In contrast with her upbringing in the home of a pastor, Mark had grown up in a home where God was never mentioned. Shannon had become a Christian in her preteen years. When many medical students, including Shannon, were letting their busy lives separate them from God, Mark had found Him and embraced a daily walk with the Lord. So now they were two sides of a coin—Mark quietly living out his faith, and Shannon struggling to regain hers.
If she’d admit it, Todd’s death had changed a lot of things in her life. As she knelt at his side, raging at her own impotence in the face of the emergency, she’d prayed for Todd, prayed harder than she’d ever done in her life. But he died.
She’d suffered the usual survivor guilt. She’d tried to pray. She read books on why bad things happen to good people. And deep down she realized she had never forgiven God for what happened. Maybe Mark could help her there. But that was for another time. Right now she had other problems.
Shannon took the last sip of her Coke as she parked her car in the driveway of her home. Megan’s car was already at the curb. Shannon entered quietly, thinking her sister might be asleep. Should she have a late lunch of peanut butter and crackers, or try to make up for her sleepless night with a nap? She was about to move to the kitchen when a sharp command brought her up short.
“Stop right there. I’ve got a gun.”
THREE
SHANNON’S HEART HAMMERED IN HER CHEST. WHOEVER IT IS, they have a gun, but they haven’t pulled the trigger. She closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, and fought for calm.
The first thing Shannon saw when she opened her eyes was a gun aimed at her midsection. Then she realized who was holding it—Megan, her expression reflecting equal parts of fear and anger. Was her sister on something? Megan sober was unpredictable enough. Megan high could be dangerous . . . maybe even lethal.
Megan stood in the doorway leading from the hall into the living room. Ordinarily a younger, stockier version of Shannon, at this moment the resemblance was less discernible. Her blond hair was tousled and tangled, her face devoid of makeup, and her blue eyes seemed unfocused.
Shannon stopped dead in her tracks and held up her arms, palms out and open to show she was unarmed. “Megan, it’s me—your sister, Shannon. Put the gun down. Everything’s okay.”
The gun in her sister’s trembling hand was a revolver, and Shannon’s blood ran cold as she focused on the brass-colored noses of bullets in the chambers. Megan wasn’t bluffing. The gun was loaded, her sister’s finger was on the trigger, and it was pointed at her. It was time to take action.
“Megan, settle down. You’re in my home. You’re safe here.” Shannon took a tentative step forward, then another. She lowered one hand and held it out, palm up. “Let me have the gun before someone gets hurt.” Especially me.
Megan gave her head a little shake, as though by doing so she could clear her thoughts. Then she lowered the gun. “I’m sorry. I stretched out in the guest room, and when you came in you woke me. Guess I was a little disoriented.”
As she moved closer, Shannon noticed her sister’s pupils were normal size. Sleep wrinkles from the bedclothes marked her cheek. Then Shannon realized that Megan wasn’t wearing the glasses she needed but hated, and the last puzzle piece fell into place. Megan wasn’t high. She awoke in a strange place, heard a noise, and came to investigate. And she probably hadn’t fully identified the person she held at bay until Shannon spoke and moved nearer.
The sisters met in the middle of the room and hugged, but not before Shannon gently took the gun from Megan’s hand. The gun was heavier than she’d imagined . . . or was it just that this was the first time she’d held one? Shannon fought to keep her hand steady as she laid the gun gingerly on the end table near her. She’d put it in a more secure location later. Right now, her attention was on her sister.
“Where did the gun come from?” Shannon asked.
“I got it right after I started my job. A woman alone in some of those areas—well, I needed some security.”
“So you have a permit and everything?” Shannon was pretty sure of the answer, but she had to ask anyway.
Megan looked at the floor. “One of the contacts I made when I was rehabbing at First Step got me the gun. I’ve mostly kept it in my car. I didn’t want to bother taking the classes to get a carry permit and all that stuff.”
“I think you’re safe enough here,” Shannon said. “I’ll take care of the gun for now.”
Megan’s lower lip trembled. “Oh, Shannon, when am I going to get it all together?” A tear ran down her cheek. “I’ve messed up my life again, so here I am, running to my big sister.”
This was exactly what Shannon didn’t need. She bit back a retort. She had problems of her own, but this wasn’t the time to mention them. That could wait. Megan needed her, so she’d do what she’d done before. She’d help her sister. “We’ll take it a day at a time. Why don’t we go into the kitchen? I want something to eat. How about you?”
Over peanut butter sandwiches and glasses of cold milk, Shannon coaxed Megan’s story from her. She not only needed a place to stay, she’d just lost her position as a pharmaceutical representative—one Shannon had helped her get.
“What reason did they give for letting you go?” Shannon asked.
Megan ducked her head. “Samples were disappearing.”
Shannon knew that some drug reps were given large boxes of samples, medications they dropped off at physician offices. This was a good way for doctors to get patients started until they filled a prescription, while encouraging the use of those particular medications. Lately Shannon had seen the sample stream in her clinic slow to a trickle, undoubtedly an economic thing. Maybe pharmaceutical companies were also tightening inventory control of these samples. “Did you keep a record of where and with whom you left the drugs?”
“Of course. When I left samples at a doctor’s office, I wrote everything down in my logbook. That’s standard procedure. I stored the boxes in Tony’s garage—”
“Tony? Is he the guy you were living with? I thought that was Mike.”
“No, I broke up with Mike when I went into rehab. I’ve been crashing at Tony Lester’s place since I got out.”
Shannon sighed, wondering if she’d ever be able to keep track of the men in Megan’s life. “Go ahead. You kept the boxes of medicine in Tony’s garage.”
“Right. I stored them there and restocked the trunk of my car every two or three days. But when it was time to inventory my drugs, I always came up short.”
Shannon had a bad feeling. “What kind of medicines were these?”
“We’re not talking about narcotics,” Megan said around a mouthful of sandwich. She drank some milk and continued. “These were antibiotics, allergy medicines, muscle relaxants, stuff like that. It wasn’t as though I was stealing them for my own use.”
“I imagine the company thought you were selling them. There’s a pretty good market for high-priced medications, and samples can be sold if you know the right way to go about it.” Shannon looked Megan in the eye. “Is that what you did?”
“What? No. No! I don’t know what happened to them.” She ducked her head.
Shannon thought she did. “And you have no idea where they went?”
“Well . . .” Megan wiped at the corner of her eye. “I think maybe Tony took them. But when I asked him if he knew anything about the samples, he flew into a rage. He said if I didn’t trust him any more than that, I should move out.” She sniffled. “We fought about it. Things got pretty bad. That’s when I called you.”
Shannon wanted to ask more questions, but experience had taught her to approach her sister as carefully as a hunter stalks a particularly skittish deer. She’d save most of the questions for later, but there was one answer she needed before Megan unpacked. “And you’re still clean? No narcotics? No booze?”
Megan pulled a tattered tissue from the pocket of her jeans and blew her nose. She nodded. “I haven’t touched any of that stuff for almost si
x months. Not since I came out of rehab. Honest.”
Shannon had learned that addicts could be charming, convincing, plausible . . . and total liars, but she was willing to give her sister another chance. How many was this? She’d lost count.
Megan finished her milk and wiped her lips with a paper napkin. “I appreciate you taking me in, Shannon. I’ll start looking for a job soon. Really.”
Shannon recalled the favors she’d called in to get Megan her last job. She wondered who was going to hire a pharmaceutical rep with a history of addiction, one who’d been fired when drug samples disappeared. “We’ll deal with that later.” She yawned. “I was up most of the night, and what I need right now is an afternoon nap.”
Megan gathered the dirty dishes and put them in the sink. “Up with a case? Did the patient make it?”
Shannon decided this wasn’t the time to spring the story of the shooting on her sister. She shook her head. “No. He didn’t make it.”
“Sorry. But I guess you can’t save them all.” Megan turned and left the kitchen. In a moment, her light tread on the stairs marked her climb to the guest bedroom.
Still at the kitchen table, Shannon placed her fingertips on her temples and pressed. No, you can’t save them all. Right now I’m wondering how I’m going to save you . . . again.
SHANNON HAD FINALLY SETTLED INTO DEEP SLEEP WHEN NOISES in the kitchen startled her to wakefulness. It took a few seconds for her to identify the source before she remembered that Megan was in her house now.
Shannon had stretched out for her nap fully clothed. She slipped out of bed, shoved her feet into loafers, and eased into the living room. Two suitcases stood by the outside door, something Shannon hadn’t noticed when she first entered the house. The noise from the kitchen was clearer now—the periodic thunk of a closing cabinet door, the muted rattle of dishes. Shannon moved through the dining room and stood in the kitchen doorway. Megan was at the dishwasher, unloading it. Occasionally she held a glass to the light, sometimes polishing it with a dishtowel before putting it away.
“What are you doing?”
Megan didn’t appear to be startled. She turned and favored Shannon with a smile. “Just trying to make myself useful. I mean, when you dump yourself on someone, it’s supposed to be good form to help out.”
Her sister was no longer the frightened, disheveled woman Shannon had seen earlier. Megan had brushed her hair, applied makeup, and changed into fresh clothing. She was even wearing her glasses. And her attitude was different as well—more chipper.
Shannon couldn’t help wondering if her sister had taken something. Or was it just relief at being away from a bad situation? She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. “I never asked you where you slept last night after you called. You said you’d be okay until morning, but I should have insisted.”
“No problem. It was just nice to know I had somewhere to go after Tony threw me out.”
Shannon took a moment to think that through. “So you left the house after you called me?”
“I was already out of there. I wasn’t about to spend another minute in that house with Tony. I used my cell phone and called from my car.”
“You slept—”
“In my car? Sure. I pulled into a parking garage, found a nice corner, locked the doors, and slept. I’ve done it before.” Megan’s face threatened to crumble. “You’d be surprised at some of the things I’ve done.”
Shannon didn’t want to go there. Not now, at least. “So where do you stand with Tony?”
“That’s over. I’ll need to get the rest of my things from his house, but after that I’m not going back.” She turned and pointed toward the front door and her suitcases. “And don’t get the idea that I’m here to stay. In a week or so—ten days tops—I hope to have found a job and an apartment of my own.”
Shannon figured her sister was being optimistic, but she decided not to argue the point. “So, what—” The ring of her cell phone stopped her. She pulled it from the pocket of her slacks. Mark was calling.
“Have you been to police headquarters yet?” he asked.
“I went this morning.”
“How did it go?”
“About like you’d expect,” she said. “Read through my statement, signed it. Have you been down there yet?”
“Earlier this morning. I guess I just missed you. Basically I did the same as you. I signed my statement and left.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure how you feel after what happened, but I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight.”
“Mark, I’m not sure. Megan is staying with me now.”
“Oh?”
Shannon wondered how Mark could put so much meaning into one syllable. He knew about Megan, including her two trips to rehab and the other times Shannon had come to the rescue of her sister. Although Mark never came out and said, “Why do you keep putting up with this?” Shannon figured he’d thought it more than once. Maybe his Christianity prevented him from being overtly critical, but she knew it was a struggle for him.
“Is that Mark?” Megan asked.
Shannon looked around and found that her sister had moved closer. “Yes.”
“Could I . . . could I ask him for a favor?”
Shannon didn’t want to be caught in the middle here. She decided to let her sister handle this herself. She gave Megan the phone.
“Mark, this is Megan. Listen, I need a man for this. I’ve left Tony, but some things of mine are still in his house. I’m afraid to go there by myself. Would you . . .” She let the words trail off, apparently hoping Mark would jump in and offer his services.
There was an uncomfortable silence. When Mark finally replied, Shannon could tell he was talking but couldn’t make out the words. Then Megan said, “Thanks. We’ll look for you in a few minutes.”
She handed the phone back to Shannon. “Mark said he’d go with me.”
“Great,” Shannon said. Couldn’t he think of an excuse?
“I’m glad Mark’s going,” Megan said. “I don’t think Tony would do anything foolish, but just in case . . .”
Shannon wished she could be so confident. Wasn’t the superstition that bad things came in threes? There was the shooting, then Megan’s sudden arrival. What was number three?
SHANNON CHECKED THE CLOCK ONCE MORE: 6:00 P.M. MARK AND Megan had been gone for more than two hours. They should be back by now. She’d called Mark’s cell phone once already, but it went to voice mail. Maybe he had it turned off. Perhaps he’d left the phone in his car.
She told herself to stop worrying. They were two responsible adults—well, one of them was responsible. Mark would call if something came up.
Shannon was sitting in the living room, turning the pages of a magazine but unable to concentrate, when she heard the front door open. She looked up in time to see Megan come in, followed by Mark. He was holding a wet handkerchief to his head with his left hand, and he seemed to be in obvious pain. Mark moved to the sofa where he eased down beside Shannon, then leaned forward, his head cradled in his hands.
“What happened?” Shannon asked.
Mark held up a hand. “Could I have some ice?”
“I’ll get it.” Megan hurried through the door, returning with ice wrapped in a dish towel. Mark switched it for the handkerchief he had been holding to his head, saying, “Thanks.”
“What happened?” Shannon asked once more. This must be number three.
“I guess I was wrong about Tony not presenting a problem,” Megan said. “He was at the house when I arrived, and he’d been drinking.”
The look on Mark’s face said he knew something like this would happen, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. He took away the towel, and Shannon saw his left temple was already swelling. “I told him we didn’t want any trouble,” Mark said. “All we wanted was to get Megan’s stuff and be on our way.”
“Apparently he didn’t react well to that,” Shannon said.
“For a while he just stood the
re and swore—at Megan, at me, at life in general. I decided to take it, because while he was spouting curses we were gathering her things and taking them out to my car.”
“But—” Megan began.
“I’ll tell her,” Mark said. “We’d finished and were about to walk out when he picked up an empty beer bottle from the end table. He started cursing louder, mainly at me, saying I was responsible for Megan’s leaving. Then he took a swing at me. I ducked, but he still managed to clip my head with the bottle.” Mark reapplied the towel.
Shannon turned to Megan. “So you and Mark ran?”
“Not exactly. When I saw what Tony was doing, I picked up another bottle and crowned him with it. He went down like a felled ox. At first I was afraid I’d killed him.”
“Probably took something like that to put him out of commission,” Mark muttered. “He’ll be okay.”
Shannon turned toward Mark. “Let me look at your head.”
He resisted at first, but finally Shannon was able to check the injury. The skin over the swollen area was intact. She didn’t feel any depression or crepitus, the crunching sensation of two edges of bone rubbing against each other that was the hallmark of a severe fracture. A quick neurologic exam seemed normal. “You’re probably okay, but you really should have X-rays and a thorough exam to make sure,” she said.
Mark shook his head, although she noticed he did it gingerly. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get home and put more ice on it.”
“At least let one of us drive you,” Shannon said.
“I can make it on my own. I don’t live that far away.”
Arguments proved useless. Typical doctor, especially a male doctor, Shannon thought. Injuries and illnesses happened to everyone else, not to them. “Call after you get home,” she said. “I’ll phone you later, and if you don’t answer, I’m going to come over and take you to the ER, even if I have to hog-tie you.”
Mark managed a sheepish grin. “Yes, Doctor.”
Shannon saw him out the door, exchanging a kiss with him after reinforcing her warnings. It was only as he pulled away that she realized Megan’s stuff was still in Mark’s car. Oh well. They’d get it tomorrow.
Critical Condition Page 3
