Finally... Dr. Dick Derby twisted open the deadbolt and paused at the threshold, squinting. Something wasn’t quite right. He tossed a quick glance over his right shoulder at the manicured lawn and then over his left at the white Plymouth Neon hunched in the driveway of his tiny suburban two-storey. Nothing out of the ordinary. He swung the door open, hopped inside and shut it a little too quickly, nearly slamming it. Once the locks were snapped back into place, the exhausted physician fell against the door and breathed out a long, audible sigh. Finally…, he thought. Some peace and quiet. The emergency room at St. Jude’s Hospital stood in sharp contrast to the television hospital dramas with their continuous inflow of patients and hustle-bustle soap opera activity. Dick liked the fact that St. Jude’s was usually a pretty boring place. But today had been different. He had run himself ragged from the time he showed up for work, attending to everything from a tour bus wreck to a guy who stuck a plant stake through his foot. What a mess. He was still coming down from the prolonged adrenaline rush. The regular ticking of his favorite medical school graduation present helped; it was a grandfather clock from his father inscribed with a message of love and pride in a hidden place not even Dick’s wife at the time, Jane, had known about. It was a little secret between father and son that would always stay that way. Jane. What was she up to at that very moment? He forced thoughts of his ex-wife out of his mind by closing his eyes and concentrating on Little Nellie, their daughter. Three-and-a-half years old and as pretty as her mother once had been, she was fixed in his mind smiling, asking little girl questions. One day soon Nellie’s questions would no longer reflect the meandering thoughts of a three year old; they would be serious—ones about her mother and why she wasn’t around and why the kids at school always teased her by calling her mama “Jailbird Jane.” Right now, though, she was still Little Nellie and that suited him fine. He dropped his worn, bulging satchel onto the couch on his way into the kitchen to make some herbal tea. A soothing, post-work cup of tea had become something of a ritual for him. Though he had been at St. Jude’s since Nellie’s birth, hell, she was born there, he was still a junior member of the emergency room staff who enjoyed all the privileges of a junior member of the emergency room staff. He worked without complaint whatever hours they scheduled him confident that one day he would be calling the shots. Maybe not at St. Jude’s, but somewhere, someday. And thank God for the nuns. He and Jane had chosen the little house for its price and proximity to the hospital only to discover later that a group of nuns affiliated with St. Jude’s were running a Montessori daycare two blocks down the street and that Dick’s employment status with the hospital gave them an enormous discount. It seemed that one of the nuns was always available to help with Nellie, especially after the trying times he had been through dealing with the Jane situation. Dick liked the hollow, tinny sound the empty teapot made whenever he began filling it with water. He had picked up the silver-plated copper kettle at the Goodwill across the street from the hospital for three dollars the first year they were in the house. Jane had surprised him by using silver polish to make it “look brand new.” He recalled how it had infuriated him then. “I can’t believe you did that.” “That’s your way of saying thanks?” Jane was standing before him looking hurt. “I suppose it is. I just can’t believe you would do that to an antique. It was worth a lot of money before you touched it.” He waved the teapot in front of her face. “It looked like crap!” She was beginning to tear up. “I don’t want anything cluttering up my house that looks like crap.” “First of all, it’s not only your house. Secondly, it did not look like ‘crap.’ Just because your tiny little mind can’t appreciate the beauty of antiquity, it doesn’t mean that something is a piece of ‘crap.’” “There’s no reason to make me feel stupid.” Jane was crying now. “I’m not suggesting you’re stupid. I’m suggesting you take an oblique view of quality. Not everything that is tarnished is ‘crap.’” He dented the bottom of the kettle by slamming it against the edge of the counter to make his point. “Now it’s a piece of ‘crap.’” Dick shook his head at the memory. Jane never got it. Everything had to be brand, spanking new or it was “crap” and ended up either in the garbage or on its way to Goodwill. It had driven him nearly crazy when they were first married. He was in his last year of college preparing for med school and Jane had agreed to leave school to work until he was a full-fledged medical doctor before returning for her degree. They were on a very tight budget for years, yet she still never grasped the value of buying generic or at a discount store. Everything had to be brand, spanking new. Dick had carefully pounded out the dent in the teapot and continued to use it as if the polishing incident had never happened. He hadn’t thought about the argument in years. He watched the kettle fill with cold water and thought, I wonder what brought that to mind. Dick put the teapot on the stove and shuffled over, still in his scrubs, to stretch out on the couch in front of the television—the whistle of the kettle would awaken him if he were fortunate enough to drift off to sleep. Nellie would be at the birthday party where he dropped her for another two hours or so. No kid in the house meant his choice of programming, but it was three in the afternoon on a Saturday and he wasn’t a big sports fan, so he settled for one of the national Headline News channels. He didn’t pay much attention to the talking head giving the “Action News at Three Local Update” until the words “state penitentiary psychiatric ward” took his breath away. He bolted upright, cranking up the volume with the remote control. “. . .where three female inmates successfully escaped, but not before stabbing to death prison guard Curtis Winfield.” An employee photo of the murdered guard filled the screen. Looks like a nice enough guy, thought Dick. Poor bastard. “Two of the inmates, Sharon Michaels and Marcella ‘Ticky’ Stone, were apprehended this morning attempting to purchase Greyhound bus tickets to New York City. A third unidentified escapee is still at large.” Dick could feel the blood drain from his face. The events of the last few months rushed over him like an inescapable, bad-dream avalanche. Jane had been extraordinarily insecure in their relationship when they were first married and was able to keep it under control until just around the time Nellie turned three. Then it began as simple, mundane jealousy that quickly escalated into wild claims and, though she still had yet to admit it, she stalked him after they were separated. It all came to a head one day when he heard shouting in the hospital corridor. One of the voices was familiar. “I know he’s here. I want to see him NOW!” Two nurses were fighting to hold her back from the patient area. “Jane?” Dick was standing down the hall looking incredulous. “You know you’re not supposed to be within 50 feet of me or Nellie.” The reminder only agitated her more. “I want to talk to you NOW!” She stopped struggling suddenly and turned her attention on one of the nurses. “I know all about you and Dick. Your midnight ‘meetings’ and what you did at that ‘convention’ in Las Vegas. I know your name, Sue Bolton, and I know where you live.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Derby.” Nurse Bolton flashed Dick a “do something” look. “Jane, let’s sit down and talk this out.” “I’m through talking with you, ‘doctor.’ Look at you in your little scrubs and your lily white overcoat.” Her contempt was palpable. “I’m here to say something to you.” “I’m listening, Jane.” “It’s about time.” Jane’s eyes flicked back and forth between Dick and Nurse Bolton. “Something’s going to happen. Something very bad. And you’re both going to be very, very sorry.” “Now, Jane, you’re just getting yourself into more trouble.” Dick was relieved there were several witnesses this time—it would make things easier when pressing charges. “Why don’t you take a deep breath and we’ll get you something to calm you down.” “I don’t want something to calm me down. I want what’s rightfully mine.” Patients and visitors were creeping out of rooms everywhere to watch the disturbance. “Jane, this is neither the time nor the place.” He was mentally calculating how many months, or years, this incident would add to his ER chief trajectory. “It never is, is it, Dick? It’s never the right time to talk. You’re always too busy or too tired or you just don’t care.” She pulled a large kitchen knife from her coat and let it hang limp by her side. Dick recognized it at once: a serrated all-purpose utensil with a wood handle he had picked up on clearance at Kitchen Kaboodle the previous May. It was a quality piece that could do some serious damage in the wrong hands. And it was most definitely in the wrong hands now. “Now, Jane, don’t do anything rash.” Dick noticed that the other nurse had slipped quietly away, but Nurse Bolton was still gripping Jane’s left arm. Had she not seen the knife? “Put that knife away and we can talk!” Nurse Bolton took the hint immediately and spun away from Jane just as hospital security crashed through the main entrance doors. Jane either slipped or was pulled by Nurse Bolton or a combination of both so that her knife hand swung in the nurse’s direction. Before he could move, Dick saw a flash of silver and then red against the back of Nurse Bolton’s white uniform. All hell broke loose as St. Jude’s Hospital Emergency Room attending physician, Dr. Dick Derby, sprang into action. He lunged at Nurse Bolton, ripping at her uniform where the knife had sliced it while two security guards bulldogged Jane and secured the weapon. The cut was more than superficial, but not serious—Nurse Susan Bolton would be fine. Jane would not. By the time the police arrived, the entire hospital was in an uproar and Dick was standing squarely in the middle of it all, his wife of eight years handcuffed, under arrest and being led away to confinement and observation from which she could not break free. Until now. Dick’s legs went limp when he heard a single, tentative creak at the top of the stairs. He wanted to run screaming from the house, but his legs remained completely useless, paralyzed with fear. As he turned slowly toward the sound, he caught the light, flowery scent of Revenge, Jane’s favorite perfume. He realized in that instant why thoughts of Jane had been pinging at the back of his mind since arriving home. Only Jane would be concerned about her perfume after fleeing the state penitentiary psychiatric ward where she had murdered a guard, and only Jane would make a beeline to her former home wearing enough of the stuff to alert the neighbors to her presence. His eyes traced each step from the bottom of the stairs to the top where his former wife stood in one of her best dresses. “Oh, God.” Dick was beginning to feel sick. “Yes, dear. I’m home.” Jane had found some of her clothes that Dick had neglected to take to the Goodwill across from the hospital. Now, he wished he had taken the time. “What are you doing here, Jane? As soon as they figure out it was you, they’re going to send someone over here, you know. You’ve done some horrible things and they’re going to come looking for you.” “I’m finally home.” Jane had not heard a word. “I’m so glad to be here. You look tired. Why don’t you lay down on the couch and I’ll make us both an early dinner.” Dick resisted the urge to correct her English. She continued: “It’s been quite a day, honey. Some of the girls and I had a couple of real challenges, but I’m home now and everything’s going to be fine.” Dick checked Jane’s hands for a weapon as she descended the stairs. Nothing. He wanted to edge over to the phone, but he also wanted to give her some time to get comfortable. He knew that placing her in familiar surroundings would placate her until someone from law enforcement arrived. He wasn’t sure what would happen then. “Yes, Jane, that sounds good. I would like something to eat.” He hoped it didn’t sound as insincere as it felt. “Why don’t we talk for a minute? I want to catch up on things with you.” Jane liked the sound of that. It had been a long time since someone was willing to listen, really listen, to her. She paused between the couch and the kitchen with her hands folded before her, a paragon of patience and virtue in a pink pastel dress and heels. “Where shall we start?” Jane’s attention shifted away from Dick. He watched her focus somewhere in the living room and he knew she had spotted the photo of Nellie on the fireplace mantle. She frowned. “How about what you’ve been up to, Dick. Having any fun lately?” The photo sparked something ugly inside Jane and Dick wanted to get up from the couch to turn it around, but he forced himself to remain seated. “You know me. Work, work, work.” He tried to force a smile. “Yes, I do know you. And how’s Sue Bolton? Any more midnight meetings I should know about?” “Now, Jane, you know there’s nothing there to worry about.” “Nothing to worry about? Nothing to worry about? Now, I wouldn’t say that, Dick.” She mocked Dick’s typically patronizing tone. “I know what you’ve been up to with Nurse Bolton since I’ve been away. You could have me locked up a thousand miles away and I’d still know what you’re up to. You two are as thick as thieves. Frankly, Dick, I don’t really care any more. I’ve come to take Nellie out of this environment—to get her away from you and that nurse.” “You know you can’t do that. As soon as they figure out you’re missing, the first place they’re going to come looking for you is here. When they find you, they’re not going to let you have Nellie. They’re going to take you back to the penitentiary and make sure you never escape again. Why don’t we just call the authorities and you can turn yourself in? It will go better for you if you go back voluntarily.” Dick started to slide down the couch toward the telephone. “Stop right there!” Like a magician, Jane produced a kitchen knife and held it pointed at Dick, her eyes wild with pained rage. Dick froze. She was within striking distance and he did not want to take any chances. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” she continued. “One more move and we’ll both be sorry. I’m not going back there. Nellie and I are leaving here to a place where you and that nurse will never see her again.” “Sit down and we can talk about this, Jane.” Dick was gesturing to the loveseat across the room. “I don’t want to—“ The unexpected whistle of the teapot caught Jane’s attention. As she turned to the noise, Dick seized the opportunity to dive over the couch at her. Before Jane could react, they both lay sprawled on floor, Dick pressing down on top of her. His jump had turned the knife, plunging it deep into her sternum just below the white silk bow of her favorite dress. He knew it had driven directly into her heart. Jane was trying to speak. Dick instinctively moved his ear to her mouth. The words floated atop her last breath: “I love you.” Dick rolled off his dead ex-wife and stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, heart pounding. He struggled to clear his mind, to decide what to do next. The teapot screamed in the kitchen. He crawled to the stove and pulled himself up to shut it off. A phone call. He must make a phone call. “St. Jude’s Emergency Room.” “Sue, is that you?” “Dick?” It was Nurse Susan Bolton. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” “It’s over. She’s gone.” “What are you saying? What’s happened? Are you okay?” “She showed up here. We had a fight and she’s gone. A knife. She’s gone.” Events began to overwhelm him and he started to shake uncontrollably. “She’s dead? She’s really dead?” “Yes, Sue. She’s dead.” Dick paused for a deep breath. “Please do me a favor.” “Anything.” “Call 9-1-1 for me.” He was regaining his composure. “Then pack your bags. We’re taking a long vacation.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.” Dick was in complete control now. “And one more thing.” “I’m here.” “I love you.” “I love you, too.” Sue was smiling from ear to ear. “It’s finally over, isn’t it?” “Yes, my love. Finally. . .”
Copyright © 2001 Darin R Molnar |