Page 7 of Her Final Hours
“Make that three. You’re fortunate that she’s not here because I think she would do much more.”
“I hate you.”
“Yeah, at least that’s an improvement over the cold shoulder you’ve been giving me. Look, Mia,” his tone softened ever so slightly. “I know you miss her. If I could change things, I would, but I can’t. And maybe your mom did things differently. But I’m all you’ve got now. And until you are eighteen and of age, you will follow the rules of the house.”
“Rules? Mom never set any rules.”
“Oh, I think she would beg to differ. I’m not asking for much. Okay? Show up at school. Don’t punch people. Don’t drink until you are of legal age. And when I ask you where you are. Don’t lie to me.”
“Like you’ve never lied.”
“And don’t turn this back on me.”
She fumbled with the lock handle, and he released the lock. “I hate you,” she said with tears in her eyes as she got out and ran into the house. The door was already open. Gretchen was there. Mia ran past her without even a hello. Noah stared at Gretchen, and he shook his head. He was about to leave his vehicle and head inside when his phone rang.
It was his superior and close friend, Savannah Legacy.
“Noah. I need you in Elizabethtown at the hospital as soon as possible.”
3
Sunday, March 18, 8:40 p.m.
The engine of the Ford Bronco growled as Noah arrived outside the Elizabethtown Community Hospital in upstate New York. Dark, heavy clouds unleashed a torrent of rain, their wrath forcing his windshield wipers to work frantically to clear the deluge.
It had been a while since he’d been there.
His vehicle idled as he eyed the hospital. It was shrouded by a curtain of water, blurring his view of what looked like a one-story primary school building. The red brick and dull gray stonework looked tired, surrounded by trees. The small parking lot outside only served to highlight the size of the tiny town.
It was a far cry from the medical centers in Saranac and High Peaks.
His breath formed before him in the cold winter air as he hurried to the door. He could smell the scent of a burning wood stove from a nearby house, making him wish he was home.
Noah shook droplets of rain off his coat as he entered the hospital. He was greeted by the usual hustle and bustle of staff in scrubs attending to patients. A security guard was giving directions. The lighting inside was bright and the walls were painted in a sickly green color.
His boots clattered on the cold, unforgiving linoleum as he made his way toward his BCI lieutenant, Savannah Legacy. She was engrossed in a conversation with two state troopers. He cleared his throat and she turned.
“This better be an emergency, Savannah.”
“Is there any other reason why I call?”
He let out an exasperated exhale. “What a night.” He rubbed his hands to warm them.
“And it’s only beginning,” she replied, giving a nod of her head towards the bowels of the building.
As they navigated the maze of fluorescent-lit corridors, Noah listened attentively as his lieutenant brought him up to speed on the unusual incident that occurred over in Westport. Their footsteps echoed, a backdrop to the sound of beeping machines creating an eerie soundtrack as they went deeper into the hospital. They passed by nurses and doctors who rushed by with urgent expressions. In the rooms, he glimpsed patients who were hooked up to breathing machines, some clinging to loved ones’ hands. Layering that, an occasional cough or moan emanated from behind closed doors.
“God, I hate hospitals,” he said.
“Likewise.”
A shriek cut through it all, wild and unruly, someone in extreme pain.
“I want to go home.”
“I understand,Hilda, but your husband dropped you off here.”
“But I want to go home.”
