Guilt By Degrees

83

My mind shut down, refusing to believe what I saw. I reached out and took her hand off the steering wheel and felt for a pulse. Nothing. My heart gave a slow, heavy thump. Afraid to move her, I looked for the source of the bleeding, praying I wouldn’t find a bullet hole.

As I studied her head, her neck, her shoulders, whatever I could see, I found myself gripping her wrist, as though I could squeeze her back to life. “Bailey,” I said softly. “Bailey. Come on, come on.” Unshed tears closed my throat and my words came out in a strangled sob.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Then, a sound. A low moan. The sweetest sound in the world. Bailey’s eyelids fluttered and opened. Without moving her head, she looked at me, then down at my hand, which was still wrapped like a vise around her wrist.

A croak. I leaned in closer. “Let go,” she said.

I released her wrist and she slowly sat up, groaning as she lifted her head.

“I was trying to take your pulse. I couldn’t find it.”

“’Cause you don’t know how, fool.” Bailey shook her head, then lowered it to the steering wheel with another groan.

I’d get even with her for that crack later. “Don’t move, okay, smart-ass?”

I could hear distant sirens approaching, but just in case they weren’t for us, I pulled out my cell phone and called for paramedics as I ran toward Gary’s car. It was now a crumpled mess of twisted metal, steam spewing from the hood, fluids leaking out everywhere. Bullet holes had cracked the passenger window and penetrated the door. I went around to the driver’s side and saw that the window was shattered and the car riddled with bullet holes. The air bags had deployed and filled the front seat.

“Gary!” I shouted. “Gary!”

No answer. I reached through the driver’s window and found the door handle. Underneath the air bag, I saw Gary’s face.

His eyes, wide open, stared vacantly upward. Desperate to give him air, I shoved back the air bag, but the moment I did, the blood it had been holding in streamed down the side of his neck. The source: a neat, round hole just under his jaw. I sank to the ground, too numb to scream.

I don’t know how long I sat there. I only know that at some point later, I heard the whoop of sirens and the slamming doors of ambulances and squad cars behind me. Suddenly arms were pulling me away and paramedics swarmed the car. My head swimming, I grabbed a uniformed arm, pointed to Bailey’s car, and tried to speak. The officer told me they were taking care of her and led me to a paramedic.

“Take a look at her,” he ordered.

“I’m fine,” I said, and tried to pull away. But the paramedic wasn’t having any. He sat me down and insisted on taking my vitals. Suddenly, too exhausted to argue, I submitted. When he’d removed the blood-pressure cuff, I asked, “Who’s taking care of Gary?” Then, without warning, I started to shake uncontrollably.

The paramedic abruptly pulled me into the ambulance and made me lie down on a gurney. “Tell me, how’s Gary? You’ve got to tell me!” I said as a surge of fear flooded my stomach with acid, making me want to retch. The paramedic wrapped a blanket around me, and I heard the crinkling of a wrapper. I felt something cold on my arm, then a swift pinch. “Gary…,” I mumbled.

The next thing I knew, I was in a bed in the emergency room and Bailey was in the bed next to me. Her head and shoulder were bandaged and she had an IV, but they’d cleaned her up and her color looked pretty good. The monitors over her bed told me her systems were in working order.

I tried to sit up, but my head began to spin. A young dark-haired doctor with a warm, sexy smile came striding in and went over to Bailey’s bed. He spoke to me over his shoulder as he examined her chart and her monitor readings.

“You okay? You might be a little dizzy after that sedative.”

I nodded toward Bailey. “Is she…?”

“She’ll be fine. Took a grazing wound to the head and a through-and-through in the shoulder area. We’ll do an MRI just to make sure, but if that comes out clean-as we expect it will-she should be good to go.”

All at once, my memory came rushing back. “What about Gary? Where is he?” I tried to sit up again.

The doctor frowned. “I don’t have a patient named Gary. But if you give me his last name, I can have someone check into it for you.”

I gave him Gary’s full name, and the doctor promised to get me some information, then left. I tried to keep myself from screaming with frustration. God knew how long it would take for someone to get back to me. I’d go find Gary myself. I was just starting to prop myself up when Eric entered with slow, tentative steps. Why was my boss here?

“Hey, Rachel.” His voice was so low it was barely audible.

“No need to whisper, Eric. They’ve pumped her full of so much stuff, she won’t wake up until next week.”

“What about you?”

I quickly gave him the condensed version, then got to what was important to me. “Have you heard anything about Gary? No one here can tell me anything.”

Eric put his hands in his pockets, then looked away.

“What? What?” I asked, agitated.

“Rachel, I’m sorry. He didn’t make it.”

I’d known, but I’d refused to accept it. I’d wanted to hear that a miracle had happened. You’d think that I, of all people, would know better. The tears came on their own, hot and silent.