In Her Shadow (28 page)

Chapter Seventy-One

Hank snaps from hazy semi-consciousness to awake at the sound of voices from upstairs. Still lying on a bed and hooked to IVs, his abdomen throbs. He listens. If it’s Malcolm, he may have Claire with him. It’s faint but he’s certain—he hears a woman’s voice.

“Hello?” he calls out. “Claire? I’m down here!” Every word adds pain to his injury. He touches his injury, noting swelling.

“We’ve got someone! Downstairs.” A man’s voice.

He hears jostling with the locked door, then a loud
bang
as someone busts the lock and kicks the door open. The pounding of heavy steps fills him with relief. Three police officers, two men and one woman, appear. They enter the basement with their arms extended, pointing guns, panning from side to side.

“I’ve been shot,” Hank says.

The cops investigate the area, guns still pointed. “Is he here?” one asks.

“No. He left a while ago. Have you found Claire?” He senses from their faces that they haven’t. Or they don’t want to tell him the truth.

A cop talks into his radio. “Are we clear upstairs? We need backup... Gunshot wound, one man down.”  

The female officer slides her gun into her holster and approaches Hank. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Hank Matheson.”

“Other than the gunshot wound, are you okay? Hurt otherwise?”

“No, but trust me. One bullet hole hurts plenty.” He can only hope it hasn’t caused more damage inside. Trying to ignore thoughts of internal bleeding, he focuses on the medic’s questions.

She scans the IV drip and bandages. “The perpetrator do all this?”

“No. He shot me, but I did the rest. I’m a med student.” He details what happened, confirming what he stated in his email to the police department after he’d emailed Claire. He starts with Claire’s phone message and ends with the blow to his abdomen.

God, he hates that man... If he could, he would bolt outside right now, hunt him down himself.

“Elle Taylor...” the cop says. “She phoned in a tip in earlier and your email matched. Nice teamwork. Good thing, too... Internet reports usually take more time.”

“What about Claire? Have you found her?” he asks again and tries to lift his head, but feels too woozy.

“Not yet, but we’re searching. No sign of her since you arrived?”

“There’s blood outside...and the blood on the floor’s not all mine. Her purse is in Malcolm’s car, in the garage. Find her, please.”

Another cop runs down the stairs. “Perp’s fled, looks like on foot.”

As the officers converse nearby, Hank picks up bits and pieces, fighting exhaustion and pain, but more so terror.

An armed and dangerous man... On the run... girlfriend... Claire...

Two paramedics rush down the stairs with a backboard. They carry Hank up the stairs and load him onto a stretcher. Policemen are dispersed around the main floor. Tape surrounds the blood- and glass-filled kitchen—a
crime scene.

The paramedics transport him outside where an ambulance awaits. As they carry the stretcher through the patio door and into the yard, the sound of a dog barking fills the air. It’s loud, unrelenting. Craning his neck, Hank turns to see a large dog bounding toward the house. It stops in front of a police grouping, barking louder, repeatedly.

One cop says, “Isn’t he one of Bob Chappa’s hounds? Either way, this guy wants to show us something.”

Chapter Seventy-Two

Claire feels herself drifting off when she notices a whistling sound. She lifts her head, startled.
Malcolm?
It can’t be. He’s...dead—
isn’t
he?

Her thoughts have grown murky, and the line between real and imagined is thin. She recalls the scissors, the knife, the blood; she couldn’t have imagined all of that.

She glances down at Jill, whose head now rests on her shoulder. Her breathing is shallow, but continues. She kisses the top of her head. Please...
keep breathing
.

Even the dog is sleeping, huddled up against Jill’s opposite side. With exhausting pulling on her, Claire longs to join them. Soon, she won’t have a choice. When her eyelids drop, she snaps them up like window shades—not if she can help it.

More whistling breaks the silence. Then words: “No...place like home....”

Claire straightens. A familiar voice. “Mom?”

Shit.
As much as she longs for her mother, she knows that actually hearing her would mean she’s delusional. Sick. Losing control. She listens.

“No place...”

This time it sounds like Jill. “Good, Jill! That’s right... There’s no place like home.”
The Wizard of Oz
, Claire thinks. Though touched by another parallel, her own voice sounds foreign—exhausted and weak. Her throat feels raw. But Jill is alive and breathing. And talking, at least somewhat.

So focused on Jill, Claire doesn’t notice that the dog has sat up. Its ears are peaked at attention. Another whistle sounds, then the rumble of a motor. The dog leaps to the door, barking.

Claire moves Jill’s head gently from her shoulder then rushes to the door. More barking sounds, but from outside. She pushes the door open.

“Help! Please help us! We’re in here!” She waves frantically, tears wetting her cheeks as she watches the hound who’d darted off returning. He runs through the trees and straight toward the cabin, three men on snowmobiles in his path.

The men’s arrival relieves her like sunshine bursting through the window, putting an instant end to a nightmare. Two men in red jackets unload heavy packs onto the snow.
Paramedics
. The other, a police officer, approaches her first.

“Claire Fiksen?” he asks, holding a gun at his side.

“Yes.”

“Are you alone?”

“No.” When he draws the gun, she raises a hand. “No, I mean my sister is here. No one else. She’s sick and needs help...badly.”

The cop enters the cabin with Claire, ensuring it’s safe, then calls to the paramedics. “All clear. But we might need more help.”

One of the medics wraps Claire in a heavy blanket. “Thanks,” she says. “But please take care of her first.”

Jill lies under the blanket, eyes closed. Claire answers the emergency responder’s questions as they check Jill’s vitals then place an oxygen mask over her mouth. When her eyes flutter open, Claire is right there to soothe her. “It’s okay, Jill. These men are here to help us. We’re going to be okay.”

Deciding the terrain is too bumpy and slick to carry Jill by sled, the medics unfold a stretcher; they’ll carry her on foot.

During the ride back to the house, Claire realizes how dangerous further walking on her own could have been. The terrain is now slick with ice and covered with additional snow—a deceptive cover. Still wrapped in the blanket, she sits on the back of the policeman’s snowmobile, holding on tight, praying even harder.
Hang on, Jill
...

By the time they reach the house, an ambulance is ready. Though Claire feels able to walk, the paramedics suggest placing her onto a stretcher. “Only if I can ride with her,” she says.

Once Jill is secured inside, she joins her—two stretchers in one ambulance, one raised higher. Like bunk beds, Claire thinks.

“How did you find us?” Claire asks the paramedic as they prepare to drive off. “Was it the dog?”

“I’m sure the officers will explain everything once you arrive at the hospital,” the medic says.

Claire’s heart beats faster. Why wouldn’t he explain now?

She glances out the window and spots part of the answer. Hank’s car is parked on the roadside.

But where’s Hank?

Chapter Seventy-Three

An ER doctor is finishing dressing Claire’s wounds—bruises and cuts on her face, neck and ankle and a sprained wrist—when Elle arrives. She stops in the doorway of Claire’s hospital room, worry etched into her face.

“Claire!” She rushes in and drops her head onto Claire’s chest, crying. “I thought I was never going to see you again. I’m so sorry. I—”

“Hey... It’s not your fault.” Claire smooths Elle’s hair with her hand. “From what the officers said, you helped save me. They also said you took care of Zola.”

“Yeah, about Zola. She may have gained a few pounds...” Elle wrinkles her nose in apology. “I keep wanting to make her feel better so I gave her more snacks. Okay, and I ate a lot of snacks, too. It’s sort of been a comfort food fest.”

Claire grasps Elle’s hand then kisses it.

A nurse enters with a wheelchair. “Is now a good time?”

“Perfect,” Claire says then looks at Elle. “Ready to meet my sister?”

“I can’t freaking believe it...”

“I think I can manage to walk,” Claire tells the nurse.

“Doctor’s orders. After all you two have been through, don’t mind us if we spoil you a little.”

Claire smiles. At this point she’ll take all the spoiling she can get. Pausing outside Jill’s door, she grasps Elle’s hand. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? She’s...in tough shape.”

In addition to injuries similar to Claire’s, Jill suffered two broken ribs, frostbitten feet and hypothermia, which bordered on severe. Yet even with all her injuries. Jill had managed to direct the paramedics to Malcolm’s medical files, which held her recent X-rays and reports. Once she’s strong enough, she will most likely receive one of Claire’s kidneys. Malcolm was right about that.

“As ready as I can be,” Elle replies.

Stepping into the room, Claire catches Jill’s gaze. “Hey Sis.”

“Hey.” Jill smiles weakly.

Elle does a double take as she looks at the sisters.

Claire supposes she will have to get used to such glances. “Jill, this is Elle. I’ve known Elle all my life.”

“Hi Jill. I’m so happy to meet you,” Elle says.

“Happy to meet you, too.” Jill smiles then glances at Claire, as though seeking support.

Claire nods.
It’s okay. You’re doing great.

Elle turns to Claire and whispers, “She even sounds like you.”

Claire looks at her friend, wondering how she feels about all of this. Yes, Jill is her sister, but she and Elle are still—she and Elle. And all she sees in Elle’s face is genuine joy as she gazes at Jill. For that, Claire loves her even more.

“I almost forgot. I have something for you both.” Elle reaches into a large gift sack she’s been carrying and pulls out two violet plants in ceramic pots. “I hope they’re...okay?”

Claire’s mouth drops open. “Elle, they’re... I don’t know what to say. They’re...perfect!”

Jill holds hers, staring at it with tear-filled eyes. “It’s so beautiful.”

“You know what?” Claire rests her hand on Jill’s arm. “Our mom loved violets. She even grew some, just like these once.”

Jill looks at her, wide eyed. “I wish I could’ve known her.”

“Me too,” Claire says. “I know it’s not the same, but I’ll tell you anything and everything you’d like to know.”

“We should have a sleepover and go through your old photo albums,” Elle says. “I’ll even make that pasta primavera your mom used to make.”

“That was my favorite,” Claire says. And it sounds delicious right now.

“That was
my
favorite,” Jill says.

“Why am I not surprised...” Claire smiles. “With warm, crusty French bread—”

“Garlic bread,” Jill adds. “And chunky tomato sauce.”

“What was that amazing cake your mom made?” Elle asks. “All rich and chocolatey. You’ve never had anything like it.”

 
Cake
. Jill’s eyes fall.

“Well, it’s settled,” Elle says. “We’ll have a celebration. I’ll bring the champagne.”

Claire grasps Jill’s arm, aware that comfort around rich foods in particular will take some time. “Maybe. But not until you’re ready.”

Jill looks up. “Not maybe. We
will
celebrate. I’ll be ready...soon.”

Baby steps, Claire thinks.

One at a time.
Jill appears thoughtful, but her eyelids are heavy.

“How about you get some rest? I’ll be back later.” Claire kisses Jill’s forehead then Elle rolls her into the hallway.

Claire steps out of the wheelchair and hugs Elle. “See what you helped accomplish? I don’t know how to thank you. If you hadn’t gone to the police...”

“Well I was only
part
of that equation. A small part, if you ask me. I wish you could have seen Hank’s eyes when he showed up at my house, panicked over finding you. The man is crazy about you.”

Hank
. She needs to see him.

“He woke up a short while ago,” the nurse tells Claire as they reach Hank’s room. “He’s still groggy from surgery, but he’s been asking for you.” Leaving the wheelchair with Elle in the hallway, Claire steps inside. “Mr. Matheson? You have a visitor.”

Hank lies in the hospital bed, hooked up to IVs. Thick bandages encircle his abdomen. Though the bullet had lodged in his lower left abdomen, it missed major arteries and organs. His self-care measures had prevented more serious damage.

His eyes crack open as she approaches. “Claire.”

She squeezes his hand and kisses it, then his forehead. “Are you all right?” The question seems silly. What can she say?

“Minus the hole in my stomach thing, just dandy. Hoping I’ll get some extra credit.”

She releases a sob into her hands. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“I was kidding. Come here, you.” He draws her close, kisses her lips. “Do you have any idea how crazy I went worrying about you?” He touches her face, his tired eyes moist with tears. “You are really here, right? I’m not high on pain drugs?”

“I’m definitely here,” she says softly. She touches his bandage. “I wish he hadn’t hurt you.”

“I wish he hadn’t hurt
you
. Or your...sister?”

Claire smiles. “I know. It’s crazy, right? But Hank, she’s...incredible. I mean, geez. She’s practically another me!”

Hank starts to laugh then winces. “Think we can stick to non-hilarious subjects for a while?”

Claire feels a rush of guilt. “Of course. I have one. Well, two. You heard about Grandma?”