Tess Gerritsen - Bloodstream

She said, “I’ve been thinking about what we should do, Noah. I need you to tell me what you want. Whether you think I’m doing the right thing. You know my practice isn’t going well. And now, with those broken windows, and the damage to the carpets, it’ll be weeks before I can see patients again. If they even want to see me…“ She sighed. “All I was trying to do was find a place where you’d fit in, where we’d both fit in. And now it seems like I’ve made a mess of things?’ She pulled into their driveway and turned off the engine. They sat without speaking for a moment. She turned to look at him. “You don’t have to tell me right away.

But we need to talk about it soon. We need to decide.”

“Decide what?”

“Whether we should move back to Baltimore.”

“What?” His chin snapped up, his gaze focused at last on hers. “You mean, leave?”

“It’s what you’ve been saying for months, that you want to go back to the city.

I called Grandma Elliot this morning. She said you could move back early and stay with her. I’d join you after I get our things packed, and put the house up for sale.”

“You’re doing the same thing again. Making decisions about my life.”

“No, I’m asking you to help me choose.”

“You’re not asking. You’ve already decided.”

“That’s not true. I’ve made that mistake once already, and I’m not going to repeat it.”

“You want to leave, don’t you? All these months, I’ve wanted to go back to Baltimore, and you didn’t listen to me. Now you decide it’s time, and suddenly you ask, What do you want, Noah?”

“I’m asking because it does matter to me! What you want has always mattered.”

“What if I said I want to stay? What if I told you I’ve got a friend I really care about, and she’s here?”

“All you’ve talked about for the past nine months is how much you hate this place.”

“And you didn’t care then.”

“What do you want? What can I do to make you happy? Is there anything that’ll make you happy?”

“You’re yelling at me.”

“I try so hard, and nothing ever satisfies you!”

“Stop yelling at me!”

“You think I like being your mother these days? You think you’d be happier with a different mother?”

He slammed his fist on the dashboard, punching it again and again as he roared:

“Stop-yelling-at-me!”

She stared, shocked by the violence of his rage. And by the bright drop of blood that suddenly trickled from his nostril. It fell, spattering the front of his jacket.

“You’re bleeding-”

Automatically he touched his upper lip and gazed down at the blood on his fingers. Another drop slid from his nostril and landed on his jacket in a bright splash of red.

He shoved open the door and ran into the house.

She followed him inside, and found he’d locked himself in the bathroom. “Noah, let me in.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I want to stop the bleeding.”

“It’s already stopped.”

“Can I take a look? Are you all right?”

“Jesus Christ,” he yelled, and she heard something crash to the floor and shatter. “Can’t you just go away?”

She stared at the closed door, silently demanding it swing open, knowing that it wouldn’t. There were already too many closed doors between them, and this was just another one she couldn’t hope to break through.

The telephone rang. As she hurried to the kitchen to answer it, she thought wearily: In how many directions can I be pulled at once?

Over the phone, a familiar voice blurted out in panic: “Doc, you gotta come out here! She needs to be looked at!”

“Elwyn?” said Claire. “Is this Elwyn Clyde?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m over at Rachel’s. She don’t wanna go to the hospital, so’s I thought I better call you.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, exactly. But you better come here quick, ‘cause she’s bleeding all over the kitchen."

Dusk had fallen when Claire arrived at Rachel Sorkin’s house. She found Elwyn Clyde standing outside on the porch, watching his dogs run around in the front yard. “Bad business,” he muttered darkly as Claire came up the steps.

“How is she?”

“Oh, she’s wicked ornery Gone and ordered me outside when all’s I’m trying to do is help, y’know. Just wanta help, but she says, ‘You go outside Elwyn, you’re smelling up my kitchen.” He looked down, his homely face drooping. “She was good to me, what with my foot and all. I was just looking to return the favor?’

“You already have,” said Claire, and patted his shoulder. It felt like a bundle of twigs through the ratty coat. “I’ll go in and have a look at her.”

Claire stepped into the kitchen. At once her gaze shot to the wall. Blood was her automatic reaction upon seeing the bright splashes. Then she saw the words, spray-painted in red across the cabinet doors:

SATAN’S WHORE

“I knew it was coming,” said Rachel softly. She was sitting at the kitchen table, clutching a plastic bag of ice to her head. Blood had dried on her cheek and matted the strands of her black hair. Broken glass littered the floor around her feet. “It was just a matter of time.”

Claire pulled up a chair next to Rachel. “Let me see your head.”

“People are so unbelievably ignorant. All it takes is one idiot to get them started, and it turns into a…“ She gave a choked laugh. “Witch hunt.”

Gently Claire lifted the ice pack from Rachel’s scalp. Though the laceration wasn’t deep, it had bled profusely and would require at least half a dozen stitches. “Is this from the flying glass?”

Rachel nodded, then winced as though that simple motion had set off new stabs of pain. “I didn’t see the rock coming. I was so angry about the paint, about the mess they’d left in here. I didn’t realize they were right outside, watching me walk into the house. I was standing there, looking at the cabinets, when the rock came through.” She gestured toward the broken window, now boarded over.

“Elwyn put up the boards.”

“How did he happen to come by?”

“Oh, that crazy Elwyn’s always tramping through my yard with those dogs of his.

He saw the broken window and came in to see if I was all right.”

“That was good of him. You could have a worse neighbor.”

Rachel answered with a grudging, “I suppose. His heart’s in the right place.”

Claire opened her medical bag and took out the suture set. She began dabbing Betadine on Rachel’s wound. “Did you lose consciousness?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I guess I was a little stunned. I found myself sitting on the floor, but I don’t recall how I got there.”

“You should be under observation tonight. If there’s any bleeding inside your skull-”

“I can’t go to the hospital. I don’t have insurance.”

“You can’t be home alone. I can arrange a direct admission.”

“But I don’t have the money, Dr. Elliot. I can’t pay for the hospital.”

Claire regarded her patient for a moment, wondering how hard she should push the issue. “All right. But if you stay home, someone will have to be with you tonight.”

“There’s no one.”

“A friend? A neighbor?”

“I can’t think of anyone.”

They heard a loud knock. “Hey!” yelled Elwyn through the closed door. “Can I come in and use the bathroom?”

“Are you absolutely sure about that?” Claire asked with a meaningful glance in Elwyn’s direction.

Rachel closed her eyes and sighed.

A police car had just pulled up in the darkness when Claire came back out onto Rachel’s porch. She and Elwyn watched as the officer stepped out of the cruiser and crossed the front yard toward them. He came into the light, and she recognized Mark Dolan. She was surprised to see him, because he normally worked the late night shift. She had never liked Dolan, and she wasn’t kindly disposed to him today, either, when she remembered what Mitchell Groome had told her.