Knock Out
Page 126
Joanna and Ethan went back into the cubicle, taking their place beside the narrow bed, Savich and Sherlock behind them, standing at the end of the bed. The same nurse, Elaine Amos, came in. They watched her take Autumn’s blood pressure. She paused, straightened, and said to them, “Look, I’ve seen people die, and I’ve seen some miracles too along the way, and with Autumn, I feel it here”—she touched her fingertips to her heart—“I know she’ll make it. All of us here want to bring her through this. What happened to your leg?”
Sherlock said matter-of-factly, “He got shot.” She saw Elaine’s eyes go wide, briefly, but she didn’t care. If this hospital was true to form, gossip was already rife now that two FBI agents had come running in, one of them on crutches. If they only knew. She wanted to touch Autumn’s face, to feel the warmth of that small child’s flesh, but Joanna’s head was close to her child’s, and she was lightly stroking her fingertips over Autumn’s cheek.
Elaine said, “Look, guys, give me a minute with her, all right?” A final kiss, a final touch, and the four of them left Autumn’s cubicle, Joanna looking over her shoulder at her daughter, her face so pale it looked bloodless.
Ethan said, “You should know, Savich, Theodore Backman died soon after he reached the hospital, a massive heart attack.” He slammed his fist against his palm. “It was too easy for that perverted old man. Blessed, last I heard, is unresponsive—catatonic, they called it. They’ve moved him to a secured psych ward, where we’ve got him isolated and under guard anyway. As for Mrs. Backman, she’s six rooms down the hall, raving and chanting, mad as a hatter. And Caldicot, that psycho is still in Chief Parkes’s jail at Peas Ridge.” He paused a moment, turned back, looking through the open curtains at the nurse bending over Autumn, fiddling with one of her IV lines. He said, his eyes never leaving Autumn’s face, “Chief Parkes found the fresh grave, fifty feet behind the barn. I’m glad they did. At least the two people they found can go home now.”
Savich’s cell phone played Eric Hummer’s “Milwaukee Blues.” What now, Sherlock wondered, and wished she could rip the phone out of Dillon’s hand and throw it out the window. But of course she couldn’t. Damned duty, she thought.
Savich flipped his cell closed after a couple of minutes. He motioned the three of them out of the ICU. “Ethan, Joanna, you know Sherlock and I flew here directly from North Carolina. We have to go back to Washington, D.C. Mr. Maitland says the media’s going nuts, he admits he’s got a truckload of questions for us himself, and Director Mueller, even though he understands the situation with Autumn, has asked us to come back until everything can be sorted out. I don’t want to leave—”
Ethan pulled Joanna to his side and squeezed. “We’ll be here. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
Sherlock touched her fingers to his shoulder, then to Joanna’s. Silent, praying, Savich thought. He looked down at her face, at the pain in her eyes. He said, “Listen, all of you. Elaine told us she’ll make it. She promised us a miracle.”
Epilogue
Five days later
Savich stood in the doorway of Autumn’s private room on the second floor. He and Sherlock had just arrived at Palmerton after five long days of worry. The sun poured through the bank of windows, setting the pale yellow walls of her room aglow. She was still hooked up to IVs, but there were no longer oxygen clips in her nose, and he saw a bit of color on her cheeks. She was so small in that narrow hospital bed, so very thin. But she’d lived; she would make it. Soon she would be whole again.
She was asleep, her breathing even and soft. He watched Joanna lean down and kiss her cheek, then Ethan kiss her forehead. They walked hand in hand out of the room, both looking pale and drawn, their eyes still shadowed from days of worry and lack of sleep, but both of them were smiling.
Ethan shook Savich’s hand, hugged Sherlock. “Autumn should sleep for a while now. Both Joanna and I are running on low. How about some coffee—and tea for you, Savich—in the hospital cafeteria? It’s not bad at all, kept us alive these past days. I like the cane. Is that an eagle’s head on it?”
The walls of the Palmerton hospital cafeteria were sunshine-yellow, the chairs and tables alternately bright green and blue. You couldn’t help but feel your spirits lift a little when you walked in.
Joanna said, “We’re very glad you guys are back. Even though we’ve spoken every day, it’s wonderful to see you, to have you here.” She drew in a deep breath. “It’s been—difficult.” Then she smiled up at Ethan, squeezed his hand.
Sherlock said matter-of-factly, “He got shot.” She saw Elaine’s eyes go wide, briefly, but she didn’t care. If this hospital was true to form, gossip was already rife now that two FBI agents had come running in, one of them on crutches. If they only knew. She wanted to touch Autumn’s face, to feel the warmth of that small child’s flesh, but Joanna’s head was close to her child’s, and she was lightly stroking her fingertips over Autumn’s cheek.
Elaine said, “Look, guys, give me a minute with her, all right?” A final kiss, a final touch, and the four of them left Autumn’s cubicle, Joanna looking over her shoulder at her daughter, her face so pale it looked bloodless.
Ethan said, “You should know, Savich, Theodore Backman died soon after he reached the hospital, a massive heart attack.” He slammed his fist against his palm. “It was too easy for that perverted old man. Blessed, last I heard, is unresponsive—catatonic, they called it. They’ve moved him to a secured psych ward, where we’ve got him isolated and under guard anyway. As for Mrs. Backman, she’s six rooms down the hall, raving and chanting, mad as a hatter. And Caldicot, that psycho is still in Chief Parkes’s jail at Peas Ridge.” He paused a moment, turned back, looking through the open curtains at the nurse bending over Autumn, fiddling with one of her IV lines. He said, his eyes never leaving Autumn’s face, “Chief Parkes found the fresh grave, fifty feet behind the barn. I’m glad they did. At least the two people they found can go home now.”
Savich’s cell phone played Eric Hummer’s “Milwaukee Blues.” What now, Sherlock wondered, and wished she could rip the phone out of Dillon’s hand and throw it out the window. But of course she couldn’t. Damned duty, she thought.
Savich flipped his cell closed after a couple of minutes. He motioned the three of them out of the ICU. “Ethan, Joanna, you know Sherlock and I flew here directly from North Carolina. We have to go back to Washington, D.C. Mr. Maitland says the media’s going nuts, he admits he’s got a truckload of questions for us himself, and Director Mueller, even though he understands the situation with Autumn, has asked us to come back until everything can be sorted out. I don’t want to leave—”
Ethan pulled Joanna to his side and squeezed. “We’ll be here. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
Sherlock touched her fingers to his shoulder, then to Joanna’s. Silent, praying, Savich thought. He looked down at her face, at the pain in her eyes. He said, “Listen, all of you. Elaine told us she’ll make it. She promised us a miracle.”
Epilogue
Five days later
Savich stood in the doorway of Autumn’s private room on the second floor. He and Sherlock had just arrived at Palmerton after five long days of worry. The sun poured through the bank of windows, setting the pale yellow walls of her room aglow. She was still hooked up to IVs, but there were no longer oxygen clips in her nose, and he saw a bit of color on her cheeks. She was so small in that narrow hospital bed, so very thin. But she’d lived; she would make it. Soon she would be whole again.
She was asleep, her breathing even and soft. He watched Joanna lean down and kiss her cheek, then Ethan kiss her forehead. They walked hand in hand out of the room, both looking pale and drawn, their eyes still shadowed from days of worry and lack of sleep, but both of them were smiling.
Ethan shook Savich’s hand, hugged Sherlock. “Autumn should sleep for a while now. Both Joanna and I are running on low. How about some coffee—and tea for you, Savich—in the hospital cafeteria? It’s not bad at all, kept us alive these past days. I like the cane. Is that an eagle’s head on it?”
The walls of the Palmerton hospital cafeteria were sunshine-yellow, the chairs and tables alternately bright green and blue. You couldn’t help but feel your spirits lift a little when you walked in.
Joanna said, “We’re very glad you guys are back. Even though we’ve spoken every day, it’s wonderful to see you, to have you here.” She drew in a deep breath. “It’s been—difficult.” Then she smiled up at Ethan, squeezed his hand.
