Her feet crunching noisily through the gravel, Nancy nearly collided with Rebecca's pink tricycle in her desperation to reach the ambulance. The night was frosty cold; Nancy's breath was suspended in a swirling white fog as she raced towards the screaming ambulances, their blue flashing lights filling the night sky.
"Could you show us where the victim is, ma'am?" a dark-haired paramedic demanded brusquely, two broad shouldered men following frantically in his wake, a gurney rattling behind them.
"The kitchen," Nancy managed with difficulty, her voice swallowed by the horror she was so suddenly submerged in. "It's through here," she directed urgently, beckoning the men to follow her into the blood-strewn room.
Suffering and carnage were typical trademarks of a paramedic's job, but even they were unable to disguise the horror on their faces as they were forced to step over the gruesome remains of Brian Smith. Blood had steadily pooled out from the gaping wound on his head and was now trailing in shimmering rivers of red across the tiled floor, but Nancy hardly saw it, such was her fear for Ned.
Ned was slumped against the wall, the blood spreading over his white shirt with frightening ferocity. His face was deathly pale and if not for the hesitant rise and fall of his chest, Nancy would have believed him to be dead. Gazing stricken at Ned, Nancy searched desperately for reassurance that despite all the evidence, his blood-drenched appearance and the sickly-grey pallor of his skin, that he was okay.
"He is going to be okay, isn't he?" she demanded of the team of men who were struggling to stem the seemingly never ending flow of blood. Nancy had seen Ned in some terrible states, the time he had been involved in a hit and run during one of her cases springing particularly to mind, but there had been nothing like this.
"He's going to be okay, though?" she tried again, this time a little more hesitantly, as though terrified of how they might respond. The answering silence spoke volumes, though, and Nancy felt sick at the thought of what that might imply.
Time seemed to hold no relevance or meaning after that. Questions were fired at Nancy with increasingly intensity about Ned's medical history and his blood type before she was led away from the scene by a kind-faced police officer, her blonde hair twined in a severe plait around her head. Looking up, Nancy saw in shock that the room was swarming with FBI and police personnel. My God, she hadn't even noticed them coming in.
Feeling nauseated and distracted by thoughts of Ned, Nancy could barely focus on what the police officer was evidently trying to say to her.
"What?" she demanded, confused, her gaze focused solely on the sight of the paramedics still working furiously on Ned.
"Agent Drew, I'm Officer Weaver and I need to check if you require any medical attention," the woman repeated in concern, gesturing firmly at Nancy to take a seat at the table.
Sitting down reluctantly on the cushioned chair, Nancy stared at the woman nonsensically, not understanding the relevance of her question until she caught sight of her bloodied reflection in the mirror. The white tank top she was wearing was stained a deep crimson and daubs of blood smeared her pale skin.
"I'm fine," Nancy reassured the police officer, desperate to get back to Ned. "I was upstairs when this all happened with Ned's daughter. Shit, Rebecca," she suddenly remembered, pulling away from the woman and heading in the direction of the stairs. With all the commotion and her worry and fear for Ned, Nancy hadn't given any thought to the little girl. She would be terrified, Nancy realized, guilt stricken, remembering the look of abject horror in Rebecca's brown eyes when Nancy had been forced to leave her on her own to check on Ned.
"Rebecca is okay," Officer Weaver spoke reassuringly from behind her, allowing Nancy to breath a small sigh of relief. "She's upstairs with two of your colleagues, an Agent Thomas and an Agent Carr, I believe, and she's busy packing a bag to take with her to her grandparents." Aaron, Nancy realized gratefully, thinking fondly of her ex-lover. He'd know what to do.
"You've been in contact with the Nickersons?" Nancy demanded, unable to imagine the hell Edith and James must have gone through, not being able to see their son or granddaughter in weeks and now having to be told such horrendous news by a complete stranger.
"We have," Officer Weaver confirmed grimly. "But I believe they're currently on their way to the hospital. Rebecca's maternal grandparents who have agreed to take her for the time being."
Nodding her understanding, Nancy stood up from the chair, desperate to resume her former position by Ned's side, but was intercepted by a familiar figure marching towards her, concern shining in his blue eyes. "Nancy, I'm so sorry," he began, and Nancy launched herself immediately into his arms, needing the support he was offering.
"Aaron, he'll be okay, won't he?" Nancy pleaded fearfully, unable to drag her eyes away from the sight of Ned being loaded onto the gurney, an oxygen mask clamped over his face. "They won't tell me anything and I'm going out of my mind."
"He's strong, Nancy," Aaron replied helplessly, his attempts at being reassuring completely failing. "And he's got youth on his side. I don't know what else to say," he finished weakly. Gazing over at Ned, Nancy suddenly read the situation through Aaron's FBI trained eyes. The floor where he'd lain was almost completely saturated with blood, Ned's blood, and he was so still, completely unresponsive to the prodding and probing he was being subjected to.
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Nancy whipped immediately around to find a relatively young police officer staring at her urgently. "The paramedics are ready to take Mr. Nickerson in, if you wish to accompany him."
Pulling away from Aaron, Nancy forced a grateful smile before racing desperately to Ned's side.
--
Sinking into the hard plastic chair, Nancy squeezed her hand so tightly with nervousness that her nails dug painfully into her skin. The waiting room was infuriatingly hot and noisy; the sight of a younger, blonder girl wailing inconsolably into the shoulder of her similarly distressed male friend only added to Nancy's sense of unease. A clock ticked menacingly from the corner of the room, each minute counted down with excruciating deliberation. Where the hell was the doctor? Nancy wondered frantically, whipping around expectantly at every tread of a footstep or creak of the door. A weary-eyed nurse, armed with only the vaguest of details, had been Nancy and the Nickersons' only source of news on Ned's condition. Distracted, she had insisted that a doctor would keep them informed of Ned's condition, but that had been almost an hour ago and Nancy had heard nothing since.
"What can be taking so long?" Edith exclaimed desperately, a cup of long-cold coffee still clutched tightly in her hand. "He's been in surgery for almost an hour now. Why can't anyone tell us something?"
Edith and James had been spared the torture of seeing their son lying bloodied and wounded on the cold kitchen floor, but in a way, this shielding from their son's condition only served to make them feel more helpless and desperate.
"Did the paramedics say anything to you, Nancy?" Edith demanded tearfully, her hands shaking as she finally set the styrofoam cup onto the streaked glass of the countertop.
"No," Nancy confirmed miserably, remembering Ned's frightening stillness as he lay slumped lifelessly in the kitchen. "They were busy trying to help Ned and I didn't want to get in the way." Nancy didn't bother adding that it had taken three paramedics just to stop the blood gushing uncontrollably onto the floor.
"Was he conscious?" James cut in, determined to glean even the barest insight into his son's condition, despite the hospital's insistence at keeping them in the dark.
Swallowing hard, Nancy determined it better to tell Edith and James the truth, regardless of the pain it would inevitably cause. "No," she admitted reluctantly, forcing her gaze to meet theirs.
A choked sob emerged from Edith's throat. "How bad was it, Nancy?" she pleaded, her hands clenched nervously on her lap. "They won't tell us anything other than he'd been stabbed."
"There was a lot of blood," Nancy revealed hesitantly, not wanting to worry the Nickersons further, but understanding their need to be kept in the loop. "He'd been stabbed in the chest. It looked bad."
A headache that had been throbbing steadily behind her eyes since the whole nightmare had begun had now exploded into a full blown torturous pounding in her head. Exhaling a ragged breath, Nancy felt increasingly dizzy and nauseous, closing her eyes in a bid to fight the growing nausea.
"Nancy, are you okay?"
Concerned voices echoed vaguely in the background but Nancy hardly heard them. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Nancy raced to the restrooms, reaching the toilet just in time and retching violently, the contents of her stomach spilling freely into the water.
--
"Mr. and Mrs. Nickerson? I'm Dr. Robson and I'm here to tell you about your son's condition."
At the sound of the doctor's voice, Edith, James and Nancy sprang up out of their chairs, their bodies rigid and tense as they waited for the doctor to begin. The fine lines etched on the doctor's face and the considerable expanse of grey among the otherwise dark hair spoke of the challenging nature of his job. Dark shadows were smudged under his eyes and it had obviously been a hectic night.
"Ned has had a very lucky escape," Dr. Robson spoke solemnly, shaking his head as he quickly scanned through the information posted on the clipboard on front of him. Edith sighed audibly in relief in that, her hand squeezing that of her husband in silent gratitude. "He's lost a lot of blood but the knife didn't pierce any of his vital organs so he's going to be okay. You're the person who found him?" he asked suddenly, directing his attention towards Nancy.
Nodding in reply, Nancy gazed expectantly at the doctor.
"You probably saved his life," Dr. Robson informed her gravely, clearing his throat before continuing. "Another five minutes and Ned would probably have bled to death."
"But he's going to be okay?" James demanded, needing to hear the doctor repeat his confirmation that Ned was going to be fine.
"Don't get me wrong," the doctor replied, gazing soberly at the trio standing in front of him. "Ned has suffered some very serious injuries and will need time to heal and recuperate. He will also be in significant pain for at least the next few weeks, if not months. But I expect Ned to recover fully, so yes, to answer your question, he's going to be fine."
"Can we see him?" Nancy cut in, suddenly desperate to see Ned after agonizing for so long over whether she'd ever see him alive again.
"He's still unconscious from the anesthetic but you may see him separately for ten minutes each. Ned needs his rest," the doctor informed them seriously, before beckoning them to follow him out onto the corridor. Edging between harassed looking nurses and patients being wheeled on trolleys, they were led to another room.
A platinum blonde nurse, her long hair tied up primly on her head, seemed to have taken control of the situation. Stripping latex gloves from her hands, she gazed at the group wearily. "I know you are all anxious to see Mr. Nickerson, but please try to keep the visit brief. He needs to rest."
"We understand," Edith agreed hastily, obviously desperate to see her son, but it was to Nancy she turned, gratitude in her eyes as she indicated towards the door. "You go first, Nancy. He needs to hear your voice."
"I couldn't," Nancy argued weakly, feeling guilty at the thought of dragging out the Nickersons already intolerably long wait to see their son any further. "You're Ned's parents. You should see him first."
"But you're the girl he loves, Nancy," Edith declared softly, giving her a gentle push towards the door. "Go on in. We'll wait out here."
His skin horribly pale and crisscrossed with a frightening display of tubes and wires, the doctor's assurances that Ned would be okay seemed suddenly very hollow as Nancy took a seat hesitantly beside him.
"I love you so much, Ned," Nancy murmured softly, reaching out and taking his hand in hers and holding it close to her. "I love being with you. I need you to better, Ned, and get out of here, so we can be together, you and Rebecca and me. I hate seeing you like this."
At that, Nancy's voice broke, her emotions finally overcoming her after the stress and worry of the previous hours. She did love Ned. She adored him and the horrible knowledge that she could have lost him was almost too much to bear.
"You don't have to worry about Smith anymore," Nancy continued shakily, swiping a hand impatiently over her damp cheeks. "We can get on with our lives knowing that bastard is gone."
The platinum-blonde nurse poked her head hesitantly into the room, a plastic apron tightly secured over her white uniform.
"I'm sorry, but the ten minutes are up and Mr. and Mrs. Nickerson are waiting to see their son."
Nodding her understanding, Nancy pressed her lips gently to Ned's. "I love you," she whispered softly, giving his hand a final, gentle squeeze before making for the door.
"Ned will have gained consciousness in a few hours and you will be able to spend more time with him then. For now, I suggest going home and getting some sleep."
"I should stay here," Nancy disagreed firmly, not liking the idea of leaving Ned for fear of something happening to him in her absence.
"There's no point," the nurse shrugged wearily, smoothing a hand over her neatly styled hair. "We'll call you if there's any change in Ned's condition but you should try to get some rest in the meantime."
Realizing that there was no point in arguing her case further, Nancy took one last look over her shoulder at Ned before stepping reluctantly out of the room.
--
The sun was just beginning to rise, the morning sky streaked with an explosion of fiery oranges and reds as Nancy pulled wearily into the driveway of her father's house. She couldn't face the thought of returning to that cold, lonely apartment on her own after the noisy, boisterous weeks she had spent with Ned and Rebecca. Carson Drew was already waiting impatiently for her at the door, as Nancy stepped wearily out of the car and stumbled towards the house.
"How is he?" Carson demanded immediately, before bundling his daughter in a warm hug.
"Ned is going to be okay," Nancy admitted with quiet relief as she rested her head comfortingly on her father's shoulder. "He's still unconscious but the nurse thinks he should come out of it in the next few hours and I can see him then. She wouldn't let me stay with him," she revealed darkly and her father chuckled bemused at the expression on her face.
"And you actually listened to her?" Carson declared with false incredulity, accustomed to his daughter's headstrong ways that were so like his own.
The welcoming smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen and Nancy's stomach grumbled in anticipation of some food.
"Come on, let's get you something to eat," her father declared knowingly, pushing the door closed behind them and leading Nancy into the kitchen.
Her hands wrapped gratefully around the mug of steaming coffee, Nancy had to smile, seeing her father expertly set about whipping some eggs for his famous French toast.
"My favorite," she sighed happily, stirring some sugar into her coffee before taking a hesitant sip of the steaming liquid.
"Anything for my girl," he murmured affectionately, pouring the eggs with a hiss into the pan before regarding his daughter softly. "I've been so worried about you, Nan," Carson revealed in a more somber tone, replacing the spatula momentarily on the counter as he turned to Nancy. "How have you been?"
"I've been better," Nancy admitted with a weary shrug, taking a delicate sip from her coffee. "Seeing Ned like that was hard."
"And your injury?" Carson demanded worriedly, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"It's fine," Nancy shrugged dismissively, absently picking at the chunk of blueberry muffin on her plate. "The stitches are meant to come out in the next few days and then I'll be as good as new."
Sliding the plate of still bubbling French toast in front of his daughter, Carson's expression turned suddenly serious as he took a seat beside her at the table. "Nan, what the hell happened last night?" he inquired delicately, not wanting to risk upsetting his daughter further.
Placing her fork resignedly on the table, Nancy sighed unhappily before forcing her gaze to meet that of her father. Just thinking of the night roused memories of Rebecca's panicked sobs and the sounds of the unthinkable violence that had transpired downstairs. But her father wouldn't be the only person who would be interested in hearing every minute detail of the terrifying events of the night. The police had already spoken to her at the scene, though Nancy hardly remembered the conversation and the FBI would of course be interested. Nancy was already weary at the thought of the hours of interrogation and paper work she would be subjected to, in the interests of satisfying FBI protocol.
Sitting back in her seat, Nancy took a deep breath, her hands knotted nervously on her lap. "To be honest, Dad, I'm not definitely sure. We were asleep, when I heard a noise so I gave Ned my gun. He told me to go stay with Rebecca."
Nancy's voice faltered at that but she continued nonetheless, determined to get the words out, as though in dragging out the story was just prolonging the agony of reliving it.
"The next thing I hear is a scuffle, some furniture being broken, a window," Nancy shrugged uncertainly, taking a distracted sip from her coffee. "It was hard to distinguish what the sounds were exactly, with the bedroom door closed and of course, I was distracted with trying to keep Rebecca quiet."
"What happened then?" Carson urged her gently, sensing her reluctance to continue.
"There was a gunshot. Rebecca started screaming. I ran down the stairs and that's when I found him."
"You found who?" her father prompted her
"Ned," Nancy replied in exasperation, feeling inexplicably under attack. Carson Drew hadn't earned his reputation as a formidable defense attorney for nothing but at this moment she just needed him to be her dad. "He was bleeding heavily from his chest and that's when I called 911."
"Where was Smith?"
"He was lying on the ground, dead," she replied dully, a violent pounding starting to throb painfully in her head.
"Did you check for a pulse?" he inquired matter-of-factly, taking a much needed drink from his cup of coffee.
"There was no need," Nancy shrugged resignedly, trying to ignore the pain that was permeating through her skull. "Most of his brains were splattered across the walls when I arrived on the scene. There was no question that Smith was dead."
Nancy knew why her father was doing this. Over the coming weeks, she was sure she would be interrogated by at least a dozen separate FBI officials all wanting to know specific details and facts and he was just preparing her for that. But the hint of doubt in his voice hurt her all the same, though she knew that was not Carson's intention.
"Where was your gun?"
"It was on the floor," Nancy replied hesitantly, her face frozen in concentration as her mind groped back to the initial heart-stopping seconds when she'd stumbled upon the scene of utter carnage in the kitchen.
"Beside Ned?" Carson attempted to clarify as he gazed at his daughter carefully.
"I can't remember," Nancy admitted, her face crumpling, hating that she couldn't be clearer on the details of the crime scene. It was her job for Christ's sake and she felt like an utter failure having to admit as such to her father. It was unimaginable, what the FBI would think of the situation. Agents were recruited for their level clear headedness, not this bumbling wreck Nancy was certain she'd be perceived as unable to recall even the simplest of details about the previous night.
Noticing his daughter's distressed state, Carson decided it best to cut short this particular line of questioning until Nancy had at least slept and could think more clearly. "I think that's enough for now, Nan," he declared in a softer tone, setting about clearing the mostly untouched breakfast dishes from the table. "You look exhausted. Go get some sleep and we can talk about this later."
Relieved, Nancy could only muster a tired smile, already anticipating whatever few hours sleep she could manage to grab. "Thanks, Dad," she mumbled wearily, smothering a yawn in the palm of her hand before hastening towards the door.
"It'll all be okay, you know?" he promised her brightly, hastily.
"If you say so, Dad," Nancy smiled halfheartedly, her tone doubtful as she trudged up the stairs.