out here so we can talk about this.”

  From inside the room, I heard her crying. “You said everything would be okay, but it’s not. You told me you wanted a wife, a child, a home. Well, this is part of that, and that woman has taken it away, but you won’t even stand up and defend it. You won’t defend us. I am so sick of always playing by the rules. Well you know what? Screw your rules, Tyler, and screw you, too. You can sleep on the sofa tonight.”

  I rested my forehead against the closed door. “Jillian, come on, don’t do this.” I called out again and again, but she refused to say another word, even after I threatened to kick the door down.

  She unlocked it in the morning, but when I tried to approach her before I left for work, she closed herself in the bathroom with the excuse she wasn’t feeling well. So I left without so much as an “I love you” or “goodbye.” I knew I’d have the opportunity later when she cooled down.

  Although Jill and I rarely fought, I learned early on that it was better to just leave her alone than try to talk things out before she was ready. She wouldn’t stay angry for much longer, and I wanted her to approach me. She had to know that, in this case at least, I was the one who had the right to be angry. After all, putting risk aside, she went to Nick behind my back. That in itself was a serious betrayal.

  Still, I was surprised at how long it was taking her to call. Jill wasn’t the belligerent sort. In fact, she often apologized even if she was right, just so we could get over it and make up. I bargained with myself, agreeing to be patient for another hour at most before I called her. I’d been waiting forty-five minutes when my cell finally rang, but it wasn’t Jill, nor was it a number I recognized.

  “Yeah, who’s this?” I answered impatiently, not wanting to tie up my line.

  “Tyler Karras?” the voice asked urgently.

  “Yeah, this is Tyler. Who are you?”

  “Mr. Karras, my name is Officer Matthew Reynolds. I’m with the Napa Police Department. Are you the husband of Jillian Karras?”

  “Yes. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Sir, I regret to inform you that your wife’s been involved in a serious car accident. She’s sustained significant injuries and has been taken by helicopter to the trauma center at San Francisco General.” He paused. “I’m very sorry.”

  It took a few seconds to absorb what the officer had said. A strange skittering cantered up from my feet and settled in my chest. It was déjà vu, all over again. In an instant, my whole life constricted to a single pinpoint in time, a moment of dread down deep inside, as if I were about to be swept over a waterfall. I stood silently, my senses too stunned to reply.

  “Mr. Karras? Are you still there?”

  “I don’t understand. Jillian was in an accident? In Napa? Are you sure it’s Jillian Demetrio Karras? She drives a red Camry and has long—”

  “Yes, I’m very sorry. You should probably get to the hospital as soon as possible.”

  “Is she...um…you know…?” I couldn’t get the words out. I felt strangled by a thickness caught deep in my throat. “Please, tell me…she’s not…dead, is she?”

  “I honestly don’t know. She was alive when she left the scene, but her injuries appear to be severe. You really should get to the hospital. Again, I’m very sorry.”

  “Right…right…okay. Um…thank you,” I said and ended the call.

  My feet were like dead weights anchored to the floor. If I moved, even an inch, I would be that much closer to a future I dared not face. I sucked in a large breath and willed myself forward. I ran to my truck and sped off to the hospital up on Potrero Avenue.

  After abandoning my vehicle near the emergency room doors, I stumbled into the hospital and called out my wife’s name. My voice rose in high-pitched hysteria as tears pooled up and clouded my vision. A nurse jumped in front of me and pressed her hands to my chest, an ineffective gesture to halt my progress. She shushed me like she would a child and asked if she could help, retreating backwards against my forward momentum. I tried to step around her when she blocked my path, but tumbled into a loaded cart left in the hallway. I fell, careening through the medical paraphernalia I’d scattered across the floor. At least dozen faces turned to stare, some concerned, others annoyed.

  I scooped up what items I could and held them out to the nurse. “I’m sorry.”

  She pressed her lips together and relieved me of the contaminated equipment, depositing the packages into an empty bin. She returned, touched me at the elbow, and pointed back toward the front door.

  “Sir, you need to take a seat out in the waiting room.”

  “No, I can’t. I’m looking for my wife, Jillian Karras. She was in a car accident. The police told me she was brought here by helicopter. I need to find her, please, please.”

  She pressed her lips together and looked me up and down. “All right. Come with me.”

  The nurse directed me to a small office by the triage desk and motioned for me to take a seat. She asked for the spelling of Jill’s name and checked the computer for an entry while I drummed my fingers against my thighs. The nurse mumbled to herself as she read the display then finally looked back up.

  “Yes, Mr. Karras, your wife is being treated in trauma three. I’ll go find out how she’s doing. Please wait here.”

  As soon as she was through the door, I jumped from my seat and followed after her. She stepped into a trauma room filled with doctors, nurses, and technicians, all dressed in various shades of blue and green. I peered in from outside the large glass doors where I shifted from foot to foot, stretched up on my tiptoes, searching through the maze of bodies.

  Several pieces of equipment were wheeled toward the center, and wires were hooked up to the patient still blocked from my view. Urgent alarms of various pitch and pace began to wail all at once. Fingers sheathed in latex gloves snapped impatiently as orders were called out. Three members of the crew quickly cleared a path.

  And there she was—Jillian—lying on a narrow padded table in the center of the room, covered in blood. My heartbeat surged, and a hissing blast exploded in my ears. I couldn’t catch my breath, and spots danced across my vision as the world tilted. I reached for the wall, trying to suck air into my lungs. The doors swung wide and crashed into my back. I straightened up and forced myself to focus back into the room.

  It was in total chaos with questions and orders being hurled about simultaneously. The staff dashed about, each performing a critical task. A young doctor delicately weaved a narrow tube down into Jill’s throat, while an older one fingered a hole he’d cut into her side. He shifted his feet around as blood poured out from the wound. Then he shoved a thick tube through the incision, allowing the blood to collect in a large, clear plastic bag hanging from a hook on the side of the table.

  Multiple drugs were injected into an IV line attached to Jill’s arm. The young doctor who had intubated Jill moved over her chest. He placed one hand on top of the other in the center and pushed in rapid succession as he counted out loud. A nurse worked the respirator at Jill’s mouth, pumping air into her lungs at a pace steady with the doctor’s count. After a minute or two, a n
ew alarm sounded.

  “Crash cart,” an older doctor ordered.

  As soon the nurse pushed the rig within reach, the doctor grabbed the paddles.

  “Okay, charge to one hundred,” he commanded as he laid them against Jill’s chest. He waited for the machine to reach full charge then called out, “Clear!”

  Jillian’s upper body tensed, lurched off the table, then settled back down. Panic shot through me like tendrils of electricity slicing through my limbs.

  “Nothing. Let’s try again, two hundred this time,” the doctor ordered. He waited and watched then shouted, “Clear!”

  Again she jumped. Again no response. My heart rattled at a clipped speed, pitching wildly against my sternum. I felt like I was going to be sick.

  “One more time. Charge to three-sixty. Okay...clear!” Again, nothing. “How long has she been down?” he asked a nurse.

  The nurse looked up at the clock on the wall and replied, “Fifty-three minutes.”

  The young doctor returned to chest compressions, again and again, over and over.

  I held my hands to my head. The roar inside was already deafening and getting louder.

  “Asystole,” a technician called out as the monitor sounded an even wail.

  The young doctor performing chest compressions looked at his colleague. “What do you think?” he asked, so breathless he was panting.

  The older doctor returned the paddles to the cart and shrugged. “Blunt force trauma like this, could be tension pneumo, aortic dissection. Take your pick.”

  “We can’t shock her now. Should we try to get a chest x-ray then send her up to surgery?”

  The older man glanced at the blood collecting in the plastic bag and all around them on the floor. He blew out a long sigh. “She won’t even make it to the elevator.”

  “Richard,” the young doc warned as he nodded in my direction.

  The older man turned and caught my eye. His brow came together with a deep crease scoring through the center. He spun around to one of the nurses. “Let’s push another amp of epi and see what happens.”