Damnable
CHAPTER 25
THE EMTS INSISTED ON GIVING HIM OXYGEN , SO HATCHER sat on the rear step to one of the ambulances holding a clear rubber mask over his nose and mouth to keep them from pestering him. The first few puffs perked him up a bit, but he still just wanted to lie down and get some sleep. The back of an ambulance wasn’t what he had in mind.
Wright approached, returning from one of her multiple forays past the blockades out on the street. She had refused to be taken to the hospital, telling the techs in her gradually improving whisper that she was needed here. She wasn’t, but Hatcher figured she needed to believe she was.
She stopped as the gurney carrying the young nun passed and gestured for the EMTs to pause. She took a moment to stroke the woman’s long blonde hair. The woman didn’t react. Her head was turned toward Hatcher. She stared, unblinking. Wright left her and sat next to him and placed a hand on his.
Hatcher watched the EMTs load the gurney into the back of another ambulance. The legs retracted as they lifted it as if it were designed to fly. The nun was still looking in Hatcher’s direction as she disappeared into the rear of the vehicle. A glint on her cheek suggested she was crying. At some level, he knew it was for him.
The ambulance pulled away. The space it left was quickly filled by police and firefighters, milling around like ants.
The church was smoldering. The stone frame was intact, but the stained glass had melted and popped, and thick black smoke was piping out of every opening. According to what Hatcher had overheard, the insides were gutted. Firefighters were forced into containment mode from the time they arrived. He and Wright watched together in silence as the hoses shot powerful streams through the windows, trying to douse the last bits of flame.
“How’s your throat?” Hatcher asked. They had yet to address the most disturbing aspects of what they’d witnessed. He wondered if they ever would. Or if she had even seen it the same way he had. If Valentine was just another nutcase to her, and nothing more to it.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I thought about what you’d said. He probably injected your vocal cords with botulinum toxin. BOTOX. It’s not an uncommon way to paralyze the voice box. You need to see a doctor. You don’t want to risk any damage.”
“How would you know something like that?”
Hatcher said nothing. Removing someone’s ability to cry out, taking away their ability to scream or even communicate, can scare the hell out of them. Combine that with some pain, and many subjects panic, suddenly become willing to write a memoir with the first thing they’re handed. He hadn’t done it. But he’d learned about it, heard about it. The Egyptians came to mind.
Wright reacted to something and hopped off the back of the ambulance. A man made his way toward them, crossing between the barriers and nodding to the uniforms milling around the perimeter. It was Maloney.
There was a scrape on his cheek, smears of soot on his face. Wright ran to him and gave him a hug as he drew close.
“I didn’t think you made it,” Hatcher said.
Maloney shrugged. “I got lucky. Shot both of those crazy things, managed to shut myself in a room and lock the door as some of their friends showed up.”
“Did you call for backup? They sure took their sweet time.”
Maloney shook his head. “Cell phones wouldn’t work. Some kind of jammer.”
Wright said something to him that Hatcher couldn’t hear. He nodded but seemed distracted.
To Hatcher he said, “Did you ever find Deborah?”
“She was in there. She was part of it. I think they’re long gone.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Maloney went quiet. A small, dark-haired man in a windbreaker with a badge hanging from a chain around his neck walked up and introduced himself as Detective Garcia. He spoke with Maloney for a few moments, wrote something in a notebook, then left.
“I told him you both would finish giving statements tomorrow. You don’t need to be dealing with this crap after what you’ve been through. Right now, I’ve got to go make sure they’ve been listening to what I’ve said. You two should go get some sleep.”
“Thanks.”
Wright sat down next to Hatcher as Maloney walked off.
“He can’t be too happy to see you with me,” Hatcher said.
“Not that again.” Wright rolled her eyes. “Sheesh. I told you, there’s nothing between us.”
“I didn’t say there was. I’m just saying, he wishes there were. I’m pretty sure he loves you.”
“Hatcher, we dated a few times. It was a while ago. He hasn’t so much as asked me out since. Don’t you think a gal would know when guy is in love with her? Quit being paranoid and just let it go.”
The words sunk in as she laid her head against his shoulder. After a moment, she patted his leg. She said she’d be back and hopped off again.
Paranoid. Maybe she was right. He thought about how he’d suspected everyone. He thought about Deborah luring Garrett to his death. What an actress she was. He thought about Susan, how Garrett must have fallen for her, how Valentine used that to get at him, just like he used Wright. What a man will do for a woman.
Then it hit him. Garrett. Himself. It started as a thought, spread as a feeling of realization. Carnates are not only irresistible, they are world-class actresses. The implications made the acid in his stomach churn.
Options started to flash through his mind almost immediately. None of them was appealing.
Oh, boy. He watched Wright slip past the barrier, thinking about how much he’d been looking forward to them having something together, to trying to make it work. The feeling of loss was already setting in. He put the mask to his face and breathed, mumbling into it.
“This absolutely sucks.”
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