The Door Into Summer
Chapter 28Doctor Carter led Suzanne through a door and down another hallway. When they reached room 349, he opened the door for her. "Five minutes, Miss. That's all for right now."
Suzanne nodded. "Yes, sir. I understand." She slipped inside the room and stood staring at the prone form of Jeff Spencer. He looked pale and helpless, with all of the tubes and bandages and wires around him. Suzanne sighed. She wondered if she'd ever have a chance to tell him how she felt. She forced herself to walk towards the bed, and the picture grew grimmer with every step she took. She began trembling again when she reached his bedside, and she couldn't restrain herself. She reached out a hand and caressed his cheek, and a soft sob escaped her. "Oh, Jeff, why did this have to happen? Because of some maniac that wanted revenge? Has he taken you away from me forever, before I can even tell you that I . . . I love you?"
It seemed the next breath he took was different – almost as if he was responding to her declaration. That was impossible, of course, just a wild figment of her imagination. Still . . .
She sat in the lone chair next to his bed and took his hand in hers. While he remained under the influence of the anesthetic and the drugs they'd used to help resuscitate him, she knew she could pour out her heart to him while he remained none the wiser. The last thing she needed was his knowledge of her unrequited love for him, and she'd done her best to make sure he never found out. She hoped no one else had seen the look in her eyes or heard the tremble in her voice when they were engaged in conversation. Now, while she had him to herself for a few precious minutes, she told him everything she'd been longing to say.
"Je me souviens de la première fois que je t'ai vue . . . quand je suis venu interviewer stuart et toi. Ton sourire était si chaleureux et amical, et tes yeux m'ont dit à quel point j'étais bien accueilli. Tu as été gentil, généreux, et juste un peu raté. Et puis, quand j'ai perdu Marcel, tu étais si gentil et réconfortant. Et je me sentais si proche de toi.» Je ne peux pas te perdre, avant même que tu saches . . . " *
The figure in the bed stirred, and Suzanne stopped talking for just a moment. When she resumed, it was in English. "I make this vow, dear Lord, that if you get him through this, and let him live, I'll never tell him how I feel. Then he can have a happy life without me in it . . . "
The door opened and a nurse stood there. "I'm sorry, your time is up. You can come back later."
Suzanne stood, bending over the bed and kissing Jeff on the forehead. "Au revoir, Jeff. Get well." She headed out of the room, past the nurse, and back the way she'd come. When she returned to the ICU Waiting Room she sank into a chair and took Stu's hand. "Merci beaucoup, Stuart."
"Feel better?" Stu asked her with great concern. She'd been crying again, but she seemed more peaceful than when she departed to see Jeff.
"A little. He's so still, Stuart, almost like – almost like there was no life there."
"He's alive, Suzanne. And keeping him that way is the most important thing in the world right now." Suzanne was reminded once again of how much Stu cared about Jeff. She squeezed his hand and smiled at him.
"Yes, it is. And I know the doctors are doing their best. I just pray that it's enough."
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Everything was hazy and difficult to remember. His gun was drawn and he pushed the door to the apartment open . . . and then, nothing. For the longest time he seemed to float on a cloud; he felt nothing, he heard nothing. Then a jolt of pain in his arms, his hips, his chest; it burned like fire in his chest. There was a sensation of movement, of being carried somehow – then nothing but the darkness.
Another jolt of pain in his chest, followed by the blackness. One more time the same sequence . . . the jolt of pain and the blackness. For the longest time after that there was nothing; he could almost feel being moved, but he couldn't tell how or where, and when he was least expecting it, that terrifying jolt of pain in his chest. Once, twice, three times he felt it, before he returned to his home of nothingness.
Gradually he began to emerge from the blackness, and he floated in some kind of gloom. When everything began to clear it suddenly went black one last time, and then there was the searing pain. Why was he being tortured? Who was doing it? And would they never stop? A new kind of brightness began to appear sometime (days? hours? minutes?) later, and he remained that way until he felt something – on his cheek? – but didn't know what it was. Then a touch on his hand, almost like it was being held by someone, or something. Then there was a voice, murmuring words he didn't understand, and finally lips on his forehead. He struggled to identify the person with the lips, but when he reached for a name there was nothing there. Where was he? Was he alive or dead? Would he ever get answers to his questions?
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Once again they waited . . . every minute seemed like a day. "Do you want Kookie to drive you home?" Stu asked after fifteen or twenty minutes.
Suzanne shook her head. "No. I will stay here until – until something happens one way or the other."
Stu turned his attention to Kookie. "How about you? Time to go home?"
Kookie looked at Stu. "I won't say it again – you stay, I stay."
Stu had a fleeting thought – how lucky Jeff was to have such good and caring friends. Would his partner live to know how much these people cared? How much he cared? Unexpectedly a nurse came in and Stu began to stand up.
"Please, Mr. Bailey, sit down. I just came in to let you know the radio is reporting Mr. Spencer is alive but extremely critical. We don't know how they got the information, but there's nothing we can do about it. The police called and told us they were sending an officer back to stand outside Mr. Spencer's door. And I'll come get you in a few minutes to go in and see him. The doctor is with him right now. Is there anything I can do for you? Have the cafeteria bring up some food?"
Stu shook his head. "Nothing for me, thanks. Suzanne? Kookie?"
"Coffee, for all of us," Suzanne answered.
"Are there sandwiches of any kind? Anything? If there are, please send up three with the coffee," Kookie told the nurse, and he gave her his best smile.
The nurse nodded and left. Stu shot Kookie a look that usually would have sent the young man scurrying in the other direction. Kookie held his ground. "I don't want food, Kookie."
"How long has it been since you ate, Stuart? If I know you, dinner the night before Jeff's shooting was the last meal you had. I'm right, aren't I?" Suzanne insisted.
Stuart just stared at the receptionist. Very rarely did he ever fix that gaze on Suzanne, but he did now, and she ignored it. "That's what I thought," was the only answer she had for him.
The nurse was back in just a few minutes. "Mr. Bailey, doctor says you can go in now." She led him to ICU 349 and opened the door for him. Stu strode across the room and stopped when he reached the bedside. What was it Suzanne said? "He's so still. Almost like there was no life there." He prayed to God she was wrong, and the life that was there would come back to them. Stu sat down at the bedside.
"Jeff, I hope you can hear me. We're all here, all three of us waiting for you. Don't let Tony Daggett win, Jeff. You got to Rachel in time . . . she's alive and going to recover with no problem. You found her and you saved her, Jeff. That can't be the final act, the last thing you do. I don't want to call your mother and tell her you're gone. If you can hear me, you need to open your eyes."
Stuart waited to see if he got a reaction. He would have sworn he saw the eyelashes begin to flutter, but he blinked and when he renewed his gaze there was nothing there – no movement of any kind. He grabbed Jeff's hand and held it tightly in his own. "Jefferson, please. Please answer me. I don't want to be the daddy if you're not there with me. There's no Bailey and Spencer without you." Another minute went by before he felt it. The littlest bit of pressure from Jeff's hand. "Is that you, Jeff? Try one more time for me." Again, it was almost a minute before the weak squeeze came. "Alright, I got it. You take your time, but you remember what I said. You have to fight your way back, no matter how hard it is. I'll be here waiting for you."
"Mr. Bailey?" the nurse called.
"Yes, I'm coming," he answered.
"I have a phone call for you at the nurses' desk," she told him when he got to the door. He hurried to the nurse's station; he had no idea who could be on the phone. When he picked it up he heard another familiar voice. Faint but there.
"Bailey, it's Gilmore. How is he?" the voice asked.
"Gil. I was just in with him. He's still not conscious, but I'm sure he's there. I asked him to squeeze my hand and he did."
"Did they get all the bullets?"
"Yes, even the one by the heart. That's what took so long. Now all we can do is wait."
"He's a strong man. He'll make it. Besides, we've got a criminal to catch," Gil told him.
"What's this we stuff? I'm going to see if I can get both of you in the same hospital. It would save me some time."
"Very funny, Stu. Ellen's trying to take the phone away from me, I think she's got something to say."
"Stu, it's Ellen. Gil's looking better than before, so I assume you can give me some good news."
"He's alive, Ellen. We're waiting for him to wake up."
"We, Stu?"
Stu chuckled. "Suzanne and Kookie are here with me. Kookie's been here the whole time."
"Good, I'm glad you're not alone. Now, my last question and I'll give you back to Gil. Are you taking care of yourself? Someone needs to be healthy enough to go after Daggett."
"Don't worry, Ellen. I'll get him. One way or the other."
"Alright, here's Gil."
In a few seconds Gil was back on the phone. "You heard her. She's as worried about you as she is Jeff. You let me know when you're ready to find Daggett. I'll give you all the help I can."
"I know you will, pal, and I really appreciate it. You take care of yourself and that lovely lady you're married to, alright? I'll keep you in the loop, Gil."
"You better," and the phone went dead in his hands. He walked slowly back to the waiting room. The coffee and sandwiches had arrived, and Stu made a liar out of himself. He was hungry and he grabbed the one that was left and accepted the coffee Suzanne offered him. Taking a swallow of coffee, he cleared his throat. "Gil and Ellen called. They sent their best. And I got a slight squeeze from Jeff's hand when I asked him to let me know he was there."
"Oh, Stuart, that's wonderful." Suzanne practically beamed at him.
Stu took a bite out of the sandwich. Tuna salad. Not his favorite, but his stomach didn't care. He wolfed the food down and finished it with more coffee.
"Stu . . . " Kookie began, then stopped.
"Mr. Kookson?"
"Can I go in to see Jeff?"
"Of course you can, Kookie. You don't have to ask my permission."
"Thanks, dad."
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Daggett had fallen asleep in his chair on the little patio with a view of the ocean, so he missed the beginning of the news when it came on at five o'clock. He wasn't sure what woke him, but what he heard through the screen door didn't sit well with him. " . . . Spencer, who we reported to have died in the ambulance, is alive, although in extremely critical condition. He survived almost twelve hours of surgery to extract a bullet lodged near his heart and is currently in the ICU at Beach Presbyterian Hospital.
"The girl with him, a sixteen-year-old named Rachel Ames, is in stable condition and is expected to make a complete recovery. No word yet on the shooter or shooters. Stay tuned for further updates. Now, back to Frank Sinatra singing . . . "
"Damn!" Tony swore as he slammed the glass he'd been holding down on the arm of the chair. It shattered into a million pieces. "What is it about these guys? Zero for three, and I'm back to square one again. Why can't I kill one of them? Shoot the bastard in the heart and he doesn't even have the decency to die. Now what do I do?"
Several ideas came to mind, but he rejected them all. There was only one thing he knew for certain – he was going to have to lay low and stay in San Diego until things calmed down. Four or five weeks, at least. That should give him enough time to formulate a plan that would actually work. He hoped. "Damn! Couldn't even kill the bitch that I used for bait. I have the worst luck!" Tony didn't stop to think that maybe the three men he'd set out to destroy had the best luck . . . and it was mocking him by keeping them alive.
He went back into the room he'd rented to wash his face and comb his hair. Then he left the room, locking the door behind him, and got in his car. He knew a little about San Diego; he'd lived there for two years quite a while ago. He went looking for a hamburger place and found a Boll Weevil. They had pretty decent food. He was no longer willing to splurge on the steak he'd had in mind for tonight's dinner . . . there was nothing to celebrate. He ordered a burger, fries and a malt. I'll get you, Bailey. No matter what it takes. I'll get you, he thought to himself as he bit into his food. I'll get you.
* "I remember the first time I saw you . . . when I came to interview with you and Stuart. Your smile was so warm and friendly, and your eyes told me how welcome I was. You were kind, and generous, and just a little mischievous. And then, when I lost Marcel, you were so sweet and comforting. And I felt so close to you. I can't lose you, before you even know . . . "