Cheat the Hangman

by Gloria Ferris

  “You a doctor?” It paid to be careful.

  The Doogie Howser look-alike drew himself up a full extra inch. “Excuse me, I neglected to introduce myself. My name is Dr. Michael Grammett. I am a resident physician at this hospital.”

  “Nice to meet you, Michael. Now, since I haven’t any life-threatening injuries, I guess I’ll get dressed and go home.”

  He poked my purple ouchie with a forefinger. “This appears to have happened earlier than your other injuries. Twelve hours ago?”

  “Pretty close. I guess I’ll leave now.”

  The audience was spellbound. Nobody moved.

  “Thank you very much, all of you. You can go.” I spoke with more hope than expectation, but they turned away at last.

  I was alone, but no sooner had I painfully struggled into a seated position than Marc entered the room. Patsy, Nick, Conklin, Caroline, Peter and Mitch were right behind him. There were a couple of other people in the hall, probably media, but the room was too full to contain them. And who had called Patsy?

  I hastily pulled what was left of my paper gown around my thighs. “What the hell is everybody doing here? With a maniac running loose through Hammersleigh House, one would think a few of you could have stayed on the scene to prevent other innocent people from being battered within an inch of their lives.”

  “Relax, Lyris,” Marc responded. His voice so soothing I could listen to it all night. “I’ve left three of my officers in the house and Tiffany has your group of teenagers watching from under the trees. Nobody is going to slip through again tonight.”

  “Which means he got away. If you bunch had listened to me in the first place when I told you what happened to me, maybe Marc could have caught him.”

  “Lyris,” replied Peter, “we couldn’t understand a word you were saying at first. You were mumbling about dolls and dragons and ghosts and other stuff. It took a while before you calmed down enough to tell us you were attacked on the third floor and pushed downstairs—”

  “I wasn’t mumbling,” I snapped back. “I found a box in the cupola with Amelia, the jade dragon and other things and was bringing it down through the third floor when he jumped out at me from one of the doorways.” The ghost was none of their business and it wasn’t real anyhow.

  “I found the box,” Marc said, “but there was no one on either the third floor or cupola by the time I searched.”

  “Well, he had to have gone back down the tower room staircase to the second floor, then down the main staircase and out the front door. There’s no other way except the same stairs he pushed me down, and I would have noticed that.”

  “Madam, you quite worried us.” Conklin spoke with an air of understatement. “I do not understand why you would put yourself at risk by wandering through the house at night.”

  I shook my head at him. “It’s my house, more or less, and why shouldn’t I go where I want? How could I know there was a violent presence wandering around on the third floor?”

  “With everything that’s happened, Lyris,” Marc interrupted, “I think a little more caution would have been prudent.”

  I ignored him. “I’m going to get dressed now. So you can all go except Patsy, and thanks so much for coming out. Hold the flowers, but send chocolate.”

  As they dribbled away, Caroline’s pale face caught my attention for a second, but she was gone before I could speak to her.

  “Lyris, I know how you got hurt yesterday.” Marc’s voice echoed close to my ear.

  I jumped and looked at him. Then I looked at my shifty-eyed friend who was busy arranging the tongue depressors in their metal jar on a stainless steel trolley.

  “You know Patsy exaggerates. A little accident does not constitute assault. Pay no attention to her. It was just a clumsy little fall, far less serious than what occurred tonight. Now, that was criminal intent.”

  “Don’t try to distract me, Lyris. Tonight’s events are being looked at. It’s yesterday’s accident I want to talk about.” His grey eyes were trying to pin mine to the wall, but I evaded them and spoke to Patsy.

  “I’ll need some help getting dressed, and I could use a ride home if you can tear yourself away from those medical supplies.”

  “I’ll drive you home,” Marc said in clipped tones. I guessed he wasn’t also offering to help me dress since he appeared to be in official mode. His mouth was tight and this was the first time I had seen his ears turn a bright pink. I acknowledged I had overstepped the bounds of common sense this time, but wasn’t going to admit it to anyone else.

  “Do you want to press charges,” he continued when I didn’t speak.

  “Of course not. God.” I was appalled at the thought. “This is much ado about nothing. Can’t we just drop the whole thing?”

  “No, not really. I don’t like to see this happening to you and I won’t permit it to continue. I will have a talk with Dennis and make sure it doesn’t. Now, I’ll wait outside for you.” He left abruptly, his shoulders straight in the pale blue shirt.

  “I think he’s mad at me,” I mentioned to the heretofore silent Patsy. “He’ll get over it, though. He always does.”

  “One of these days you’re going to push him too far and he’ll dump you like you deserve. Here, let me help you with that.”

  She could have been a little gentler, but finally I was dressed. And not a moment too soon, for the fragile gown had disintegrated under my nervously plucking fingers. With a little persuading, the hospital staff supplied me with a pair of green cotton drawstring pants to wear home over my underwear. I had to promise to wash them and bring them back the next day. Right.

  While I was signing the release form that absolved Michael and the hospital from any blame should I expire in the next year due to undiagnosed injuries suffered that night, Patsy stared at me, her eyes wide with disapproval.

  “I don’t understand why you aren’t a total basket case, Lyris,” she said, shaking her head. “Yesterday, your ex-husband throws you into a flower bed, then tonight you have a fire and get shoved down a flight of stairs by a home invader. And the reunion is in full swing. Yet you’re still making wisecracks and pretending you aren’t black and blue from head to toe. Your face is a mess. You’re either a very courageous or an extremely insensitive person.” The last sentence was delivered at full volume.

  I blinked in surprise, but decided to ignore Patsy’s outburst. I knew she was very stressed herself over losing her job.

  “I prefer courageous. And you forgot the purple.”

  “What purple?”

  “Me. I’m black and blue and also purple if you include yesterday’s injury which everybody seems to want to do.”

  She moved away from the counter where I was signing the release. The young night clerk was listening to our exchange with keen curiosity. Patsy closed her mouth and marched away without a backward glance.

  I sighed. No doubt I was at fault in some way, but I was too tired to figure it out. Patsy was going through a rough personal crisis and I should have been more understanding. As soon as the reunion was over I would apologize for my insensitivity, since courage probably wasn’t a factor here.

  The lobby was deserted except for Marc. He was standing with his back to me, staring at a head and shoulders portrait of the first hospital administrator. Except for his mutton chop sideburns, the gentleman staring back at Marc looked quite a lot like Conklin. I made a mental note to ask Conklin if they were related.

  Marc turned as I stopped beside him. We looked at each other long enough for me to be uncomfortably aware that I was being scrutinized, judged and found wanting. I shifted from foot to foot.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Great. Considering all this body has been through in the last day or two, I’m surprisingly well.” As You Think, So Shall You Be was another of my mottos. Plus, Mind over Matter and Stiff Upper Lip and all that.

  “Funny, you look like hell. And if you feel only half as bad as you look, you must feel like hell too.”
>
  Maybe I was a little rusty on courting etiquette, but I was sure my boyfriend should be assuring me how lovely I looked, not telling the truth. I had just seen myself mirrored in one of the glass doors leading from the lobby to the treatment area and knew what that truth was―wild, tangled hair, dirty T-shirt, baggy pants and complexion devoid of any colour except a few red lumps. Oh, and a scratch or two where Rasputin’s toenails had gouged me when he ran across my face while I reclined on the kitchen floor.

  Still, Marc was right. I had again shown no common sense whatsoever when I explored the third floor. In light of everything that had been going on around Hammersleigh in the last while, I showed poor judgment at best. He would be less than human not to wonder at this point if I was worth bothering about. And where the heck had Leander been when I needed him?

  We made the short trip back to Hammersleigh House in silence. I was too depressed to tease Marc by asking to play with his siren or talk on the radio. Marc’s lips were pressed tight together like he was afraid of unleashing harsh words of truth and condemnation. He was too nice a guy to utter those words out loud, but there was a numb spot in my chest that suggested I was soon going to get dumped, like Patsy suggested.

  The iron gates were closed, and I hoped Peter was near the great hall and would hear the buzzer. I could face Peter tonight, but not Conklin. And certainly not Caroline. Remembering the question shining from her eyes at the hospital, I knew I could not give her the answer she wanted.

  I clutched the door handle and prepared to disembark from that ship of quiet reproach. Marc put his own hand on my arm to stop me and I thought, okay here we go. I resolved to accept the next few minutes with dignity.

  “Did you recognize the man?” he asked. “And are you sure there was only one?”

  I was unable to answer at first. Then my brain made an abrupt turn and I breathed again.

  “No, but it was Scott Fournier and he was alone.”

  “If you didn’t see him, how do you know it was Scott?”

  “Process of elimination mostly. It couldn’t have been anyone else in the house, and he’s been creeping around at night. Caroline admitted that.”

  “What about Peter Tackaberry? He was the first to reach you after you fell. Could he have had time to run down the other way, down the main staircase?”

  I pulled away. “It was not Peter. Even in the dark I would have recognized him, or any other man I know.”

  Marc wrapped his fingers around my wrist to stop me from jumping out of the car. For some reason, I had a hard time taking in a deep breath. Icy sweat was springing up on my forehead, and I realized that I had been chilled since leaving the hospital. The hand Marc had hold of jerked, all by itself it seemed, and my other hand soon followed suit. I needed to get out and run, but I couldn’t get any air into my lungs.

  “I…can’t breathe,” I managed to tell him. My chest was tight and my fingers were going numb.

  I was having a heart attack.

  CHAPTER 27

  Marc turned the cruiser around and headed back to town. He put the lights on, but refrained from using the siren. I felt this was a bit cavalier of him and would have related my displeasure if I had been able to breathe. If this wasn’t a flashing lights and siren emergency, I didn’t know what would be.

  Within an hour the medical staff had unplugged all the wires and monitors and diagnosed me as suffering from a stress-induced anxiety attack. They gave me a wonderful blue and yellow pill that made me feel all liquid and boneless inside and floated those nasty anxieties right out the window.

  Michael was my attending doctor again and left me with some words of advice about learning to relax. He even gave me a brochure on stress reduction, and more or less suggested I seek professional help. I was so mellow I didn’t ask if he had reached puberty yet, just smiled maternally and thanked him in all sincerity for the major tranquilizer. He didn’t offer me any to take home, and when I asked, he said no.

  Marc’s presence at my side throughout this second medical ordeal of the night was comforting and I wasn’t too stoned to be appreciative. You could always count on Marc to be supportive and the fact he carried a gun didn’t even scare me. The fact he was so incredibly good looking was a bonus. I let myself lean heavily on his arm when we walked out of the hospital.

  “Well, quite a lot has happened today, hasn’t it?” I observed on the way home. “I fell into a hosta bed, saw a ghost in the cemetery, survived a fire set by an arsonist, was injured by the same evildoer when he threw me down the stairs and courageously evaded a heart attack. Yes, quite a day.” I didn’t mention Caroline’s overdose, because I had forgotten about it. I shifted off my sore cheek and patted the hard, muscular thigh next to mine.

  Marc looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “What ghost?”

  I hadn’t meant to mention the ghost to him, or to anyone. Ever. Even though it was only an imaginary ghost, I never wanted to talk about it. I realized the drug had loosened my lips, so closed them tightly and went to sleep.

  Marc shook my arm gently and I opened my eyes to see the stone steps to Hammersleigh’s front door appear beside the cruiser.

  “Before we go in, Lyris, I want to say something to you.”

  I thought he was going to ask me to marry him again and was wondering how I would reply this time. So it was a shock to hear his next words.

  “You’ve been under a lot of strain lately. Running Hammersleigh, dealing with Dennis, Caroline’s problems, not to mention everything you had to pull together for this reunion. Add the incidents taking place in this house recently and your various injuries, it’s all more than one woman should be dealing with. So I’m going to back away for now and stop pressuring you to make a commitment.”

  I stared at him. My lips were numb and would barely open. “What?”

  “I’ve been pushing you. Trying to force you to make a decision before you’re ready. I told you once I would wait as long as it took, but I got impatient. I love you and want you, though the closer I try to get, the faster you run in the other direction.”

  “What?” I licked my dry lips.

  He took my hand and brought it to his own lips. “You don’t have to worry about making a decision regarding us, not now.”

  I couldn’t figure out what he was saying.

  “Obviously, you don’t feel you have any control over this situation. I think it would be best if you decide to come to me on your own. That is, if you want. I’m not going to mention marriage or any other alternative again. You let me know when you’re ready.”

  I wanted to tell him that Conklin and I had talked about the alternative, and it was alright with Conklin. I barely got started when I found myself standing in the great hall being handed off like a football to Conklin and Caroline. Marc explained my second trip to the emergency room and suggested I be allowed to sleep off the sedative. Caroline and I exchanged glances, and I thought, okay sister, I know what you were going for this afternoon. I felt good.

  Then Marc was gone and it took me a few minutes to make Caroline and Conklin understand that I was not—no way, no how—willing to sleep upstairs. This involved me wrapping my arms around the newel post and aiming a backward kick at Conklin when he tried to pry my fingers loose. So they bedded me down on a sofa in the employees’ wing, where I spent the rest of the night in drug-induced euphoria, with no dreams or fears or catastrophes to disturb me.

  I still felt great when I woke in the morning. The room was cool, the sofa just firm enough and…there were two mounds of fur at my feet. I pulled my feet away, then fell back gasping for air.

  Whoa, that hurt. I wasn’t even sure where the pain originated. My whole body was a pulsing, throbbing organism of agony. I staggered to a bathroom and turned on the shower. After I emerged, clean if not energized, I looked in the mirror. One hasty glance was enough and I turned swiftly away before I could burst into tears of delayed shock.

  To top it all off, I had no clean clothes to put on, not even a r
obe forgotten by a previous guest. I had no recourse but to slip upstairs wrapped in two bath towels, and this I managed without anybody seeing me and commenting on my hideous bruises.

  A few minutes later, clothed simply but neatly in a T-shirt and capri pants to hide the worst of my injuries, I went into the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Lyris. How are you feeling? Did you sleep okay on the couch?” Caroline was laying cutlery at two place settings, moving a cozy-topped teapot to the middle of the table. She politely looked elsewhere as I made my way to a chair and lowered myself into it.

  Glancing at her averted face, I wondered if I was up to a frank discussion about Scott and decided I wasn’t. Not right now, maybe later when the reunion was over. Or maybe tomorrow or the day after. I was pretty sure Michael had given me medical orders to take it easy and not stress myself ever again.

  “I slept great, actually. It’s so cool down here, I’d forgotten what it was like not to sweat myself into a puddle every night.”

  She smiled, very faintly. “The photographer is here. Or he’s in the field I mean. He’s waiting for you to tell him how you want to arrange everybody.”

  “What’s in the pot on the stove? I hope it isn’t oatmeal.”

  “Well, yes it is. I’m sorry, but Conklin says it’s good for…”

  “I know it’s healthy and all that, but I can’t eat anything with lumps in it. I’m not hungry anyway.” I pulled myself up. “I’ll get something later.” I couldn’t be bothered even making myself a cup of herbal tea with healing properties.

  Every time I look at the group photo from that reunion, I feel a pain in my shoulder, leg, chin, and especially my butt. The picture was snapped a microsecond after second cousin Harris Pembrooke from Sarnia squeezed my soft tissue injury, and my image was captured for all time—two startled eyes in a pale face, hair sticking out at a 20 volt angle. I managed to step on Harris’s toes as we were descending the makeshift scaffolding that held four tiers of Pembrookes, but it was scant retaliation for the stomach-churning pain I suffered for the next two hours.