by Mark Ayre
"I understand you'll never stop grieving your wife," said Abbie. "I know because, like Ana, I lost my sister. That was a decade ago, and it still hurts every day, so, yes, you will always hurt. But you must hold onto the truth that this is not your fault. You and Leilani made this decision together. The only people responsible for what happened are the people who killed her. You'll grieve, but you must hold on to the knowledge that you are not to blame."
Abbie's speech got the tears going again, and Ndidi was drying his eyes once more as she stopped. He forced himself to look from the carpet to the three women in the room.
"Maybe I'm not to blame for her death," he said. "But how ashamed would she be if she could see how I've behaved since? She risked everything and paid the ultimate price in her attempts to lock up corrupt officers. Hammond, at least, is dead, but I'm working with the other three. And that isn't the worst of it. At least I'm doing that to save Isabella. I was meant to be a good cop. I was supposed to be beyond reproach."
Now he pressed his forehead into his palm and twisted his hand as though trying to wear away skin and skull. Abbie supposed he had a guilt headache, and he was trying to force it out.
Ana and Christine looked confused.
"You attacked Gary," said Abbie, "then allowed Evans and Franks to talk you into making him give a false witness statement. You didn't know about Isabella then. You were acting only out of self-preservation. Even if you did it for fear Isabella would have to grow up with her mother gone and her father in prison.”
Ndidi nodded. "Attacking the boy was bad enough. Inexcusable. But forcing him to bear false witness was worse. I may not have taken any cash, but I did accept a bribe. Force Gary to lie, and you'll avoid suspension or incarceration. That’s what they said. In agreeing, I became a corrupt cop."
Abbie rose, collecting Christine's glass from the floor.
"A moment of weakness," she said. "Write it off, forget it. Now’s not the time for any of us to wallow in self-pity but to find inner strength. You're worried your wife might not be proud of your actions since she disappeared, well do something that would make her proud. Do what you set out to do. Save your daughter."
She moved to the kitchen and offered another round of drinks.
"No booze, mind," she said. "Christine, this is the end of the road. We'll save Isabella, and you'll go home. You'll be honest with your boyfriend and your family about your drinking problem. You'll seek help. None of us need be defined by the mistakes we've made in the past. Doing the right thing today, saving Isabella, isn't about redemption. It's about making the right choice and making that right choice the first in a long chain of right choices. Over the years, we'll make more wrong ones, some crap decisions, but that's okay. We're only human, after all. What matters is making more good than bad. What matters is that, in the end, our pile of laudable actions so dwarves our pile of foul ones that the latter stack is invisible in the shadow of the former."
Having poured the drinks, Abbie brought them through and handed them out.
"Today, we forget our problems. Today, we have a single focus, and that focus is Isabella. Are we all agreed?"
Everyone agreed, then Abbie's phone began to ring. She hesitated before pulling it from her pocket.
"Sorry," she said. "Back in a moment."
Already feeling positive, Abbie turned into the kitchen and couldn't help but smile when she saw Bobby's number on screen. This went against her own battle cry, that Isabella was their only focus today, but she could not stop her finger from drifting towards the answer button.
A five-minute conversation. That's all Abbie would allow, and that couldn't hurt, could it?
She pressed answer. Put the phone to her ear.
"Hey, Bobby. Missed me, did you?"
"Hello? Is this Abbie?"
It wasn't Bobby. Abbie's stomach dropped.
"Speaking," she said. “What's going on?"
"My name is Doctor Taylor. You were listed as the emergency contact in Bobby's phone. I'm afraid I have some bad news."
Thirty-Three
"You have to go. There's no question."
Abbie was in the kitchen, her eyes closed tight, her phone still clutched in her hand.
"What did the doctor say, exactly? If he's stable, I mean..."
"Ana, you can't be serious."
Deep breaths. In and out. Anxiety crawled up and over Abbie like an army of insects. They were everywhere. The doctor's words were rattling around her mind, growing louder with each rotation as though trying to drown out Christine and Ana's argument.
"We've not even heard from Orion yet, and don't know when we will."
Severe smoke inhalation.
"I'm not saying she shouldn't go. I'm saying it's worth considering the situation."
Sedation. Bobby is on oxygen. We're taking good care of him.
"There's nothing to consider."
The prognosis is good, but nothing is certain.
"Well, it's her decision."
"No. It isn't."
Abbie opened her eyes. Until the last comment, the argument had been exclusively between Ana and Christine. They were standing in the small kitchen corner with Abbie. Ndidi had remained in the living room, seemingly staring into space on the sofa, taking nothing in.
"You can't tell her what to do," said Christine. "You can back right off, Ndidi."
"Detective Ndidi," he said. "And you don't know what I'm going to say, so why don't you back off?"
He had risen from the sofa and was standing at the edge of the kitchen portion of the room. After his comment to Christine, he turned back to Abbie, met her eye but spoke as though she was not there.
"I barely know Abbie, but with some people, isn't it obvious what kind of person they are and how they'll react in certain situations from the off?"
Christine and Ana were looking between Ndidi and Abbie. Both resisted the urge to talk.
"This Bobby situation is tearing you up. If you don't go to him, it'll destroy you. But you won't. You're fixated on doing the right thing, on saving Isabella. It doesn't matter we've not heard from Orion, and I've said I don't want your help anyway... you're going to tell yourself you have no choice. You've cast your lot, and you have to see the job of saving my daughter through to the end."
Taking a step forward, Ndidi continued to hold Abbie's eye. She was still clutching her phone tight. Although so far she had been caught on the doctor's words, on thoughts of how Bobby was, she knew Ndidi was right. Soon, her mind would try to push her concerns away; she would rationalise ways of ignoring Bobby's condition so she could continue with the job at hand. It didn't matter her house was a smouldering wreck, her boyfriend might die... how many times had she said the little girl was everything?
"You're not thinking straight," said Ndidi. "Therefore, you can’t be trusted to make a decision, so we'll make it for you. Three votes, majority rules. Does Abbie stay cooped up in this box of a flat or go to her boyfriend? I'll go first. She goes."
Christine's jaw dropped. She hadn't seen that coming and couldn't speak when Ndidi looked to her.
"You've already made your vote clear," he said, "which means Ana can remain in indecision. Her vote is unnecessary. Now that's sorted, I suggest you get going. Send Bobby our love."
Turning, Ndidi made his way back across the living room. As though connected to the detective by an invisible string, Abbie seemed to jerk from the counter and stumble after him. Before he could reach the sofa and sit, she grabbed his shoulder.
"I know you never wanted me around, but it's a mistake to push me away. Your daughter's chances of survival are much improved, having me on your side. Sorry if that sounds arrogant."
"It does sound arrogant," said Ndidi. "Although I'm loath to admit it, I think it's probably also true."
Shaking free of Abbie's arm, Ndidi took another step towards the sofa but didn't sit. He put a head in his hand then sighed.
"How quickly can you reach the hospital where Bobby's being treated?”<
br />
Abbie considered. "Assuming I don't get stopped for speeding? Little over an hour."
"I think I have the measure of you," said Ndidi, "but it's clear you don't have the measure of me. I'm not trying to get rid of you because I want to handle this situation alone. That was what I wanted, but the longer I spend with you, the more I believe you'd be an asset to rescuing Isabella. I pray when Orion calls, you can be involved in whatever we do next."
Christine and Ana reentered the room. Ndidi smiled at them, then returned to Abbie.
"I know what it's like to fall in love. Never again will I get to see my wife. While you may not be as in love with Bobby as I was with Leilani, I promise you do not want to live with the regret of not seeing your man if this could be the last time. So here's what I'm proposing. You get in your car, you speed up or down to the hospital and sit with your man, talk to your man. When the time feels right, you speed right back here where we'll still be waiting."
"Unless we aren't," muttered Ana. Ndidi pointed to her.
"Right, because Orion might call. But if he does, I'll call you. We'll discuss the situation and decide how best to proceed. As a group. As the Self-Loathing club should."
He raised his hand as though to place it on Abbie's shoulder, then dropped it. He looked at Christine.
"Abbie was right. I lashed out at you because I hated myself, but I shouldn't. I did the right thing, passing that information to anti-corruption, and Leilani gave her life doing the right thing as well. You may hate it, Christine, but you're doing the right thing, too." He turned back to Abbie. "Now, you do the right thing. Do right by Bobby, then do right by Isabella. You don't have to choose between the two, and I pray you won't. You can have both."
Abbie turned. Looked to Ana, who seemed to consider for a moment, then gave the smallest of nods. That was good enough for Abbie. She looked to Christine, who rushed forward and threw her arms around Abbie.
"Go get him."
Thirty-Four
By driving well over the limit most the way to the hospital, Abbie made the trip in only 67 minutes. It seemed to take longer than that to find a parking space. Once she had, she paid for the ticket and bolted into the building.
From the receptionist, after giving a fake name, Abbie learned where she could find Bobby. When she arrived, there was a nurse in the room. Abbie hovered nearby, her head bowed until the young man left, then she stepped inside.
It had occurred on her drive over the police would know by now whose house was rubble. They would have entered Abbie King into their system, and what messages would have appeared? Probably an arrest warrant. Something explaining Abbie was armed and dangerous, hobbies include assault and attempting to murder serving police officers.
Now they'd be looking for her; Bobby would be listed as a known associate.
So Abbie waited for the nurse to leave and ducked in when no one was watching.
The room looked like any intensive care hospital room in a non-private hospital. The bed was centred, back to the wall. It was a single, mounted on hydraulics. It looked less comfortable than the hallway floor where Abbie had slept a few hours ago, not that the bed's occupant would notice.
There was a heart-monitor beside the bed. The beat was steady, not too fast, not too slow. Next to the machine was an IV line and a couple of bits Abbie didn't recognise. There was a tube in Bobby's throat. Abbie didn't know much about smoke inhalation other than that it was the primary cause of death when it came to house fires. The doctor had said Bobby was on oxygen. The smoke had damaged his throat and lungs. The machine was breathing for him because Bobby wasn't up to the job for the time being.
There was a chair beside the bed. Abbie had closed the door upon entering but glanced back anyway. She could hear people moving outside, but she claimed the seat and scraped closer to the bed when no one entered.
Bobby looked peaceful. Other than the tube, looking above the neck, he might have been sleeping. His eyes were closed, and there were no burns. His hair looked messy, but so had it when Abbie left him in the middle of the night yesterday. Below the neck, a sheet and gown covered Bobby, but the doctor had told Abbie there was no severe external damage. If Bobby's insides recovered, there was no reason anyone would know he'd been in a fire. There might be a little scarring, but nothing more.
Leaning in, Abbie clasped one of Bobby's hands.
"What happened?" she whispered, although she knew he couldn't hear or answer. When he woke (she refused to use the word if), he would explain how the fire had started. It was probably an accident. Could it have been arson?
Abbie closed her eyes. Now was not the time to consider that, but it was impossible not to be dragged to the previous summer, her first brush with the Beckers. There had been a house fire then. A residence far larger than Abbie's had burned to the ground. A couple had been dragged out beneath sheets. The fire had reduced their adult bodies to skeletons and reduced the skeletons to the size of children.
But the Beckers hadn't been responsible for that fire, and there was no reason to believe they'd been responsible for this one. Orion didn't know who Abbie was, and even if he had, what was there to gain by burning down her house?
No. It wasn't the Beckers, so it wasn't relevant to Isabella. That meant Abbie had to disregard the cause for now. Had to push it away.
She also had to go.
"You're going to be okay," she said to Bobby. "I promise you will, and when you wake, I'll make this up to you. I lo... I can't wait to see you again."
Rising, she leaned over the unconscious Bobby. She placed a kiss on his forehead, and when she pulled away, she noticed something.
On the other side of the bed was a side table. On top of the table was a plastic bag.
Abbie's breath caught. Moving slowly away from Bobby, she made her way around the bed. Reaching the other side, she stretched for the bag with a trembling hand. From within, she pulled a bundle—something wrapped in soft fabric.
"The fire started in the dead of night."
Abbie jumped. Despite how worried she'd been about someone catching her, she hadn't heard the door open, nor the doctor walk in. Now she turned towards a woman with short grey hair and a long white coat. Doctor Taylor.
"The smoke alarm must have woken Bobby, and he was able to get outside. As you know, he suffered smoke damage but was lucky to avoid burns for the most part."
Doctor Taylor looked at the bundle in Abbie's hands.
"The advise when there's a fire in your home is to get out immediately, without stopping to take anything, but of course, people are seldom able to follow that advise. Rarely do we hear of someone escaping a house fire without at least one item of sentimental value."
Abbie unwrapped the soft fabric, which was a pillowcase, and slipped her hand inside.
"Escaping the house, Bobby collapsed on the lawn," said Taylor. "That was all he'd taken, and we weren't able to remove it from his grasp until he passed out. It must mean a great deal to him."
"Not him," said Abbie, removing her sister's battered copy of The Stand from the bag and holding it on her palm like a waiter's tray.
"Then it means a great deal to someone who means a great deal to Bobby," said the doctor. "You're Abbie King, I take it? The homeowner? We spoke on the phone.”
Abbie didn't know if Taylor had spoken to the police. If she had, had they warned her they were seeking Abbie in connection to an attempted murder? If they'd gone that far, had they also shown the doctor a picture of Abbie, in case this fugitive should show? All possible, but Abbie decided it was worth the risk.
"Abbie can't make it yet," she said, forcing herself to take her eyes from The Stand. "She sent me to check on Bobby. Has there been any updates since you phoned?"
Taylor seemed to consider Abbie, unsure whether to believe the story. At last, she answered, but Abbie wasn't convinced this meant she'd bought Abbie's lie.
"No. We're still positive Bobby will make a full recovery, but it's early days. Rest assured, he’s r
eceiving the best treatment. We’re doing everything we can to ensure Bobby will be okay." She pursed her lips and examined Abbie. "Will you stick around? You may not be Abbie, but I believe the police will still want to speak with you."
"Of course," said Abbie. "I'm not going anywhere."
Taylor examined Abbie for a few more seconds, then departed. She left Abbie with an uneasy feeling. A feeling that the doctor was heading to the nearest phone to call the police. To tell them someone was visiting the man who had been staying in Abbie King's home.
If she had to call. Perhaps the police were already in the hospital. They could be seconds away.
Abbie turned to Bobby. She wanted nothing more than to stay with him, but her time was up.
For weeks, she had been struggling with her feelings. Years spent avoiding romantic entanglement had left her stunted in that area. But didn't this say it all? In her hand, Abbie clutched her most precious item. An item she had been unable to let out of her sight until Bobby came along, but that wasn't the most astonishing thing. What was incredible was that Abbie had not once considered this precious remnant of her sister upon learning of her house burning down. She had thought only of Bobby.
Looking at the book's cover, she said, "I still love you, Vi."
But she wouldn't take the book. She re-wrapped The Stand in the pillowcase and placed the bundle beside Bobby, who had proven he would keep it safe. Not that anyone would take it.
The book sorted, Abbie kissed Bobby again, this time on the cheek.
"Stay safe. Come back to me."
She rose from his bedside. She lay a hand on his arm.
"I love you, Bobby."
Then she fled the room, rushed from the hospital, and started on her journey back to Christine’s flat, and the mission to save Isabella.
Abbie made the return journey in 66 minutes. When she pulled into the parking lot, she withdrew her phone and checked the screen. Had anyone messaged while she was on the road, she most likely would have felt it, but she couldn't be sure.
