In A Heartbeat (36 page)

He left the chapel and returned to Intensive Care. Angela’s mother sat alone in the waiting room, absently turning pages in a well-thumbed magazine.

“Where’s Stephen?” he asked.

“I sent him home to pick up a few things. We’re liable to be here awhile.”

“Has there been any—”

“No. No change.” She waved him off. “But that’s a good sign. Every moment a doctor doesn’t give us bad news is a good sign.” Stress and strain ringed her eyes, yet never touched her voice.

“I can see where Angela gets her optimism.”

“I’ve been through this before.” She sighed, then smiled. “I thought you went home for some rest.”

“I got some coffee, then I visited the chapel.”

She patted his leg. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence a few more moments. “Don’t mind Stephen,” she said, breaking the silence. “He’s always been protective of his little sister.”

While Hank understood Stephen’s concern, he also understood what that concern had cost Angela. He didn’t reply. He could feel Mrs. Blake’s scrutiny of him.

“Would you like to see her?”

He snapped to immediate attention. “Yes, of course, but how?”

She led him through the door to the nurse’s station. While Mrs. Blake talked to the nurses, Hank drifted toward a fragile figure on the other side of a glass panel. At first, he didn’t recognize it was Angela. Her vibrancy gone, machines clustered around her still body like sentinels, watching, waiting. She needed him. She would never admit it, but she needed him.

“Sir, you can’t go in there.”

“Excuse me?” Hank stopped and looked over his shoulder. He hadn’t been aware of moving close to the door to her room. He suddenly realized his hand was on the door knob.

“Your sister is very vulnerable to infection right now,” the nurse said. “You shouldn’t go any closer.”

“Vulnerable.” He repeated in a daze. Of course she’s vulnerable. She’d always been vulnerable.

“Hank, we should go.” A hand tugged at his arm. “She needs to do this on her own.”

The last time she did something on her own, it landed her in the ICU. He clenched his fists, muttering to himself. “Not this time.”

He allowed Angie’s mother to lead him from the ward. But once they were in the hallway, he walked into the waiting room and settled into a sagging chair.

“Really, Hank, you might as well go home. There’s nothing you can do,” Mrs. Blake said kindly.

“I can wait,” he said, settling in. “I can be here for her. She won’t be alone. It may not sound like much. But it’s everything to me.”

Chapter Thirty

SHE WAS WEIGHTLESS, yet anchored without restraint; a paradox, yet, one of many. Her heightened senses could see, but the parameters that normally restrict form kept shifting. Colors and patterns faded in and out. Her sight changed direction without movement on her part. Sound grew silent. Scents teased and confused. What had happened to her?

Was she standing? Her legs did not support her, nor did her back. She simply thought about turning her head and suddenly she saw a slim, pale body covered by a tan blanket beneath her.

Is that me?
The thought, not the words, resonated in her brain. The bed sheets had more vibrancy then the girl’s skin, her lips tinged faintly blue as if frozen. Yet she herself was neither hot nor cold, nor was she in any pain. She just was, and it was wonderful.

Angela.

Did someone call? The voice was neither male nor female, nor was it spoken. Colors brightened to the melody of her name. An all-pervasive calmness welcomed her. She had no questions, because she already had all the answers.

Are you ready to come home?

Home was not the tiny house on Plum Street. Nor was it the house where Hank lived, the house where she’d experienced passion and intimacy.

Are you finished?

Contentment colored her thoughts. All emotions were colors, it seemed. This one glowed a rich buttery yellow-peach. A lightness and freedom filled her. Freedom from pills and constant vigilance. Freedom from struggle and chest squeezing pain. Freedom from words and weighty concerns. Her thoughts were suddenly streaked with the exhilarating lavender of a dawning morning.

A commotion beneath her chased the colors away. A man inched toward the bed. Hank… Her vision was sharpened. Even from her spot near the ceiling she could see every grief-drawn line in his face.

The once vivid colors faded to a smoky gray. His dark, sunken eyes had lost the vitality she remembered, replaced with a sorrow that caused an almost physical pain. Stubble, several days old, covered his jaw, a fine contrast to the ashen skin beneath. She longed to cup his cheek and soothe his worries. He needed comfort that only she could give.

He reached and clasped the hand of the body on the bed. Vibrant warmth in streaks of velvet red and a deep violet embraced her, wrapping her in the colors of love. She longed to entwine her fingers with his and give back some of the comfort he gave.

“Don’t leave me, Angie,” he said. The words clear and distinct. “We haven’t finished yet. I haven’t told you…”

Angela, have you finished here?

She felt his love. Her senses, so acute, told her so. He needn’t say a word.

She glanced at the still, pale figure on the bed. Life hurt in that world, not like her current concern-free state. The grief and pain on his face dimmed the colors. He needed to know. If only she could tell him she loved him. If only –-

Before Angela could finish the thought, she’d slipped back into the limited confines of her body. She couldn’t lift her eyelids, couldn’t even squeeze Hank’s hand.

“Sir,” a woman’s voice scolded. “I’ve told you before. You have to leave. You’re not helping her.”

Against the dry, scratchiness in her throat, Angie forced a whisper. It took every ounce of energy she possessed. “Won’t leave.”

An incredible fatigue pulled her into its folds, drawing her into a deep dreamless sleep.

“DID YOU HEAR? Did you hear what she said?” Hank massaged his thumb over her tear-dampened hand and hastily wiped his eyes.

“Sir, you’re going to have to leave. Don’t make me call security.”

He kissed Angie’s limp, lifeless hand. “You’re going to pull through this and I’ll be waiting. Thank you, God.”

“Sir!” The nurse tugged urgently on his arm. “She needs her rest.”

“Yes.” He straightened, feeling stronger. “Let her rest.”

He left the ward and almost danced to the waiting room where both Mrs. Blake and Stephen slept. He didn’t want to wake them, but knowing Angie would recover made silent waiting impossible. Energy pulsed through him.

Like the others, he’d been lost in a restless sleep when an urgency to see Angie, hold her hand, make sure she was all right awakened him. He wasn’t certain what drew him to Angie’s side at that precise moment, but he knew who to thank. Tears streamed down his face, but they were tears of joy. He found his way to the chapel and fell to his knees. “Thank you, God. Thank you.”

The chapel door opened behind him.

“I thought I might find you here,” Mrs. Blake said softly. “The nurses said you forced your way in to see Angela. What’s going on?”

He couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t really forced his way in. The nurse monitoring Angie must have been called away. He simply walked into Angie’s room as if, he suddenly realized, it had been prearranged.

“Did you see her?” he asked, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. He squeezed her hand. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Her eyes narrowed as if studying a mad man. “How do you know?”

“She told me.” He patted the back of her hand and left her confused and bewildered in the chapel.

Now that he knew, truly knew with his entire being that Angela was going to be all right, he needed to resolve the small matter of an engagement. Angie would need to focus all her energy on healing. By the time she would be allowed visitors, he planned to be a free, unencumbered man.

THE HOSPITAL KEPT Angela in the ICU for another week, then transferred her into a private room. A tube still pumped antibiotics into her arm, but she wasn’t under the constant scrutiny of the ICU nurses. Well-acquainted from past experiences with the rhythms and routines of a hospital stay, she hardly registered the constant interruptions, the constant constriction of a blood pressure cuff, or the thermometer frequently coaxed between her lips. In most cases, she knew the nurses’ names, their sounds, and their floral-medicinal scents. Flower arrangements and cheery planters arrived on a regular basis, and covered every flat surface in the room.

Her mother and brother stopped by from time-to-time, but never Hank, the man she most wanted to see. Where was he? Why had he abandoned her? His rejection hurt bone-deep. She turned inward, sparing little energy for visitors. They whispered that she needed her rest, but she knew what she needed, and he wasn’t anywhere near.

The evening shift nurse monitored her vitals and softly murmured that everything looked as it should. At this rate, she she’d be released in no time. Angie managed a vague smile, though in her heart, she had no desire to return to her old life. Hank had given her a glimpse of passion. A life without that passion would be no life at all. Nurse Carson dimmed the room lights, wishing her pleasant dreams. Angela doubted her dreams would ever be the same.

She had just eased into a restless sleep when a noise jarred her awake. She opened her eyes, expecting to see the plump face of Nurse Carson, but instead saw nothing. She lifted her head, squinting her eyes. “Is someone there?”

A form, slightly darker than the rest of the room, took shape. A man, she guessed from the broad shoulders.

“Hank, is that you?” Had he stepped from her dreams into the room? Excitement pulled her fully awake. But why had he come long past visiting hours?

Suddenly, she realized this man wasn’t the man of her dreams. A mask hid his face allowing only circles of pale skin around his eyes and mouth to be visible. She gasped. Her fingers crept toward the call button tethered to the sidebar of her hospital bed.

“Who…who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Ssh, go back to sleep,” he whispered.

The familiar, though unplaced, voice sent a chill to her spine. Something wasn’t right. The accelerated beep of the monitors overhead echoed her heartbeat. She frantically pushed the button at her fingertips.

The man advanced toward the bed, blocking the doorway.

“I don’t think you should be here,” Angie said, continuing to press the call button. Wasn’t anyone at the nurse’s station? “If you leave now, I won’t scream. But if you—”

“Relax, Short Stuff. Everything will be much easier if you just relax.”

“Raymond?” She recognized the nickname and placed the voice. All her earlier uncomfortable thoughts in his presence congealed in a lump in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

She heard a muffled curse. He hesitated for a minute, looked toward the corridor, then quickly removed the ski mask. His black hair tumbled across his forehead, boyish and disheveled. He smiled sheepishly. “I guess visiting hours are over, huh.”

“Yeah, some time ago.”

He hadn’t explained his appearance. This was wrong, wrong,
wrong
. She held the call button down.

“How did you know it was me?” He moved closer to the side of her bed.

“I recognized your voice,” she said, edging to the far side of the narrow mattress to force distance between them. “Then when you called me Short Stuff…”

“I suppose you would find my voice familiar.”

He was so close, she could smell the rubbery latex gloves on his hands. He reached across her to tug the cord connecting the call button from the wall socket. Gloves, why gloves?

“What else do you remember about me?”

His arms braced on either side of her waist, as if he planned to kiss her. She looked in his eyes, but it wasn’t desire burning there, but something cold and crazed. A monitor near her bed jumped in erratic peaks. He leaned closer. “What else, Miranda?”

“Miranda? Who’s Miranda?”

She didn’t know what he was saying but that wasn’t the immediate problem. She put her hands on his shoulders to stop him, but he continued to lean closer. The pressure on her hands pushed her deeper into the mattress and pillows.

“Don’t play games with me,” he whispered. “Do you remember that night we made love?” He slid his hand slowly up the left side of her chest. “Hmmm, you feel hot, so hot. Are you burning for me, baby?”

“Raymond, I don’t think—”

“Ssh.” His hand slipped over her breast and stopped right above the crest. “I can feel your heart beating, Miranda.”

He was insane. Crazy. And he was scaring her half to death.

“You’re frightening me, Raymond.” She squirmed to escape his touch, but only managed to move her bent legs to the middle of the bed. “I think you should leave.”

He pressed harder on her chest, pinning her to the mattress. She tried to scream. He quickly clamped a hand over her mouth.

“You remember the night you told me you were pregnant, don’t you?” he said. “I had to kill you, don’t you see? You didn’t leave me much choice.”

His body weight held her immobile while he fumbled in his pocket. “You should have told me that you had more lives than a cat, Miranda. I cut your brake lines, and you survive. I shoot you in that warehouse and some idiot takes the bullet instead of you.” He retrieved a hypodermic needle from his pocket and held it upright. “This time it’ll be much faster. This time I’ll –-”

Angie jerked her knee sharply into his groin. Cursing, he rolled to one side. She kicked him squarely in the belly. She tried to scream, but her weak yells couldn’t have carried far. He tumbled away from the side of the bed, catching the intravenous line and dragging it and the IV bag and pole to the floor with a crash. The line ripped painfully from her arm, but she had more freedom. She slipped to the bottom of the bed and placed her feet on the floor.

“H-help!” she yelled, while feeling in the dark for something solid to throw.

“Don’t—” he wailed seconds before a planter aimed at his head smashed to the floor. The door to her room banged open.