"Lexi!"
I stopped pacing and looked up at the sound of my name being yelled across the long corridor. "Mom?" I whispered, my mother was suddenly bearing down on me, her arms outstretched. Next to her stood Dad, his face a hard mask as he marched towards me.
"My baby!" screamed Mom, darting forwards and sprinting past Dad. She collided with me, wrapping her arms around me. "Are you okay? Are you all right?" she asked, her voice breathy and gasping as she pulled back and examined me with frightened eyes. A pair of roving hands checked my arms, my head, and my torso for any signs of damage.
"Sorry," I murmured, my stomach rolling again as she pulled me in for another hug. I shivered hard despite her radiant warmth.
"Whatever for?" asked Mom.
"I got blood on you. Sorry," I said, pulling back and pointing to the transfer from my ruined blouse to my mother's sweater. "It's not mine. It's John's," I explained with a sob. All at once, my legs gave out and my mom caught me before I slumped to the floor. "Steve! Help!" she cried, struggling to hold me as my Dad hurried over as fast as he could. She and Dad hooked their arms under mine and half-lifted, half-dragged me to one of the plastic chairs in the corridor of Montgomery General. I wasn't sure how long I'd been here. A few minutes? It seemed like forever. The EMTs parked me here when we arrived with Solomon. Two police officers followed the ambulance and one sat with me now, too young and nervous to be considered any kind of authority.
"Where's John?" asked Dad.
"He's in surgery. He was shot twice in the chest. At point blank range." I blinked, struggling to focus, but I had to. The shivering got worse.
"You," said my dad, turning to the young officer who'd brought me to the hospital and remained with me. "Go get my daughter some water."
"Yes, sir." The officer took off at a fast clip.
"Have they told you anything else?"
"Who?" Focus, Lexi, focus.
"The surgeons," said Dad. "Have they given you any updates?"
"Not yet. They said it was a close call." I burst into tears, sobbing against my dad's shoulder as he held me, patting my back like I were a small child again.
"Did you see who did it?" he asked softly.
"No. We thought it was the pizza delivery guy. Solomon went over to answer the door and I heard a noise that sounded like two pops. I called to him and when he didn't answer, I got up and went to the door and Solomon was just leaning against the frame. I saw a motorcycle go past the house, very fast, then he turned and... and..." I gulped, fearing I was about to vomit. "There was so much blood," I sobbed.
"John is a healthy, strong man," said Dad. "He has been trained in how to survive."
"Did anyone hurt you?" Mom asked. She took the seat next to me and held my hand in hers.
I shook my head. "No. I didn't even see the person. The shooter. I heard some footsteps and that was it."
More footsteps approached and I disengaged myself from my parents, looking up in case it was the surgeon. Instead, my oldest brother, Garrett, a lieutenant in the homicide division of Montgomery Police Department was there. He came to a stop in front of me. He hadn’t learned yet how to mask his emotions and keep them from showing on his face like our father did. Now, his eyes burned with anger and concern. Behind him, the young officer returned with a bottle of water, hesitating to offer it to me. I held out my hand and he put the bottle in it without a word, retreating again to stand a few paces behind Garrett.
"Traci was working dispatch when she heard your address and report of a shooting," he said. "I got here as fast as I could. What the hell happened?"
"Someone shot John," said Dad. "He's in surgery now. We don't know anymore than that."
"Okay," said Garrett, nodding as he processed that. "Okay. Are you okay, Lexi?"
"Yes," I said.
"Did you get checked out?"
"No."
"Officer Krakow, go get a doctor to check out my sister. Now!" he barked and the young officer took off again. "You need to have someone look you over. You're riding on adrenaline and you might be going into shock."
"The shooter was gone by the time I got to the door," I told him, "I'm not shot. I'm just... I..." I didn't know what I was but the rational part of me, the part that I clung to most desperately now, decided he was right, I must have been in shock. As I agreed with Garrett’s prognosis, I began to shiver harder. Mom shrugged off her jacket and draped it around my shoulders.
"I'll get blood all over this too," I mumbled.
"It’s not important. I'll buy a new one," she said, wrapping an arm around me again, and hugging me into the warmth of her jacket while my teeth chattered.
"I'm going to get an update from the surgeon. I'll be right back," said Garrett. He took off before I could ask what he needed an update for. When he came back a few minutes later, he knelt in front of me and took my hands.
I raised my eyes to his and wondered if this was the moment when my world ended. If I asked, I would know, one way or the other. If I didn't ask, he might still be okay. He would remain forever alive in that moment.
"John is still in surgery," he said quickly, taking the options from me. "They removed one bullet already and they're working on the other one."
"That's good, isn't it?" I asked, looking from him to my parents. They all nodded.
"Lexi, some officers are on their way. They wish to speak to you. You need to tell them all the details of everything that happened tonight, no matter how insignificant. It's important that you tell them everything you heard, and saw," said Garrett. "I'll sit with you the whole time."
I nodded. "Okay."
"They'll need to bag your clothes too."
"I won't have anything to wear."
"I'll get you some scrubs to put on for now."
"But I didn't see anything."
"That's okay. We’ve got units canvassing all your neighbors," Garrett told me. "We'll find out what happened, I promise."
"Police officers aren't supposed to make promises," I said, a wave of weariness hitting me.
"I am on this one."
"Lexi!"
Garrett rocked back, standing as we all turned at hearing the shriek. Lily sprinted towards us, her husband, Jord, following her. Jord was the youngest of my brothers and a detective in the burglary division. He was currently dressed in workout gear with baby Poppy strapped to his chest. "What happened?" Lily asked. "Why did it happen? Who did it? I'll kill them!"
"No one heard her say that," said Jord. "You can't say that, Lily."
"I. Will. Kill. Them," hissed Lily.
"Someone will fill you in with all the facts in a minute," said Garrett, beckoning to the two plain clothes officers who arrived right after them, along with Officer Krakow. "Lexi, follow me. We need to get you checked out and then we need to talk."
"But you're okay?" asked Lily, reaching for me as I stood up. Panic contorted her face.
"I think so," I said.
She made a move to hug me but Garrett held her back with one hand. "Lexi needs to change her clothes," he said. "Wait here, all of you, and we'll be back soon. Lexi, let's go." Garrett helped me up and guided me, placing one hand on my elbow, to a cubicle. He deposited a set of pink scrubs and a big, plastic bag on the narrow hospital bed and told me to deposit all of my clothes into the bag.
"All of them?" I asked.
"Everything."
"For evidence," I said, although I didn't need to. Garrett wanted to preserve any evidence that might be useful in court later. But did he also want to rule me out as a suspect right away? "I didn't shoot Solomon," I said. "I wouldn't do that."
"I know, and collecting your clothes will mean no one can accuse you of it. It's not just that though, you might have picked up some trace evidence that we don't know about yet. Come out when you're all done." He pulled the curtain around me.
I stripped, quickly and carefully, folding my clothes and inserting them into the bag. I pulled on the scrubs, and tried to ignore the splashes of blood on my hands and wrists. There was nowhere for me to wash them. I pulled back the curtain, shivering again in the thin cotton fabric. Garrett handed me a pair of large men's socks, and they were still warm. "These are yours, aren't they?" I asked.
He nodded. "I couldn't find anything for your feet yet. Roll them up a couple times and they'll be okay until we find something better. How are you feeling?"
"I have no idea."
"This is Dr. Granger. She's going to check you over." Garrett stood outside and a young doctor stepped in and pulled the curtain closed.
"This won't take very long," she said.
"Do whatever you need to do," I told her, drifting away in my mind while she checked my pulse and blood pressure, listened to my heart and gave me a cursory exam for injuries. When she was done, she wrapped her stethoscope around her neck. "I can prescribe something to calm you down," she said. "I know you've been through a lot tonight."
"I don't want anything, but thank you," I told her, beginning to shiver again. If I were medicated, or asleep, I couldn't tell anyone anything. The only power I had right now was to describe what happened as fast as I could and try to get the investigation jump-started. The longer it took, the more distance the shooter could put between us and them.
"If you change your mind, send someone to find me and I'll come back," she said, smiling warmly before she left.
"We need to do the interview now," said Garrett. "Ready?"
I looked up and tried not to cry. Instead, I nodded.
~
It was an hour before I could return to my family. By the time I got there, escorted by Garrett who, true to his word, remained with me throughout the interview, it seemed everyone had assembled. Garrett's wife, Traci, was there, along with my middle brother, Daniel, and his wife, Alice, who was still dressed in her nursing scrubs so I figured she must have just finished her shift. Serena and Delgado were there too. Serena sat with my mom while Delgado stood at the window, his hands thrust into his pockets, staring at the street. I don't think I'd ever seen him so upset.
Slumping into the chair between my parents, I rolled my head back against the wall, tipping my chin up and closing my eyes, wishing I could rest for a moment. No one asked me a thing. The whole corridor was silent.
I was in a strange state of not knowing if my fiancé were dead or alive. Like before, if I asked anyone, they might tell me he was dead. If I didn't, I was stuck in the awful limbo of not knowing. So I stayed in my purgatory, not daring to ask, and not wanting to hear the worst. Instead, I listened intently to what was going on around me. Someone was breathing hard near me. There was a beep of a text message. A phone rang and was quickly silenced. Two people, men, talked a short distance away. A rustle of a jacket. A machine beeping. Someone shouted. Then, footsteps.
When the footsteps stopped in front of me, I opened my eyes. A man in a white coat stood in front of me.
This was the moment.
My heart skipped a beat.
"Ms. Graves?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I'm Dr. Forsythe. I'm your fiancé's surgeon and you're listed as his emergency contact."
"Yes," I said again, holding my breath. I couldn't think of any words to say.
"Your fiancé is out of surgery and currently in stable but critical condition. We've taken him to the ICU, that's the Intensive Care Unit, so his recovery can be closely monitored. The surgery was difficult but successful."
"What happened? I mean, what... I..." I trailed off, unsure what I wanted to ask. Did I need to hear the details of the surgery? Or should I ask about his chances of recovery?
"We removed two bullets from Mr. Solomon's chest. One was relatively easy to remove although it nicked a large vein that we had to repair. The second bullet, however, was lodged very close to his heart. A quarter inch to the right and he wouldn't have made it. He's extremely lucky. There was a huge strain on his heart during the procedure and his heart stopped once. We managed to restart if within mere seconds and we’re giving it a high probability that no damage was caused by that event."
"That's great news," said Dad, squeezing my hand.
"When will he wake up?" I was dying to know.
Dr. Forsythe blinked, hesitated, and my breath caught again. "He will wake up?" I pressed.
"I can't say exactly when. Although the surgery was successful, Mr. Solomon is in a coma now. His body needs some time to recover."
"But he will recover?" I asked.
"I'll have some more information for you soon," said Dr. Forsythe, carefully evading the question, "but I am hopeful of a good prognosis. I'll send one of my nurses to take you to him. Ms. Graves, your fiancé is probably the luckiest man in the world tonight."
"Thank you." I watched him walking away, then I blew out a breath. Now that I knew the truth, I felt numb. Solomon was still alive but Dr. Forsythe was very careful not to make any guarantees about when he would wake up, or even if he would. What if it were weeks, or months, or even years? How could I bear to watch his life passing while he was trapped hopelessly in a nether world, not quite here, but definitely not dead either?
"Do you want to go and see him?" asked Mom.
I nodded, mutely.
"We can all come, or just me. Tell me what you want us to do," she inquired.
"I need some clothes," I said, pointing at my feet. "I'm wearing Garrett's socks."
"And they look very nice on you too," said Mom, patting my hand.
"I'll go to your house and get you some clothes," said Lily. From the corner of my eye, I saw Garrett shaking his head. "I'll go to my house and get some of your clothes," she corrected. "I must have forgotten to return at least fifteen or more of your items."
"Thank you."
"You can rely on me to ensure you will be fashionably coordinated," said Lily.
"I'll get you something warm to wear from my locker," said Alice. "I'll be back in ten minutes."
"What about food? You must be hungry," said Dad.
"I can pick up something from the cafeteria," said Daniel.
"Or I can get you a pizza. How about going to Monty's Slices?" said Serena, cajoling.
My chin wobbled and tears pricked my eyes. "That's what we ordered for takeout." Serena winced.
"Did you see the delivery driver?" asked Garrett.
I nodded. "He came just after Solomon was shot. I don't know what happened to him." My whole focus was centered on Solomon. I remembered the delivery driver arriving, a pizza box in his hand, but I don't know what happened to it or how long he stuck around.
"I'll track him down," said Garrett. "You didn't mention him in the interview."
"I didn't think about him," I said. "He arrived a few minutes afterwards."
"Don't worry about it. If you think of anything else, tell me."
I nodded.
"Daniel's gone to get you something to eat from the cafeteria," said Mom. "I think we should get you cleaned up before we go upstairs. Here's the nurse to help you."
"What about everyone else?"
"You leave everyone to me," she said. "Just think about you. I'll take care of everything else." She and my dad helped me up and directed me out of the small crowd that had gathered before aiming me towards the nurse. I glanced over my shoulder to where they waited as my parents led me away, wondering if I should say something. Was I supposed to give a speech? Or some instructions? I couldn't think of anything to say, except that I was so grateful they were all there.
"Lexi needs to wash up," said Mom to the nurse and the nurse nodded.
There was a large toilet cubicle at the end of the corridor and my mother ushered me inside. She grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and ran the faucet, soaking the towels. She took my arms, one at a time, and wiped off the blood. The sink water began to run pink and I closed my eyes, letting my mother do all the work. She dabbed at my neck and cheek and I wondered how much of Solomon's blood was on me. I started to shake, a tear rolling down my cheek and Mom pulled me in for a damp hug. "You are going to be okay," she said softly. "You heard Dr. Forsythe. John was very lucky. He is going to pull through this. Both of you are going to be absolutely fine. We are all here for you, for both of you."
"Sorry for crying," I sniffled.
"Nothing to be sorry for. Now breathe," said Mom. "I'm going to count slowly and you're going to breathe according to that count. One...in... Two... out... Three..."
I hiccupped and forced myself to breathe according to the rhythm of my mother's voice, her tone soft and soothing. When I was calm again, she finished dabbing me off. She smoothed my hair into a low ponytail and took my arm. "Let's go to the ICU now," she said. "You'll feel better when you see that he's okay."
My parents guided me to the elevators and we stepped inside. Garrett joined us just as the doors began to slide closed.
"I need to call Anastasia," I said, realizing that someone had to tell Solomon's sister. She worked in PR in Manhattan and was probably at an event or at home, but definitely uninformed of what happened. It wouldn't be the first time someone had to impart news of a shooting to her. Their parents had been killed in a wrong place-wrong time shooting many years ago, leaving Solomon as the guardian not only of her but also their brother. "I need to call Damien too. They will want to be here."
"I can call them if you want," offered Dad.
"No, I should," I decided. I looked around for the ICU sign, wondering where it was and why the hospital didn't make it more obvious. Anger bubbled up from inside me. "How is anyone supposed to find anything in here?" I snapped.
"This way," said Dad, leading us forwards. He left me with Mom and Garrett, hurrying over to talk to the nurse at the desk. He beckoned us to follow him to the next room where he held open the door. I stepped through, my heart thumping, afraid of what I would see.
Solomon lay on the sole bed, a white sheet tucked over his chest and legs. He looked like he was asleep, and his face was relaxed, except for the tubes and wires that spiraled from his body and connected to some machines that beeped periodically. Thick, white bandages were wrapped around his chest.
He was alive. Pulse beating, heart-thumping, alive.
"Have you any idea who would do something like that to him?" asked Garrett. "Any enemies? Anyone at all?"
"No," I said, riveting my eyes on him. "I have no idea who could possibly want to hurt him."
Except it wasn't just hurting him. No one voiced it yet, no one articulated the words I was thinking now. Someone didn't just want to hurt Solomon.
Someone had tried — and thankfully, failed — to murder him.