Joel Goldman - Deadlocked

He grabbed his car keys and a moment later was southbound on Wornall Road heading for St. Joseph Hospital. Nick Byrnes was supposed to have had surgery earlier in the day. Visiting Nick wasn't meddling in Smith's handling of his case, Mason rationalized. The kid was probably still sleeping off the anesthetic anyway. It was something to do and that's what Mason needed.

The hospital lobby was brightly lit, though the lack of foot traffic and the faintly antiseptic air gave it an abandoned feel. No one greeted him from the information counter. He leaned over the rail above the food court looking for Nick's grandparents, finding only a young couple hunched over a table, the woman comforting the man.

Large signs directed him toward the Surgical Intensive Care Unit. He passed a few nurses on the way, but no one stopped to tell him that visiting hours were over. He found the double doors to the ICU, passed through them, and ran into his first resistance.

"May I help you?" a nurse said from her seat behind a circular workstation with a raised countertop that hid the desk where she was sitting. She was a stout, middle-age woman whose question wasn't a question. It was an order to get out.

Mason stepped up to the workstation, leaning over as the nurse straightened stacks of patient charts. "I'm a friend of Nick Byrnes. I just stopped by to see how he's doing," Mason said.

"Family only," the nurse said.

The ICU was designed in an outer ring of rooms with curtains instead of doors, the curtains drawn halfway. The nurse's station was an inner circle, giving the nurses a view into each room. The rooms were half-dark, lighted by the glow of monitors tracking vital signs. Patients' names were written on dry erase boards mounted at the entrance to each room. Mason scanned the names, finding Nick's on the far side, the words "Family Only" written beneath his name in red.

"How's he doing?" Mason asked.

"All patients in the ICU are considered to be in critical condition," the nurse said.

"Details only for the family?" Mason asked.

"That's correct, sir."

"I'm not family, but I think I qualify for an exception. My name is Lou Mason. I'm Nick's attorney."

The nurse's eyes fluttered as she caught her breath. He was not only in the news, he was bad news. Dropping his name had the opposite effect he had intended. She picked up the phone, holding the receiver to her breast. In her haste, she pushed several patient charts onto the floor.

"Family only," she repeated. "Please leave or I'll have to call security."

"It's all right," a woman said from behind Mason.

Mason turned, finding Esther Byrnes at his side. She looked up at him, her face worn with worry.

"Are you sure, Mrs. Byrnes?" the nurse asked. "I can call security."

"That won't be necessary," Nick's grandmother said. "I'm not afraid of Mr. Mason."

She slipped her arm around Mason's, tugging him gently. "Let's go see Nick," she said.

Mason smiled at the nurse, who held tightly to the phone, her finger poised, ready to dial if he tried anything funny.

"Was the surgery successful?" Mason asked Esther as she pulled the curtain back and they stood at the foot of Nick's bed. He was asleep, an oxygen line clipped to his nose, IV lines plugged into both arms, heart monitors glued to his chest.

Esther clutched Mason's arm with one hand, her other on the rail at the end of the bed. "The surgeon says he got the rest of the bullet fragments."

"Then he'll be okay," Mason said.

"I don't know what that means anymore, Mr. Mason. The surgeon said Nick's spinal cord was bruised, but that should heal and he'll be able to walk. It just takes time."

She squeezed Mason's arm again. Mason covered her hand with his. "Thanks for not being afraid of me," he said.

"You're no more a killer than that other boy, Ryan Kowalczyk," Esther said. "I can tell. It's that Whitney King. He makes everyone else look guilty. That's who I'm afraid of, Mr. Mason."

The rain had begun while Mason was visiting Nick, blistering the pavement as he ran across the parking lot. He drove home, his clothing soaked, humidity inside the car fogging the windows. Thunder bellowed and the sky jumped with arcs of lightning. Pea-size pellets of hail snowballed into nickel and quarter-size rounds, bouncing off his car like automatic fire. By the time he pulled into his driveway, the front lawn was salted with hail.

Tuffy ran to greet him when he walked into the kitchen from the garage, planting her front paws on his belt, as afraid of the storm as a small child. He dropped to a knee, hugging the dog, stroking her coat, laughing at her name.

"You're more chicken than dog," he told her.

The wind roared outside, fighting the thunder for domination, muffling the rain as it beat against the house. Thunder exploded like a bomb dropped on his roof, shaking the windows. The interior walls glowed in the shadow of an electric blue lightning bolt, knocking out the power to his house.

The dog stayed close as Mason fumbled in the dark kitchen for a flashlight he kept in a drawer. The question was which one. Mason cursed when he pulled one drawer out too far, dumping the contents at his feet. He found the flashlight in the next drawer, shining it on Tuffy who whined and shoved her wet nose into his hand.

Mason looked out his dining room window at the rest of his block. The streetlights were out and the other houses were dark. Peering between the houses across the street to the next block, he couldn't see any lights. The power failure wasn't his problem alone.

A car crept cautiously down the street, its headlights illuminating the rain that continued to fall in sheets. Mason stepped back into the darkness of the room, remembering the last time he'd watched a car come down his street late at night. This car turned into his driveway, the driver getting out, head covered with a jacket, racing to his front door.

Mason reached the door as the heavy brass knocker on the other side smacked against the strike plate. He pulled the door open, shining the light in his visitor's face.

"Nice night if it doesn't rain," Abby Lieberman said, stepping inside.

Mason lowered the light, the beam catching the water dripping from her coat. He took her hand, drawing her closer. She didn't resist, wrapping her arms around him, Mason holding on, not knowing what else to do. They stood like that, the door still open, the storm blowing past them, until the rain began to puddle at their feet. Tuffy circled them, rubbing against their legs, not willing to be left out of the reunion.

Abby finally let go, easing Mason's arms to her side. She crouched next to Tuffy, brushing back the dog's coat, not minding the paws on her shoulder. Standing again, she took the flashlight from Mason and shined it up and down him.

"At least Tuffy knew to come in out of the rain.

"You're a mess," she said. "What were you doing? she asked, closing the front door.

"I was out late. I got caught in the storm when I went to my car," he said, not wanting to tell her he'd been to see Nick or anything else that might send her away. He didn't know what was safe to say or not say, why she was here or whether she would stay. He was still raw from her sudden departure. Their chance meeting at the hospital had salted the wound, not healed it. He didn't know what to make of her return.

"I drove up from Jefferson City," she said. "We had a fund-raiser there tonight. I couldn't get away any earlier."

"I'm glad you came," Mason said.

"Then why don't you invite me into the living room like a proper guest?" she teased.

Abby aimed the flashlight past Mason into the living room, the dining room table casting a shadow against the wall, the bullet hole in the front window whistling with the wind. She gave Mason a sharp look, aiming the light into the dining room, outlining the rowing machine.