In Firm Pursuit (29 page)

I
turned off the ignition and just sat there, too emotionally drained to move. Only thoughts of Special's well-being gave me the strength to climb out of my Land Cruiser.

By the time I reached the hospital lobby, an achy muscle spasm had started hammering away at the base of my neck and my temples were throbbing in pain. I sat down on a circular couch to the right of the information desk. I had to get myself together before I got to Special's room. That girl could read me better than anybody.

Once I felt sufficiently composed, I asked the receptionist for directions to the gift shop. When I got there, they didn't have any tulips so I opted for a huge bouquet of white roses. After handing the clerk my credit card, I remembered my promise to Special.

“Do you have any hand mirrors?” I asked.

The woman reached behind the counter and handed me a large oval mirror with a short handle. “How about this one?” she asked.

I held the mirror inches from my nose, carefully examining my own face. One side reflected a normal image, while the other provided a greatly magnified view. I knew Special was going to flip out when she saw her battered
face, even though her bruises would surely heal. The mirror would definitely reveal far more than Special needed to see right now.

“Never mind.” I handed the mirror back to the woman. “You can go ahead and ring up the flowers.” The small MAC compact in my purse would have to do.

I stepped out of the elevator and trekked down the hospital hallway, the bouquet of roses fanning out in all directions, obstructing my view. I had to peek to the left or right every few steps to make sure I was not about to mow anyone down.

I walked past the empty nurses' station and was inside Special's room before I realized it was empty. To my surprise, there were no signs of life in the stark space. The bed was freshly made, the curtains drawn and the nightstand cleared away. I rushed back to the nurses' station, still struggling to maneuver the enormous flower arrangement.

“I'm here to see Special Moore in room 710, but she's not there.”

“This is intensive care. You can't just walk into a patient's room and you can't bring flowers in here,” the nurse scolded me. “Didn't you see that sign on the wall?” she said, pointing.

I gave the sign a quick glance. “I'm sorry.” I set the flowers down on the counter. “I didn't see it.”

The nurse gave me a skeptical look and picked up a clipboard from the counter.

“Is Special okay?” I asked, trying to read the chart upside down.

The nurse slowly flipped through the pages attached to
the clipboard, in no apparent hurry to answer my question. I tried to calm myself, but my mind kept racing to the worst. “Is everything all right?” I asked again.

“Ms. Moore is fine,” the nurse replied. “She's been moved to the fifth floor. Room 517.”

I was about to ask why, but remembered Special's mother saying that Special would be moved out of intensive care once she came out of the anesthesia. I closed my eyes and massaged my temples between my thumb and forefinger. I needed to relax. Special was going to be fine.

I hoisted up the flowers and headed back toward the elevator. When I made it to the fifth floor, I was disappointed to find room 517 empty. But this time, I was certain that I was in the right place. The bed was unmade and a plastic cup and pitcher of water sat on the nightstand next to a colorful bouquet of tulips and copies of
Essence, Star
and
People.
I placed the flowers on the window ledge and went looking for the nurses' station.

“I'm here to see Special Moore in room 517,” I said to the first nurse I spotted. “She's not in her room. Is she having some tests or something?”

The nurse paused for much too long. “Are you a member of the immediate family?” she asked.

“Yes, she's my sister,” I said without missing a beat.

The nurse briefly averted her eyes.

“Is something wrong?” I silently cautioned myself not to overreact again.

When the nurse placed a hand on my shoulder, I thought I was going to lose it. “I'm sorry,” she said, “there
were some complications. They rushed Ms. Moore back into surgery about fifteen minutes ago.”

My legs buckled as if someone had kicked them out from under me.

The nurse grabbed me by the arm, holding me up. “Miss, are you okay?”

“What kind of complications?” I said, barely able to speak.

“You'll need to speak with her doctor for that information.” The nurse had genuine empathy in her voice. She walked me over to a small chair near the nurses' station.

“I think there're some other family members in the hospital chapel. Would you like me to go get someone for you?”

“No. I'll be fine,” I said, too stunned to cry. I sat there for another minute or so, then dragged myself out of the chair.

“How do I get to the chapel?”

I
lethargically made my way to the first floor. My body felt abnormally light, as if I were floating along the hospital corridor using somebody else's legs.

The interior of the hospital chapel was a comforting contrast to the bland white walls outside. A warm amber glow hovered over the entire room. Imitation stained-glass windows and flickering candles wrapped the room in serenity. Eight rows of pews bordered a narrow aisle that led to an altar crafted in teakwood.

I spotted Special's parents sitting in the front row entwined in each other's arms.

As I took a step toward them, I felt a hand on my shoulder. When I turned around and saw my mother's face, I collapsed into her arms.

“Why did I have to hear about Special from Mrs. Moore and not from you?” My mother's soft whisper both chided and comforted me.

“I didn't want to worry you and Daddy.” My voice broke as I tried, but failed, to hold it together. “I'm so glad you're here. Mama, I'm so scared.” Tears stung my eyes.

“I know, baby, I know.” My mother hugged me tightly.
“But everything's in God's hands now. We just have to have faith. Let's sit down.”

We slid into the last row, still unnoticed by Special's parents. My mother swallowed my hands in hers, closed her eyes and started to pray in a low, fervent voice. “Father God, right now, we need the kind of strength only you can give us.”

I squeezed my mother's long, wrinkled fingers and marveled at how eloquent she sounded whenever she talked to God. For years, I had watched her summon His presence in prayer meetings at church, during telephone conversations with one of her prayer partners or during her early morning meditations.

When my mother finished praying, we walked to the front of the chapel to greet Special's parents. Just then, a nurse entered. “I'm looking for the family of Special Moore,” she softly called out.

Milton and Velma Moore scurried to the back of the chapel. My mother and I followed close behind.

“Your daughter's out of surgery,” the nurse said. “And she's back in ICU.”

“Can you tell us how the surgery went?” Special's father asked.

The nurse pursed her lips and drew in a breath. “I'm sorry. You'll have to talk to the doctor.”

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Something went wrong!” Special's mother gasped. She buried her head in her husband's chest. I tightened my grip around my mother's hand.

“She didn't say anything went wrong, Velma,” Special's
father said, hugging his wife. He turned back to the nurse. “Can't you tell us anything more?”

The nurse looked away. “If you'd like to follow me, I can page your daughter's doctor. He can give you an update.”

Special's parents rushed out of the chapel behind the nurse.

“Mama, why don't you go with them?” I said weakly. “I'm going to stay here a little while longer.”

My mother hesitated. “Please, Mama, go on. I'll be fine.”

“Okay, Netta.” She took me by the chin and wiped the tears from my cheeks with her thumb. “Don't worry. God is going to take care of Special.”

“I know,” I said, hugging her again.

When she left, I walked to the front of the chapel and knelt before the altar. I tried to speak, but sobs replaced my words. Audible prayers had always been awkward for me. I closed my eyes, clasped my hands together and hoped that God could hear my desperate thoughts. There was no way I could make it without my best friend. God could not let that happen.

I had no idea how long I had been kneeling at the altar, but when my knees began to ache, I got up and headed out of the chapel. I stopped near the elevator and dialed home. When I heard the answering machine pick up, I hung up and dialed Jefferson's cell phone. His voice mail message began to play and I hung up again, too weak to talk. I waited another few seconds, then decided to send him a text message. I wasn't sure what to write, so I just typed
Call me. ASAP.

I pushed the elevator button, intending to head up to ICU, but when the doors opened, my feet felt like two
cement blocks. All of a sudden, the sterile hospital smell made me dizzy. I needed some air.

Heading south toward the hospital entrance, I walked through the automatic glass doors into the blinding midday sun. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and almost mowed down an elderly couple. I found an empty bench and sat down. I made a halfhearted attempt to do some deep-breathing exercises, but I couldn't concentrate. When a young man in a green smock joined me on the bench and lit up a cigarette, I moved to another bench, away from the smoke. Before I could get comfortable, I felt gripped by fear.

Maybe they're coming for me next!
I glanced up and down the street at the stream of cars and people passing by. My body began to tremble as my eyes darted from left to right. I walked quickly back to the lobby, turning to look over my shoulder every few seconds.

A middle-aged Hispanic woman sat behind the information desk, but the lobby was otherwise empty. I slumped down in a wide blue chair and started to sob again. I had no idea how much time had passed when I abruptly stopped crying.

I can't let Micronics get away with this!
I hurried outside, trying to remember where I had parked. I had only taken a few steps beyond the glass doors when terror took control of me again and I bolted back inside. I could not shake the feeling that someone might be watching me.

“How do I get to your emergency room from here?” I asked the receptionist at the information desk. I did not
bother to wipe the tear stains from my face. The woman was no doubt used to seeing distraught people.

“Go down that corridor and make a left after the bank of elevators on the right,” she said, her voice as soothing as her eyes.

Trotting down the corridor, I kept looking back over my shoulder every few steps. Once I was certain no one was following me, I dashed inside the emergency room, which was crawling with worn, sad-looking black and brown people.

I scanned the room and spotted glass doors that led out to the street. I zigzagged my way through the crowd of waiting patients, almost tripping over a toddler. When I got outside, I saw exactly what I had hoped to find.

“Do you take American Express?” I asked, walking up to a lone cab and opening the back door.

“Sure do,” the driver said, sensing a big fare.

“Good. Take me to the Micronics headquarters on Sepulveda as fast as you can.”

J
efferson stepped out of the shower and heard the beep of his cell phone, signaling a new message.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, walked into the bedroom and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. He scrolled through his missed calls and saw that Vernetta had called him from her cell phone but had not left a message. The light on their home answering machine also showed a new message. When he hit Play, all he got was a dial tone.

Then Jefferson noticed that he had a new text message. Dread rocked him when he read what Vernetta had written.
Call me. ASAP.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and dialed her back.

By the time her voice mail picked up, Jefferson's pulse rate had doubled. The outgoing message seemed to take forever to finish. He gripped the edge of the nightstand as he waited. “Hey, babe, I was in the shower when you called.” He made a concerted effort not to sound as worried as he felt. “What's going on? Call me back when you get this message.”

Jefferson called Vernetta's office and left the same message, then got dressed and tried to watch TV. Vernetta
should have finished her meeting with O'Reilly by now, he thought. He assumed that her text message meant that things had not gone well. He walked into the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes, but only found Shredded Wheat. He doused the cereal with sugar and wolfed it down while watching ESPN highlights.

He picked up the house phone and listened for a dial tone to make sure it was working, then checked the charge on his cell phone. Almost an hour had passed now.
Why hadn't Vernetta called back?
Jefferson dialed her office again. This time he got her secretary.

“I'm trying to find Vernetta. Have you seen her?”

“No,” Shelia replied. “And I'm beginning to get worried. She scheduled a two o'clock meeting with the Managing Partner and didn't show up or call. That's not like her.”

“Did you talk with her this morning?” Jefferson asked.

“Yes, but just for a second. She was already in when I got here, but a few minutes later, she took off without saying anything. I figured that maybe she went to the hospital to see Special.”

Special!
How could he have forgotten? She had probably taken a turn for the worse. “That's probably where she is,” Jefferson said. “I'm going to head over to the hospital right now.”

“When you hear from her, please have her call me,” Shelia said.

“I will,” Jefferson promised.

He grabbed his keys, jogged out of the house and drove as fast as he could over to Centinela Hospital. Every few minutes, he said a prayer for Special. By the time he pulled
his Chrysler 300 into the parking lot, he was so revved up, he felt like he had run five miles at breakneck speed.

He pulled into the first empty space he saw and jumped out of his car. His heart all but stopped when he spotted Vernetta's Land Cruiser parked two rows over. That meant she was okay, but her rushing over here and skipping out on her meeting with O'Reilly only confirmed that Special was not.

As he approached the information desk to find out Special's room number, he saw Vernetta's mother coming down an adjacent hallway.

“Have you seen Netta?” she asked, gripping him in a warm hug. Her voice was heavy with worry. “I've covered every inch of this place trying to find her.”

“She's not with Special?” Jefferson said.

“We haven't seen Netta since we left her in the hospital chapel over an hour ago. I can't imagine where she could be.” She wrung her hands.

“I just saw her Land Cruiser in the parking lot,” Jefferson said, trying to comfort her. “So she's got to be around here somewhere. How's Special?”

“Oh, Lord. Not good. Not good at all. She's in a coma.” Vernetta's mother pressed both hands to her cheeks. “But God answers prayers.”

Jefferson assumed Vernetta was somewhere in the building. She probably just needed some time alone. He pulled out his cell phone and tried to call her again, but she still didn't pick up.

“Something's not right,” Vernetta's mother continued, still shaking her head. “It's not like Netta to disappear like
this. Lord, Lord. First, somebody attacks Special for no reason and now my baby's missing.”

“Don't worry. Vernetta's fine.” Jefferson gave her shoulder a firm squeeze. “Why don't you head back up to Special's room while I go find her?”

“Dear God, please let my baby be all right,” her mother murmured as Jefferson marched off.

Jefferson called Vernetta's cell again, but she still didn't pick up. After finding the hospital chapel empty, Jefferson checked the cafeteria, the gift shop and the waiting rooms on nearly every floor. When he walked into the waiting area near the intensive care unit, he found Vernetta's mother and Special's parents sitting with Detective Coleman.

Jefferson expressed his sympathies to Special's parents, then introduced himself to Detective Coleman. “Could we speak outside for a minute?” Jefferson asked.

The detective followed him a few yards away from the waiting area. “Vernetta told me the whole story last night, including the stuff about the Micronics documents,” he said, once they had come to a stop several yards down the hall. Jefferson's tone was subtly berating.

“Yeah,” Detective Coleman replied, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. “This is definitely one big mess.”

Jefferson folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “I hate to even say this, but I think something may've happened to Vernetta,” he said. “She sent me an urgent text message over an hour ago, but she's not answering her cell and I have no idea how to send a text message.
Her Land Cruiser's still in the parking lot, but I can't find her anywhere in the hospital.”

Deep folds of dread lined Detective Coleman's mammoth face. “Let's go take a look at her SUV. It might tell us something.”