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Henry
They all looked the same. Doctors, nurses, orderlies—all blended together into a whitewall of chaos. Forming a united front, the grim-faced medical staff scampered about the emergency room floors. Their shiny shoes squeaked over the polished linoleum. Dressed in freshly starched and pristinely pressed scrubs, they reminded Henry of a militia of death.
Slumped onto a worn vinyl couch, Henry closed his eyes, blocking out the all too familiar scene. Images of Victoria’s lifeless body flashed through his mind. He’d kill the bastard who’d done this.
Henry peered up, focusing his eye on the clock. Time seemed to stand still as he watched a minute slowly tick by. Dammit! He jolted from the couch. I can’t take this anymore. Henry stormed to the front desk. “How is she?” Henry asked the receptionist.
The woman stopped typing and exhaled in exasperation. “Mr. Santana,” she said, her jaw set firmly. “As I explained last time you asked, I am unable to discuss Ms. Hathaway’s condition with you. You’re not recorded as the next of kin nor do you possess power of attorney. Therefore, by law, I cannot provide any information about the patient’s treatment.”
“That’s bullshit! I couldn’t care less about the law. I could buy the entire fucking police force if I wanted to.” Henry pounded his fist on the reception desk. “Now, tell me how the hell my girlfriend is!”
“Sir,” the receptionist hissed, “you must calm down at once. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to alert security.”
“Where is she?” Jennifer yelled, an oversized handbag slung over her shoulder, hitting her at the waist. She ran toward them, her heels clicking across the waiting area’s floor. Dressed in his uniform, Andre followed behind her.
“I’m Jennifer Jordan. My friend, Victoria Hathaway...” Jennifer took a huge breath, then continued on. “Is she okay?”
“I’ll need to see your identification, Ms. Jordan,” the receptionist replied.
“How are you holding up?” Andre asked, placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder.
Henry shook his head, unable to speak.
“Mr. Santana has my permission to be present when the doctor comes out.”
Relief flooded through him. “Thank you.” Henry’s voice broke.
“Andre told me what you did.” Jennifer’s aqua eyes filled with tears.
Andre wrapped an arm around her. “Let’s take a seat, baby,” he coaxed. “You, too,” he added, gesturing for Henry to follow.
*****
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Henry stood before the bathroom mirror. Grayish-white ash powdered his jet-black hair. His olive skin had taken on a ruddy appearance, its ordinarily smooth surface now cracked and peeling beneath his unshaven chin. As if pelted by sand, his dry, burning eyes squinted back at him through a web of red squiggly lines. Dark shadows framed his eyelids. He began to unbutton his shirt. Encrusted with sediment, the soft cotton was coated with dirt and grime and reeked of smoke. “Fuck!” Henry bellowed. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He tore the sweat-stained shirt from his body and slammed it along with his fist onto the sink. “Shit!” he swore, his teeth clenched as painful spasms shot through his hand. Enraged, he repeatedly kicked at the cabinet’s door. Chest heaving, perspiration dripping down his soot-streaked face, Henry slid down the bathroom wall. A deluge of tears flooded his vision. His chest wrenching with mournful wails, he collapsed onto the cold, hard floor.
Although a heavy dose of medication was being administered to keep Victoria comfortably sedated, Henry had been reluctant to leave. He’d only agreed after Jennifer promised to contact him immediately should there be any changes to Victoria’s condition. Being of similar stature, Andre had returned to the hospital with a bag of clothes, insisting that Henry borrow them.
Worn out and sore, he turned on the shower and stripped off his tattered jeans. He stepped into the steamy hot water, the steady stream soothing his aching back. Vigorously, Henry scrubbed his skin of its smoky scent. A river of black soot streamed down his legs, puddling into a swirl of dirty water as it ran down the drain.
Guilt consumed him. What right did he have to be bathing in the luxurious Gilded Seashell Hotel while Victoria lay clinging to life in a hospital room? It wasn’t fair. It should be him in that hospital bed, not her. Why hadn’t he taken her with him when he’d gone to the convenience store instead of leaving her in the apartment alone? She’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time; the attack had surely been meant for him. Not her!
He couldn’t shake the feeling that his father had been behind the ruthless attack. But would Diego Santana really attempt to kill his own flesh and blood? Had his father been referring to himself when he’d warned Henry that he couldn’t trust those closest to him?
A half hour later, he took one last look at his reflection. He still looked like shit, just cleaner. He ran his hand through his damp, mussed hair, slicking it away from his face. Dressed in an oversized, hooded sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants, he shoved his feet into the half-size-too-small sneakers. His toes pinched as he limped out the door, anxious to return to Victoria.
*****
HENRY STEPPED OFF THE hospital’s elevator, surprised to find Patrice pacing in the hallway of the fifth floor. Concern filled her chocolate brown eyes as she rushed toward him. “Mr. Henry, how are you? I was so worried when I heard about the fire.” Her hands shook as she cupped his cheeks. “I don’t want to keep you, but I had to come. But please don’t tell Mr. Santana. I can’t lose my job, and he’ll fire me if he knew I was here.”
Henry’s brows furrowed. “Why? Do you know something about Victoria’s attacker? Did my father say something about it?”
“No...no. Nothing like that, but Ms. St. Regis—”
He stiffened. “What about Ms. St. Regis?”
“It was awful. Ms. St. Regis and Mr. Santana had a terrible fight.”
“Tell me what happened,” Henry said in a tone much calmer than he actually felt.
“The other night, around 1:00 a.m., I heard banging at the front door and a woman’s high-pitched voice shrieking hysterically,” Patrice said, wringing her hands. “I was afraid someone was hurt, so I went downstairs. They sounded so angry. Their voices kept getting louder and louder. Then I heard the sound of breaking glass. I knocked at the door, but when Mr. Santana finally opened it, he hollered for me to go back to bed.”
“Did you hear what they were arguing about?”
“Mr. Santana kept spewing hateful words. Words too terrible for me to repeat. Ms. St. Regis was crying, and I heard Ms. St. Regis scream over and over that you loved her.”
Henry’s jaw clenched. “That’s a damn lie.”
“She said that Mr. Santana had promised to help her—that they had a plan.”
Unease surged through him. “How do you know it was Kelly? Did you see her?”
Patrice’s eyes widened. “Yes! When Mr. Santana unlocked the door, he looked like a madman. He was rough with her. He dragged her to the front door and shoved her out into the cold. Then he threatened me.”
“What do you mean, threatened you?” Henry asked, his tone deadly.
“He said it was best I forgot I’d ever seen her. Called her filthy and a no-good excuse for a woman.”
“Have you told anyone about this?”
“No. I haven’t told a soul except you. I felt you should know I think they were speaking of Ms. Isobel, too. I was so scared. Ms. St. Regis was talking gibberish.”
“Isobel?” Henry’s voice cracked. “Tell me what she said about Isobel.” He braced himself for what he was about to hear. Dumbfounded, he listened as Patrice relayed several more details of the encounter. “Victoria’s best friend, Jennifer’s boyfriend, is a cop. Would you mind repeating what you told me to him?”
Patrice nodded. “Of course, I wouldn’t. If you think it will help.”
“He’s with her now. Please wait right here,” Henry said.
Stepping into the darkened hospital room, he saw Andre reclining in an oversized chair. He placed his finger to his lips, signaling for Henry to remain quiet, and acquiesced as Henry gestured for him to come into the corridor. Henry stood in the shadows, lurking beside the half-open door, as Andre carefully slid Jennifer off his lap, adjusting her body into the corner of the oversized chair. She mumbled something incomprehensible. “Sleep. I’ll be right back,” Andre whispered, his hand stroking her hair as he placed his lips on her forehead. Then he moved toward Henry and followed him out of the room.