Whirlwind (37 page)

I shuddered and another jolt of adrenaline hit my system. I fingered the button on the flashlight.

Ron’s knife flashed in the rising moon’s light as he spun and flipped it. “Usually I prefer a more hands-on approach with my women, feeling the last beats of their heart with my fingers around their throat,” he sneered. “But I’ll make an exception for you. I’ll enjoy seeing your blood mixed with his.”

He waved the darkened blade in a figure eight in front of his sadistic grin. “Will you scream for me, Melissa? Yes, you’ll scream…you’ll scream for more,” he taunted.

Diablo kicked at the dirt in the corner. “Bull,” I snapped and raised my arm.

“Feisty to the end,” he said with a high-pitched laugh. “Say it louder, baby. Scream for me!”

“BULL!” I yelled and pointed both my flashlight and the pepper spray at him.

His twisted grin disintegrated into a blood-curdling, girlish shriek when the spray hit his face. The knife fell to the ground, but I continued to cover him with the caustic liquid—his head, his hands, his shirt—emptying the can. Arms thrashing, Ron doubled over, madly scratching at his burning eyes.

With a loud snort, Diablo took off. Ron’s tortured screams couldn’t mask the earth-shattering hoof beats speeding in his direction.

I backed away, my heart pounding as fast and as loud as Diablo’s hooves. He passed me with only feet to spare, and I yelped in the wake of his massive charge. The bull’s attention didn’t waver from Ron, even when his howling degraded into mindless curses and sobs.

Then, with a loud
thud
, the murderer’s cries abruptly ceased
.
Diablo’s head reared up, throwing Ron through the air like a broken puppet, his arms and legs flailing out of control. He crashed into the steel fence on the opposite side of the corral with resounding
clang,
falling into a motionless heap in the dirt and dung.

Diablo came to an abrupt halt and spun around, his breath visible as twin clouds of dust swirling above the ground.

I threw the flashlight aside, hoping to distract the beast, and dug my toes into the soft earth, running as fast as I could to the barrier. With a grunt, the bull charged again, thundering toward me. Seconds after I threw myself behind the thick wood, Diablo crashed into it, shaking the ground. I threw my hands out and shut my eyes, waiting for the beams to collapse around me. With what I expected to be my last breath I whispered, “I love you, Jason.”

Nothing happened.

I opened my eyes, amazed to see wood, not angels, towering straight and tall above me. The wall had held, and I patted it lovingly. I slumped against the timbers, breathing as hard as the huge bull panting a few feet away. For a moment the world shimmered and turned black, but I leaned forward onto my knees and forced my head down. Slowly the lightheadedness retreated, and my mind filled with one thing.

Jason.

I stood carefully, testing my balance before climbing the fence behind the barricade. Diablo stomped around his corral, huffing and snorting, but ignored me. Ron didn’t move; his legs
pretzeled
out in opposite directions, obviously broken.

“I’ll
never
want you, asshole,” I snarled, breaking into a run. Bursting through the stable door I yelled Jason’s name over the strengthening wail of sirens. Only a nervous Buckeye stood in the way.

Seeing the door at the back of the stall, I remembered the small pen on the other side. After unclipping Buckeye and shooing him through, I fell to my knees.

Jason didn’t move when I shook his shoulder.

Blood soaked the shirt tied around his leg. “Jason, please, wake up,” I begged, touching his face, his hands, his hair. His breathing was so shallow, I had to hold my own breath to hear it. “It’s over. We’re safe. It’s okay, you can open your eyes now.” I coaxed.
No, no, no, I can’t lose him like this!

I had to do something. Frantically I tried to tighten the makeshift bandage, tried to slow the leak that was stealing his life away, drop by drop. Suddenly Jason moaned in pain.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Stay with me, okay?” I implored. His eyes fluttered open, and relief washed through me.

“Melissa?” he mumbled. The sirens stopped, replaced by flickers of blue and red visible above the stall door.

I squeezed his hand, pressing it against my heart. “Yes, Jason, I’m here. Stay awake. Stay with me. The ambulance is coming.”

“Don’t cry, beautiful,” he said, the ghost of a smile flitting across his lips. His eyes didn’t stay open long.

Tears I hadn’t felt dripped onto his cheeks as I bent down and kissed him. His icy lips only fed the panic growing in me. “Jason, I love you.”

“I love…”

He didn’t finish, and his head lolled to the side.

“Jason!” I shook his limp hand. “Don’t leave me,
please!”
I sobbed.
Please, God, please don’t take him too.

God’s answer was the crackle of a police radio.

“In here!” I shrieked. “We need help!”

Sixteen

The campus police reached us first, answering my shouts with assurances that medical help was on the way, followed by questions about our attacker. I waved them toward the back of the stable, refusing to look away from Jason’s chalky face. An agonizing two minutes later, the ambulance arrived. Jason regained consciousness momentarily when the stretcher was wheeled in, and he whispered my name.

Someone pulled me away, saying something about letting the EMTs work. Then questions flew at me like bullets.

“How old is he? Is he allergic to anything? Is he taking any medication?”

With a helpless shrug, I watched them locate Jason’s wallet, which held more answers than I could give them.

“Where are you hurt?” a woman asked. She blocked my view of Jason, forcing me to look up. I was mildly surprised to see her face under a firefighter’s helmet.

“What?”

She took my bloodied hand and wiped it with something cold and wet. “Where are you hurt, honey?”

“I’m not. It’s…the blood’s not mine,” I stammered, fighting another wave of tears.

“They’re taking good care of him. You don’t need to worry,” she said, thoroughly cleaning my fingers.

“Is he going to…” I stopped, afraid to finish the question.

She wrapped a piece of shiny plastic around me. “Keep this on, it’ll help you warm up.” She pressed her fingers against my wrist. “Would you like to ride with him to the hospital?”

“Yes.”

She bent over the closest EMT. I heard the words “shock” and “exposure” before the tech nodded and glanced at me.

“He’s going to be okay, miss,” he said over his shoulder. “We’re just about ready to go.”

A few clicks later, Jason was strapped to the stretcher and being rolled out of the stable. My escort, the firefighter, kept an arm around me until I was lifted into the ambulance, then she slammed the door behind me. I lifted a hand at the dark window in belated thanks.

The trip to the hospital passed in a blur. I sat in the corner of the ambulance, staring at Jason. He drifted in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently. The EMTs continued to assure me he’d be okay and even let me hold Jason’s hand. His skin was so cold…

At the hospital, doctors and nurses surrounded Jason’s gurney, barking out numbers and shouting orders as they whisked him through a set of unmarked double doors. An arm stopped me from following, and before I knew it, I was on my own gurney in a curtained-off exam area. Above my protests, the nurse took my vitals. Tersely, I answered her questions, my eyes glued to the doors.

Finally, she stopped asking and gave me a T-shirt and a warmed cotton blanket to replace my Mylar one. She left me in the lobby with a curt, “Wait here. The doctor will be out shortly.”

Numbly I sat in one of the cold, hard plastic chairs. My mind shut down; after three days of trying to keep reality and fantasy separate—and failing—this latest event had sent me over the edge. Only one image filled my thoughts: the sight of Jason on the stretcher, bruised and battered, deathly still, and frighteningly pale.

I leaned over to put my head in my hands and was surprised to find they weren’t empty. Somehow, during all the confusion, I’d picked up Jason’s phone; not even the insistent nurse had been able to pry it from my hand. I flipped it over, carefully scratched off the dried spots of blood, then opened it.

The background picture on his display had changed. The shot of sunny
L.A.
I’d seen before had been replaced by two happy people about to enjoy a dinner at the pier. In the picture, Jason’s grin was for the camera, but his eyes were on me. My pink cheeks and goofy expression reminded me of his warm touch and his sultry voice when he’d coerced me to smile.

Please let him be okay.

I scrolled through his phonebook, preparing myself for the call I had to make. Though it was nearly midnight, I found his parents’ number and dialed. Thankfully, the conversation was short. I repeated to Mr. McAlister what the EMTs had told me: “A transfusion may be necessary, stitches and possibly surgery, but he should recover.” Mr. McAlister asked for the name of the hospital and directions. I hoped the news would be better by the time they arrived.

“We’ll see you soon, Melissa. Thank you for being there for Jason,” he said before hanging up. I pushed
End
and looked through the contacts one more time. This call would be even more difficult.

I pushed
Send
again, wondering what the time difference was between Tahiti and
California
. Did cell phones even work there? Maybe I should wait…but then the ringing stopped.

“Hey, bro, how’d the date go? Did she like the flowers?” Mitch answered, with a laugh.

I choked on a rush of grief.

“Jason?” he asked, his tone now subdued.

With a deep breath, I forced the words out. “Mitch, it’s Melissa. There’s been an accident. Jason’s been hurt.” I pinched my eyes shut.

He didn’t respond. I pulled the blanket tighter, waiting.

“How is he?”

“He…he was stabbed in the leg. The EMT said he would be okay, but he lost a lot of blood. They’re still working on him.”

Mitch exhaled slowly. “What about you? Are
you
okay, Melissa?” His concern reached through the phone and yanked my heart up to my throat.

“I’m fine,” I said, willing the tremble out of my voice.

“What happened?”

I closed my eyes, cringing as I recalled it all. Ron’s sneering face. Jason’s scream. The smell of blood. “We were attacked. It’s a long story.”

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see a man in scrubs standing over me.

“Hang on, the doctor is here.” I held the phone out, hoping Mitch could hear the conversation.

“You’re Jason McAlister’s friend?”

“Yes.”

The doctor smiled. “He’s going to be fine. We’ve stabilized him, and he’s not in any pain.”

The invisible load I was carrying lightened a little. “And his leg?”

His smile shrunk a bit. “We’re prepping him for surgery to repair the damage. Considering his age and physical condition, I don’t expect there to be any complications. Barring any nerve damage, the procedure shouldn’t take too long. With rest and physical therapy, he should be as good as new in no time.”

He glanced to the side, acknowledging someone. “I’ll have the nurse show you to the OR waiting area after you’ve finished your call,” he said.

“Thank you so much,” I said weakly.

He smiled and turned to address the man three seats over.

“Mitch, did you hear that?” I asked, bringing the phone back to my ear.

“Yeah. I’m not surprised, Jason’s too stubborn to let some prick take him out,” he said. “I need to call my folks. They’ll want to know what’s happened.”

“I talked to them already—they’re on their way.” I tossed off the blanket and paced around the waiting area, anxious to be closer to Jason.

“Thanks, Mel. We’ll make arrangements to head back too.” He paused. “Was it the guy at the wedding?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll kill that son of a bitch with my bare hands,” he snarled.

My voice turned cold. “Too late.”

I’d overheard the EMTs talking in the ambulance. Diablo had thrown Ron so hard he’d broken more than the killer’s legs; he’d snapped the bastard’s neck. Ron hadn’t been brought to the ER, but to the morgue.

“Good.” Mitch said solemnly. “We’ll see you in a day or so. I’ll let you go—I’m sure Jason needs you.”

“Thanks, Mitch. See you soon.”

The nurse was waiting for me at the counter and led me through a maze of corridors to a small room with a few hard chairs and a table with a half-finished puzzle on it.

I spent most of the two hours Jason was in surgery alone. At some point a police officer joined me, but I had no idea what he’d asked or how I answered. He’d left by the time the nurse reported the operation was successful.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Jason. Three days ago he’d been no more than words on a computer screen, and now here we were, ready to sacrifice our lives for each other. Why didn’t I feel more grateful he was alive and well?

Because in three more days he’ll be gone, and you’ll be alone again. That’s why.

Was I really that shallow?

Anguish and anger—at myself—battled it out. Neither side had declared victory by the time I was allowed to see Jason in the recovery room. The nurse told me he would probably sleep until morning and pointed at yet another plastic chair next to his bed. I gently took his hand in mine, careful to avoid the bruises and scratches covering his knuckles and arms. He didn’t react when I touched him, which disturbed me deeply. I wanted to scream and shake him to get a response—some kind of confirmation he was truly alive.

Even though monitors all around me beeped and blinked, verifying Jason’s vital signs, I put my hand on his chest to feel the rhythm of his heart and lungs for myself. Some relief did breeze through me, but his slack face broke my heart. His expression was one of profound sadness, not peaceful sleep. I kissed him lightly on the cheek, careful to avoid his blossoming black eye.

“Get better, Jason,” I whispered.

He stirred briefly a couple of times but didn’t wake completely. Eventually some of the noisy apparatus was removed, and he was transferred to a semi-private room on the second floor. The other bed was vacant, and though it tempted me, I remained at Jason’s side, our fingers intertwined.

Mr. and Mrs. McAlister arrived just before sunrise. After reviewing Jason’s chart and checking his pulse herself, his mom—Dr. McAlister, I remembered—stationed herself at his other hand.

“He’s going to be fine,” she said, more to Jason than to me or her husband.

Around seven, Jason’s eyes cracked open.

“Melissa,” he rasped.

The sound of his voice restarted my heart.

“Jason, I’m here. We’re safe. You’re in the hospital,” I said. “It’s over.”

He pulled his hand away from his mother and rubbed his eyes. “You’re okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Jason croaked, squeezing my fingers.

“I’m just fine,” I said, my lip quivering. After all he’d suffered, his first thoughts were for me. “Your parents are here.” I motioned toward them.

He slowly turned his head and saw his mother. She was fighting back tears.

“How are you, sweetheart?” she asked, staring deeply into his eyes.

I loosened my grip on Jason’s hand and inched back toward my seat. He probably wanted some time with his parents. I couldn’t leave, but I could give them a little space.

“I’m fine, Mom—just groggy. It’s the meds.” He searched for the controls on the bed and raised his head so he could see around the room. I slipped my hand out of his, but he grabbed it and pulled me back to the side of his bed. “Please don’t go, Melissa,” he said, his voice small and vulnerable.

I didn’t argue.