Chapter 28
SELENA
Everything hurts. My body is heavy, and it's hard to keep my head up, so I leave it resting against the metal wall. It’s sweltering, and what little liquid is left in my system drips out in beads of sweat that randomly drop from my body.
We’ve stopped again, and I wonder what time it is.
We must be near Iowa. The back doors fly open, and I’m assaulted by the brightness of the sun.
I can’t talk anymore and actually can’t move.
“Finally, you’re awake. You slept all night and most of the day. That is not going to be acceptable, Selena. You have to do better.”
I just stare into nothing. My body is limp, my lips are dry, and my arm goes hot and cold. I’m shivering, but I can’t stop. It’s not cold, but my body shakes.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Doctor,” I move my lips, but barely any sound comes out. “Dying.” I’m able to get some power behind the word. “I’m dy…” I need to throw up again, but I can’t stop shaking.
“Fuck.” Landon backs up, and the doors close.
The van is moving again, and I’m shaking violently. We stop again, and I hear a siren, but I’m too busy convulsing to think about how to get their attention. I’m losing feeling, I’m losing sight. I’m dying?
Suddenly, the doors open again. The lights are blinding. Landon is carrying me out of the van.
“My wife was asleep and woke up like this.”
I’m in a hospital; he took me to a hospital.
“How long has she been in this condition?” someone asks. “Where is all this blood coming from?”
“I accidentally shot her...” He sounds really scared.
Over the loudspeaker, I hear, “Code Sepsis. ER, Code Sepsis.” Then there’s frantic movement, and someone lifts me out of Landon’s arms.
“How was your wife shot?”
“I was cleaning out an old rifle, and it went off.”
Someone moves me to a bed with warm, clean sheets that smell like Clorox. I say softly, “Call Beckett, he’s a doctor, he cured cancer…” My words are slurred, and then I fade out.
When I wake up, I’m in a dark hospital room. There is an oxygen mask over my face, I’m hooked up to tubes, and a soft beeping keeps me company. I feel a little better, but very weak. A nurse walks in and looks surprised. She speaks into a microphone on her shoulder.
“Jane Doe is conscious.”
Jane Doe?
“Hi there. I’m Amelia. I’m your nurse. Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital.”
“Good. Can I have your name, darlin'?” She sounds so sweet and kind.
“Selena.” My voice is dry, and it hurts my throat to speak.
“Selena, very pretty name. Can I have your last name?”
For some reason, this is harder. What is my last name? I don’t say anything at first.
“Struggling with that one? Okay, can you tell me about the diamonds you had on?”
“Diamonds?” I had diamonds. Why was I wearing diamonds? The strain of thinking, of trying to remember has the room spinning; it’s too much. My eyes lose focus.
“The police want to ask you some questions.” The nurse's voice is still kind, still warm. She checks my vitals as I drift in and out.
“Calloway,” I say softly, before I can’t think. I’m hot again, and I don’t feel well.
The nurse goes for her radio again. "The patient in 491A has a high-grade fever, her pulse is weak, and her blood pressure is crashing," she says with urgency. “Get the attending in here STAT and call surgery, we have to postpone the operation…”
…is all I hear before I slip away again.
When I wake up, there are two armed police officers at my door, and they are talking to one another as if I’m not in the room.
“Who the hell shoots a half-naked woman wearing a million dollars' worth of jewelry?” one of the officers says in a whisper.
“Likely, he shot her to get the diamonds, but who did she steal them from? That’s what I want to know,” says the other.
“Diamonds like that? We’re talking major felony, jewelry store heist-level. They are looking at doing some serious time.”
“Apparently, she’s been in that condition for days, and he didn’t call for help.”
Another officer approaches, speaking quietly. “We ran the serials on the jewelry. They’re real. Traced to a high-end Manhattan jeweler, and were rented three days ago by a… Griffin Calloway.”
“The Griffin Calloway? He’s the lawyer who negotiated the ‘Sale of Manhattan’ to the real estate magnet Marcel Trudeau?” the first police officer says. “That guy owns the condo we were renting. We had to move here so we could buy something affordable after he hiked the rents.”
“I didn’t know you lived in New York City?” The second police officer says. “Joliet’s gotta be a helluva adjustment.”
“The wife loves Indiana, so we’re good. She has family here.” The cop shrugs his shoulders.
The nice nurse returns. “Did you say Calloway?”
My heart races hearing Griffin’s last name… my last name.
“Yes, Griffin Calloway rented the diamonds our Jane Doe was wearing when she came in.”
“She’s not a Jane Doe, Detective; she’s Griffin Calloway’s wife. We just matched her blood to hospital records. She’s also pregnant. The man you have in custody shot and kidnapped her.”
“If we can confirm her identity,” the detective says, “I’ll process our perp. Right now, he’s giving a bullshit story about cleaning his rifle and her borrowing the diamonds from a friend for some party they attended.” There's a note of triumph in his tone. He and the other officers leave.
The nurse comes in and wraps a blood pressure sleeve around my arm. I look at her, but I still really don’t have much energy to speak.
“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly.
I just shake my head and frown.
“You’ve been through a lot, my dear. Septic shock is very dangerous; we almost lost you. The doctor will be in shortly to explain what’s happening.” Her smile is wide and kind; she has a shock of red hair and it’s cut at an odd angle, but all I really see is her bright, beautiful face.
I must doze off for a while because I wake up to a booming voice and open my eyes to find a man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and dark eyes staring at me.
Though he looks nothing like Griffin, his authoritative presence and maturity remind me of him, and I’m hit with a wave of sadness.
“Mrs. Calloway, I’m Dr. Patel. We need to take you in for surgery to clean up your shoulder. First, I need you to confirm your name for me, please.” His voice is rushed and clipped, yet he has a calm, powerful demeanor.
“Selena Calloway,” I say.
Though I won’t be Selena Calloway for long.
“Thank you.” He writes something in his notes.
“The baby?” I’m able to rasp out.
“We’ll check on that. I need you to continue to rest. We’ll perform the surgery and keep you here for a few days to monitor your recovery. We’ve notified your husband. Do you want to speak to him before we take you back?”
Griffin? Did he want to talk to me?