“Don’t fail me now, Saint T,” I whispered as I hurried through the tunnel, stopping only to unlock each door that got in my way. After several turns, I think I made a giant circle. Thank goodness it was the night shift and the tunnel was empty. Lights out must have arrived by now, and everyone would be back in their rooms. Soon they’d notice I was gone—and probably find Spike’s body if he hadn’t already gotten up.
I looked behind me to see the tunnel empty.
Phew. At least he wasn’t following me.
Ahead was a section that proved to be a veritable maze. There were twists and turns and pipes on the ceiling spewing steam, along with cameras on the walls. I envisioned some loser of a security guard watching me—and having hysterics. Nothing looked familiar or like an exit. I had to have taken a wrong turn. Surely I should be outside by now.
I slowed and stopped to get my bearings. There were no windows in the tunnel since it was a system of walkways built under the wards. There had been a similar tunnel structure in the psychiatric hospital that I had trained in, and as students, we used to take little “detours” on the way to the wards to see what was down there.
I was trying to think of a way to escape when I heard a noise.
Footsteps. Running footsteps.
My feet were soon running too, as I tried to think of a way out of there. Then it hit me.
An emergency exit. That was it. There had to be one of those red signs posting an exit in case of fire or some other catastrophe.
I ran down a long tunnel and at the end noticed a glimmer of red. Heading in that direction, I ran as fast as I could.
Something whizzed past my head. I didn’t stop to see what it was.
Okay, this was a catastrophe now—an attempted murder! Mine!
Up ahead I saw the sign. The red exit sign. Thank goodness I was a jogger.
Over my shoulder I could see a figure in a black hat, black shirt and dark pants, and I could hear the person gasping for breath.
Good, maybe he’d pass out. Obviously he wasn’t a jogger.
Thank you Saint Theresa!
With shaking fingers, I hit the push bar on the door. When I ran through, I wasn’t outside, but in a hallway, headed toward the main entrance. The giant public lobby.
Of course, it was empty at this time of the night.
Thank goodness I knew my way around. I also knew that the front doors were locked, since it was way after visiting hours.
I said a quick prayer that the same key unlocked all the doors in this place. Surely Jagger would have known if it didn’t. He wouldn’t have wanted me trapped in the maze of tunnels like some hunted animal.
The receptionist was long gone I noticed as I ran past the desk. “Damn.” I could grab her phone and dial 911 and be killed, or just get the hell out of there.
I went with get the hell out of there.
There wasn’t even a guard around that I could call to. I had no idea where the guards worked. I knew from experience that the buildings were pretty darn soundproof. No one walking by outside needed to hear the ranting of a whacked-out patient.
Or the screaming of a normal person being hunted by a killer! I slowed for a second and turned.
Nothing.
Maybe I’d lost him. I sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly. I couldn’t keep running like that, and the searing pain in my lungs told me that I had missed way too many days of jogging. So I figured I’d rest a second or two.
I heard a door slam and decided I’d had a long-enough rest. I rushed to the front door and stuck the key in the lock and jiggled. Then jiggled some more.
The door swung open.
Thank you very much, Jagger and Saint Theresa.
In the darkness it was a long shot to find the Cupid statue and get my car key. But, I was damn determined. Loving life and wanting to keep living it had my adrenaline gushing. The fountain could be seen from my ward, so I headed in that direction, hoping for the best.
If I got the key and made it to my car, I could lock myself in and drive off to safety. Surely the police would come as soon as Jagger found I’d gone missing. Or, hopefully, Margaret had told him. How I wished I had my damn cell phone.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
I screamed as I saw something swing by my arm. My legs had no choice but to carry me as fast as they could.
Damn it! The killer grazed my arm and ripped my Burberry robe. Now I was furious. I didn’t see the guy, but I did get a glimpse of the weapon.
A brown metal broom handle with the tip fashioned into a point. Just like the one that had killed Vito.
The tip must have caught onto the fabric of my sleeve. My arm hurt and I reached over to feel something warm. Blood. Shoot. I’d been cut. Growing even more furious, I yanked a small branch from a nearby tree. I swished it frantically in the direction of the figure, made contact and heard a yelp—but didn’t stay around to see the effects.
Too bad I hadn’t seen the guy’s face while he was swinging the broom handle at me. I could then tell Jagger who the fraud-committing killer was. The ringleader. Because I knew in my heart that this guy chasing me meant business and was the “brains” behind the fraud.
In the darkness I wasn’t sure if it was Spike or not. The guy was tall, but maybe not as wide. Hell, I really hadn’t gotten a good-enough look to be sure. Running did that to me and the darkness didn’t help.
I ran until my lungs were about to explode and then hid behind a giant oak tree to listen. Nothing. Silence. Good. I slowly walked toward where I thought the fountain would be, making myself as light as I could so as not to crunch the fallen leaves beneath my feet.
Being early spring, the old leaves of fall were still scattered on the ground. Some trees still had brown leaves on them, which only fell off as the new growth approached.
I hoped I got to see the new leaves.
The grounds were, naturally, empty. To be expected in a psych hospital. No one was allowed out, visiting hours were over and no one, not even the local teens, hung around this place. Besides, it was so far off the beaten track that you couldn’t expect anyone to come by.
Footsteps tapped along the ground, the sound getting louder. I let out a few “Help me” shouts, a waste of time, but I thought I’d go for it, in order to stay alive. Nothing. No reply. No cars coming in the drive.
From here I could see a light glowing on the second floor. Ward 200. It had to be. I ran my gaze from the window to the grounds and followed the line. Soon, in the distance and barely visible, was good old Cupid, standing in the water.
I ran so fast, I felt certain the guy following would pass out from lack of oxygen. Either that or I would. When I got to the fountain, I reached for the key. I patted Cupid’s arm and grabbed at the cold stone.
Nothing.
No key.
I poked further into his elbow, and then I felt it! The key must have been blown down his arm by a strong wind. I touched the metal and nearly cried. Footsteps crunched in the distance. I snatched at the key and felt a sharp pain in the cut of my arm.
And heard a plop.
“No!” I whispered. It couldn’t be. The damn key had fallen out of my grasp. There was neither time nor any way that I could find it in the murky water of the fountain.
Fighting the urge to collapse into tears, I sucked in some much-needed air and turned around. Determined to get out of there alive, I took off toward the parking lot on the western side. My car was there. If I could get to it . . .
It’d still be locked.
Mother had always drummed locking our cars into us kids. Who else locked their cars when they were parked in their own garages? She would be so upset if she knew the cause of my death was her raising us to always lock our cars.
Maybe I hadn’t locked it. I told myself there was a slight possibility that I’d forgotten to lock the car when I’d driven back here.
Even I didn’t believe it though.
How I wished I’d been able to wear my own clothes. Then there might have been a chance I’d have my car keys on me.
My keys.
My parents.
Nick, Goldie, Miles, Spanky, all my siblings, their kids, and spouses.
Jagger.
I slowed to rest. Tears welled up in my eyes. Hurriedly I brushed them away, looked around, and took off again.
Landscapers had worked magic on this place, but the trees seemed to pop in front of me at every turn. The grounds of the Cortona Institute of Life were picturesque, to say the least. That is, unless you were being hunted on them.
Still, the plentiful maple trees, oaks and pines gave me some place to run through, like a tree-filled maze. Had to make it harder on my pursuer.
The idea of dropping down and crying filtered through my brain again, but only temporarily.
Pauline Sokol was no quitter.
I sobbed and ran around a large oak’s trunk. My ankle twisted when my foot caught on the roots sticking out of the ground. “Ouch!” I grabbed onto the trunk, sliding my hands down and scraping the skin in the process. Damn, it hurt, but I wasn’t about to stop. I’d long forgotten my first injury and told myself nothing hurt. I was fine. Just fine.
So, I plowed on with a slight limp. Every once in a while I’d hear the footsteps crunching on the grass. But, determined, I decided I’d only think of my family. I’d pretend I was one of the Steelers running backs going for a touchdown with fifty seconds to go and fifty yards in the Super Bowl. Uncle Walt would be proud.
Uncle Walt!
Uncle Walt had learned caution from my mother too. As a matter of fact, I just remembered, he’d made me put a magnetic metal container under the rear bumper of my car. And inside was a spare key!
If I could make it to my car alive, I could get it. I would get it.
The campus was not well lit since no one usually came or went during the night except the staff. It wouldn’t be time to change shifts for hours. But “someone upstairs” was looking out for me, since the moon cast a pallid glimmering between the trees. I turned to look behind me.
A black figure stood amidst the naked trees, the moon’s glow catching the metal handle . . . and sparkling.
“Oh damn!” I sucked in a breath and sucked up the fact that my arm hurt, my Burberry was ruined and my ankle killed me, and decided that would be the only part of my body killed tonight.
For a second I silently watched the figure. No movement. I guessed he was scanning the area, looking for me. Slowly I turned and eased toward the parking lot. If he didn’t see me, I could sneak quietly over there and give my legs and lungs and every part of my body a much-needed rest.
When I got to the edge of the tree-lined walk, I moved behind a giant oak—and stopped. Damn it all. I had to cross the drive. The wide-open drive without any protection to hide behind. I looked around.
No one.
If I ran across, the moon that had helped me earlier would surely highlight me like a spotlight. Then I’d be a perfect target for the hit. So, I shut my eyes a second to think of what Jagger would do.
Jagger.
Then I decided he’d shake his head twice at me if he saw me hesitating, so I swallowed back any tears and bent down. Jagger would use his experience. He’d use what he knew to survive.
A branch crackled in the distance.
I sunk to the ground. I had no idea what Jagger did in the military, but it gave me a survival idea.
Like a giant snake, okay maybe a big worm, I eased onto my belly and started to slither commando-style across the road. If a car did come by, I’d be road-kill.
Broken gravel dug into my skin through the expensive fabric, which was surely not designed for action like this. A long time ago, I’d ordered myself not to think of the cold. All the other pain from my ankle to my abdomen to my arm was plenty to make me want to scream. But I bit my lip, the lower one. Really bit it. And before I knew it, I was across the road, flying up from the ground and hightailing it behind the safety of the cars.
I looked back. No one. Thank you again, Saint T. My car was parked on the far side. After nearly slipping from the pain in my legs, I looked down to see a red streak along my robe. Obviously I’d torn some more skin when being a commando. But that was little worry compared to staying alive.
I’m sure Goldie and Miles wouldn’t mind the ruined outfit.
I nearly wept when I saw my Volvo. It sat there in front of me screaming “safety.” Before the killer caught on, I leaned down behind the bumper and ran my hands across the freezing metal.
Nothing!
I had to bite back another scream. What the hell? Uncle Walt had said he’d stuck the spare key there for me. What if he’d forgotten? A few tears did escape, but hell, I was in danger and allowed them. My favorite uncle wouldn’t let me down. I knew it. I’d feel awful if this was the cause of my death. That is, looking down from heaven, I’d feel awful.
“Come on, Uncle Walt.” I reached around some more. Where would I hide the key if I were an elderly man? That had to be it, I thought, as I reached around. He probably thought some thief would find the key there, so he made it harder to find.
Thank you very much, dear Uncle.
I hurried to the side and fiddled around above the wheel. There was lots of metal there, but no key box. Damn it. I kept feeling around the car until I looked up and saw the dark figure in the distance. I gulped. He’d made it to the caretaker’s house. Good. Maybe he thought I was hiding in there. It would have been a good idea, but, wait, no it wouldn’t have been, since he had figured it out first.
I pulled back, my hands frozen, dirty and stinging from the cold metal. “Please, Uncle Walt. Give me a sign.”
My Steelers’ bumper sticker glared at me.
I reached underneath the bumper, felt what I’d hoped for and shut my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered then grabbed the metal box, pulled it open and took out the key.
With the key in my bloody fist, I stuck it in the lock, praying it wouldn’t be frozen. How I wished I lived in sunny Florida.
The key turned. I let out a breath, yanked open the door and jumped inside. When I went to stick it in the ignition, the key fell to the floor. “Shoot!” I fumbled around under my cold feet but couldn’t bend down far enough and there was no way I was going to get out to look. Quickly I sat up and shoved the manual locks on all the doors.
Then I swung down again, hitting my head on the steering wheel. Stars danced in front of my eyes, and they weren’t celestial ones. A warm liquid trickled down the bridge of my nose. I was about to ask myself what Jagger would do when a figure leaped in front of my car.
I screamed.
A metal handle thrust at my windshield.
I screamed again and was pretty sure that I’d keep it up as long as he kept prodding the glass with the handle. I hoped the promise of “shatterproof windshield glass” was not false advertising.
A heard a crack, and a spiderweb pattern spread across the glass.
“No! Get out! Leave me alone! I won’t tell anyone!”
“Too late, Pauline.”
I froze.
The female voice had stunned me into temporary silence. Despite the fact that she—not a he as I’d assumed, kept stabbing my windshield—I had to look past the web to see. . . .
Barbie Doll.
“What the hell are you doing, Sister Immaculatta?”
Sister? My injuries had me so mixed up that it just dawned on me that Barbie was as much a nun as the late Vito Doran had been.
I looked around the car. There had to be some weapon in here that I could use. I could take her. She was too beautiful and built to beat me. Then I watched her arms as the glass shattered more.
I couldn’t take her.
I fumbled around in my glove compartment, pulling out a map, a bottle of water (Mother always made us carry water, as if we lived in the Sahara instead of Connecticut) and then the hammer I’d use if my car ever plunged into a river or something. I knew I could never get close enough to whack her, but I pulled it out anyway. Then I touched the key chain Nick had given me for my birthday.
I grabbed it.
I stuck my sore fingers on the center button, appropriately named the “panic” button.
I held it up and pushed the button, then the car started to honk and lights flashed. Barbie pulled her weapon back and cursed worse than I would.
She really was no nun.
“I’m gonna kill you, Sokol!” Barbie yelled.
I aimed the panic button toward her as if that would make a difference. All it did was make her curse more and start swinging the broom handle like a baseball bat.
Ex-sister Immaculatta had a darn good swing.
My car kept up its racket as I kept poking the button. Now Barbie ran from door to door yanking at the handles and swinging her weapon. She kept this up as I cried louder and louder for her to stop and let me live. I’d sunk to begging, but hey, who would worry about being embarrassed at a time like this? I paused only to see if my life was going to flash in front of me.
Nothing.
Yet.
Then I looked at my side window. The driver’s side was only a few inches from my head.
The tip of the broom handle, the sharp metal tip, was poised directly on the other side of the glass. I wondered, only for a second, if that glass was as strong and shatterproof as the windshield.
I refused to be harpooned in my Volvo like Moby Dick.
I hit the panic button again.
The lights flashed, the horn honked and Barbie screeched.
Very unbecoming of a nun. Oh wait, exactly like a psycho-crazed killer though. “Get away!” I screamed over and over until the next thing I knew . . .
The tip of the broom handle punctured the window. A piece of glass flew off, and embedded itself in my left cheek. I screamed. “Now you did it! Now I’m pissed!”
She screamed louder, pushing the broom handle forward.
I think I screamed too, but it was getting confusing as to who was making all the noise.
Bam!
The window blew out and she reached in and opened the door. Before I could move to the other side, she had me by the robe and had yanked me out of the car. I tried to get to my bracelet, but noticed it was hanging off my arm. In my commando maneuvering, I must have damaged the clasp on it. I tried to reach for it to taser her ass, but couldn’t get a grip.
She was standing above me, holding my neck—and squeezing.
I kicked at her, and she released her hold a bit.
“You stupid fool. You ruined everything!” she shouted at me.
With enough air to speak, I said, “Ruined what?”
“You know, you bitch. I had my family almost set to move into someplace . . . nice. Lalli and Spike and my father.”
I pushed at her face, stabbing a finger into her eye. She let go. I tried to run, but she grabbed my robe and ripped the belt off. “Your father?” While she wrestled me to the ground, it dawned on me. “Santa is your father?”
“His name is Stanley and he’s not crazy like the rest of them.” She yanked the belt and held me for a few seconds.
“You’re crazy if you think you are going to get away with this. Doctor Dick is at the police station right now. He knows about Lalli, Spike and . . . you.”
She cackled more eerily than poor Joanna. “Yeah, right. You had no idea about me. You never figured out that I wasn’t really a nun anymore. I gave up on the convent when I went home to see how my family lived. I couldn’t let them stay in that squalor. I was responsible for them.
“Daddy couldn’t take care of Lalli and Mother had split years ago. And you. I recognized you from the time you came to see Mary.” She pushed me to the ground and straddled my back.
Damn it! Mary and that convent. I tried to grab the bracelet, but Barbie held my hands above my head, leaning all her weight on top of them and pushing my face into the ground.
Barbie was no doll.
“So why kill Vito?” I figured if I lived this could come in handy at her arraignment. That is, when I lived.
“Vito, the jerk.” She pushed down at his name.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry.”
I’ll bet she was. The word must have snuck out from her old upbringing.
“Stupid Spike came to work one night drunk. Spilled part of our scam to Vito. That’s why he had to go. Couldn’t let anyone spoil it. Daddy and Lalli didn’t deserve to live in a place like that. They should be happy.”
“Are you really a nurse?” Grass stuck into my mouth.
“Of course. I wouldn’t harm patients.”
Only kill those who get in your way. Very logical.
“So Vito was only trying to save his sister when he attacked me at the airport?”
“The damn fool. When she got to Ward 200B, I got all kinds of information from her. That, and my daddy listening to you, is how I found out what you were doing—you are a fake, Pauline Sokol.”
“No, I’m the real Pauline Sokol. I was a fake patient.” I’d gotten her talking and for a second had a tiny window of opportunity. So, I took a shot and lifted my hands enough to get my bracelet lined up with her arm and press.
“Aye!” she shouted. “What the hell did you do?” She sat up and rubbed at her arm.
Apparently the shock wasn’t enough to stun her or else the taser had been damaged. Either way, I forced her off of me with a shove and kicked her in her pretty face.
She shrieked and cursed at me. Wow. Who knew an ex-nun knew such language. “I should have run you off the road when I had the chance!”
It had been her driving the white van and not Spike.
I fiddled with the bracelet and tried to get close enough to zap her, but still stay far enough away so she couldn’t grab me. She didn’t even try. Nope. Instead, she reached into the car and pulled out the broom handle.
Great! Her weapon of choice yet again.
Barbie swung and hit me upside the head. My world started to wink out, but I refused to let it. Instead I aimed my arm at her, bobbed up and down, and kept pressing in case I touched her skin.
It worked and sent her flying back toward the car a few times, but she was still coherent.
Damn, but lunatics are strong and persistent.
We kept going at each other with our weapons and alternately screaming and cursing.
Boom!
Suddenly one of us stopped screaming. The broom handle dropped away. Barbie fell forward, her eyes glaring at me.
I pushed her back. What the hell?
She grabbed onto my side-view mirror and just hung there.
I kept screaming.
What the hell was she doing? Trying to play ’possum, like the nutty patients? Like her father?
Red lights flashed, and headlights lit up the darkness.
She merely glared.
Then, my voice froze as I saw her get up. Actually, she was lifted up, blood staining her black turtleneck and slacks. All I could think of was, someone so model-beautiful could have been more creative than to wear that clichéd black outfit for hunting me down.
Then again, she’d been wearing black since I’d known her.
After he’d shot Barbie, I nestled my head in the crook of Jagger’s arm. It wasn’t in any sexual way, since the red flashing lights of the cop cars, the staff from the hospital bustling around and a group of nuns, standing next to us reciting a litany of prayers, kinda put a damper on anything romantic—not to mention my looks. I had to look scary covered in grass, dirt, blood and ripped Burberry. I looked over to see Sister Liz. She made the sign of the cross and nodded at me.
I smiled.
After Jagger went through how he’d, in fact, figured out that one of the nuns really wasn’t a nun, he’d rushed back to the hospital to make sure I was safe, and Margaret had told him about Spike and me.
“Timing is everything,” I’d mumbled to him.
He chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated beneath my ear. Then he’d explained how “Sister” Barbara had left the convent a while back, so was able to impersonate a nun to run a fraud ring here. She, Spike, Lalli and their father had lured people to this place with the promise of R & R in a luxurious New England resort, just as we’d been told. Apparently Barbie had been here as a novitiate, so she knew about the place and her way around.
What we hadn’t known was that Dr. Pinkerton, the head of the staff—and Barbie’s lover—was also in on it. That’s how she got in here. They hijacked people from the airport, took their personal belongings, medicated them and then filed for the insurance reimbursement and pocketed it. Spike got four thousand dollars for each person he brought in. They had a contact at the insurance-company end who found the likely “patients.”
“I’ll bet Pinkerton was pissed to find out he hired you to fill in for him,” I said.
Jagger chuckled.
He told me a woman in billing was in on it too. Poor Terry was innocent of all criminal activity. Spike had used Terry to scare me a few times with the straw, Margaret had been moved as a warning to me, and Ruby was not lying about only trying to scare me once. Barbie had been the attacker with the broom handle. I didn’t have the strength to ask Jagger how he’d learned all of this, or more important, how he knew to come save me—I figured his cop connections had paid off again.
After all, this was Jagger I was leaning against.
Suddenly I felt something on my left cheek.
His touch.
“There’s a piece of glass in your cheek,” he said.
“I’d forgotten about it. I’ll get it out when I get home.” Home. I couldn’t wait to hold Spanky, kiss Miles and Goldie, and call my folks.
“Look, Sherlock, I’m sorry it has led to this.”
I should have said that it was all part of the risky job we were in, but instead I said, “You damn well should be.”
“Next time I’ll clue you in a bit more about the case.”
I sat forward, ignoring all the new pain the movement had caused. “Next time? Next time? Next time!”
He reached up to my cheek and whispered, “Take a deep breath, Sherlock.” He eased out the glass so swiftly, I didn’t feel a thing. Besides, it wouldn’t have mattered if it hurt like hell when he said, “Of course there’ll be a next time.” Gently he kissed my good cheek. “Oh, I forgot to give you your birthday present.”
Now we’d come full circle. My thinking the envelope from Fabio was a present from Jagger had gotten me here on the ground in damaged Burberry. But a Jagger-present! My heart danced at the thought. “Well, where is it?” I sounded like a kid, so I added nonchalantly, “I could use something to cheer me up now.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box. Jewelry box. Geez. Didn’t Jagger know that I wasn’t the jewelry type? Even Nick had figured that out.
“Sorry I didn’t get to wrap it.”
I took the box. “My birthday was days ago.” This time I shook my head and opened it to see a beautiful pink locket. Actually it was rather nice and was rather me. Not too fancy. Not gaudy. And not shiny. “Thank you. It is beautiful. It’s . . . me.”
“No, Sherlock, it’s to keep you being you.”
“Huh?”
Jagger laughed. “It’s a special kind of locket.”
Wow. I felt wonderful. No pain right now, thinking Jagger thought I was special. “I’ll wear it all the time.” “Good, since it’s a container of . . . pepper spray.”
How very Jagger-like.
I smiled.