Page 32 of Healing the Heart

“Are you’re sure?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

They both had similar schedules, and he knew she usually preferred to leave with someone, especially on these late shifts. Tonight was different. Another two minutes, let alone fifteen more sounded like an eternity. She could call security, but that would take even longer.

She mustered a weak smile. “No, I’m not sure, but I’m too tired to wait. See you tomorrow, John.”

The outpatient clinic where she worked was inside the immense medical center. She had to navigate a maze of corridors to reach the elevators that would take her to the parking garage. It was nearly a mile trek. Once inside, she leaned heavily against the wall, barely noticing the little lurch as the elevator car slowly descended.

She had picked up extra hours to fill the void left by her nonexistent social life since leaving the club, and the overtime wouldn’t hurt. It was a sacrifice she made willingly. Tonight, feeling the weight of that decision dragging on her body, she had second thoughts.

At her floor, she turned sideways and squeezed through the still-opening doors, eager to get to her car and make the short fifteen-minute commute home then collapse. But she stopped in her tracks hearing shouts and cursing echoing off the concrete. She scanned the dim level, not seeing where it was coming from, until two men, engaged in a pushing and shoving match, grappled their way into sight.

Her instincts screamed at her to retreat into the safety of the elevator, but when she spun around to do so, the steel doors had already shut. Panic surged within her as her heart rate spiked. Desperately, she jabbed at the call button, as the suffocating grip of fear tightened its hold.

A cry of pain pierced the air, followed by a sickening thud that chilled Fiona to the bone. Without seeing, she recognizedthe distinct thud of a body hitting the ground. Uneven footsteps pounded the pavement growing louder as they moved her way.

She whirled to face the threat, the keys in her hand the only weapon she had to defend herself. She used to carry pepper spray. Why had she stopped? It would be a heck of a lot more useful than her car keys.

A man half ran, half limped toward her, a bloody knife in his hand. The erratic cadence of his steps echoed ominously until he noticed her by the elevator doors and lurched to a halt. As their eyes met, time froze, but only briefly.

He raised the blade, the sharp tip wet with blood, and his face twisted into a sinister grin. “This is your unlucky day, pretty lady.”

His smile vanished as sirens wailed in the distance. The man bolted toward the stairwell, which, in her panic, Fiona had completely forgotten about. He called back to her as he burst through the door, “Talk and you die next, bitch.”

Trembling, Fiona watched him disappear, his threat hanging in the air like a suffocating fog. The sound of her ragged breath filled her ears as she stood frozen in place, paralyzed by the encounter.

When the door banged shut, it snapped her into action. She raced for her car, intent on getting out of there before he changed his mind and came back for her. But as she rounded the back of her car toward the driver’s side, she slipped in something wet and went down on one knee.

That’s when she saw the other man, lying in a widening circle of blood. And, just like her shitty luck, his inert body lay directly in front of her driver’s side door.

Fiona screamed as the chilling realization of what she’d slipped in sank in. With difficulty, blood on concrete like skating on fresh ice, she got to her feet. That she did so without puking was a freaking miracle.

Backing away, the sight before her a ghastly nightmare turned reality, she couldn’t look away from the lifeless body, surrounded by a dark pool of crimson. It was an image that would haunt her memories.

Ignoring his warning, she pulled out her phone to call 911. Because seriously, what other option was there? Dialing an iPhone with slick fingers was as challenging as walking through blood. After several attempts, the call connected, and she relayed the horrifying events to the emergency operator, her voice shaking the entire time.

The reassuring woman on the other end, urging her not to hang up, was like a lifeline to sanity until the police cars with their piercing sirens and flashing lights screeched to a halt nearby.

Officers poured out of the vehicles, their weapons at the ready, all aimed at her. As another wave of terror crashed over her, a desperate sob escaped her trembling lips. But survival instinct took hold, and she raised her blood-stained hands. She could imagine the gruesome image she presented, straight out of a horror movie.

“Stand down,” a man called to the others, at least eight of them. “A woman called it in. She must be the one.”

An officer approached her and asked, “Are you hurt?”

She wanted to assure him it wasn’t her blood but was shaking too badly to speak. Even if she could, she was afraid she’d start screaming again. So, she shook her head instead.

They quickly secured the area, setting up a perimeter around the crime scene, while others rushed to administer first aid to the injured man.

An ambulance arrived shortly after. Its doors flew open and paramedics jumped out. One hurried to assess the man’s condition; the other came to her.

“I’m all right,” she assured him, but when his gaze scanned her from head to toe, he shot the officer a skeptical look.

“She says she’s not hurt,” the officer said. “But I think she’s in shock.”

How could she not be?

“Hank, I need you,” the other medic called.

He hesitated.

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