Darkness Before Dawn

by Ace Collins

  Her eyes focused on the words that followed.

  Steven J. Richards, 28, was pronounced dead on arrival at Springfield Community Hospital due to injuries that occurred when his 2005 Buick Century collided with a 2010 Ford Explorer driven by a local teenager. A blood test indicated that the seventeen-year-old youth was legally intoxicated at the time of the accident.

  Accident! What kind of word was that to describe what amounted to cold-blooded murder? Why didn’t the writer report it the way it really happened? This was no accident. Wiping away a tear, Meg continued reading.

  The teen also received minor injuries. He was treated in Springfield Community Hospital’s emergency room and released without being admitted.

  Due to the youth’s age, police did not release any further information on his identity or the charges, if any, that would be filed against him. District Attorney Webb Jones would only say, “We are studying the case and currently the boy has been turned over to his parents.”

  Richards, an employee of . . .

  Meg stopped reading and once again looked out the window, her eyes involuntarily filling with tears. The paper had been no help. All she wanted to know was who had killed her husband, and no one or nothing could or would tell her. Charging back into the living room, she pulled a phone book from the end table drawer and scanned its pages for a home number for the district attorney. It wasn’t there. Calling information, she learned that the number was unlisted. She once more hit the Internet, but Google gave her the same information as everything else.

  Temporarily defeated, she headed back to the bathroom and finished her shower. Pulling on some jeans and a sweater, she applied her makeup, fixed her shoulder-length, light brown hair, and opened a can of tuna fish. She ate directly from the container. Like everything else in her life, the meal left her unsatisfied.

  8

  FOR TWO HOURS, MEG CLEANED UP HER KITCHEN, SIPPED ON A COKE, AND reread six stories about Steve’s death online. Finally, with no new information coming to light and no one whom she could call in order to gain any more knowledge, she accepted she’d have to wait until the next morning to get what she needed. At exactly nine tomorrow she’d get in touch with the district attorney’s office and demand he tell her who killed Steve.

  Yet tomorrow seemed like forever and the way the minutes crept so slowly by echoed that fact. After leafing through a half dozen magazines and searching in vain for something to watch on television, Meg once again found herself overcome with loneliness. Turning off the TV, she walked back over to her window.

  Mr. Fudge had returned from church and swept his walk, and the Smith kids had ruined the beauty of the apartment’s smooth, snow-covered yard by building a snowman. Up in the elm tree, a gray and red female cardinal fluttered nervously from branch to branch.

  Until Meg spotted the bird, she had forgotten about the events of the morning. Then, when she saw the Fudges’ fat yellow cat gracefully balancing on the old couple’s porch railing, the episode came back in vivid detail. Pulling on her coat, Meg walked out to her balcony just in time to see the cardinal swoop down and discover the place where Meg had pushed its mate that morning. Bouncing all the way around the now cold, scarlet bird, the female tilted her head one way and then the other, waiting for the fallen mate to rise up and fly home with her. Meg observed the scene for a few minutes then, overwhelmed with a wave of sudden emotion, rushed down the steps and screamed at the poor, confused cardinal.

  “He’s dead! He’s dead!” she yelled. “And you can’t do anything to bring him back.”

  Startled, the cardinal took flight, landing in one of the elm tree’s lower branches. Standing directly below the bird’s perch, tears now streaming down her face, Meg glared at the frightened bird and sobbed, “Do you want to know who did it? Do you? I’ll tell you who, it was Tom, the cat. Yes, that yellow one across the street. He killed your mate without mercy. And he did it just for the thrill of the kill.”

  As her tears fell in the snow, Meg looked back at the confused bird and cried out, “At least you know who is responsible. I’d give anything for just that much!”

  As if taking a cue from the woman’s words, the bird flew from the limb and swooped down at the unsuspecting, sleeping cat. Never getting close enough to the animal to allow him to catch her, she swooped again and again. First running for the cover of a bush and then under Mr. Fudge’s Oldsmobile, the cat, eyes now opened wide, realized he was marked and any trip out into the open would bring an angry bird swooping down and raining vengeance from the sky. Reconciled and seemingly unbothered by the hand fate had dealt, Tom closed his eyes and ignored the female cardinal’s loud chirping. Within moments, he had resumed his nap, this time safely tucked under the old car.

  Meg suddenly saw the cat as the boy who had struck down her husband. She wasn’t going to let him rest. Not for a moment. Shaking her head, she whispered a promise.

  “Whoever you are, I’ll find you, and when I do, I’ll make you pay. I’ll make you pay!”

  Bending over and molding a handful of snow into a ball, she threw it wildly in the general direction of the cat. It hit the fat feline in the rump, sending him back into the open, where the female cardinal resumed swooping down at the perplexed killer. Meg smiled. Tom needed to pay for what he’d done. Everyone should pay and pay deeply for taking a life. As soon as she found out who killed Steve, it would be her turn to swoop unrelentingly down on an unsuspecting enemy.

  9

  WE DIDN’T EXPECT YOU BACK SO SOON!” EXCLAIMED AN OBVIOUSLY shocked John Willis as a fully uniformed Meg entered Springfield Community Hospital through the emergency room door. The forty-three-year-old hospital administrator peered through his black-rimmed glasses at the woman for a few seconds before adding, “Listen, Nurse Richards, you can take as much time off as you want or need. We’ll work around you until you’re fully ready to come back.”

  “I’m fine,” Meg, her tone as flat as the plains in Kansas, informed Willis. “And I want to be working.”

  As Willis looked on, Meg signed in and began going through the checklist of things that all nurses have to do before beginning their shifts. As she and Nurse Jan Greer took inventory of drugs and instruments, word of Meg’s arrival quickly moved through the two-hundred-bed hospital. Within minutes, Heather had rushed to her side.

  “What are you doing here?” her coworker and best friend asked.

  “The count,” Meg’s replied, not bothering to look up.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Heather whispered, “I mean, it has only been . . .”

  “Heather, I know how long it’s been, and I know that I don’t want to be at home staring at his pictures or folding his clothes. If I’m here, at least I’ll have something else to think about. Now, I’m checking in and I’m going to my station. Thanks for your concern, but save it for the patients.”

  “But . . .”

  Meg cut Heather off with a wave of her hand coupled with a stern look. “For the last time, I’m fine, and I’ll see you later. Oh, and please don’t come checking on me every five minutes. I don’t need another mother. I have one that’s already driving me crazy with her ‘sage’ advice and deep concern.”

  Meg had vowed to treat this as just another day. It had to be just like any other Monday. Thus she had taken extra care to insure she looked her best, adding layers of makeup to cover up the dark circles, though she couldn’t do much about the redness in her eyes. With her game face on and her emotions under control, she appeared strong and alert. In fact, she was sure she looked normal. But that normalcy was only skin-deep. Beneath the calm exterior was a driven woman, a woman who couldn’t wait for her first break in order to call the district attorney and finally discover the name of her husband’s murderer. And that was the real reason for her coming to work. Waiting had driven her crazy all through the night. Being at work gave her something to do to pass the time until the district attorney’s office opened.

  She’d memorized the number the ni
ght before. In fact, she had practiced dialing it a few hundred times. Now, her fingers could fly over the keys in a pattern as familiar as stepping from her apartment’s front door to her car. At nine, she slipped into a storage room and put her practice into play. As the call went through, she jammed the device to her ear. One ring, two, and the third! Finally, on the fourth ring a matronly sounding woman answered, “District Attorney’s office.”

  After attempting to clear the tightness from her voice, Meg anxiously asked, “May I speak to Mr. Jones?”

  “I’m sorry. He’s out of town today. May I help you?”

  No! He can’t be out of town. She didn’t wait all night to but put off for another day or more. He has business here in Springfield. And it is very important business, too. This simply wasn’t right.

  “Excuse me,” the voice came back on the line, “is there something I can do for you?”

  Meg took a deep breath, hoping it would cover her disappointment, and replied, “I hope so. My name is Meg Richards. My husband was killed . . .” Before she could continue, the woman broke in.

  “I’m so sorry about your husband, Mrs. Richards,” the woman responded, sounding genuinely sincere. “My heart goes out to you.”

  “Thank you,” Meg replied, “but I called to find out the name of the person driving the other car. You see, the papers didn’t print that information, and I feel that . . . well, what I’m trying to say is that . . .” Pausing for a second, attempting to relieve the pressure she felt in both her throat and aching heart, Meg searched for the proper words. Not finding them, she took a deep breath and blurted out, “I just want to know who he is!”

  The line was so quiet for about ten seconds that Meg thought she’d dropped the call, but then the woman’s kind voice came back, “I can understand that, Mrs. Richards. If I were you, I think I would want to know, too. But you see, I can’t tell you his name at this time. No matter how much I want to or how unfair it seems, I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?” Meg demanded. “He killed my husband. I have a right to know who he is. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

  Endless seconds crept by with no response. Finally, the voice came back on the line.

  “Mrs. Richards, I can’t tell you because of the boy’s age. He’s a minor, and in order to protect his rights, we are not allowed by law to release any information about him at this time. I’m sure, if this is any comfort to you, that you’ll find out his identity in time. But we have to go by specific rules of law and we can’t break that process. As unfair as it may seem to you, that is the way it works.”

  Tears began to fall from her eyes and run down Meg’s face. Her frustration and grief surfaced just as they had when she had run into a brick wall of noninformation on Sunday. As she glanced out of the storage room, she noticed Heather walking down the hall. Not wanting her friend to see her out of control, she closed the door and pleaded into the phone, “I have rights, too. Why does the killer get all the protection and I get none?”

  “I know it must seem that way now, Mrs. Richards, but if you will be patient—”

  Meg snapped, “I’m the one who lost it all, not him. I’m the one who lives by the law, not him. You’re supposed to serve me!”

  “You’re right,” the woman answered, “but my hands are tied, and I can’t do anything about it. Perhaps you can call back on Thursday. Mr. Jones will be back then, and well, maybe he can tell you something.”

  “Thursday?” Meg barked. “You expect me to wait until Thursday?”

  “Mrs. Richards, my name is Jo Blount. If there’s anything I can do for you in the meantime, please give me a call and let me know!”

  “Mrs. Blount,” Meg shot back, “it’s obvious that there’s nothing you can do for me. It seems that there is nothing anyone can or will do for me.”

  l0

  AN ENRAGED MEG JAMMED THE CELL PHONE BACK INTO HER POCKET, stormed out of the room, and marched down the hall to the break room. Before walking in, she dried her tears and straightened her hair.

  “Did I see you on the phone?” Heather asked. “Who were you talking to?”

  “It wasn’t you, so what difference does it make?” Meg answered much too harshly.

  Heather’s eyes never left her as Meg dropped seventy-five cents in a machine, hit a button, and watched a Coke fall out. She likely was shocked by the tone in Meg’s voice and her sarcastic response. As Meg considered what must have been going through her friend’s mind, she almost apologized. Heather didn’t deserve to be treated in that fashion. Maybe Meg should explain her frustration, but that would display a weakness she couldn’t show, at least not yet. So rather than say anything, she popped the top on the can and took a sip.

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” Heather said as she took a seat beside Meg. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” Meg replied, “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

  Poor Heather, she was trying so hard to understand and she couldn’t.

  “Maybe it’s good your back,” Heather said.

  “Why?” Meg asked.

  “Because everyone has been asking about you. You’re the perfect nurse, not only because you know our business but because you make people feel better by simply being with them. Even today they are asking about you and asking for you.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, Meg, I’m not saying this will make you feel better, but none of us measure up to you. You have always been the heart of this staff.”

  “I doubt that,” Meg replied. “I’m not sure my heart is even beating anymore.”

  “Things will get better,” Heather assured her.

  “Not so sure about that.” Meg took a sip of the soft drink before adding, “Heather, you’ve never been married and you’ve never lost anyone close to you. So don’t judge me now and don’t expect me to be like I used to be. I don’t think I will ever be that way again. I hope you’ll accept that and not try to find a way to change it.”

  Heather nodded but didn’t respond. She probably didn’t have the words to answer. Who did?

  As both nurses sat silent, not talking or looking at each other, a young, tall doctor wearing a green coat walked in. Looking up, Heather responded first. “Hi, Paul, want a cup of coffee?”

  “No thanks, Heather. I didn’t come here to flirt or drink this time; I came here to beg! What I really need is for someone to find some records for me. I’m treating a man admitted and released by the swing physician covering the emergency room on Saturday night. You see, because the guy was simply treated and released, no one expected him to need anything else. Well, he came back in this morning and naturally, he can’t remember what medicine was prescribed. I’ve got to know. So I checked with records and found his report hadn’t been loaded into the system yet. It seems that everything was down this weekend due to the storms we had last week. We actually went back to using paper on everything. So until they get things fixed and uploaded so I can see it on my iPad, I’m lost.”

  Heather nodded. “I’ve got the same issue. I guess we’re just spoiled. We think we can make a couple of taps and everything will leap into view. Looking through paper files is a headache.”

  “I’m not a filing wizard,” the doctor explained. “You should see me try to get organized when I do taxes. If it’s not on the computer, then I’m lost. And I don’t want to mill through the papers that were filled out in the emergency room for the next hour in order to get this guy out of my hair. No one down there seems to have time right now, so could you possibly help?”

  Putting her coffee down, Heather got up, but before she could say anything, Meg cut her off. “Heather, you just sit down. You do all the dirty jobs around here and it’s time some of us took up some of the slack. You’ve got another ten minutes left on your break and you’ve barely started your coffee. You finish it, and Paul, you have some, too. By the time you all are finished, I’ll have the records for you.”

  Pulling a notepad out of a table drawer, Meg looked at the doctor, “Okay. Now, you s
aid Saturday night?”

  “Actually,” the doctor replied as he took a seat. “He came in about two on Sunday morning. At least, that’s what he says. His name is . . .” Before finishing he glanced down at a clipboard he had just set on the table, “Joe Messa.”

  Writing the name and the time, Meg looked up and smiled. “You and Heather enjoy yourselves and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Meg,” Heather interrupted, “are you sure you don’t want me to do that?”

  “No, Heather, I need to keep busy. Oh, by the way, if the records are in a big mess and it does take me a little longer than I expect, will you cover for me until I get back?”

  “Sure,” Heather assured her.

  “Don’t worry, Paul,” Meg explained, “I’ll get this information to you just as soon as I can.”

  Meg stopped just outside the door to study her notes. As she did, she overheard the doctor and nurse speaking inside the room.

  “She seems to be doing pretty well.”

  “I can’t tell.” Heather’s response was sincere and her tone showed real signs of concern. That was just like her. She was everyone’s mother hen. “Paul, she seems a little bitter and a bit harsh to me, but I guess that’s normal. She’s probably just trying too hard to be efficient and not admitting how much she hurts.”

  The doctor agreed. “I know she’s a strong woman, but I’m surprised she came back to work so soon. By the way, I don’t mean to change the subject, but you sure do look good today. I couldn’t help but note . . .”

  That was Paul, always on the make, especially with Heather. Nothing detracted him for very long. Well, at least, Heather and Paul seemed to believe in her strength. That was enough for Meg at this moment. The last thing she wanted was to look weak.

  Having something but Steve’s death to think about put a special kind energy in her step and she quickly made her way to the emergency room. Thankfully, one of her mother’s oldest friends was working in the ER.