Page 68 of Her Only Hero

“You heard me.”

“She probably got off on a technicality,” he said.

“Yeah.”

The elevator bell dinged. The door opened, and an older gentleman with a cane got off.

“Are you sure you want to go up?”

“Maybe,” I said but stepped into the elevator, anyway. On the fifth floor, a hospital-specific smell lingered in the air—a combination of bodily outputs, antiseptics, and other artificial fragrances. It reminded me how grateful I was to work in a well-ventilated lab where I could deal with smelly specimens in a fume hood. We walked halfway down the beige tiled hall to the nurse’s station. The chairs by computer terminals were all empty. At the very end of the corridor, a uniformed police officer sat on a chair outside a door. Patrick and I glanced at each other.

“He must be in there,” I said.

“Are you ready to find out?”

I nodded. There was no backing out now.

I followed a step behind Patrick to the last room. The other officer stood up from his chair.

“Good evening, Officer,” Patrick said.

“Hello.” The shorter man straightened and adjusted his utility belt.

“I’m Patrick Verbeek, and this is June Harber from forensics.” Patrick showed his badge to the fellow.

“Yes, I recognize you. Chad Griffin.”

“Oh, right. You were on the Marine Unit. Good to see you.”

“You, too. What can I do for you?”

“I’m investigating a case. Is David Moreno in there?”

“He is. They just brought him up from the ER.”

“Is he being cooperative?” Patrick asked.

“Not at the moment. He’s in a coma.”

“Coma?” I squeaked out of my tight throat. As Patrick and the guard talked, I peeked into David’s room. Lights flashed on several monitors. His pale face looked serene, and his limp arms rested on top of the bedsheet. A bag of IV fluid and a pint of blood hung on a pole beside him, each hooked up to an arm. Unmoving and quiet, he seemed benign, unthreatening. Not the attacker I had feared for so many days and nights. I backed away, ready to leave. Ready to put all this behind me. I realized how weary I had become. My body had become leaden.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” Patrick said to the guard. “Maybe I’ll be able to question him then.”

“Sure, Officer. I’ll leave word.”

A woman in navy scrubs pushed a large instrument on wheels. “I’m here from x-ray. Can I go in?” she said to the group of us.

“Go ahead,” the guard said.

Patrick and I retraced our way down the hallway. I felt no closure or comfort knowing this guy was under complete surveillance. Nor could I shake the sick feeling that he was comatose because of me. We waited for the elevator.

“I feel like an executioner,” I said.

“You’re not, babe. Let’s call it a night and question him tomorrow.”

Choked up with emotion, all I could muster was a nod.

****

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