Sue couldn’t stop laughing at the absurdity of George being assassinated. She clutched her aching sides.
“It’s not funny,” said George. Sue’s future ex-husband sat on an examination table that was covered with a sheet of light blue paper. It rustled with his every nervous movement. He held his injured arm protectively against his chest and glowered at Sue.
At least he’d stopped crying, she thought. Safe on the hospital’s third floor, Sue had finally calmed George down and she wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to make fun of him. She rolled around on the doctor’s exam stool, occasionally spinning, to George’s obvious annoyance.
“You have to believe me,” he said. “I’m not making this up. There really was a man with a gun. He threatened me.”
Sue rolled over to a built-in shelving unit and started pulling cabinet doors open. They’d been waiting for the doctor for over twenty minutes, and she was getting bored. Another ten and she’d have to throw a tantrum. She dug through an array of bandages, cotton swabs, alcohol preps, wipes, ointments, rolls of tape, bottles of peroxide, alcohol, and K-Y Jelly. She flicked a tongue depressor at George.
“Stop it,” he said. “Will you put all of that back? Someone might see.”
Only a fabric curtain on a metal rod blocked the traffic and activity of the hallway and neighboring exam rooms. Sue had jerked the flimsy barrier closed as soon as the nurse left them with a promise of a doctor’s quick arrival.
Sue glared at George and returned to her inventory of the cabinets. “Where do you think they keep the good stuff?” she asked as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves.
“Like what?” asked George hesitantly.
“You know, syringes and scalpels.”
“Hopefully, not in here.”
“If someone really is after you, we’ll need weapons,” she said with a wicked grin.
“I seriously don’t understand why you find this all so amusing,” said George glumly.
“Who would want you dead?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Lots of people.”
She started laughing again. “Okay fine, George. Did you recognize him?” she asked.
George continued. “All I know is some guy dressed all in black wearing a motorcycle helmet showed up out of nowhere. It was terrifying. I was just sitting in my car, and he tapped on the window. I swear, he had a gun with a silencer.” He said these last words in a whisper.
“A silencer? It all sounds too crazy to be true. Were you up all night watching John Wick again?”
“No. Maybe.”
The curtain was ripped aside violently and four people spilled into the room, making it suddenly feel very small. Clearly none of them were doctors or nurses, observed Sue.
“Patrick, this isn’t Sheila’s room,” exclaimed a frustrated looking girl with jet-black hair.
“Jamie, I told you the mayor said to head down the hall and take the second left,” said a tall young man with a necktie wrapped around a bloodied sleeve. He carried a black leather jacket.
“Or was it the first left?” asked a second girl with strangely familiar hazel eyes.
Behind them stood a handsome Asian man in a gray wool suit and bowtie. Sue thoroughly approved of his ensemble. He flashed a sudden and flirtatious smile at her. Involuntarily, she smiled back and wondered if he was too young for her or just right. Coming back to her senses, Sue glared at the quartet, and started to tell them to get out when George spoke up.
“Lisa? What are you doing here?” he asked.
“George? What happened?” Lisa blushed bright red when she saw Sue.
The little tramp is back, thought Sue, taking in the girl’s terrible haircut and business casual office wear. She doesn’t look so hot now without the sparkly dress and long hair, Sue thought with satisfaction.
“Well, I took your advice . . .” George started explaining, and then looked at the other three faces, landing finally on the tall young man with the injured arm. George leapt off the exam table and cowered behind Sue. He screamed, “Sue, he’s going to kill me!”
“George, would you please calm down.” Sue rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
Patrick put his hands up. “George, I’m so sorry about earlier. It was all a huge misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding? You put a gun to my head. You were going to shoot me.”
“I never actually put the gun to your head. I just waved it in your general direction.”
George pointed an accusing finger. “You’re Smith’s kid. And you were at my house too, the day of the quake. Sue, look. Remember him? He’s the drug dealer.”
Sue glared at the young man. He looked vaguely familiar. Definitely cute. “Oh yeah! You burned a hole in my living room rug, you son of a bitch.”
Patrick shook his head. “No. That was George. He dropped a lit joint.”
Sue sighed audibly, then turned to her terrified husband. “George. I thought we promised, no more lies.”
“Sue, you have to help me. He’s going to kill me.”
“Young man?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to kill my husband?”
“No.”
“That’s good enough for me. Now get the hell out.”
“Sue!” protested George. “You have to call the police.”
She rolled her eyes and stood up about to yell police or fire or earthquake in hopes of getting the attention of someone official roaming the hallways of Good Samaritan. “Fire . . .”
“George, you are in danger,” said Patrick cutting her off. “But not from me. From my dad.”
“And who is your father?” asked Sue.
“Victor Smith.”
“Really?” Sue was impressed.
Patrick nodded mournfully.
“I met him at a party once,” said Sue. “He was wearing a gorgeous suit. Anyway, why on earth would Victor Smith want George dead? George is the least interesting person I know.”
“My dad thinks you may have seen a video that could put him in jail for a very long time. And he won’t hesitate to kill you both to protect himself.”
“Both?” exclaimed Sue.
“That video again?” asked Jamie. “What’s on it, Patrick? Mayor Salder watched it and I’ve never seen her so upset.”
“Jamie, for your own safety, I can’t tell you what’s on it,” said Patrick. He turned to George. “Sheila gave you a DVD the night of that party last summer, just before the earthquake.”
“Yes. In the Die Hard case. You already asked me at gunpoint,” snapped George.
“I don’t have time to explain everything. You’re in danger and need to hide. We’ll ask Mayor Salder to send an officer.”
George, still crouched next to Sue, looked around the exam room frantically. “Where exactly are we supposed to hide? This room has no door. We can’t barricade ourselves behind a curtain.”
“How about in here?” Lisa opened a small door to reveal a tiny bathroom. “It has a lock. We’ll have my mom send the police to protect you. You’ll only need to wait here for a few minutes.”
“You’re absolutely sure this is necessary?” Sue asked Lisa. “This isn’t some perverse revenge for when I may or may not have hit you with my car?”
“No. Well, maybe. Of course, I did go home with your husband,” said Lisa. “But nothing happened. Nothing, I swear,” she said emphatically, waving her hands back and forth.
Sue nodded. “I’m not sure why, but I believe you.” She paused for a moment, thinking about her recent therapy sessions and the psychologist’s advice that in seeking forgiveness from others, she might have an easier time forgiving herself for her failed marriage. “And Lisa, I am sorry. George and I should have stayed with you that night until the paramedics arrived. It was wrong of us.”
Lisa looked at Sue with utter surprise. “Apology accepted.”
“We need to get to Sheila’s room,” Jamie said.
Patrick turned to Sue and George. “Please get into the bathroom now. And don’t open it for anyone except us or the police.”
Sue shrugged in surrender. “All right, George. Listen to the man.” She stepped into the tiny room and took a seat on the toilet lid, leaving George to cower in the shower stall. She shut the door and turned the lock, then called out, “You better hurry back, or if Victor Smith doesn’t kill George, I might.”