When Angels Cry (2 page)

N
obody had to tell him twice to drape it around his frame as he watched Steve carry
K
aylee
up the steps to the ambulance.  From a short distance, he saw them quiz
her
.  Their breath rose in three small wisps toward the black heavens.  Of the three, Kaylee’s was the faintest, and despite the ratty clumpiness of her dark, sodden hair, Bastian saw beauty
.  T
here was no denying it
:  h
igh, aristocratic cheekbones, pouty lips, sloe eyes, and a slightly retrousse nose. He took a look at her clothes
—a
long leather coat
and
shoes, silk shirt.  She wasn’t only beautiful
but
rich
,
which meant she was out of Bastian’s league, and if he were wise, he’d forget her.  Otherwise
,
he’d end up sorry he’d taken th
e
leap.

    Bastian saw them place Kaylee on a gurney.  Jessie climbed in
, and the two
heft
ed
it inside.  “We’re taking her to Chicago Memorial,”
Jessie
yelled.  “You want to ride along?”

Bastian shook his head.  “I’ll drive.”

“Suit yourself,” Steve said, slamming the rear doors and climbing into the driver’s seat.  The ambulance
siren screamed and flashers whirled as it
lurched from the crowed, heading into the
still
thickening snow, leaving Bastian
in the
freezing air
with
a truck that held
a bottle of
whiskey and
a
gun.  Behind him, back up on the bridge, he heard the murmur of voices subside
as
the
onlookers scattered
.

For a moment, he stood in the growing stillness, knowing better than to follow.  A woman that wealthy and beautiful didn’t need somebody like him look
ing
after her. She came from money
,
and he
came with
nothing, and all the nothing in the world couldn’t amount to anything. Hell, she was probably married.  His jaw tightened as he wondered if she did have kids and
whether
they would ever know just how close they
’d
c
o
me to losing her.

Bastian retrieved his coat, thankful for the added warmth. He sauntered back to the truck and opened the door that wouldn’t lock.  He climbed inside and slammed the door.  Reaching under the seat, he found the barrel of the gun and drew it out.  Alone again in the harsh moonlight, he flicked off the safety and brought it to his mouth.

An image of his mother jumped into his head.  She lay on her back, her hands at her side, one palm still clutching the empty vial of pills, and he r
an
into the room, jabbering as he’d carried a Lego spaceship he made.  He thought she was sleeping
, but
he couldn’t wake her.  Bastian shuddered, remembering how he
’d shaken her
, scream
ing
her name.  Tears pricked his eyes.  “Mommy, please wake up
!
” he’d screamed.  He’d shaken her over and over. 
“Mommy, I love you.  Wake up
!
”
Stillness.

Frowning,
Bastian yanked the gun from his mouth
and
smacked his head against the steering wheel as he spent the tears and shivered from a chill that a Chicago winter had nothing to do with.  God help him, how could he live like this?  He brushed his hand across his face, clicked the safety on, and thrust the gun in the glove compartment.  He
turned the key in the ignition
.  On the third growl, the
engine
caught
, and h
e thought about his dark motel room
where
all the
b
ulbs had burned out
.  T
he stench of rotting meat and mildewed fabric echo
ed
the smell of
the
dumpster beneath the window.  The hospital
—or
his hotel room
?
  Such options.

Bastian drove through the snow.  Perhaps if he’d
f
igured out somewhere else to go, he would have ended up there.  Instead, he found himself parking near the rear of a crowed lot
and
ungather
ing
the blanket from around him
. He
bunched it into a manageable bulk. 

Bastian
crossed the lot a
nd stepped through the emergency room entrance.  A throng of people bustled about
,
all with some story
,
Bastian was sure, but all somehow vague
and
faceless
just the same
.  They moved like phantoms, their footfalls noiseless, suppressed somehow by the weight of this place.  Death dwel
led
here, and they all knew it.

All the chairs were full, and people leaned against the walls
or
skulked in corners, drifting aimlessly, but Bastian tried not
to
wonder what had brought them here.  One middle-aged woman holding a baby on her lap
blinked
at him briefly
and
turned away.  An elderly man leaned forward, staring into space.  Another man and woman in their late forties stared expectantly at the closed doors
, and m
any others waited, all of whom had much better reasons for being here than he did.

Bastian’s steps faltered
, and he shoved his restless hands into his jeans pockets, ignoring the cold wet
.  H
e could still leave and pretend tonight had never happened. 
Without full
y realizing he’d made up his mind, he stepped to the triage desk.

“Can I help you?”
A brunette with a nametag labeled “Beth Turrow” looked up at him. 

“A woman was just brought in
— ”

“Five women were brought in during the last thirty minutes.  You wanna be more specific—or do I get to guess
?
”  Turrow stared at her computer screen.

B
astian gritted his teeth.  “I was
trying
to be more specific.  Her name is Kaylee Renard,” he finished and shoved the blanket at her.  “This belongs to the ambulance that brought her here.”

Turrow stared
at it
indignantly
, and
she had no choice but to take
it
.  She dropped it to the floor then peered back at his worn clothing, his unshaven face, and his wild
,
wet hair.

“Well?” he finally asked.  “Surely you only have one near-drowning named Kaylee Renard.” 
Bastian folded his arms across his chest as she
stared
coldly at him. 

“The doctor is still with her. He’ll be out when he’s finished.” 
Turrow grabbed a file from the counter
, and
h
er fingers hammer
ed
at the computer keys.

Bastian headed toward the only empty space he could see–a place
in back
wedged between a woman holding a toddler and a tall man with an ice pack on his knee.
  Once seated, he leaned
back
.  Rolling his shoulders, he tried to work out the tension gripping his muscles
,
but there was no way to loosen the knots.  Bastian raked his fingers through his hair, wondering how long it would be before he could finish what he had come to do and
could
actually go.  He closed his eyes and thought about that roach-infested motel he called home
and
thought
better of this gauze-white hell. The antiseptic smell would fade from memory eventually
, but t
he images of roaches skittering across the floor remained
. Then again, at least they were alive, simple
,
and with
no obvious
purpose.  They had nothing to prove and nothing to live down. As he leaned against the glass, Bastian felt the winter outside and thought dimly about the distant spring.

The door leading to the emergency room opened
,
and a doctor stepped through carrying a clipboard.  He was older–in his late fifties
,
maybe
—and
gaunt
,
with sad
,
tired eyes.  The stoop of his shoulders said a lot. 

“Renard?
”
he called.  “The family of Kaylee Renard?”

Bastian strode forward.  The doctor saw him coming and gestured for Bastian to follow.  The pair stepped just beyond the door
,
where the doctor halted.

“I’m Dr. Barsley,” he said, offering his hand.  Bastian shook it.  “Are you Kaylee’s husband?”

“Not even close.” 
Bastian held up his palms and took a step backward. 

“A family member?” 
Barsley frowned. 

“Wrong again.” 
Bastian crossed his arms over his chest.

“Then why are you here?” 
The doctor stared blankly at him before glancing cursorily at Kaylee’s chart. 

“I saw her take a nose dive into a pond, and I dove in after her.  When I pulled her out, she wasn’t breathing
,
so I helped out.   I went through a helluva lot to make sure she was all right, and I just want to know how she’s doing.  Do you have a problem with this?” Bastian said
,
his tone on the verge of a growl.
  He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“No, not at all,” Dr. Barsley replied with a tense smile.  “I didn’t see the connection, that’s all.  Do you know how to reach any of her family members?”  He tapped the clipboard absently against his open palm.

“No, I don’t.  How is she?” 
Bastian shook his head.  His gaze wandered down the hall, wondering which room they’d put
her
in. 

“Well, I’m not supposed to say, as you’re not really a family member, but under the circumstances, I see no harm.”  He glanced back at the chart in his hand.  "Truth be told
,
she’s exhausted.  She still has a nasty headache.”  He continued tapping the clipboard.

“May I see her?”  Bastian balled his fingers into fists to keep from yanking away Kaylee’s chart.

“She’s really tired.  She needs rest.” 
The doctor tucked the clipboard under his arm.

  “It won’t take long,” Bastian insisted.

“Very well.  Right now
,
she’s in room three, but she’s going to be admitted for observation.” 
The doctor started out the door to the nurses’ triage desk.

Bastian
proceeded down the hall to Kaylee’s room
.  Once there, he
stared into the semi-darkness to find Kaylee tucked under thick covers, lying flat on her back with her long hair flowing upon the pillow and sheets like strands of silk.  She seemed frail and childlike in
the
bed
, but
then, that was mostly illusion, Bastian thought
—a
trick of the light. 
He quietly entered
, and a
s she slept,
he
wondered what might have happened had he not
found
her.  He closed his eyes and thought of the cold
,
dark water that had closed in a
round them.   He’d clutched at it
water, searching.  His lungs had hurt and yet he’d forced himself to go even deeper, fingers groping.

The m
oments stretched
on
as Bastian stood there, wondering if he should leave but feeling unable.  Time slipped away.  A different nurse came in and checked Kaylee’s IV
,
then looked at Bastian and secured a new packet of fluid on the pole.

“I’m getting ready to take her to room 324.
  You can follow if you’d like.” 
Bastian nodded and moved toward the door. 

“Thanks.”  Bastian turned to see her moving the bed and IV post toward the door.  As the nurse pushed it into the hallway, she turned right instead of left, toward a huge staff elevator.  Once the doors
had
opened, she wheeled the bed inside and waited for Bastian.

Once the doors opened, they walked the maze of hallways, and Bastian quickly became disoriented, wondering if he would find his way out of this place once he’d finished his business.  The nurse stopped abruptly in front of a room labeled “324” and wheeled Kaylee into it.