The Craigslist Murders - Brenda Cullerton [74]
“Oh! What a relief, nurse. I’ve been sitting here talking about my favorite childhood memories, hoping they might cheer her up.”
“Has she been angry, too?” the nurse asked, patting Charlotte’s mother on the hand. “Anger is also very common after strokes.”
Charlotte gave her mother a saintly smile. “My mother’s never angry, nurse. That’s what makes her so easy to love,” she said, giving her a kiss on the forehead.
“I have to leave now, unfortunately. But I’ll be back up, tomorrow, Mother,” Charlotte said, giving her a sympathetic nod and strolling towards the door.
“We’ll take very good care of her tonight, I promise,” the nurse said, straightening out the tangle of sheets.
Thanking her for her patience, Charlotte calmly walked out into the corridor and sighed. She would go home, pack a bag, and take a train somewhere. Anywhere. She needed time to plan her next move. As the elevator doors whooshed close, the nurse scurried down the corridor. “Miss! Your coat! You forgot your coat!”
45
Christ, she was uncomfortable. The metal springs in the cab seat were poking through the leather. She could barely sit still. Fiddling with her seatbelt, she leaned forward and ordered the driver to get off the West Side Highway. It was cold out. And she’d forgotten her goddamn coat. Christ! And her cell phone. How could there be so much traffic at this hour? These people were supposed to be leaving, not coming into town. The driver was praying or something. They just sat there, going nowhere.
Charlotte closed her eyes and tried to sing. The notes stuck like dry cotton in her throat. The horns, the stopping and starting, were driving her crazy. Glancing at her watch as the cab snaked its way past a bus on 34th Street and turned down 9th Avenue, she wondered if police had circulated the sketch of the attacker. And what about the calls from Philip? He knew. She was sure he knew. But had he called the cops?
Looking impatiently out the window, Charlotte unbuckled her belt and told the driver to stop. He’d turned off 9th Avenue and made it down to 7th and Carmine Street. The Holland Tunnel was slowing them down again. She’d power walk the rest of the way.
The accident happened so fast, she had no time to react. She heard the shriek of horns before the thud. Her head crashed up against the partition and she blacked out. When she opened her eyes, her vision was fuzzy, smeared like a windshield pelted by rain. Rubbing her eyes, she saw the blue cloth of his uniform first.
“Miss, miss,” he said, sticking his head through the passenger window. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” Deliberately pushing her hair in front of her face, she nodded.
“I’m fine, officer. A little shook up but fine.”
“An ambulance is on the way. Just sit tight.”
Feeling gingerly around beneath her hair with her fingertips, she winced. The bump was enormous. It was bleeding. She could hear the shrill whine of an ambulance in the distance. She had to move, quickly. The cabbies were screeching at one another in Urdu when the punching started and the cop edged his way towards the curb. Charlotte slid slowly across the seat. If she could only get out of the cab, the crowd would swallow her. She could disappear. Her stomach was churning. Just as she pulled the door handle, the cop turned around and stared at her. He squinted. She gave him a weak smile and waved. When he turned his back on her, Charlotte calmly opened the door and walked into the crowd.
“Hey, lady, where are you going?” some guy yelled. “You’re hurt!”
Keeping her head down, Charlotte moved at a funereal pace. The impulse to run was almost irresistible. Tensed and waiting for that sickening lurch when the cop would grab her shoulder and stop her, she started to hum.
Sticking close to the side of buildings, she walked along Carmine Street and took a right on Downing. The cop and cabbies were now out of sight. Shivering, she broke into a jog. Fifteen minutes later, Charlotte was so hot, she’d pulled off her sweater and tied it around