The Last Surgeon

CHAPTER 35

“We’re going to get them, Nick. I can feel it now.”

Jillian clenched her fist for emphasis. The fierceness of her anger, kept fairly dormant for most of the time Nick had known her, was almost palpable.

“That calligraphy was a great idea,” he said.

“Thanks. Belle taught me how to do it,” she said, her eyes dimming at the mention of her sister’s name. “But it was you. Mollender is the key, and you somehow managed to get through to him. I have been so damn frustrated since Belle died that I’ve been having trouble hanging on to my faith, and that’s never been an issue for me. Now, I’m beginning to feel hope. Whoever did this to her, and Umberto, and poor Manny-we’re going to get them.”

“Hey, easy on the optimism. Mollender didn’t promise us anything.”

“I know. But you accomplished what seemed impossible-you got through to him.”

Nick shook his head.

“He’s a sad, bitter guy. It didn’t feel all that great to see him have to connect with his pain. Much as the new-agers might disagree with me, I feel like sometimes it’s better to keep that stuff packed away.”

With a few hours before Jillian was due at work and Nick had to ready the RV for a night of servicing the mean streets of Baltimore, they had driven out to Nick’s place in separate cars. The day was warm, and Nick suggested a picnic in the yard with Second Chance, or perhaps in the lush park at the end of the street. Within a short while the idea was forgotten.

As they sat on the living room sofa sipping tea and sorting out the significance of Saul Mollender’s change of attitude, both of them were sensing a growing tension-a tension born of the feelings that had been evolving between them, the tension of opportunity and desire. The greyhound had taken to Jillian immediately and now sat beside her, his muzzle resting on her leg.

For a time, neither of them spoke. Then Jillian reached across and covered Nick’s hand with hers.

“Would it scare you to death if I asked you to take me to your bedroom?” she said.

“Maybe not to death, exactly, but it might scare me.”

“Then I won’t ask.”

“Okay, let’s do that over again. Take two. Second chance. Pretend you just asked if it would scare me to death if you asked me to take you to my room.”

“And your reply?”

“If you can pry yourself free from my pooch, I think it’s a terrific idea.”

“Me, too.”

Chance started to follow, then, perhaps thinking better of it, hopped up on the couch and rolled onto his back. Nick held Jillian’s hand and led her down the hallway to his bedroom door.

“You sure?” he asked.

She looked up at him and held his gaze with hers. “As sure as I need to be,” she said finally.

“Be it ever so humble,” he said, guiding her inside.

“I like it. I feel you in here.”

The room was spacious and airy, with bookcases covering one wall and two large windows another. Nick’s library, neatly arranged, featured huge medical tomes, historical biographies, the complete works of Poe and Shakespeare, and a large array of paperback novels, most of them adventure stories or thrillers. Interspersed throughout were framed photos of his family.

“No photos from your army days?” she asked.

“I have them, but they haven’t made it out of the box yet.”

“I understand.”

Nick sat on his mattress and watched as Jillian scanned the titles in his bookcase.

“I never was a huge reader,” she said, pulling out a copy of Two Years Before the Mast. “Not like Belle. I always want to be around people or out experiencing nature. When it gets late, I’m usually so beat that instead of picking up a book, I just conk off.”

“If you were subject to recurrent nightmares like most of us with PTSD, you might become more of a reader. Sleep is definitely not our friend.”

Jillian scanned the list of SUD scores taped on the wall beside the bed.

“You have the nightmares often?”

“I never used to before the explosion and Sarah’s death. Since then it’s like the event got branded into my brain. I have variations of the same bad dream almost every night, and so far there’s not been a damn thing I can do to keep them from happening. Last night, you were in there.”

She sat on the bed beside him, her expression playful.

“Me, in a nightmare,” she sighed like a starstruck teen. “Now that’s something a girl doesn’t hear every day. Tell me about it.”

“I don’t think so.”

She caressed his face, and again looked deeply and seriously into his eyes.

“It’s okay to tell me,” she said.

“All right, but it wasn’t pretty. It started off as a dream, a really nice one actually. But then it ended with the same truck that killed Sarah hitting you instead, cutting you in two. I’m not always the driver, but last night I was.”

If the mention of Sarah’s name or the horrific outcome of the nightmare upset Jillian, it did not register in her expression.

“Tell me about the nice part of the dream,” she said.

She leaned her body against his. He tingled at the feel of her skin pressed against his own.

“We were kissing,” he said.

“Like this?”

She held his face in both her hands. First their lips met, then parted. Their tongues explored with increasing urgency. The feel of her hands caressing the back of his neck and the gentle pull of her fingers through his hair sent shivers through him. Still kissing, she eased him onto his back and nestled in next to him.

“Yes,” Nick breathed into her ear. “We were kissing just like that.”

NICK HAD dozed off, perhaps only for a few minutes, when his cell phone startled him awake. Images of their lovemaking refused to leave. He could not believe that it had happened and could not wait for it to happen again. Reaching across Jillian, he answered the phone and set it on speaker.

“Hello, this is Nick Garrity,” he said, having to clear his voice after the first word came out as a croak.

“Three years ago, Umberto Vasquez was transported by ambulance from the Singh Medical Spa and Cosmetic Surgery Center to Shelby Stone Memorial.”

“Go on,” Nick said to Mollender.

“Three years and one month ago to the day, to be exact. Vasquez was brought by a private ambulance, Littleton Ambulance Services, it looks like. I’ve tried Google, Yahoo, and a couple of other places, but I can’t find them, and I’ve never heard of them.”

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this, Saul.”

“Maybe not. But I will take that gift your friend Ms. Coates was kind enough to make for me-that is if she hasn’t incinerated it.”

Jillian nodded vigorously and gave Nick a thumbs-up.

“Nope, she still has it. She’s an optimist. You’re a good man, Saul Mollender,” Nick said.

“Not really. I’m a bit of a dud. I know that. I did it because I believe Andy would have wanted me to. And I trust you. Not really sure why. I guess when you spend your day reading medical records you forget the humanity that goes into those pages. Perhaps you reminded me of that.”

It was then Nick realized Jillian had started getting dressed.

“Saul, hold on a second.” Pulling the phone up to cover the receiver with his hand, Nick asked, “Where you going?”

“That date. Belle was a nursing student at Shelby Stone on the day Umberto was brought there. I’m going back to the hospital before my shift to see if I can catch up with Nancy Lane at the nursing school. She’s been like a mother to each of her students for over twenty years, and she keeps incredible records. There’s a chance that she’ll be able to figure out where Belle was working that day. I’m certain that’s where her path and Umberto’s crossed and that’s how she knew about Nick Fury.”

“Good idea. Saul, sorry, you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“So, what floor did Umberto go to after he was dropped off at Shelby Stone?”

“Well, that’s where it gets really interesting,” Mollender said.

“How so?”

“There are no other entries in his record.”

“Nothing?”

“Not a word. According to all I’ve been able to find, Umberto Vasquez was delivered at Shelby Stone Memorial at ten o’clock that morning. Then he just disappeared from our records. It’s as if he simply dropped off the face of the earth.”