Protector - Laurel Dewey [94]
“It’s okay,” Jane assured Emily. “Lie down. They’re gonna fix you up.”
Emily lay back down and reached up to her left temple, touching the gash and feeling the blood. She broke down. “I tried to hold on,” Emily said through her sobs. “I was so scared. Somebody came on the roof. I slipped, just like you said I would. I tried to hide. I held my breath so he wouldn’t hear me. He was so close. Then that car drove down the alley and he left. But I couldn’t hold on anymore.” She briefly looked up at Jane, tears intermingling with blood against her pale face. “I’m so sorry!”
The doctor retrieved a syringe from one of the nurses and looked at Jane as if to ask her to distract the child.
“Look at me, Emily,” Jane said quietly. Emily turned to Jane. “I’m not mad at you. Okay?” The doctor injected Emily with a sedative. Emily screamed out in pain. Jane squeezed Emily’s hand and gently touched her cheek. “It’s all over! It’s gonna be okay!” Emily stared into Jane’s eyes as the sedative took effect. Jane leaned closer to Emily and whispered. “I’m not mad at you.”
Emily’s eyelids became heavy. She slid her hand from Jane’s grasp and reached up toward Jane’s forehead. The child ran her fingers across Jane’s childhood scar on her right temple. In a soft voice, Emily whispered, “We’re the same now.”
Chapter 15
Jane held Emily’s hand and stayed by her side while Dr. Brunler stitched the child’s gash. Thanks to the mild sedative, Emily floated in and out of consciousness. As the bandage was placed over the wound, Emily finally drifted off to sleep. Jane released Emily’s tiny hand from hers and the child was rolled into a secured area for recovery.
The nurse swept the white privacy curtain to the side, leaving Jane alone. But she sat motionless, shellshocked and still pulsating from everything that had happened that night. She leaned forward on the stool and buried her head in her hands. Behind her, a string of exhausted patrol cops began to arrive. Several of the cops positioned themselves outside the area where Emily rested. Within seconds, Chris appeared on the scene, racing down the corridor and out of breath. Just like the others, he looked like hell. As usual with Chris, whenever he sweated, the perspiration tended to exacerbate his springtime rash, which was currently making another appearance.
Chris looked around the hospital area and then spotted Jane with her back to him. He stared at her for several minutes, seemingly stunned before walking over to her. “Jane?” he said more as a question.
Jane lifted her head from her hands and turned to face Chris. “Jesus! Don’t creep up on me like that!”
“Oh, my God,” was all Chris could say as he began to tremble.
“What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I thought you were . . .” Chris’ voice began to choke up. “I thought you were in the house—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“When they paged me . . . they said there was an adult DOA on scene—”
“None of this would have happened if I had been there. Is it that Martha doesn’t listen or was she not told to keep that place closed up?”
Chris ran his fingers through his dirty, rainsoaked hair, trying to get hold of himself. “I don’t know.” He steadied himself and looked at Jane. “You okay?”
“Am I okay?” Jane asked. “Well, let’s see. Considering that I am responsible for this entire mess—”
“You?” Chris interrupted. “How are you responsible?” Jane shook her head in slight disgust. “It’s just a job to you, isn’t it?” Jane let out a tired sigh. “Once again, someone died tonight because of my inability to follow through and see the signs. If it wasn’t for some strange, freaky stroke of luck, someone else would have died.” Jane looked off to the side, fighting back tears. “This is not my job, Chris. This is my life. And I’m not very good at it.”
Chris got down on his haunches. “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault. Shit happens, you know? At least the son-of-a-bitch couldn’t find the kid and had to take off. Don’t blame yourself