Tess Gerritsen - Vanish

Maura’s head was snapped back as the woman grabbed her hair, yanking her so close she could feel hot breath against the back of her neck, could smell the woman’s sharp scent of fear. They moved toward the lobby exit, and Maura caught a panicked glimpse of the elderly guard, quaking behind the desk. Saw silver balloons bobbing in the gift shop window, and a telephone receiver, dangling by its cord. Then she was forced out the door, straight into the heat of afternoon.

A Boston PD cruiser screeched to a stop at the curb, and two cops scrambled out, weapons drawn. They froze, their gazes on Maura, who now stood blocking their line of fire.

Another siren screamed closer.

The woman’s breaths were now desperate gasps as she confronted her rapidly narrowing options. No way forward; she yanked Maura backward, dragging her once again into the building, retreating into the lobby.

“Please,” Maura whispered as she was tugged toward the hallway. “There’s no way out! Just put it down. Put the gun down, and we’ll meet them together, okay? We’ll walk over to them, and they won’t hurt you…”

She saw the two cops edge forward step by step, matching their quarry’s pace the whole way. Maura still blocked their line of fire, and they could do nothing but watch, helpless, as the woman retreated up the hall pulling her hostage with her. Maura heard a gasp, and out of the corner of her eye, she spotted shocked bystanders frozen in place.

“Back away, people!” one of the cops yelled. “Everyone get out of the way!”

This is where it ends, thought Maura. I’m cornered with a madwoman who can’t be talked into surrender. She could hear the woman’s breathing accelerating to frantic whimpers, could feel the fear running through the woman’s arm, like a current through high-voltage wires. She felt herself being dragged inexorably toward a bloody conclusion, and she could almost see it through the eyes of the cops who were now inching forward. The blast of the woman’s gun, the gore exploding from the hostage’s head. The inevitable hail of bullets that would finally end it. Until then, the police were stalemated. And Jane Doe, trapped in the jaws of panic, was just as helpless and unable to change the course of events.

I’m the only one who can change things. Now is the time to do it.

Maura took a breath, released it. As the air whooshed from her lungs she let her muscles go slack. Her legs collapsed, and she sagged to the floor.

The woman gave a grunt of surprise, struggling to support Maura. But a limp body is heavy, and already her hostage was sliding to the ground, her human shield collapsing. Suddenly Maura was free, rolling sideways. She wrapped her arms around her head and curled into a ball, waiting for the blast of gunfire. But all she heard was running footsteps and shouts.

“Shit. I can’t get a clean shot!”

“Everyone, move the fuck out of the way!”

A hand grabbed her, shook her. “Lady? Are you okay? Are you okay ?”

Trembling, she finally looked up into the face of the cop. She heard radios crackle, and sirens keened like women grieving the dead.

“Come on, you need to move away.” The cop grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She was shaking so violently she could barely stand, so he slung his arm around her waist and guided her toward the exit. “All of you!” he yelled at the bystanders. “Get out of the building now. ”

Maura glanced back. Jane Doe was nowhere to be seen.

“Can you walk?” the cop asked.

Unable to say a word, she merely nodded.

“Then go! We need everyone to evacuate. You don’t want to be in here.”

Not when it’s about to get bloody.

She took a few steps forward. Glanced back one last time, and saw that the cop was already moving down the hallway. A sign pointed to the wing where Jane Doe was about to make her last stand.

Diagnostic Imaging.

Jane Rizzoli startled awake and blinked, momentarily confused, at the ceiling. She had not expected to doze off, but the exam table was surprisingly comfortable, and she was tired; she had not been sleeping well for the past few nights. She looked at the clock on the wall and realized that she’d been left alone for over half an hour. How much longer was she supposed to wait? She let another five minutes go by, her irritation mounting.

Okay, I’ve had it. I’m going to find out what’s taking so long. And I’m not going to wait for the wheelchair.

She climbed off the table and her bare feet slapped onto the cold floor. She took two steps, and realized that her arm was still tethered by the IV to a plastic bag of saline. She moved the bag to a rolling IV pole and wheeled it to the door. Looking into the hallway, she saw no one. Not a nurse or an orderly or an X-ray tech.

Well, this was reassuring. They’d forgotten all about her.

She headed down the windowless hall, pushing her IV pole, the wheels shimmying as they rolled over linoleum. She passed one open doorway, then another, and saw vacant procedure tables, deserted rooms. Where had everyone gone? In the short time she’d been sleeping, they had all disappeared.

Has it really been only half an hour?

She halted in that empty hallway, gripped by the sudden, Twilight Zone thought that while she’d been asleep, everyone else in the world had vanished. She glanced up and down the hallway, trying to remember the route back to the waiting area. She had not been paying attention when the technician had wheeled her into the procedure room. Opening a door, she saw an office. Opened another door and found a file room.

No people.

She began to pad faster through the warren of hallways, the IV pole clattering beside her. What kind of hospital was this, anyway, leaving a poor pregnant woman all alone? She was going to complain, damn right, she was going to complain. She could be in labor! She could be dying! Instead, she was royally pissed off, and that was not the mood you wanted a pregnant woman to be in. Not this pregnant woman.

At last she spotted the exit sign, and with choice words already on her lips, she yanked open the door. At her first glimpse into the waiting room, she did not immediately understand the situation. Mr. Bodine was still strapped to his wheelchair and parked in the corner. The ultrasound technician and the receptionist were huddled together on one of the couches. On the other couch, Dr. Tam sat next to the black orderly. What was this, a tea party? While she’d been forgotten in the back room, why had her doctor been lounging out here on the couch?

Then she spotted the medical chart lying on the floor, and she saw the toppled mug, the spilled coffee splattered across the rug. And she realized that Dr. Tam was not lounging; her back was rigid, the muscles of her face tight with fear. Her eyes were not focused on Jane, but on something else.

That’s when Jane understood. Someone is standing right behind me.

Maura sat in the mobile operations command trailer, surrounded by telephones, TVs, and laptop computers. The air-conditioning was not working, and the trailer had to be well over ninety degrees inside. Officer Emerton, who was monitoring radio chatter, fanned himself as he gulped from a bottle of water. But Captain Hayder, Boston PD’s special ops commander, looked perfectly cool as he studied the CAD diagrams now displayed on the computer monitor. Beside him sat the hospital’s facilities manager, pointing out the relevant features on the blueprints.

“The area where she’s now holed up is Diagnostic Imaging,” said the manager. “That used to be the hospital’s old X-ray wing, before we moved it into the new addition. I’m afraid that’s going to present a big problem for you, Captain.”