Crime & Counterpoint (36 page)

It wouldn’t come out. Carol kneeled by the garden tub, still in her cap-sleeve pearl blouse and Liz Claiborne skirt though she’d shed the matching blazer. She was in one of the upstairs bathrooms with her hands elbow deep in red water. She’d scrubbed as much as she dared, but the lace cut-out refused to relinquish the blood.

Dark tendrils of hair escaped their previously perfect chignon. And she was starting to see double. Not from light-headedness but anger and a suppressed barrel of other emotions.

Henri.
Her
Henri. How could he do this?

In the background, she heard, though was oblivious to, the forensics crew cleaning up Shelley’s room. It had been a horrific mess, and Henri had tried to prevent her from seeing it. But she’d fought her way in. All her daughter’s things along one wall had been splattered. The bullet, which had gone clean through Kazanov’s cranium, had lodged its dented, damaged form in one of Shelley’s trophies – the one she’d received at a national piano competition, which Carol had missed because of a tour. Oh, but she’d been so proud of her baby, only eight at the time.

She lifted her hands out of the water along with the folds of the dress. Both were equally pink. Pinpricks spasmed through her palms to her fingers and shot up her forearms. Inaudibly, she cursed in Spanish as she drained the tub. Her stomach turned as the blood went away, swirling down the dark hole.

Henri’s recognizable tread upon the marble floor raised her defenses. For the first time in their thirty-two years together, she felt rage burgeon within her, frothing mightily like a volcano on the precipice of eruption.

Carol tossed her head, trying to fling back the hair which had fallen in her face, and didn’t answer. Roughly, she grabbed the handle for the faucet and turned it on. Cold water gushed out. She added more Arm and Hammer baking soda and Method laundry detergent, filling the bathroom with an excess of lavender scent.

“Darling, what are you doing? You’re going to hurt your hands like this. She’s not going to wear it again, anyway.” Henri kneeled down on the bath rug next to her, having shed his suit coat and tie.

Agitated, she dipped the gown back into the freezing cold water. He touched her arm.

She snapped a glare towards him and jerked away. “What is it?” she said testily, eyes flaring. Unstable.

“Come to bed, darling.”

“No, I will not come to bed, Henri,” she spat, clambering to her stocking feet. She reached over and shut off the faucet. “This” – she pointed with feverish vexation to the dress – “is your fault.”

Henri recoiled, frowning. “My fault?”

“When did you start
lying
to me?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she blazed her way to the sink to wash her hands with more soap. “You have been keeping me in the dark about our daughter. And for what? Look what has happened!”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he protested, keeping calm.

She whirled to him, a fireball, flinging water as she grabbed a towel. “She’s my child, Henri! You didn’t labor for thirty-nine hours with her! You didn’t stay in the hospital with her for two weeks when they said my baby’s jaundice would cause permanent brain damage!” She chucked the towel on the pristine double vanity and stared him down. “Last week, when she missed her appointment with LaFavreau, what did you tell me? You said it was because he couldn’t make it. And like a
fool
I believed you! But I called just now and asked, and do you know what? He told me Shelley did come but then she left all of a sudden. Why Henri? Why would you lie to me?! How many times has my baby been in danger?”

“Carol you have to calm down,” Henri said, coming towards her.

She stormed away from him. “I am
done
listening to you!” Exiting the bathroom, she stopped short in the upstairs hall as the last few of the clean-up crew happened by on their way down to the main entrance. They nodded to her respectfully as they passed, and she lifted a hand to touch her hair in a smidgen of returning self-consciousness. Her chin dropped a little along with her gaze, and she pressed her lips together feeling how dry they’d become.

Henri didn’t exit. She turned slightly to see what he was doing. At the tub, on one knee, fingering the sopping material. She hardened forcibly, squaring her shoulders. She was
not
going to feel sorry for him.

Turning to the right, she padded on nearly bare feet, feeling the cold of the polished wooden floors. The door to Shelley’s room was almost fully open, and now the place was empty though she remembered well how filled it had been with federal agents, police, and forensics when she and her sons first returned.

She stepped in with queasy trepidation, touching the doorframe lightly. Her gaze combed over every inch of the room, noting that they had done a good job cleaning though no amount of scrubbing would erase the memories burned into her mind’s eye. Walking inside, she bent to pick up a large stuffed bear that had fallen off the bed piled with frivolous pillows and other stuffed toys. She held it at arm’s length. Shelley had gotten this from Henri’s parents when she was born.

Tears stung her eyes. She looked to the left where family pictures and other portraits hung on the wall. Thankfully, none had been marred. Her gaze rested on the largest of them all – the painting of Shelley as a child at the piano, hair perfectly in place, dress unwrinkled and free of stains. Regret welled deep within her. She’d been so careful to make sure Shelley was the model of propriety that she’d forgotten about the other, more important things. How badly she must have failed as a mother for Shelley not to feel like she could talk to her about any of the trauma she’d been facing. Or about the man she loved.

Carol felt like crumpling. She went and sank onto the edge of Shelley’s bed just holding that teddy bear. Her baby. Her precious, precious baby.

Clutching the still-soft, sweet-smelling bear to herself, Carol closed her eyes and lay down on her side. And she didn’t open them even when the bed shifted a few minutes later and a warm body climbed in next to her.

Strong fingers worked through her hair gently, undoing her bun. Then an arm tucked itself around her waist, securely. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as his head burrowed into her hair. His musk filled her, and his mouth brushed comfortingly against her neck.

Her face contorted as she gazed through watering eyes at the painting. And gripping her daughter’s bear, she wept.

She didn’t sleep at all that first night. A constant prayer looped in her mind and proceeded from silent lips: God, don’t let him die. It didn’t matter whether he loved her or not, all she cared about was his survival.

David Ericson came by, but the visit was stilted. Shelley didn’t know what to say, and clearly David had no intention of remaining with his son. After a brief stay, he left, offering a non-committal “I’ll be back later… maybe tomorrow.” But Shelley knew that he wouldn’t return, and frankly, she was glad of the moment he departed.

Miraculously, Zach made it a full twelve hours without incident. The nurse had come in no less than ten times to check on him and take his vitals. Each time, she would be as quiet as possible, but each time, she found Shelley not lying down but sitting in the rocking chair staring at Zach. And without fail she’d ask Shelley if there was anything she could get for her. But invariably, Shelley refused.

In one corner of the room, the duffel that her brothers had brought sat along with the hospital laundry bag containing Zach’s clothes, wallet, cell, and keys. She couldn’t bring herself to go through it. Her eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, couldn’t leave his face. She’d smoothed back his hair roughly a dozen or more times and held his still-frigid hand. And she just felt completely helpless.

When the sun had finally crept over the horizon and beams of light shot through the thin blinds, Shelley found that she’d drifted off with her head hanging and her hand still covering his. Gingerly, she rose from her chair, working out the kinks and massaging her aching neck from the horrible position she’d spent a few hours sleeping in. Jared came soon after, looking far more alert than she. A P.A. and an anesthesiologist came with him. They went through the same drill the night-shift nurse had but they took longer and discussed Zach in complex, intimidating terms Shelley didn’t understand. Chills broke out over her body as nausea tossed her empty stomach. A rock lodged in her parched throat.

They paid her no heed as she stood out of the way, her arms tucked around herself. But the Physician’s Assistant, who seemed to be there for observation primarily, noticed the way she chewed her lip nearly to bleeding and came over. He spoke to her kindly, asking her questions about what she did, lighting up when she said she was a pianist. He said he used to take lessons as a kid but couldn’t stand practicing so he gave it up and decided he was going to be a doctor. And apparently, he joked, he couldn’t handle that workload either. She smiled politely but didn’t really want to talk.

Then, he left her to help the doctors check Zach’s wounds and the anesthesiologist administered a local analgesic to keep him as comfortable as possible. With difficulty, they turned Zach carefully so Jared could check his exit wound and change the bandaging there as well. It seemed inordinately difficult from Shelley’s perspective. He was dead weight, after all.

The anesthesiologist was paged about five times during the course of their work, and as soon as he was done, he jettisoned out of there to administer an epidural for a woman in labor clean on the other side of the hospital.

Finally, Zach was all fixed up and laying on his back again with his hospital gown arranged and the sheets pulled over him again. His lips looked bluer than previously, but Jared assured her it was just due to the jostling. Then, he gave her the news she’d been waiting for: “If he has no issues the rest of the day, then I think he might just make it. But he needs to wake up. So,” he smiled encouragingly, “get to work on that.” He snapped off his gloves. “You doing okay? Anything I can get you from the apartment. I could tell Ash to bring it by.”

“Thanks but James and Erik brought me plenty.” She motioned to the bag. “I haven’t opened it up yet.”

“Do you want any breakfast?”

She shook her head. “I can’t eat.”

Jared dropped his gloves in the waste receptacle and came to her. “You’re no use to him if–”

“I’m no use to him at all!” she exploded, fists clenched. “I can’t do anything except stare at him. And what help is that?!” She shrunk after the outburst, shocking herself at how precarious her sanity really was.

He gripped her by the shoulders. “Your being here is a huge deal. Just wait. You’ll see.” Noticing the ring still on her finger, he asked, “I’m guessing you haven’t spoken to Carter yet.”

Her gaze fell, and she twisted at the diamond. “No. He hasn’t come by.”

“He will.”

And he did – shortly after Shelley finished with a morning shower, in fact. But having not announced his presence, Carter startled her entirely when she came out of the bathroom fully dressed, hair a wet, tangled mess, to find him head bowed, sitting by Zach’s bed.

“Carter?” She called his name softly and with a full-bodied quiver.

His head remained bowed. She felt nervous, but then he looked up, unfolding his hands, and she had the sense that he’d been praying. Her heart thundered as he turned and regarded her.

There was nothing but contrition and sorrow in his face, not the retribution or anger she’d feared. Although now that she thought about it, when had Carter ever been harsh with her? He held out his hand, beckoning to her.

She hesitated, worried he still somehow thought they were together. Surely he knew.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I know you love him.” He reached behind him and pulled up a nearby chair.

She went and sat down next to him. Tentatively, he took her left hand and gripped it. She saw his eyes study the ring, and she held her breath.

But he merely leaned down and rustled a paper bag. “I brought you breakfast. Knowing you, I didn’t think you were going to eat on your own.” She couldn’t believe it when he pulled out a loaf of brioche with raisins. He offered it to her in its bakery packaging with a small smile. “Goes good with coffee. Right?”

She took it, keeping her eyes on the golden brown, roundish bread. A tear slipped off her lower lashes. “You’re too good,” she uttered, feeling incredibly guilty.

But his expression disagreed. “Why? ‘Cause I let you have your space for a year? ‘Cause I remember you like brioche? ‘Cause I bought you a diamond ring two years ago fully expecting that you would say yes when the time came?” He shook his head. “How many times have I actually taken you to dinner? When have I bought you flowers? When did I set aside my work for you? When was the last time I sat down to hear you play?” He exhaled roughly. “I mean you’re a
pianist
,” he said like he was just now realizing the fact. “And let’s be honest. I don’t know if I would’ve done half the things Zach has done for you much less taken a bullet.”

She looked at him with pained eyes.

He lowered his voice. “And I don’t think you would’ve killed someone to save me. So no, Shelley, I am not good for you.”

Seconds ticked by, and the still-warm brioche circulated its smells, reminding her of the bakery but also sweeter moments with Zach the following morning – memories that were no longer forbidden. Her breath quickened just thinking of his hands on her. She inhaled to bring herself back to present. “You want the ring back?”

Carter grimaced like it was a knife to his back. “I’d rather you keep it.” He took up her left hand while she balanced the bread on her lap and pulled off the ring which had once been so tight, then he slipped it on the fourth finger of her right hand. “There. Looks better on that hand anyway. When you play, you can blind people with it.” He grinned though not with his usual brilliance.

She smiled as well and leaned close to hug him. “Thank you so much,” she said, choked with emotion.

He squeezed her tight, closing his eyes as pain bottomed out in his gut. He was losing her, and no matter how he presented it to himself, there was no lessening the impact of the separation. But, he told himself, they could still be friends, and the thought wasn’t at all unbearable.

Maybe therein was the problem. He could live with her, but
he could also live without her.

Twelve hours later, Shelley was exhausted and ready to actually sleep after no less than six people had come to visit, talk, and encourage. Zach’s pulse had gotten stronger, steadier, and he seemed to have more brain activity than previously. That was hope.

Her mother came, bringing Barbara, Melissa, and Ashleigh with her. Melissa wanted to say goodbye because her family had to head back to Maryland. The best friends embraced and Melissa strictly admonished Shelley to call every day and keep her updated. Shelley then asked after her father, and her mother’s delicate reply was, “Don’t worry about him, dear” accompanied with a hug. An answer which only sickened Shelley and caused her to throw-up the nice lunch her mother had brought from home.

Abigail and Carrie came next and stayed for a while, letting Shelley stretch her legs and take a walk around. But Shelley, increasingly tormented by thoughts of her father and Zach, felt no better by the time she returned. Carrie mistakenly saw Shelley’s sickly pallor and offered to spend the night, but Shelley didn’t want to leave Zach. She had to stick to her guns like her brother said.

In the evening, once darkness had fallen, she was curled up on the sofa with a blanket draped over her when she heard a small noise. She jolted awake. Her eyes darted around the dim room but no one was there.

Uneasy, she sat up straighter and then realized the noise she heard was a sustained high pitch which her foggy ears hadn’t detected.

Suddenly, one after another, frantic doctors, nurses, and residents burst in, scaring her mightily. Jared swung in, his white coat sailing behind him.

“We’ve got a CODE! Get a pharm in here now!” Jared commanded.

Electric fear conducting through her veins, Shelley watched with unblinking horror as they talked in hurried, anxious tones and pulled Zach’s blanket away. They worked efficiently, starting violent chest compressions.

“He’s hemorrhaging,” Jared said as the pharmacist arrived, a wiry brunette with rimless glasses. She took one look at the monitor and said something to Jared as she prepared a set of drugs for injection into the IV.

Shelley couldn’t see it from her angle. The sustained pitch continued. Warningly. Dread fisted inside her. What was happening?!

Rapidly, the next intern took over administering rhythmic pumps to Zach’s chest, just above the location of his gunshot wound.

Shelley’s hands clenched; she’d stopped breathing, cringing over what they were doing to him.

The pharmacist calmly plunged a syringe into the IV line, and they waited as the cycle of vigorous compressions continued. When seconds later it was clear the drugs were not inducing any electric response in the heart, the pharmacist shook her head, adjusted her glasses, and started putting together a second cocktail.

Jared cursed. “Come on!” he yelled, face reddening, keeping his eyes on the monitor. “How long?” He asked one of the nurses who held a timer in her hand.

“Two minutes and forty-three seconds,” she said flatly.

Jared shook his head, exhaling hard. Too long, the gesture said. He looked over at Shelley finally. “Get over here!”

She bolted to her feet, unaccustomed to Jared in this state.

Jared stabbed a finger at Zach. “You tell him,” he said gritting his teeth, “You tell him to come back. Right now!”

Her eyes filled with fear. “Come back?” She hurried over and saw the screen. Flat lines everywhere. Panic swelled inside her, and she felt the desperation climb out of her throat. Losing her control, she grabbed Zach’s face and begged him to wake up while the chest compressions continued.

Time stretched into three minutes. Then four minutes and a half.

She was crying buckets, kissing him, and burying her face next to his, speaking into his ear, telling him she loved him, that she needed him, that she wouldn’t be able to live without him.

In the growing freneticism, Shelley held Zach’s face. “Why are you leaving me?” she sobbed. “We were going to be together.” Her whole body wanted to die with him. She couldn’t fight the tears any longer. Her love was gone. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as her hand clutched at his neck.

Finally, Jared, fit to be hung, slammed his fist on the side of the bed and shoved the current nurse aside. He crossed his hands and lay them two fingers above the base of Zach’s sternum and pushed down as hard as he could. Pumping. “Come on, you bastard!” Jared yelled until he was nearly as red as blood.

Shelley poured out her soul, praying that God would be merciful. And the pharmacist stuck another needle, sending more drugs shooting through Zach’s veins.

And then suddenly–

There was a blip on the heart rate monitor. And then a fluttering sine wave.

Shelley didn’t dare hope. She glanced at Zach’s face and then at Jared’s. But the latter was wholly focused on Zach. Pushing, like his own life depended on it.

The nurses, medical interns, and doctors started murmuring encouragingly. Shelley felt her spirits lift.

The pharmacist’s brows raised this time, and with a few blinks, she said something else to Jared in a quiet mutter to which he replied: “Hell yes.”

Sweat formed on Jared’s brow and his neck. Relentless, he breathed hard – in time with his strong compressions. “You are not getting away that easily, buddy. So fucking wake up, and I mean
now
.”