Chapter 11 #2
Crossing to the window, she curled up in a blue vinyl recliner and placed the tray on the table beside her.
She was wrong to have said what she did, wrong to have slapped him.
Her temper was fiery and explosive, often getting the better of her, but it was nothing compared to the remorse that typically followed.
Becky was a pro at apologizing.
The room was overly warm, hot and stuffy, a view of twilit Boston visible from the tall window next to her chair. She reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved a ponytail holder, quickly snapping her wild red locks into a loose bunch on top of her head to help her cool down.
She stared at the John Hancock building, her mind quiet. In the reflection of the hospital room, she saw Hank sit up and gently stroke Julie’s arm from shoulder to wrist.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” said Becky, turning to face him.
“I was awake.”
She noted the dark circles under his eyes. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“Night before last.”
“Gwen, too?”
He nodded.
“You can sleep at my house.”
He looked at Julie, and Becky suspected he would not leave.
“Hank, I’m sorry.”
He held up his hand. “Don’t be. You were right.”
“I’m sure you did the best you could.” She reached for the tray. “I brought you something to eat.”
His eyes took in the veritable buffet. “Just a little something?”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”
“I could really go for a milkshake.”
Becky’s eyes went wide.
“I told you I wasn’t sleeping.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How’d you know it was a milkshake?”
“I can smell ice cream from forty paces.”
“Harrumph.”
Gwen walked in, her normally graceful posture now rounded and lax. “I spoke with the doctor.”
“And?” said Becky.
“He says the next twelve hours are critical, but she seems to be holding her own.”
“Thank God,” said Hank.
“I need some sleep,” said Gwen.
“You can sleep at my place. I was just telling Hank.”
“I’ll take the first watch,” he said. “Go get some rest.”
“Thank you, Hank. Ever since I lost David…” her voice trailed off and she grimaced, looking at the floor. “Hospitals are difficult. But I’ll be back.”
Julie felt like she was swimming in thick water, unable to surface. She drifted in and out of consciousness as she paddled, her haze interrupted by vivid dreams and less tangible oddities from the world around her hospital bed.
She saw her mother standing in a field of tall grass, at once laughing and beckoning for her to come and play. At one point she could feel the hospital bed beneath her own still body and smell Gwen’s favorite chicken soup, as if the woman were sitting beside her.
And there was Hank.
He wasn’t with her in the water, but she could feel him somewhere near the water’s edge. He wanted her to come out, but she didn’t know how.
As she let herself drift in the current, she could smell his special scent and wished she could follow it. She could hear his voice.
“Please come back to me.”
The love she felt for him swelled in her heart, making her buoyant in the water. She tried to move closer to him, deliberately pushing at the thickness around her with limbs that were tired and heavy. The water began to thin, becoming less fluid and feather-light, like a cool breeze.
She became conscious of her body, her closed eyelids. She worked to open them. The room was bright, sunlight streaming through the window onto the white sheets around her.
Hank held her hand, his unfocused gaze not realizing she was awake. She wanted to tell him, but speech was too hard.
This was a hospital room. Was she in an accident? She tried to remember what happened. An image of Gwen’s stricken face emerged in her mind, and she saw herself fall to the ground.
Gunshots. There had been gunshots.
My father tried to kill me.
Panic had her suddenly jerking her arms up, her head moving from side to side.
Hank was there, touching her face. “It’s okay, Julie. You’re all right.”
“My father?” she asked, her voice a dry rasp.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Shot me.”
“Yes. He shot you. The bullets punctured your lung, severed an artery. You’re going to be okay.”
“Where is he?”
Hank grimaced. “He got away.” The terrified look on her face bored straight to his heart. “You’re safe now, Julie. I promise. I won’t let him get close to you again.”
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Her own father had shot her with a gun, hoping she would stop living. The enormity of the thought defied comprehension. Looking back into Hank’s eyes, she saw they were glistening and full of emotion.
“I let you down. I’m so sorry, Julie.”
Julie shook her head as she reached up to stroke his cheek. “Not your fault.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, Hank.” Forgiveness filled her eyes. “His fault.”
He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. “I love you, Julie.” He looked into her eyes. “I knew it before, but I didn’t say anything and I almost lost you. I’m not going to lose you again, and I’m not going to go another day without telling you how I feel.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
Thomas Barstow stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor and entered the ICU. He was dressed in khakis and a white polo shirt, an unremarkable choice. He met the eyes of no one as he strolled comfortably through the corridor and slipped into Julie Trueblood’s room.
Two hours earlier, he called the front desk from a hospital courtesy phone and got her room number, then he waited in the lobby until he saw Hank leave the building.
He was virtually invisible.
It was always unfortunate when a situation required him to act directly. Whenever possible, he preferred to have others take care of the messier parts of his job. Still, the young soldier in him thrilled at the squeeze of adrenaline, the covert performance he was enacting on a live stage.
She was sleeping, and he took a moment to admire her simple beauty, so much like her mother’s.
It was ironic that her end would be at his hands, just as Mary’s had been.
Mrs. McDowell had been mere months away from death when he killed her, the cancer’s havoc near complete when he learned she intended to name him in a lawsuit about the ionizing radiation at the worksite.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Barstow walked to the head of the bed and examined the IV lines that entered the back of her hand, reaching into his pocket for the small glass vial and syringe.
“Hi.”
The voice behind him made him drop the drug back against the lining of his pants. He turned to see a lanky redhead holding a cafeteria tray laden with desserts. He donned his warmest smile, the grandfatherly tone. “Hello there.”
Becky stepped forward and put the tray down, eyeing him warily. “Who are you?”
He had only a moment to consider the question. “Tom Barstow,” he said, offering his hand.
“Becky O’Connor.” She scowled at him. “How do you know Julie?”
“I don’t, actually. I’m Hank Jared’s commanding officer.” He carefully smoothed his features into an expression that exuded authority and trustworthiness, watching as she visibly relaxed in response.
They always do.
She picked up a macaroon. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak with Ms. Trueblood about what happened. I heard she’s regained consciousness.”
“Yes, but she’s very tired.”
“Of course. I wish it could wait, but with her father out there somewhere it’s important that I speak with her as soon as possible.”
Becky nodded. “Do you want me to wake her for you?”
“That would be good. Thank you.”
Becky leaned in and touched Julie’s arm. “Wake up, Jules. Someone’s here to speak to you.”
Barstow watched as she slowly opened her eyes.
“Hank?”
“Hank went back to my place to sleep for a while. This man needs to talk to you about what happened.”
He forced the breath in and out of his lungs despite his desire to hold it. Julie turned her eyes to his. As soon as they connected with his own, he knew he had made the wrong decision.
Julie Trueblood recognized him, and the last time he’d introduced himself, it was as someone else entirely.