Trisha, looking eerily calm, kept the gun pointed at Effie’s head. “You tried to take him from me. You tried to take my Zander. You and your fairy princess charm.” She stepped closer until she stood about a yard away.
Effie’s eyes darted around her room, searching for something she could use as a weapon. Her mind galloped in a kaleidoscope of fragmented thoughts, none of which were particularly helpful. Stupid things like, Well, this will get the biggest media coverage yet, and Oh, God, I’m going to die, competed for air time.
“I didn’t even know you existed, Trisha, I swear.” Nothing helpful appeared in her line of sight except a big, fat, hard-copy medical text on her desk, next to her phone, a few feet to her right. She took a step toward it.
“Don’t move, bitch,” Trisha said, waving the gun.
Effie froze. Cold sweat beaded on her face and neck. This is just like talking to my mom, but ten times worse. “And Zander and I aren’t a thing. In a couple of weeks, I’ll never see him again and I definitely won’t contact him.”
Trisha’s expression softened. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. It says so in the contract I signed.”
The soft expression disappeared, replaced by a look of utter, lip-curled contempt. Her grip tightened on the pistol. “A contract. Bah! He had me sign a contract, too. But, that didn’t keep me away, did it?”
Effie’s eyebrows bunched together. “What kind of contract? Were you a sugar baby, too?”
A cold laugh burst from Trisha’s mouth. “Honey, he could never afford me. You do know what I do for a living, right? I’m the top model in the world.”
Effie’s limbs began to shake. What do I do when my mom starts talking insanity-speak? I keep her talking until she loses steam. “So, what kind of contract then?” She took another step toward the desk.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Trisha clutched the gun in a two-handed grip. She waved it back and forth.
Effie’s breathing stuttered, shallow and frenetic. Remember what Zander taught me. Something about as long as you have another breath you can find a solution…or, something like that. She took a long, calming breath. “I need to sit down. You’re scaring me.”
Trisha took a step forward. “You’re not very bright, are you? Don’t you think that’s the point of me showing up at your dorm wielding a gun?”
Effie arched away. That fucking gun was way too close. “So, what kind of contract did you sign?” she said, trying to distract Zander’s lunatic ex. The trembling in her arms and legs increased. She forced air in and out of her lungs, getting her limbs to calm.
“Didn’t he tell you? That boy’s obsessed with me. He can’t stay away. He had me sign a no-contact policy. But we both know it was a flimsy way for him to try to get over me.”
“I thought you pushed him away. You didn’t want a cripple for a boyfriend.” Effie inched to the right.
“Yeah. There’s that.” Trisha’s expression faltered, as if she forgot about his injury.
Effie seized the book and swung it, hitting Trisha’s shoulder.
The gun went off, clipping Effie’s wrist.
She screamed and swung again, connecting with Trisha’s chest. Blood dripped along her hand.
“You bitch!” Trisha yelled. She shot again, nicking the side of Effie’s head.
Panic soared through Effie. She took another wild swing, and the book clocked Trisha in the head with a dull thud.
Trisha shook her head and dropped the gun. She lunged for Effie, her hands like claws ready to seize Effie’s throat.
Effie darted out of the way. She gripped the book with both hands and swung hard, slamming the textbook against Trisha’s face.
Trisha fell backward. Her eyes closed. She didn’t move. Blood spurted from her nose.
Effie’s door exploded open. A guy she didn’t recognize, another student, no doubt, burst into the room. “Hey! What’s going on? I heard a gunshot,” he said, glancing all around.
“Call 911. Get someone over here.” Effie, wild with fear, threw the book across the room.
He yanked his phone from his pants pocket and stabbed in the numbers. “Get to Elliot Hall at Pacific Institute of Medicine. There’s been a shooting. Yes, there are injuries. Two women. One’s unconscious.” He put his hand over the phone and said, “Is she breathing?”
Effie nodded.
“Yes, she’s alive. Breathing. Room forty-six. Third floor. Mike Peterson. My name’s Mike Peterson.” When he disconnected, he raced to Effie’s side.
“What happened?”
“This woman…” Effie pointed at Trisha. The shaking started all over again. “She tried to kill me.”
It took what seemed to be a lifetime for the cops to arrive. But, then, the next hour or so proceeded in a blur.
Two burly, blue-clad police officers lumbered into her room. They eyed Trisha’s unconscious form, secured the gun, then, radioed and told the medics it was safe to enter.
The medics strode into the room, medical bags in hand. One of them tended to Trisha, as she emerged from unconsciousness.
The other, a young male with warm brown eyes reminding her of Zander, checked Effie from her head to her toes.
Meanwhile, the cops asked Effie all sorts of questions about what happened.
The ambulance drivers arrived next, pushing a gurney.
Trisha was checked for vital signs, lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled from the room.
The brown-eyed medic caring for Effie insisted she head to the hospital, saying, “Just a precaution. Your wounds look superficial, but we’d like to you to get checked out by a medical professional.”
Reluctantly, she made her way outside.
A crowd of onlookers watched as she was led to the ambulance. Phones were trained on her and flashes went off like tiny fireworks.
Oh, great. More media attention. What will they say about me this time?
She clambered into the back of the ambulance, eager to get out of the spotlight, and submitted to more blood pressure tests, pulse oximeter readings, eye scans and more, from her perch on the gurney.
Along the way her mother called. “We’re almost there. Should we park at your dorm?” her mom said.
“No. Meet me at…” She held the phone away from her ear and asked the medic, “Which hospital are you taking me to?”
“Seattle General,” the brown-eyed medic said.
“The hospital?” her mom shrieked. “What’s going on? What happened?”
“I got involved in an incident. I’m okay,” Effie said.
“Are you sure? What kind of incident?” Mom sounded a step away from hysteria.
“It’s not that bad. I’ll tell you when you get to the hospital. Seattle General. It’s on…” Again, she removed the phone from her ear. “Address?” she asked the medic.
“1220 Columbia St, Seattle,” he said.
Effie conveyed the info. In the back of her mind, she thought, call Zander. But, he was probably swamped in his meeting and she honestly didn’t know what to say to him. Should I start with you fucked your girlfriend’s mother? Really? Or, lead with, your crazy ex tried to kill me. No. Those conversations would have to wait. Too much had happened in a short time.
Once at the hospital, she became swallowed up in waiting, being tested, and finally being released.
Her mom and dad waited anxiously in the waiting room when she got checked out. She had a bandage on her wrist, another on her head, but, at this point, she felt numb. She shuffled toward them.
“Effie!” her mom cried, lunging to her feet. “Are you okay?”
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” her father echoed, slowly rising.
“Yes, mom, yes, dad, I’m fine.”
Her mom threw her arm around Effie’s shoulders and ushered her toward the exit.
“Thank you for driving all this way to pick me up,” Effie said.
“Are you kidding? Your father called in sick to work. I told him you’d been kicked out of school. Of course we were going to come get you.”
Effie stopped. “Wait. I forgot my phone. I’ve got to go get it.” She started to say, “Zander might be calling,” but bit her tongue. Her mother wouldn’t want to ear anything related to the guy in this week’s scandal—the guy who paid her for sex.
“No,” Mom said, with a brisk shake of her head. “We’re canceling that account.”
“But, mom, that’s where people know where to find me,” Effie cried.
“I’m sorry, dear. It’s our account and we’re closing it. Back me up, here, George.”
Her dad cleared his throat as he pushed open the exit and held it for Effie. “Your mother and I discussed it on the way over here. You’ve, um…you’ve been a bit irresponsible.”
“So, now you’re taking away my phone? Do you plan on grounding me, too? I’m twenty-two for Christ’s sake.”
“Dear, watch your language. This isn’t up for discussion. We’re taking you home, where you’ll be safe.” Her mom’s mouth pursed in a prim rosebud.
They urged her toward their beat-up green sedan.
Effie’s panicked thoughts clattered about in her head. I’ve got to reach Zander. I’ve got to make sure he knows I’m okay. He’s going to read about this. But, then, the terms of the contract loomed in her head. No contact. I suppose it may as well start now.