They stood, silent and somber, in the midst of chaos. Controlled chaos as firemen, policemen, rescue workers, and emergency personnel scurried around them, but chaos nonetheless.
Giving himself a mental shake, Kelly Brackett made a concerted effort to squelch his feeling of overwhelming despair. Whatever had happened here, it was more than he could comprehend. With a sigh, he tightened his arms around Dixie as she leaned against him, unable as yet to banish residual tendrils of the anguish that had gripped his soul in terror when he thought he’d lost her forever; still needing to hold on to her, still wanting to feel as if he were keeping her safe. He looked down and kissed the top of her head. Still holding her within the protective circle of his arms, he softly suggested, “Let’s see about getting that hand of yours taken care of.” Turning aside, he gently guided her through the rubble. Time enough later for them to ponder the disaster that had befallen their city; in this moment, her welfare was his more immediate concern.
Dixie allowed herself to be led toward the small complement of emergency vehicles that had created a perimeter around the edge of the destruction, content with simply being by his side. She’d spent a lifetime of hours fighting off a growing despair that she might yet discover a finality she feared all too possible in this inexplicable miasma of misery. She’d grasped at wisps of hope to preserve her resolve, tenaciously clinging to them until she would be forced by the devastating circumstance in which she had become so terrifyingly enmeshed to actually entertain the thought that Kell might really be lost to her; having discovered that he was not . . . . . . . . please, never go away . . . . . . . . she now required nothing except to remain within his presence.
As they approached a row of vehicles, he asked the ambulance attendants, “Are any of you heading out to Rampart General?” Reaching out to shake the nearest man’s hand, he added, “Doctor Kelly Brackett.”
“Sure am, Doctor Brackett,” replied the attendant as he shook hands. “We usually work out of Harbor General, but they can’t take any more patients, so they’re sendin’ us over t’ Rampart,” he replied. “Corey an’ Jeff are bringin’ a fireman over now,” he offered in explanation, nodding his head toward a small group slowly making their way toward them. “I think I heard ’em say a beam fell on him when a wall gave way.”
Kell turned to look in the direction indicated, relieved to see that the victim’s injuries were not severe enough to keep him from walking over on his own. After all the carnage he’d seen in the past hours, he was grateful to see the man approaching under his own power. As the group drew near to the ambulance, he reluctantly released his hold on Dixie and stepped out to meet them. “What have you got?” he asked the two paramedics.
“Broken arm, Doctor Brackett,” Corey Hastings replied, surprised at seeing the rather dusty and disheveled doctor. “A couple of walls collapsed and a falling beam got him.” Examining the man’s injured arm, Kell nodded approvingly at the splinting job. Together the three men helped the fireman into the back of the ambulance; Kell then climbed in himself after assisting Dixie. Knowing full well that their time and talents could be better utilized if they remained at the scene, Kell told the paramedics, “We’ll ride in with him.” Corey slammed the doors closed and, as he and Jeff headed back, the ambulance departed for Rampart General.
* * * * * * * *
Having finally dispatched the last of their patients upstairs, Joe Early wearily pushed through the door of the break room, intent on finding himself a hot cup of coffee and a chair. Mike Morton was already there, standing in front of the television set, a cup of coffee in his hand, listening to the newscaster’s report. Glancing in his direction, Joe asked, “Any news yet on what happened?”
Without taking his eyes off the television screen, Mike shook his head in disbelief, offering, “Right now they’re saying someone planted bombs in and around several downtown buildings and set them so they’d all blow at the same time.”
“Bombs?” Joe replied incredulously. “In what buildings? Why would anyone do that?”
Mike shrugged helplessly. “Around City Hall and Parker Center, I guess; probably inside, too. No one seems to know who or why. Looks like a war zone down there, rubble everywhere . . . . . . . .” His voice trailed off. They’d only seen the televised news reports; nevertheless, that was more than sufficient to numb their sensibilities at the horror.
Joe sighed heavily. This was incomprehensible chaos, the world turned upside down, reality taking flight. How many people had lost their lives as a result of this senseless act? How many more injured? What possible purpose could such wanton destruction serve? Those responsible must surely be . . . . . . . .
“. . . . . . . . crazy,” Mike concluded.
Joe realized with a start that he had not heard much of anything that Mike had been saying. “I’m sorry, Mike,” he apologized, still fretting. “What did you say?”
Mike turned to look at his colleague, only to find sorrow pooled in his eyes, his face filled with immense sadness. Offering Joe a sad smile of shared understanding, he quietly said, “I know; it’s almost too much to comprehend . . . . . . . .” After a pause, he repeated himself, “It sort of feels as though we’ve fallen through the rabbit hole with Alice . . . . . . . . or maybe the world’s just gone crazy.”
Mike’s reference to Alice and the rabbit hole evoked unbidden warm memories --- years ago, Dixie McCall had once confided in him, confessing to feeling rather like Alice in Wonderland. The soft memory prompted a momentary smile and filled Joe with gratitude that she hadn’t been on duty this night. While he was pretty sure she’d long since worked her way past that particular feeling, it still evoked a sense of protectiveness in him for her. Family --- that’s what she and Kell were. Clinging to the comfort of the feeling, he forlornly pondered, “Sure --- it’d really be nice if it were all just some sort of a storybook hallucination . . . . . . . .”
The two men fell silent, each working to find some way to absorb the reality of the unthinkable events that had transpired over the past hours. Neither cared to even imagine what it must have been like to actually be in the midst of the disaster.
Sally Lewis stuck her head in the door. “Ambulance coming in,” she said. “From downtown.”
“What’s coming in?” Joe queried.
Sally shrugged wordlessly as she turned to leave. With a weary sigh of resignation, Joe hauled himself to his feet and, pushing his coffee cup aside, he joined his colleagues as they headed down the corridor to meet the incoming ambulance.
* * * * * * * *
“I like the lace,” Joe teased gently. “You may be responsible for single-handedly starting a whole new fashion trend!”
Dixie, perched on the examination table, rolled her eyes, but offered him a shrug and an indulgent smile while Kell laughed. As Joe carefully worked at removing her makeshift splint, she sighed, “It seemed like a good idea at the time . . . . . . . .”
Joe looked up from his examination of her injured wrist and burned hand as her voice faded away; her pensiveness did not particularly surprise him, but he thought it might be better if he could get her to talk some about it. “Probably wouldn’t hurt Kell, either,” he silently mused.
Mike had taken charge of the injured fireman; he had just cleared the cast room and would be kept for observation. Kell, much quieter than usual, seemed to have escaped without physical injury, but Joe knew he would always carry this with him. As would Dixie . . . . . . . . but at least their pain would be tempered with the knowledge that their presence had been responsible for the survival of other victims.
“Pretty ingenious,” he complimented quietly as he put his hand under her chin and gently lifted her head. “What do you use when you run out of nylon and lace?”
Dixie looked into his eyes, knowing full well she would find no criticism or mockery there. “Well, tablecloths and napkins seemed to fit the bill just about as well,” she offered with a Mona Lisa smile and another shrug . . . . . . . . I had nothing to lose.
Joe nodded, preoccupied for the moment with how to best address the broken wrist. For the next few days, anyway, a cast was out of the question because of the burns on her hand. He glanced over at Kell. “Orthopedics ought to have fun with this one,” he grinned. Dixie, never having quite managed to learn to play the compliant patient well, glared playfully at the remark.
Their lighthearted banter was interrupted; Doctor Ed Borchardt rapped on the door as he opened it and walked into the treatment room, x-rays in hand. He handed the envelope to Joe as he came to stand beside the examination table; giving Dixie a cursory once-over, he queried, “And just what were you doing, anyway?”
Dixie, all-too-aware of her unkempt appearance, sighed heavily. “Just sitting, Doctor,” she grumped in annoyance, “just sitting. And then everything just . . . . . . . . it just . . . . . . . .” Searching for the right word, she stuttered, realizing that she still had absolutely no idea of what had happened . . . . . . . . tattered dreams of good-bye grey . . . . . . . . and she looked at them helplessly.
Joe reached out to gently brush back a stray lock of her long blonde hair, now tangled and greyed with dust, tenderly offer-ing, “They’re saying on the news that someone set off bombs.”
Tears marshaled in her eyes as she absorbed his words; after a moment, she mourned, “Well, they sure did a job of it . . . . . . . .”
Suddenly it all connected and Borchardt understood why she and Kell were both so disheveled-looking and dusty --- and she was hurt. Surprised, he interrupted her soulful, solemn musing. “You were downtown?!”
Making a monumental effort to maintain her composure, Dixie desperately fought for control as she offered the doctor her very best Nurse-McCall-is-extremely-annoyed glare, but the reality confronting her refused to be pushed aside or ignored any longer . . . . . . . . things are wrong . . . . . . . . . She burst into tears.
“Let’s take a look at these,” Joe said to Ed as he held up the envelope and urged the doctor away from the examination table. The two doctors moved across the room as Kell gathered her into a hug, rocking her gently in his arms and working at comforting her.
For a time, the only sounds in the room were Dixie’s sobs and Kell’s gentle murmuring as he sought to soothe her heartache. Somehow, knowing instinctively that he needed to do this for her, Kell managed to quell his own inclination to rail at the senselessness of it all. For this, there could never be any understanding.
Joe nodded silently as he looked at the x-rays. The pictures confirmed his diagnosis, a fact for which he was truly grateful --- as broken bones went, this one, actually just above her wrist, was really no big deal. But his thoughts were wandering and his heart ached in sympathy with his friends’ anguish.
* * * * * * * *
“How’d you burn it?” he asked quietly, examining her hand.
“I . . . . . . . . a little girl . . . . . . . . fire . . . . . . . . her hair . . . . . . . .” Dixie sighed heavily as she succumbed to overwhelmingness.”
“Never mind,” Borchardt said softly, placing a hand on her arm. Her faltering response had provided enough of an answer and he was none too sure that it was wise to encourage her to continue the thought. Still examining her hand, he glanced up at Joe and Kell, both now standing on the other side of the examination table. Kell had lapsed into silence himself, seemingly content to remain there with his hand on her shoulder. Weighing the options, he offered his opinion. “We could go with a back slab . . . . . . . . I don’t think the straps would affect the burns . . . . . . . . but it’s a simple, undisplaced fracture; with the burned hand, I’d recommend pins.”
“External fixation?” asked Joe.
He nodded, murmuring his affirmation.
“Kell?” Joe encouraged.
With a sigh, Kell pulled himself together enough to nod his agreement, offering a nebulous, “Whatever you think best.” Dixie remained silent.
Joe sighed; time might heal all wounds, but he had a feeling that, in this situation, time was up against a truly unstoppable agony.
Ed Borchardt glanced at Joe; “I’ll get things set up.” As he turned to leave, Dixie leaned against Kell. Too well I know the meaning of the blues . . . . . . . . tears streaking down her cheeks, she whispered, “How could anyone do something so awful?”
None of them had an answer.
* * * * * * * *
“Kell, I appreciate your position, but we have to look at the dollar value to the hospital . . . . . . . .”
“Dollar value?” Kell interrupted angrily. “We’re not talking about dollars, Carl, we’re talking about people’s lives. Besides, we don’t pay the paramedics . . . . . . . . we’re still just treating the patient.”
“There’s the base station equipment, the hospital staff support, training . . . . . . . . none of that comes cheap, Kell.”
Jumping up from his chair, Kell angrily shook his head as he resumed his pacing. They’d been round and round with this discussion for the past three days; Carl was unmovable. And since he was the chairman of the board . . . . . . . .
“Fine, go ahead and dump the program,” he said at last, his voice a quiet whisper. “And all that money you think you’re saving won’t mean a damn thing weighed against the patients you will have lost because they never got here for help.” Desolate, he slumped back into the chair.
“We managed just fine before there was a paramedic program,” Carl insisted. “And, as I recall, you weren’t always so keen on the program yourself, either.”
Kell looked up at him, anger blazing in his dark eyes. “No, Carl, I wasn’t. And I was wrong.” He resumed his pacing. “We need more doctors, more hospitals . . . . . . . . but we don’t have them and the people who need us now can’t wait . . . . . . . . people are dying while they wait for us to get those things.” He spun around to face him. “Dying, Carl.”
Silence hung between the two men. After a time, Kell offered, “At least the paramedics give us a fighting chance to save some of them.”
“Kell, it’s not an issue of saving patients or letting patients die,” Carl insisted. “It’s an issue of fiscal responsibility. This hospital is a business . . . . . . . .”
“And if it’s not in the business of saving lives, then it’s the wrong business!” Kell shouted.
Carl, determined to press the point, was clearly angry. “It makes no difference, Kell; I know where you stand and I don’t need to hear anything more about it. I’ve made up my mind --- I’m recommending to the board that this hospital pull out of the county paramedic program.”
Kell, knowing that losing his temper here would serve no useful purpose, bit back his anger. “Recommend whatever you want, Carl,” he answered. “But I will have something to say about it.”
* * * * * * * *
“Want to have dinner out?” Kell asked nonchalantly. It was turning out to be a very quiet day in Emergency, something that rarely, if ever, seemed to happen these days. Appreciative of the lull, he was taking advantage of the opportunity to stand at the nurses’ station and visit with his favorite nurse.
Dixie shrugged, absently replying, “Sure, I guess so.”
“What’s the matter?” Kell teased lightly as Joe came over to the counter. “Mother hen still fretting over her baby chicks?”
Dixie shook her head . . . . . . . . baby, mine . . . . . . . . and, sighing, muttered, “It’s just strange not having them home . . . . . . . .”
“Who’s not home?” teased Joe with a grin, knowing full well exactly what was on her mind.
Exasperated, Dixie rolled her eyes. “All right, you two! Enough!”
Both doctors laughed and, after a moment, she smiled ruefully. “It just seems strange not to have the children home, that’s all.”
“I’m sure they’re just fine,” soothed Joe with an understanding smile. “You do worry too much, though, you know.”
Dixie glared balefully across the counter at him. “It’s in my job description,” she asserted. “I’m supposed to worry.”
“We just talked to them last night. They’re having a great time,” Kell told Joe. “And,” he added, looking straight at Dixie, “it’s only for the summer.”
The sudden ringing of the telephone cut off Dixie’s retort. “Emergency, Nurse McCall,” she answered, at once all business. She might fret privately about the children, who were spending the summer with Kell’s father, but she’d never, ever let her personal concerns interfere with her nursing.
* * * * * * * *
“Got anything special planned for today?” Kell asked as he shoved bits of scrambled egg around his plate. He wasn’t really in the mood for breakfast, but Dixie had insisted and he was making the effort.
“Just the usual dull housekeeping, I’m afraid,” she replied.
Kell smiled across the breakfast table. “Sounds like a whole lot more fun than my day’s going to be,” he told her pensively.
Reaching out to take hold of his hand, she asked, “Are you worried about the meeting? Do you really think it’ll be a fight?”
“Carl made his position pretty clear,” he sighed, “and there’s not too much I can do except hope that the rest of the board will listen to reason.” Pushing his plate away, he added, “I’ve got to say the right thing, convince them. There’s too much at stake!”
Dixie came around the table and put her arms around him. “And I know you will,” she encouraged softly. “I know you will.”
* * * * * * * *
“Luke?” she said in disbelief as she opened the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss McCall,” he apologized earnestly, “but I just have to talk to Doctor Brackett. It’s urgent!”
“He’s at the hospital,” Dixie told him.
“Oh, no,” he moaned with a heavy sigh. “Look,” he pleaded, “do you suppose . . . . . . . . would it be all right . . . . . . . . could I use your phone to call him? Please? It’s awfully important.”
Perplexed, Dixie stepped back from the door. “Sure,” she agreed, as she worked at banishing her confusion. It didn’t make much sense to her that the lab technician was standing at her front door, pleading to talk with Kell, but there certainly was no reason for her to refuse to let him come in and call Rampart. “Please, come in,” she invited.
He came in and closed the door.
* * * * * * * *
“And, despite what’s already been said here this morning,” he continued, “I am not suggesting that Rampart General will cease to be responsive to the needs of the people in our community. But I do feel . . . . . . . . no, I know . . . . . . . . that we can continue to meet their health needs without enduring the tremendous burden the paramedic program places on our staff, on our resources, and on our budget.” He glanced across the table at Kelly Brackett as he added, “The cost of our continuing participation in this program, simply to satisfy egos, is much too high.”
The board members murmured among themselves as Carl took his seat. After a few moments, Kell, making a supreme effort to control his temper, said, “I’d like to respond to that, if I might.”
“I think Carl’s position is quite clear, Kell, and he’s made some good points. Nevertheless, the floor is yours.”
Kell sighed. After a moment, he folded his hands on the table in front of him and spoke softly. “If it weren’t for the paramedics, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here, having this conversation with you . . . . . . . . and I know we’d have lost Dixie.” He supposed it was a rather low blow to remind them of the drunk driver and the horrific accident that had nearly killed them both, but he’d do anything, use any tactic necessary, to save the program.
“We’re talking about the day-to-day involvement of this hospital in the paramedic program, Doctor,” Carl grumbled. “That was an isolated extreme instance.”
Kell took a deep breath as he looked at the faces around the table once more. “Several weeks ago, I would have given all I had . . . . . . . . given my very soul . . . . . . . . for one paramedic rescue squad, for just one fully equipped trauma box. People desperately needed medical care . . . . . . . . I knew exactly what needed to be done for each one of them, what course of treatment was called for, but I couldn’t get those people here to get that treatment. And so they laid on the ground and died.” He paused, working to keep his emotions under control. “You can’t prescribe when and where people will need you, you can’t say, ‘Just wait until we get to the hospital,’ because they don’t wait. I was right there . . . . . . . . with knowledge, skills, and training . . . . . . . . and still they died. They died because they couldn’t wait for treatment, because time robbed them of vital moments that just might have made the difference. The paramedics fight that time battle for us by starting treatment in the field --- they defeat the time element that otherwise claims so many lives. They make the difference for the patient that needs immediate trauma care. And the hospital’s price tag’s training, some equipment, and staff support.” He paused to look around the table. “Just what is this cost, gentlemen, against a life?”
The members of the board shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Kell looked at the men seated at the table with him. Good people, yes, but many too far removed from the day-to-day practice of medicine, too caught up in paperwork and budgets. He knew he’d made them all feel uncomfortable . . . . . . . . but he also knew that that was exactly what they needed to feel. If they were going to do this, he wanted it to be the hardest thing they had ever done in their entire lives. He fervently hoped he’d aroused enough of their medical bent to make a difference.
But, now that it was all said and done, had he said enough?
Or had it been too much?
“That was a rather unique situation, don’t you think, Doctor?” asked Carl, working to dissipate some of the board members’ growing sympathy for Kell’s position.
He nodded in agreement. “Yes,” he allowed softly, “it was.” He paused, fighting to keep from raising his voice. “But everyone, sick or injured, is in a unique situation that requires us to do everything in our power to care for them. We took an oath to do just that . . . . . . . . and we must honor that commitment using whatever skills and resources we can bring to bear against their pain and suffering. We owe them nothing less than that.”
“I think we’ve heard enough,” Carl sighed in annoyance. “We’re digressing into feelings and opinions here. The issue is the cost of the program to this hospital. Our resources could be put to better use . . . . . . . .”
“We’re a hospital, Carl. Are you suggesting there is some better use of our time and money than in the saving of lives?”
Carl glanced at the speaker as he studied the faces of his fellow board members, annoyed that Kelly Brackett had managed to stir them up over the paramedic issue. At the outset, Carl had been certain of victory; once Kell had had his say . . . . . . . . But there was no point in delay. “What is the pleasure of the board on the issue?” Carl demanded. “Will you support the withdrawal of Rampart General from the county paramedic program?”
Kell looked around the table as, one by one, the board members responded with shakes of their heads. No . . . . . . . . no . . . . . . . . no . . . . . . . . no . . . . . . . . no . . . . . . . . no . . . . . . . . no. The hospital would stay in the program. Kell rose to go. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “Thank you.”
* * * * * * * *
Nervous, Joe paced the floor of Kelly Brackett’s office. He’d had enough coffee to set his teeth on edge and Kell was still upstairs. Generally he didn’t pay too much attention to board matters, preferring not to be involved in the politically-charged antics that comprised much of board meetings in general. He’d had way more than enough of that back in the days of his involvement in the family business. Nothing could get him back into that arena.
But he was concerned. Kell had been unusually edgy before the meeting, fretting quite a bit more than Joe had expected. Unaware of how close Kell had come to actually leaving Rampart over the paramedic issue now before the board, Joe had not understood his anxiety prior to the meeting. As a result, he’d spent most of the morning feeling vaguely troubled for some reason that he simply could not identify.
Pacing at least gave him something to do between patients.
Startling as the door opened, he turned around to face Kell as he stood in the doorway.
“We stay in.”
Joe Early heaved a huge sigh of relief as Kell’s face broke into a wide grin.
“How’d you convince them?” Joe asked as Kell came into the office and, suddenly feeling rather wiped out, wearily sank down into the chair behind the desk.
Kell shrugged in relief; “Just told ’em the truth,” he replied, brushing aside his own involvement in the board’s decision. All that really mattered was that Rampart would remain in the program.
“Somehow I think you’re not telling all of it,” Joe teased, “but I guess it really doesn’t matter as long as whatever you said made them decide to keep the hospital in the paramedic program!”
“Amen to that!”
After a few moments of silence, Kell mused, “Carl’s really angry, but they made the only choice they could. If we’re a hospital, we’ve got to do whatever is necessary to care for our patients!” He looked across the desk. Speaking earnestly, he added, “And that means Rampart has to be in the paramedic program!”
Joe nodded in agreement as he glanced at his watch. “Got to go check on some lab tests,” he said as he stood to go. At the door, he turned back toward his friend. “Congratulations,” he offered warmly.
“Congratulations to the hospital board for making the right decision,” Kell countered.
Both men grinned as Joe headed up to the lab.
Anxious to share the good news with Dixie, Kell reached for the telephone. He was surprised she had not already called herself, and he half-expected her to be sitting beside the telephone, just waiting for it to ring. He dialed the number.
There was no answer.
Frustrated, he let the phone ring, but she did not pick it up. Disappointed, he reluctantly left a message for her on the answering machine and slowly replaced the receiver.
* * * * * * * *
“Scream!” he demanded.
Defiance spilling from her eyes, she clamped her teeth together, determined to deny him the satisfaction of her acquiescence.
“Scream!” he ordered once more, his voice low and menacing as his fingers curled around the wrought iron candlestick that guarded the edge of the mantle.
Backed to the wall, with nowhere to go, she refused to submit, remaining resolutely silent in her determination. He moved closer, swinging the candlestick above his head. She raised her arms in a futile effort to protect herself and, as the candlestick slammed downward, despite her resolve, she screamed.
* * * * * * * *
Kelly Brackett sighed as he collapsed into the chair. It had been a long afternoon and, although a mountain of work still covered his desk, he was content for the moment just to relax with a cup of coffee. Appreciative of the much-needed lull in their hectic schedule, he looked across the table. Joe Early was perusing a medical journal. Joe Early, his best friend, his confidant, his sane voice of reason when he could not find that within himself. “More coffee, Joe?”
Joe shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he answered. As Kell sipped at the steaming liquid filling his cup, Joe observed, “Sure is good to have the paramedic thing settled once and for all,” as he set the medical journal aside.
Kell smiled briefly. ‘Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh, “and thank goodness they’re still here.” Idly tracing his finger around the rim of the coffee mug, he mused, “No one is indispensable, of course, but I’m afraid that Rampart withdrawing from the program could have caused irreparable damage . . . . . . . .”
“Dumber than dirt,” Joe interjected.
Laughing, Kell looked up. “What?”
“Dumber than dirt,” Joe repeated. “That’s what Julie called it --- a dumber than dirt idea.” He smiled, enjoying the sound of his friend’s laughter. The two men settled back, comfortable with each other and not needing to talk, enjoying both the few moments of respite and each other’s company.
The two looked up as Johnny and Roy came through the door. “Hey, Doc.” Roy tossed the greeting out in the general direction of the small table at which Kell and Joe now sat, sipping their coffee.
“Special delivery, Doc,” offered Johnny as the two men reached the table. “Left at the counter for you.” He held a small box out toward the still-snickering doctor.
Kell looked at him in surprise, hesitantly accepting the proffered package. “What is it?” he puzzled as he gently shook the box. “I’m not expecting anything . . . . . . . .” he added.
Joe chuckled in amusement at his friend’s mystification. “So, open it up!”
Kell pulled out a small pocketknife and neatly slit the tape, reached into the box and drew out a cassette tape. He looked at the others in bewilderment. “What in the world . . . . . . . .?”
“What is it?” queried Joe curiously.
Kell shrugged as he turned the cassette over in his hands. “Dunno,” he offered, baffled. “There’s no label.”
“Well, it’s quiet,” he responded. “Why don’t you just go play it?”
As Kell pushed his chair back from the table and stood, Joe did the same, and the four men walked out of the break room together. Mike Morton was finishing up with a call at the base station; for the moment, no one was at the nurses’ station. Kell walked around the counter to the auxiliary relay set-up that had been in place there ever since Dixie had been able to return to work following the accident. He slipped the tape into the tape deck and pushed the “Play” button.
* * * * * * * *
Mike concluded his transmission with the paramedic unit in the field; the victim was refusing treatment. He sighed; a moment later, he yanked open the door to demand, “What was that?!” as the tape wound on past their startled disbelief. Stunned into a horrified silence, they offered no reply and the fading echoes of a scream hung heavily in the air.
* * * * * * * *
He hummed as he moved around the room, gathering up the few items he would need to take with him. It certainly wouldn’t make any difference if he were to overlook something, but there was more than enough time to make sure he’d gotten everything.
It was important that the place be empty, just like the other time. He’d played this out in his mind time after time after time, and it always played better when things were exactly the same. He’d spent countless hours checking records and reports, making sure he had properly arranged for everything . . . . . . . .
With a last glance around, he headed for the garage, carefully locking the door behind him. He’d show them. He’d make sure they knew exactly what it was that they had done.
* * * * * * * *
“Dix,” Kell keened in a whisper of recognition, staggering as if he had been physically assaulted. The brown cardboard carton slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thunk. A small object bounced out and rolled unnoticed across the floor, abruptly ceasing its meandering as it met up with the toe of a fireman’s boot.
* * * * * * * *
Joe was the first to react; he moved around the counter as he ordered, “Call the police.”
* * * * * * * *
Captain Stephen Crockett, as a matter of course, left the field-work to his men; he’d had his share of that as he’d worked his way through the ranks in the department. It was on one of those cases that he had first encountered Dixie McCall at Rampart. Two shooting victims --- a police officer and a critically injured suspect . . . . . . . . he’d accompanied them to the hospital where he’d insisted his injured officer be treated first. “This is an emergency ward,” she’d informed him in no uncertain terms, making it absolutely clear that she would brook no nonsense or discussion on the matter, “and we treat life-threatening injuries first.” Properly chastised --- and realizing she was right --- he’d accepted her gentle scolding and, over the course of time, discovered that he really liked this nurse, occasional righteous fiery temper and all. He’d passed through the hallways of Rampart General often enough to keep tabs on her over the years, and it was his pleasure to count her among his friends.
He turned the small box over and over in his hands. “We’ll send it to the lab,” he quietly remarked, “though I doubt they’ll find anything.” Nothing unusual . . . . . . . . typed address . . . . . . . . left at the counter . . . . . . . . no return address, of course. Just a small, simple parcel of terror . . . . . . . .
With difficulty, he pulled his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. Doing his job depended on his gathering the facts and analyzing the clues left by the perpetrator. He knew this process was often viewed as being heartless, but every bit of it was necessary if they were going to come up with any answers. And getting the answers depended on asking the right questions. Crockett sighed as he looked across the table at the doctor he’d come to know as a friend. He knew that the question would hurt --- and he also knew that it had to be asked anyway. “You’re absolutely sure that’s Dixie on the tape?”
Kell remained slumped over the break room table, unmoving; arms crossed on the table in front of him, head buried within them, hidden eyes flooded with horror and tears. In a voice filled with an agonized mixture of disbelief and fear, he tonelessly mumbled, “It’s Dixie.”
The captain sighed. He hadn’t expected any other answer, especially since Dixie was nowhere to be found, but it was hard to abandon the vestiges of hope that this might just be some awful mistake, some sick joke. Once hope was gone . . . . . . . .
The door opened and the two firemen came into the break room. They quietly crossed the empty space between door and table, uncomfortable in the presence of the doctor’s despair. Roy held out his hand.
“Captain Crockett,” he said quietly, “I think this must have come out of that box.” Not knowing if further explanation was necessary or not, he added, “It was on the floor out there, by my foot.”
Crockett looked at him in surprise as he reached out to receive the object, suddenly hopeful that, somehow or other, a clue that might provide a break the case had unexpectedly presented itself.
Roy dropped it into his open hand; Crockett raised his eyebrows; without comment he moved his hand across the table. “Kell?” he queried softly. When the doctor did not move, he prompted, “Kell?” once more.
Kell lifted his head just enough to allow himself to look into the palm of the captain’s outstretched hand. Suddenly bolting up-right, he snatched at the object. Tightly clutching it in his hand as if it could somehow alter this nightmare, he was unable to stem the accompanying tide of tears; in anguish he whispered, “It’s Dixie’s wedding ring.”
* * * * * * * *
They’d had their choice of tables; at this late hour, the cafeteria was nearly deserted. Joe had hoped he might get him to eat something, but Kell was not being very cooperative in the effort. He fussed at a sandwich, idly crumbling the bread crusts, unable to eat. Silence surrounded them, but Joe knew full well that Kell’s thoughts were consumed with Dixie. He was finding it hard to concentrate on anything else himself.
Finally Kell dropped the uneaten sandwich and pushed the plate away. His despair was palpable.
“You could at least stretch out on the sofa in your office,” Joe suggested hopefully.
“I guess I will,” agreed Kell dispiritedly as he pushed the chair away from the table. “You go ahead and finish,” he added with a nod of his head in the direction of Joe’s plate, “I’ll be fine.”
Kell’s mind was in turmoil, filled with images of Dixie. He appreciated his friend’s concern more than he could ever express; apparent compliance would at least make him feel a little better. Sleep was absolutely the furthest thing from his mind, but he dutifully headed for his office.
* * * * * * * *
Crockett angrily slammed his fist against the top of the filing cabinet. “Nothing?” he demanded. “Nothing at all?”
The officer stood quietly. He knew this case was personal for the captain; the lady was a friend. He shook his head. “Sorry, Captain, nothing.”
Crockett sighed heavily; “Thanks,” he offered as the officer went out to file his report. Wearily rubbing at his eyes, the captain stretched his aching muscles as he sat down and once again turned back to the beginning of the report. Maybe this time it would yield up some heretofore overlooked clue.
* * * * * * * *
Kell threw himself down on the sofa with a sigh; two seconds later he bounced up to pace the floor, unable to expunge the sound of Dixie’s scream from his memory. Who could possibly want . . . . . . . .
He stopped in his tracks, staring at the desk. After a moment, he crossed the room and picked up the cassette tape lying there. He’d thought surely the police had taken the tape with them, yet here it was . . . . . . . .
He slammed it down in agonized frustration, reverberations of Dixie’s scream echoing inside his head. The tape skittered across the desk and slid to the floor. With a sigh, he bent over to retrieve it . . . . . . . .
It was not the same tape.
This one had a label on the other side, clearly marked with the word “TWO” in bold letters. Kell snatched it up and slammed it into the tape player. Praying that it had not been damaged in its fall to the floor, he shakily pushed the “Play” button.
“Sixteen ninety-four Woodvale Road.”
Kell shook his head in disbelief as he rewound the tape and played it again. That was all. Just an address --- but it was a place to start. “Something’s not quite right,” tickled in the back of his mind; intent on checking out the address, Kell ignored it.
He nearly knocked Mike Morton over as he dashed out the door. “Sorry, Mike,” he apologized as he rushed past. A thought occurred to him, and he called over his shoulder, “Can you call Crockett and have him get over here right now?” And with that, he was out the door.
“Sure,” Mike called after him in confusion, and he stepped over to the admitting desk to put in a call to the captain.
* * * * * * * *
Traffic was light at this hour; Kell drove without much attention to the mechanics of the task. As he headed for Woodvale Road, the persistent memory finally asserted itself. Astonished, he sighed in frustration with the growing realization that he’d probably been sent off on some wild goose chase. But why?
* * * * * * * *
“That’s all he said?” demanded Captain Crockett hotly. “Why didn’t you stop him?”
Mike sighed in exasperation. Obviously the police captain had never tried that little trick before . . . . . . . . Kelly Brackett intent on something became an unstoppable force once set in motion. “He just rushed out of his office and asked me to call you.”
“OK, thanks,” sighed Crockett in frustration. He pushed open the door of the office and looked around. Nothing seemed to be out of place, nothing to indicate what might have sent the doctor running off into the night. Flopping down on the sofa, he rubbed at his throbbing temples in a futile effort to banish the headache pounding there.
As he idly glanced around the room, something on the desk caught his eye, causing him to ponder the possibilities. “Nah, it couldn’t be,” he told himself, but his inner voice nagged at him until he got up and walked over to the desk. His glance passed over the tape player; a closer look revealed a tape inside. Curious, he pushed the button.
The tape dutifully relayed its message.
“Well, I’ll be a . . . . . . . .”
“Nurse, nobody goes in here!” he called to the nurse at the admitting desk as he pulled the office door closed. “Nobody!” Mike watched in astonishment as the captain, too, raced for the door.
* * * * * * * *
Woodvale Road . . . . . . . . they’d bought a house there once. Sixteen ninety-four, to be exact. After the fire had turned it to ashes and threatened to snatch Dixie away from him, he’d decided to add on to their home instead of moving . . . . . . . .
Tires screeched as he slammed on the brakes . . . . . . . . there was a house here, after all; built sometime long after the fire had destroyed their house, he supposed. Could she really be here? Suddenly concerned that rushing in might endanger Dixie if she were inside, he hesitated, choosing instead to watch. The house stood shrouded in darkness; he could discern no sound or movement. Fear gnawed at him . . . . . . . . what if Dixie was in there, being hurt while he sat here watching the house?
Fear finally got the better of him and he slipped out of the car.
* * * * * * * *
The rope tying her hands to the headboard of the bed cut into her wrists, but she wasn’t complaining; in fact, she said nothing, made no effort to go anywhere. Her struggles had subsided.
Certain she was sufficiently anesthetized, Luke murmured, “Sleep tight,” as he dropped the chloroformed cloth he’d held over her face. “It’s almost time.” Turning on his heel, he marched out of the room without a backward glance.
Smiling to himself as he cautiously peered out the window, he muttered, “Come on, come on . . . . . . . . come on!”
* * * * * * * *
The door was not locked.
Kell entered, slowly, flashlight in hand. He glanced around, but the room was empty. Fearing that he might give warning to whoever might be here, he refrained from calling out her name. Instead, he put his back to the wall and moved slowly down the hallway. As he passed each room, he looked inside.
Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
“Dix!”
She lay, hushed and motionless, on the bed.
Hesitating only long enough to shine the beam of light around, Kell checked to make sure the room was otherwise empty. “Dixie!” he hissed. “Dix!” but she remained silent, unresponsive. Fear quickened his pace as he moved across the floor.
He reached the side of the bed and bent over her.
Luke stepped out of the walk-in closet to smash the candlestick across the back of his head and Kell slumped to the floor.
Smiling with grim satisfaction, Luke dropped the candlestick and headed for the kitchen, giving no further thought to either of them.
He grabbed up the full can of gasoline from its hiding place beneath the sink and set about deliberately splashing it around the room. Moving toward the door, he dribbled a line of gasoline behind him; then, sauntering down the hallway, he doused the walls and casually tossed the can into the bedroom.
Lighting a match as he stepped onto the porch, he turned to toss it inside, then slammed the door and threw the deadbolt. Luke ran for his car; jumped in, and sped off into the pre-dawn glint of an early morning sunrise.
Flames licked at the windows and the line of fire spread slowly down the hallway.
* * * * * * * *
Smoke was curling from the roof as Crockett screeched to a stop in front of the house. “Damn!” He was on the porch in a matter of seconds, only to find the door bolted.
“Didn’t miss a trick!” he muttered in grudging admiration as he put his shoulder to the door. It refused to yield and he declined to expend further valuable seconds fighting with it. Jumping off the porch, he circled the house and, choosing a low side window that did not yet have flames flickering in it, he pulled his service revolver from its holster and smashed out the glass.
Quickly breaking away enough glass and window framing to allow him entry, he took a deep breath and climbed in the window.
* * * * * * * *
Luke signed in. The hospital was quiet in the pre-dawn morning, just the way he liked it. Hectic shifts meant doctors and nurses forever urging him to hurry, hurry, hurry. But he would no longer need to address that concern; now that he’d settled things, he’d revel in his victory . . . . . . . . and then he would be gone.
It was an ironic sort of poetic justice, he thought. Quiet now, but things would be happening soon enough, for this was the day destined to bring the “sad news” about “poor Doctor Brackett and Nurse McCall.” He grinned in eager anticipation.
* * * * * * * *
Kell groaned; the pain in his head dulled his reflexes and made thinking difficult. He tried to get up, but the effort caused even more pain, and he slumped to the floor once more.
Discovering that the pain was more tolerable if he didn’t move his head at all, he worked at pushing away the fog that obscured his thinking . . . . . . . . there was something that he needed to do, if only he could remember what it was. Something told him it was important, but it was so hard to think.
* * * * * * * *
The air was thick with smoke and the smell of gasoline was almost overpowering. He traced the room with the bright beam of his flashlight only to discover Dixie lying motionless on the bed. Asleep? . . . . . . . . unconscious? . . . . . . . . or? Crockett swiftly crossed the room and reached out to shake her shoulder as he called her name. She was still breathing, but unconscious, her hands bound with rope to the headboard of the bed. Cursing as precious seconds ticked away, he pulled out his pocketknife and cut her free. Lifting her up into his arms, he carried her over to the window and carefully climbed through. Crossing the yard, he gently laid her on the ground. Certain she would be safe there for the moment, he turned back toward the house.
Sirens wailed in the distance; Crockett knew help would arrive shortly. But the fire was spreading fast, thanks to the gasoline, and there was no time to wait. He took a deep breath and climbed back into the house through the bedroom window.
His eyes stung from the acrid smoke and his lungs burned; the nauseating odor of gasoline permeated everything. But he had seen the car . . . . . . . . he knew the man . . . . . . . . Kelly Brackett was somewhere inside this house . . . . . . . .
As he moved through the room, he heard Kell groan, stopping him in his tracks. He would be eternally grateful for the ease with which he had located the doctor. Crockett pulled him up and half-walked, half-carried him over to the broken-out window while the fire crackled loudly in the hallway. Wasting no time, Crockett hauled him through the window; they had barely made it over to the ground beside Dixie when the flames reached the gasoline can and the house erupted into a ball of fire.
“Too close, way too close,” he reprimanded himself as he gulped in lungfuls of air and heaved a huge sigh of relief. Standing silent guard over his friends, Crockett watched the three patrol cars he had called for race up the street.
* * * * * * * *
“Just rest,” Joe soothed as he adjusted the intravenous drip. Joe was determined that Kell, despite himself, would get some rest --- and the sedative was his added insurance. Apart from a pretty nasty bump on the back of his head and a king-sized headache, he was all right, but Joe was definitely in the dark as to the details of what had happened.
Kell drifted off, unable to fight the effects of the medication, and Joe’s thoughts returned to Dixie. He pushed through the door, back into the examination room. Dixie was still unresponsive and, although her vital signs were fairly normal, he was preoccupied with concern for her. What was taking the lab so long?
* * * * * * * *
He railed at the unfairness of it all as he purposely altered the lab results to show nothing abnormal.
They were supposed to be punished . . . . . . . . they were supposed to be dead. They had to pay . . . . . . . . he had to think.
* * * * * * * *
Joe shook his head in consternation as he read the report once more. Puzzled, he handed it to Carol and turned his attention back to Dixie. “Dix?” he called softly.
“What’s the matter, Doctor?” Crockett snapped. Along with the two officers, he’d been here, watching and waiting, for the past forty minutes or so, hoping to get some answers from Dixie.
Joe glanced over in his direction. “Lab reports are negative,” he replied absently, still focused on Dixie. “Dix?” he called once more, gently shaking her shoulder. “Dix? Can you hear me?”
“And you expected?”
“I don’t know, Captain,” he replied with a sigh. “Something.”
Dixie stirred; Joe gently shook her shoulder once more. “Dix?”
Her eyes fluttered open; she seemed confused. “Joe?” she queried. Her eyes darted around the room. “Is this Rampart?”
He smiled at her. “Yeah, Honey, it is,” he offered gratefully, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.
Tears pooled in her eyes as she struggled against his hand, looking at him in fright. “No!” she cried. I gotta run . . . . . . . .
“Dix! It’s all right; you’re going to be fine,” Joe soothed.
“Where is he?” she whispered, her voice filled with fear.
Crockett, surprised by her reaction, had come to stand beside the examination table. “Who?” he demanded gruffly.
“Luke,” she whimpered softly. . . . . . . . . I was a fool . . . . . . . .
Joe looked at her in puzzlement. “Luke? Luke who?” He worked at keeping his voice quiet. “Dixie, I need you to tell me what happened.”
“Luke came,” she whispered. “He said he needed to talk to Kell. But he . . . . . . . . he . . . . . . . .” I can’t understand, no I can’t un-
“Luke who?” Joe repeated.
“From the lab,” she murmured; hesitating while she searched her memory, after a moment, she added, “McNaughton.”
The doctor and the police captain exchanged looks. “Where’s the lab?” Crockett snapped.
“Carol will show you.”
Crockett and the two officers followed Carol out the door.
* * * * * * * *
“Hey, Sleepyhead,” she inveigled softly as she reached out to brush her free hand across his cheek. She had settled herself in the chair beside the bed, one hand tightly wrapped around his, intent on watching over him. “It’s time to wake up . . . . . . . .”
He heard the murmuring of her voice, far away in the distance, soft and gentle, inviting him nearer. But the pain, bone-jarring to the point of making him physically sick, was far too fresh a memory, and he tried to ignore the voice as he lay still and worked at investigating its current state.
It seemed to have subsided and he entertained the notion of actually opening his eyes. Her voice, soft and low, enticed him closer; her gentle caress filled him with comfortable warmth. He decided to take the chance. His eyes fluttered.
“Hey,” she smiled as she moved herself from the chair to perch on the edge of the bed. She leaned over, close, and brushed his lips with a gentle kiss . . . . . . . . one kiss will make it clear.
He smiled. But as his mind worked at recalling the events that had led to his being here in this bed, the smile faded away and his eyes filled with fear.
Remembering the last time he had seen her, he worriedly queried, “Are you all right?” as he forced down the lump that had suddenly sprung up in his throat.
She nodded, eyes filled with tears. “Are you?” she whispered.
“I think that’s our cue, Captain,” smiled Joe Early and the two men who, until this moment, had been standing quietly just inside the doorway crossed the room to stand beside his bed.
Dixie looked up at them, tears still filling her eyes. She offered a quiet smile, but focused her concentration on controlling her wavering composure.
“Good morning,” greeted Captain Crockett quietly.
Not certain as yet that he might actually want to move his head, Kell rolled his eyes in the direction of the captain’s voice and returned the greeting, “Morning, Stephen . . . . . . . . Joe.”
“If you’re up to listening, I think we’ve got it all pieced together,” Captain Crockett told them as he pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed.
“That’s gr -,” Kell began, turning his head to look at the two men. He broke off, waiting to see the results of that movement.
Joe chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t advice a game of tennis, but it should be better now. Want the bed up some?”
In response to Kell’s affirmative nod, he raised the head of the bed; Dixie adjusted the pillows with one hand as the other continued to keep tight hold of his hand. She remained sitting on the edge of the bed and offered him a warm smile while Joe stood guard at the foot of the bed. The three of them waited expectantly to hear what the police captain had to say.
“Luke McNaughton’s father was the contractor that built the house on Woodvale,” he began. “The first house, your house.”
“The house burned,” Dixie told him in confusion. “Hank Stanley told us that the electrical wiring was not done properly.”
Crockett nodded. “McNaughton lost several contracts after the investigation into the fire was completed. Then, as soon as the insurance company settled, they cancelled his policy, so he was effectively out of the building business.” He paused, then quietly added, “He committed suicide about a year after the fire.”
“Oh,” sighed Dixie . . . . . . . . what is there left . . . . . . . . as Kell sympathetically squeezed her hand.
“Luke blamed the two of you for his father’s death. He concocted a plan to punish you and, to get it started, managed to get himself transferred from Saint Francis to the lab here at Rampart. He hired a contractor to rebuild the house on Woodvale and, when it was done . . . . . . . .” Crockett shook his head. “He meant for the two of you to die in the fire.”
“What fire?” queried Dixie, now even more confused.
“Dix,” interrupted Joe, “why don’t you tell us what happened?”
She sighed. “Well, Luke came to the house. He said he needed to talk to Kell, and he was really upset when I told him he wasn’t there. He wanted to know if he could use the telephone to call Rampart, and I asked him in.” She hesitated as tears pooled in her eyes. “Only, once he got inside, he didn’t want to use the phone. He grabbed my arm and pushed me against the wall. He wanted me to scream . . . . . . . .”
“What made you scream?” asked Kell, quiet fear in his voice.
“How’d you know I screamed?” she asked in surprise.
“What made you scream?” he persisted, repeating the query.
“I tried to not scream,” . . . . . . . . I tried so not to give in . . . . . . . .
“What?” he insisted sharply.
“He . . . . . . . . swung the candlestick. I thought he was going to hit me in the face, but he hit my shoulder . . . . . . . .”
Kell sighed heavily.
“He put something over my face . . . . . . . .
“Chloroform,” Joe interjected.
“And then . . . . . . . . and then . . . . . . . . I was here . . . . . . . .” She looked at them helplessly. “How did you know I screamed?”
“We heard you,” Joe told her quietly. “Luke left a tape for Kell.”
“Along with your wedding ring,” Kell added quietly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking down. “I’m so sorry.”
Kell pulled her to him, hugged her tightly. “’S OK; the only thing that matters is that you’re all right.”
Crockett attempted to move past their pain and worked to tie up the loose ends. “Well, McNaughton took you to the house on Woodvale after he used the chloroform,” he told Dixie. “Then he left the tape here for Kell. Sometime later, he left a second tape on the desk in the office, giving Kell the address of the house.”
Joe smiled diffidently. “And, of course, Sir Galahad here went charging right over there to rescue you!”
Kell looked at her sheepishly; she smiled softly and leaned up to kiss his cheek. If I’m lucky, I will go through the years with you.
“Luke waited for Kell to arrive, knocked him out, and set the house on fire. In his mind, having both of you die there after all, in a fire, would be fitting retribution for his father’s death.”
Dixie sighed quietly, fighting to control her emotions, as Kell asked, “Where’s McNaughton now?”
“He’s been committed to Camarillo,” Joe told them quietly. “They’ll make sure he gets the help he needs.”
“At least it’s over . . . . . . . . and you’re both OK,” grinned Crockett with a self-satisfied sigh of contentment; “case closed.”
* * * * * * * *
He was astounded. For the first time in all the years that he had known her, he found the expression in her eyes to be absolutely unreadable. “Dix?” he queried softly.
She rolled over on her back, gazing unseeingly at the ceiling.
“Dix?”
“No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
Propping himself up on one elbow, he leaned closer to her. “Why not, Love?” Surprised at the gathering tears in her lovely blue eyes, he anxiously questioned, “What’s the matter?”
She sniffled and blinked furiously, working at banishing the tears as she sat up, a position that put her back to him. “I just can’t.”
Sitting up beside her and reaching to put his arm around her shoulder, he whispered, “Sweetheart?”
He half-expected her to pull away; instead, she turned into the embrace, dropping her head to his shoulder and giving in to the tears. Confused and concerned, he said nothing as he held her, knowing full well that pressuring her would serve no purpose.
After a minute or two, her tears ceased, but she seemed settled and made no effort to move out of his arms. Kell contented himself with holding her . . . . . . . . and waited.
“Last time we did that . . . . . . . .” she whimpered, “we . . . . . . . .”
Still holding her in his arms, Kell sighed in understanding as he laid back, pulling her down with him in the embrace. “It’s OK,” he soothed softly, “we don’t have to; we’ll just forget about it.”
She sighed in relief and spent the night sleeping fitfully in the warm comfort of his embrace.
* * * * * * * *
Kell glanced across the table. Dixie was much quieter than was her usual style, and he supposed she was still preoccupied with last night. He’s spent most of the day castigating himself for even bringing it up with her, and now he was trying to decide on the best way to approach an apology.
“I called and told them we would be there,” she said softly, without preamble, as she toyed with the spaghetti on her plate.
“You really didn’t need to go and do that, Sweetheart,” Kell responded, genuinely surprised. “We don’t have to go.”
Eyes downcast, she said, “It’s OK; I was just being silly, anyway.”
He pushed the chair away from the table, came around to take her hand, and gently pulled her to her feet to gather her into a hug. “You’re not silly at all, Love, and I do understand . . . . . . . .”
“Besides,” she continued, making a monumental effort to appear casual and unconcerned, “it would be throwing away a perfectly good opportunity for me to get a new dress.” She forced a small laugh and, seeming to be content, she fell silent as she snuggled into the hug. Hold me, my darling . . . . . . . .
Kell’s thoughts wandered as they stood there. She never failed to amaze him, even after all these years. The sacrifice she’d made was totally unexpected, far more than any one person had a right to expect of another, much more than he wanted her to make. And yet, how could he refuse it without denigrating her effort?
He was caught up in the dilemma and almost missed her quiet, mournful sigh. “I really liked that dress, though . . . . . . . .”
Kell rocked her gently. “I love you,” he whispered.
The spaghetti supper went uneaten.
* * * * * * * *
“I’m afraid that this is all I have,” he told her regretfully as he handed her the small snapshot. “And I’ve told you as much as I can recall . . . . . . . .” He spread his hands, shrugging helplessly.
“Well, I’ll do my best,” she replied slowly, somewhat dubious as to her ability to manage this, but she really needed the business. After a moment’s thought, she added, “Why don’t I give it a try and call you? Then you can come and take a look, see if we’re on the right track.”
He smiled gratefully. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you. Thank you.”
She watched him leave. She smiled at his thoughtfulness, then, with a shake of her head, turned and went to work.
* * * * * * * *
Things had settled into a fairly predictable routine at Rampart. With the question of hospital’s inclusion in the county paramedic program finally put to rest once and for all, Emergency had settled down and, true to its usual unpredictable nature, could be counted on to be the most hectic when they were the least prepared for it to be so.
It had been one of those days, and Dixie was more than ready for the shift to be over. She’d hoped to at least get to have a quick sandwich with Kell in the cafeteria, but he had been out of the hospital at lunchtime, off on some mysterious mission, and when the aftermath of a four-car freeway pileup presented itself at the ambulance entrance, she’d ended up not taking a lunch break at all. Now, tired and hungry, she found herself fighting off a nagging headache.
“Ready to go?”
Nodding vigorously, she smiled as she turned around to face him. Let Betty handle things. She was going home.
* * * * * * * *
Comfortable, she snuggled deeper into the pillow, not yet ready to wake up. Her to-do list for the day was not very big . . . . . . . . just one errand away from the house . . . . . . . . and she figured she could afford the time to luxuriate there just a little bit longer.
He stood contentedly watching her, and laughed softly. “Want some coffee?” he offered quietly.
She opened her eyes just enough to peek up at him. Sunlight streamed in the window. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven,” he said.
“Eleven?! It can’t be eleven o’clock already,” she grumped as her eyes popped open. “Why didn’t you get me up?”
Kell laughed again. “You were sleeping so well!” Holding out the mug of coffee, he once again asked, “Coffee?”
Sitting up, she took the mug from his hand and sipped at the hot liquid. “Uuummmm, thank you,” she smiled. “Eleven o’clock!” she moaned. “I’ve got so much to do!”
He laughed once more. “Well, come on, then, and have some breakfast. Afterwards you can go off and do all those whatever-they-are important things that you have to do.”
“I have to go shopping,” she told him as she pulled on her robe. Silently berating herself for having put it off until the last possible instant, she desperately hoped she could find something suitable without too much fuss. After all, she needed it for tonight, and now there wasn’t time to run all over town hunting for something.
With a knowing smile, he happily followed her into the breakfast room.
* * * * * * * *
“It’s . . . . . . . . it’s . . . . . . . . my dress . . . . . . . .” she stammered as she lifted the sleeveless black velvet evening gown from the box. She gazed at the dress, then at him, confused and silent. Seldom finding herself at a complete loss for words, she was simply too dumbstruck at the moment to think of anything to say.
Kell grinned happily. “I don’t suppose it’s exactly the same,” he offered by way of explanation as he reached over to brush away the tear that had meandered partway down her cheek, “but it looks pretty close to me.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered as she fingered the row of sparkling crystal trim that adorned the gown’s scooped neckline. “How . . . . . . . .?”
Kell smiled softly. “I took that snapshot I had of you, the one that sits on the dresser, and I tried to describe everything I could remember about the dress --- and she made this one for you.”
“Who did?” Dixie asked him, still confused.
“A seamstress . . . . . . . . I asked Julie about it, told her I needed someone who could make a dress, and she sent me there.”
“But . . . . . . . .”
He sighed softly. “I know how hard it is for you to go tonight, how awful the memories are of the last time we were going to a medical association dinner.” He paused, working to keep his own emotions in check, and smiled at the woman he adored. “You said you really liked your dress . . . . . . . .” he offered softly. “I couldn’t give it back to you . . . . . . . . this seemed like the next best thing. ”
With a cry of joy, she threw herself into his arms, laughing and crying all at the same time. Tonight was going be all right, after all --- they’d be together --- no one could love you like I do--- and, this time, everything was going to be absolutely perfect.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Song Notes for this story:
It’s Nice To Be With You
Jerry Goldstein
Invitation To The Blues
Roberts / Fisher / Gershwin
Bouquet Of Blues
Arthur Hamilton
Blues In The Night
Johnny Mercer / Harold Arlen
Meaning Of The Blues
Leah Worth / Bobby Troup
Harbach / Haschna
Angel Eyes
Matt Dennis / Earl Brent
Broken-Hearted Melody
Hal David / Sherman Edwards
The End Of The World
Sylvia Dee / Arthur Kent
No Moon At All
Red Evans / Dave Mann
The Blues Is All I Ever Had
Bobby Troup
I’ve Got You Under My Skin
Cole Porter
If I’m Lucky
Josef Myrow / Edgar De Lange
Besame Mucho
Velazquez / Skylar
I’m Coming Back To You
Warren / Kent
