Chapter 24
24
Caroline
The setting sun didn’t even have the decency to offer a pretty glow as it peered through the slats of my office blinds, casting striped shadows that felt all too much like prison bars. I was trying to focus on the patient charts stacked on my desk, but my mind was a jumbled mess of sentences I couldn’t finish and diagnoses that wouldn’t come.
“Caroline?” Lisa’s voice, normally a beacon of cheer in our small clinic, pierced through the fog of my concentration. Her footsteps approached, soft but insistent. “You’ve been staring at Mr. Henderson’s chart for a solid ten minutes without turning a page.”
I blinked, noticing the lines of ink blurring before my eyes, and gave her a weak smile that I hoped would pass for reassurance.
“Sorry, just . . . got lost in thought, I guess,” I mumbled.
Lisa leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, her perceptive gaze searching my face. She’d always been more than just an assistant; she was a friend, one who could read me as easily as those medical journals I pretended to understand this morning .
“Lost in thoughts of a certain cowboy?” The gentle tease didn’t quite reach her eyes, which were clouded with concern.
“Something like that,” I admitted, dropping the chart onto the desk with a sigh. I could feel the tears welling up again, threatening to escape, no matter how hard I tried to dam them back.
“Hey,” Lisa stepped closer, her voice softer now. “It’s okay not to be okay, you know? You don’t have to put on a brave face for me.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting the wobble in my chin. It was one thing to fall apart in the privacy of my own home, surrounded by familiar comforts. It was another to break down in front of Lisa, here, where I was supposed to be the pillar of strength and healing.
“Things with Walker are over,” I finally let out in a barely audible whisper, a confession that seemed to suck the remaining warmth from the room. “And it hurts . . . more than I expected.”
“Ah, honey.” Lisa moved to my side, her arm wrapping around my shoulders in a gesture so maternal it made my heart ache for simpler times. “He’s a fool if he doesn’t see what he’s losing. But right now, it’s about you picking up the pieces and remembering the strong, capable woman you are.”
I couldn’t blame Walker though. It was all my fault. My fault for falling in love with a man who didn’t want love . . . something I’d known in the first place.
“Thanks, Lisa.” My words were choked, barely squeezing past the lump in my throat. “I appreciate you being here.”
“Always,” she said firmly, giving my shoulders a squeeze before stepping back. “Now, you’ve already gotten through today. Why don’t you hold off on that work until tomorrow? Go home and take a bath and get lost in a book.”
“That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day,” I said with a teary laugh. “But I really should try to get through a few of these so they don’t pile up.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, you go on home. I won’t stay much longer.”
“Alright, honey. Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” I said, watching her leave.
I settled into the rhythm of paperwork, flipping through charts with ease. Maybe I’d just needed to say the words aloud and get out some tears to get my focus back. The numbers and notes were now a balm to the chaos of emotions swirling inside me. Blood pressures, heart rates, prescriptions—there was comfort in their predictability.
My watch ticked away the minutes, turning them into an hour without me even noticing. I could almost pretend that my world was limited to antiseptics and antibiotics, that hearts only broke due to age or illness, not because of stubborn cowboys with stormy blue eyes and an inability to commit.
A frantic knock shattered my illusion, jolting me up from my chair. The urgency behind the sound clawed at my insides, setting off alarms in my mind. This wasn’t a polite tap of a patient who’d forgotten something; this was raw, panicked, demanding immediate attention.
“Caroline! Please!” The voice was strained, laced with fear and desperation. I recognized the voice immediately—Lily. I hurried down the hall to the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like a thoroughbred on race day, bracing myself for whatever lay on the other side.
I swung the door open, and the sight of Lily nearly buckled my knees. Her pink shirt was smeared with dirt and grime. She leaned against the railing but as she stepped forward toward the door, I saw her pained limp as she clutched at the frame for support. But it was the bruise, dark and angry like a storm cloud, swelling around her eye that drew a gasp from me.
“Lily, what on earth happened to you?” I reached out, guiding her gently by the elbow as she stumbled into the sanctuary of the clinic.
“Caroline, I—I just . . . it was Jim. He went crazy again.” Her voice broke into a sob. The tears on her cheeks were the remnants of terror. “Lock the door. Please!”
“Shh, it’s okay,” I cooed, my own fears tucked away behind a mask of calm professionalism. I turned the deadbolt and with an arm wrapped protectively around Lily’s waist, steered her toward the back room, as far from the entrance as possible.
“Here we go, just a few more steps.” The words spilled from my lips in a soft, even tone—a contrast to the thundering of my pulse.
We made it to the back room, and I helped Lily onto the examination table, her body trembling like a leaf in a prairie storm. The small space, usually so clinical, felt like a fortress now, and I was its unexpected commander.
A banging sounded on the front door again, this time heavy and full of rage.
“He’ll break in. He’ll do anything to get in here. I’m sorry I came here, I just saw the light on and didn’t know where else to go,” she said in between sobs.
“It’s okay, Lily. You’re safe now, I promise,” I said, my voice steady though my hands betrayed a slight tremor. There was no medical school course on fortifying exam rooms against danger, but right then, I wished there had been.
Lily nodded, her eyes wide and trusting. I draped a blanket over her shoulders, the quilted fabric a poor substitute for armor, yet offering some comfort all the same.
I locked the exam room door. The only moveable furniture was a flimsy chair, but it was better than nothing, so I moved it to rest under the doorknob.
“Thank you, Caroline,” she whispered, her voice a threadbare quilt of gratitude and pain.
“Of course,” I replied, forcing a smile as I prepared to shield her with every ounce of my will. Lily was my patient and I’d do whatever it took to protect her.
The relentless pounding on the door echoed through the small back room, each thud a sledgehammer against my composure. Jim’s voice, thick with rage, sliced through the wood and plaster like a hot knife. “Lily! You come out here right now!”
I pressed my back against the cold wall, trying to become as small and inconspicuous as possible. My heart raced, galloping like a wild mustang across the plains of panic.
“Do you have your phone?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “He busted it earlier when I tried to leave. Stomped right on it.”
What a fucking peach, this Jim was.
“Okay, neither do I. Someone has to hear him, though right? I mean, it’s a quiet time of night, but someone has to notice him being a lunatic outside the doctor’s office and call the police?”
Lily shrugged. I actually wasn’t all that confident either.
“Caroline,” Lily whimpered, her eyes darting toward the door, “he’s not gonna stop.”
“Shh, it’s alright,” I lied, the taste of false reassurance bitter on my tongue. But even as I whispered comfort, my mind was a cyclone of frenzied thoughts. We needed help. Now.
“My watch!”
“Huh?”
I pulled my wrist up to look at the new smart watch my dad had given me when I took over. I had yet to use it for a single thing other than telling time and tracking my daily steps. But it could theoretically make calls. I hoped.
Fumbling with trembling fingers, I swiped at the screen, searching for the tiny microphone icon that suddenly seemed smaller than a needle in a haystack. “Call 911,” I commanded, my voice a strained whisper, hopeful the device would pick up on my urgency.
But instead of the reassuring tone of a dispatcher, silence greeted me. The signal bars taunted me with their absence, a stark reminder that technology had its limits, especially in Whittier, where the past often clung tighter than the present. The lone cell tower was clear on the other side of town.
“Come on,” I urged, tapping the watch face as if I could will it to connect. “This building gets the worst signal.”
Outside, Jim’s tirade continued, an ominous soundtrack to our desperation. “Don’t make me break this door down, Lily!”
“Stay quiet,” I told Lily, more firmly this time, as I fought the rising tide of panic. “I’m going to get us help, I promise.”
“Please hurry,” she breathed, her eyes reflecting the terror we both felt.
“Help is coming,” I assured her, though my confidence was faltering faster than a tumbleweed in a storm. I just hoped that somehow, someway, help would indeed arrive before those fists found their way through the door.
I tapped the call button, but once again, nothing happened. I couldn’t just give up. I had to try something else. Maybe a text would go through. Some big cities allowed you to text 911 but Whittier Falls was a long way off from that.
I swiped through the options, finding the message button and tapping it. I typed out a simple message I knew would do the trick and pressed send, hoping it would go through .
“Come on, signal. Don’t fail me now,” I urged under my breath.
The message seemed to hang in limbo before the word ‘Sent’ confirmed its departure. A tiny victory, but it was all we had.
“Done,” I said, allowing myself a hint of relief.
A sudden silence filled the air, heavy and foreboding. I held my breath, counting the heartbeats, wondering if Jim had finally retreated or if this was just the eye of the storm.
No sense in wasting time, I faced Lily and examined her eye, my fingers lightly tracing the contour of her cheekbone, assessing the damage. The black eye was swelling quickly, a dark testament to Jim’s rage.
“Okay, Lily,” I murmured, keeping my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. My hands were steady too—years of training had seen to that—but my heart thumped wildly against my chest. “I don’t think you have a fracture, but the bruising is intense.”
The limp she’d come in with worried me, too. “Can you move your leg for me?” I asked, trying not to show the concern etched deep within.
“A little,” she winced, her breath hitching as she tried to adjust.
“Easy does it,” I soothed, placing my hands on her lower leg with practiced care. The moment I tried to test the joint, she yelped in pain and I felt it. Tibial fracture.
A new round of furious pounding jolted us, the sound echoing off the walls like a drumbeat of impending doom. Jim’s voice, muffled by walls between us, was a snarl of anger and frustration. Each bang of his fist against the door felt like a sledgehammer to my resolve.
“Stay away from us, Jim!” I yelled back, more to keep my own fear at bay than to deter him. “The police are coming! ”
That was a bluff, of course. With my watch hidden under the folds of my sleeve and the signal absent, our lifeline was thinner than a strand of barbed wire. I hadn’t received a reply. I just had to hope that help was coming.
“Caroline, I’m scared,” Lily whispered, clutching at the hem of her shirt, her eyes wide like a doe caught in the headlights on Route 29.
“Hey, look at me,” I said, cupping her cheek with a hand that I prayed didn’t tremble. “I’m right here with you, and I’m not going anywhere. Help is on the way and Jim will answer for what he’s done.”
In that confined space, the pounding was a relentless reminder of the threat lurking just beyond. It was as though Jim’s fists were trying to drum into us that there was no escape, no reprieve. But I wasn’t about to let him win, not today, not ever.
I couldn’t do much for her leg with what I had here except make a simple splint. Having something to do, something that came so automatic to me, helped me to stay calm.
“Caroline, you okay?” Lily’s voice was a whisper, barely audible over Jim’s rage outside.
“I’m fine,” I lied, the words automatic. The truth was a tangled mess of anxiety and resolve. My hands, which could stitch a wound with precision, finally succumbed to shaking in fear. My mouth, usually full of medical jargon and reassurance, felt dry and empty.
I tried to focus on the solid facts, the things I knew: Lily needed me. Help would come eventually. And yet, the doubts swirled like dust devils in my mind—what if Walker didn’t get the message? What if he was too far away? What if?—
I closed my eyes for a moment, attempting to steady my breathing.
“Caroline . . . ” Lily’s grip on my hand tightened, pulling me back from the precipice of panic. Her touch was a lifeline, grounding me in the present, in the duty that lay before me.
“Right here, Lily,” I said, forcing confidence into my voice.
A lull in the banging jolted me, and for a fraction of a second, hope surged. Maybe Jim had given up? But then, another violent strike against the door splintered that hope as quickly as it had appeared.
The door frame buckled with a bone-jarring thud, the heavy sound reverberating through the small back room like a warning bell. My breath hitched, and I could feel Lily’s trembling form pressed against mine. We were cornered, the thin veneer of safety splintering with each strike from the other side.
I turned off the light, encasing us in darkness.
“Caroline, what do we do now?” Lily’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of our dire situation.
“Shh, just stay quiet,” I said, my own voice steadier than I felt. The responsibility to keep us safe weighed down on me, as tangible as the stethoscope usually slung around my neck. My father had handed me his legacy within these clinic walls, not just to heal, but to protect. And I’d be damned if I didn’t live up to that.
A crash against the door sent splinters flying, and I flinched, feeling a sharp sting on my cheek. Panic clawed at my insides, dark and unyielding, but I shoved it back down, forcing myself to focus. This was no time for fear. This was a time for action—for doing whatever it took to ensure Lily and I made it out of this.
“Jim, please!” Lily’s plea broke through the tension, her words laced with desperation. “Stop!”
But the only answer was silence—thick, heavy, the kind that filled your ears and set your heart racing. It was worse than the pounding, the absence of noise somehow more threatening, suggesting Jim was concocting some new plan to get to us .
“Is he gone?” Lily’s question hung in the air, a fragile hope that I didn’t dare touch.
I strained my ears, listening for any sign of movement, any hint of what might come next. But there was nothing, just the sound of our uneven breathing.
“Stay back,” I instructed in a whisper, inching towards the door, ready to face whatever awaited us. My fingers found the cool metal of a scalpel tucked away in my pocket—a poor excuse for a weapon, but it was all I had.
As I strained to listen for any movement, ready to confront whatever was on the other side, every memory of the place I called home rushed through me—the rolling hills, the smell of fresh hay, the comforting solidarity of community—and how fiercely I wanted to preserve it all, to fight for it.
Then, out of the silence, a subtle click echoed, chillingly close. And then, the gunshot.