Count on Me (Bayview Heights Trilogy) (28 page)

“I’m going to answer that, Erica. You really want me to. I’m going to put my hand out like this and—”

The shot was so loud it hurt her ears. She recoiled back, gripping the gun. Her eardrums rang.

From the corner of her eye, she saw something move and her head snapped up. Why was Dr. Lansing falling? What—

He slumped to the ground, clutching his chest. The light green of his shirt darkened from the area around his heart all the way up to his shoulder. Through the fingers of his hand, which he’d brought to his chest, she saw bright red blood.

Oh, my God.

o0o

THERE WAS ONLY PAIN. It exploded at his shoulder and radiated everywhere. His arm, his chest, his neck. He felt his stomach roil and knew he might vomit.

“He’s dead.”

 Erica
. Though the sound was muffled from the loudness of the gun, he knew her voice.

Barely able to move, Kurt opened his mouth to tell her he was all right; he wasn’t dead. But then reality dawned.

Erica had shot him.

His mind filled with several images—Columbine and Florida, and the most recent school shooting in New York City, where three teachers and a nurse had died, along with eleven students.

He thought about Seth’s statement at the board meeting:
It’s disconnecting that leads a kid to bring a gun to school.

And so he remained still.

Through slitted eyes, he saw Erica sink to her knees. “I killed him,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

But he couldn’t be sure her regret was genuine. If he moved, if she saw he was alive, would she shoot him again? The pictures in the paper of the city teachers and the nurse swam before him.

Kurt knew he didn’t want to die. So he lay still and tried to assess the damage. It felt like knives digging into his shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers, but it didn’t gush; clotting had already begun. He wondered if the bullet was still in his shoulder. He’d need help soon, but to get it he had to play it cool—not like he’d done with the phone. God, he’d been stupid.

Again he slitted his eyes; she was staring at the gun. “I don’t deserve to live,” she murmured.

 No!
Kurt knew that young shooters often turned the gun on themselves. No, no, he couldn’t let her do that.

But if she did, he’d be safe.

He watched her. She was crying hard now, holding the gun, as if she was weighing it, weighing her options.

 Stay still. Protect yourself. Don’t move.

All of it was sound advice from his instinct for survival. But Kurt had spent a lifetime saving people, a lifetime helping kids, kids like Erica, just as troubled. And he was part of a fraternity of men and women who’d taken the Hippocratic Oath to save a life, not allow it to be snuffed out before his eyes.

So he said simply, “Erica, don’t. I’m not dead.”

o0o

ERICA WAS SO STARTLED she almost dropped the gun. Hugging it to her chest, she said, “W-what?” Her voice sounded odd as if she was underwater, and there was a ringing in her ears. Too late she remembered her father’s advice to use earplugs when she shot a gun.

Dr. Lansing tried to sit up. More blood seeped from his wound, and he flopped back down, half lying, half sitting on the floor. She stared at the blood.

The blood she had caused. Oh, God.

“I...I’m not dead. Don’t do anything—” he took a breath “—to yourself...with that gun.”

How did he know what she was thinking?

“Don’t...hurt...yourself.” His sentences were broken, his words halting. He was in a lot of pain. “It’s not too late.”

She felt cold all over. “Of course it’s too late. I shot you.” She nodded to him. “In the chest.”

“Not...my chest...my shoulder.” He waited several moments. “You need to...go into the bathroom...get towels. For the bleeding.”

She clutched the gun. Was this a trick?

“No trick, Erica.” He shook his head, closed his eyes. “I’m hurt. I can’t do anything to you. I just want to talk” He gasped for breath. Waited a moment. “I need something for this first.”

“I won’t give you the gun. I want it.”

“I know.” He tried to smile. “Get me the towels.” Another pause. “Please.”

The bathroom was only two feet away. She could back in, get the towels and still hold the gun on him.

Oh, she wasn’t planning to shoot him again. Not
him
.

It only took a few seconds. He groaned as he sat up and his arm bled more, turning his shirt and his hand a muddy red. But he took the towel and pressed it to his shoulder. He leaned his back against his desk, his face white and drew in more deep breaths.

“It hurts?”

He gave her a sardonic smile. “Yeah. It hurts.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she lifted the gun. She couldn’t stand to see what she’d done to him

“You haven’t done anything irrevocable.”

“Yes, I have. I shot you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t deserve to live. I don’t want to live.”

“I want you to live.” He waited before he went on. Seemed to garner some strength. “You’ll leave sad people behind if you do what you’re thinking about.”

She snorted. “My father?”

With effort, he nodded. “He’s pushed you too much...hasn’t given you enough affection, but he’d be sad.”

“No way.”

“Your friends. Ashley, Rachel, Julia, Shondra...Shelley. How would they deal with this their senior year? The rest of their lives?”

“I don’t wanna think about that.”

“You have to. Killing yourself is final.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care.”

“I
shot
you.”

“I still care.”

She didn’t say anything.

He bit his lip against the pain. “Ms. Caufield? You know she wouldn’t be able to handle it if you hurt yourself. She’ll blame herself.”

Erica just stared at him. But she saw Ms. Caufield’s face, heard her words,
“Honey, you need help. We’re going to get you some...I should have done something before...I’ve made an appointment with...”

Erica’s eyes closed briefly. “She’ll never forgive me for this. She loves you.”

“She loves you, too. You can forgive somebody you love anything.”

Suddenly Erica felt tired. Her shoulders sagged and the headache started to recede, letting her focus better. Was he right? Could she—

“I’m right, Erica.” The towel fell to the floor. He sat forward, his face tightening with pain. But he held out his hand and said with surprising strength, “Give me the gun.”

She watched him.

“Give me the gun. I’ll help you. We’ll all help you.” After a moment he said, “Please, honey.”

Erica lowered the gun from her chest.

She came up on her knees.

Slowly she inched over to Dr. Lansing’s outstretched arm.

And placed the gun in his hand.

He shoved it behind him, then reached out for her and dragged her to the uninjured side of his chest. Burying her face there, she heard him say, “Cry it out...it’s all right...everything’s going to be all right.”

o0o

ZOE HELD BACK her fear until she got to the ER and saw Mitch Lansing in the waiting area. He was seated on a vinyl chair, his hands over his mouth, his face ravaged; Cassie sat next to him, holding on to him, her head resting on his shoulder. Halting in the entryway, Zoe clutched Seth’s arm. “I thought you said Kurt was all right.”

“Cassie told me on the phone he was.” Seth took her hand and pulled her toward the Lansings.

Up close, Cassie’s face was drawn and mottled. Mitch looked up. Bruised eyes, the exact color of Kurt’s, stared at her.

“Mitch? Has he...is he...” She went weak, unable to finish the untenable thought.

Cassie rose. “Kurt’s fine.”

Zoe glanced down at Mitch, then up at Cassie questioningly.

“Mitch is upset, that’s all. Shooting of any kind, let alone Kurt is tough for him.” Cassie grabbed Zoe’s arms firmly. “But Kurt’s okay. Honest.”

Seth slid his arm around Zoe and inclined his head to the patient area. “What’s going on in there?”

“He’s getting patched up. The bullet went through the fleshy part of his shoulder and came out the other side.”

Though she tried to be strong, Zoe swayed on her feet.
Bullet
. Dear God. She felt her stomach lurch and clasped her hands around her middle. It was unbelievable what Cassie had relayed on the phone—Erica high on drugs had shot Kurt, and they were at the hospital. It was the worst kind of nightmare.

Cassie was distracted by movement behind Zoe. Her hand went to her husband’s shoulder. “Mitch, Lauren’s here.” She bent and whispered something in his ear.

“I know. I’ll be fine.” Mitch scrubbed his hands over his face, stood and gave Zoe’s arm a quick squeeze. He’d straightened and composed himself by the time Johnny ushered Lauren over to them.

“Uncle Mitch? Daddy’s hurt?”

The strong adult now, the competent cop, he faced Lauren and Johnny. Both young people were white faced and grim. “Your father’s fine.” He looked at Johnny. “Kurt was shot in the shoulder, but the bullet didn’t lodge there. He lost a lot of blood, but nothing life-threatening.”

“Shot?” Lauren’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand. Somebody shot my father?”

“Cassie told us on the phone he was at the clinic,” Johnny said hoarsely. “Did somebody try to break in?”

“No.” Mitch’s voice was controlled, and steely underneath. “Erica Case shot him.”

Gasps from behind her. Zoe turned to see a group of kids at the door. Julia, Dan, Joe Taylor, Ashley, Rachel, Rob, Shelley and Shondra. She knew they’d gone out together for pizza after the festival, then they’d gone clubbing.

“We don’t know exactly what happened, Lauren,” Mitch continued. “All we know is he’s all right. He’s going to be fine.
Fine
,” Mitch repeated as if trying to convince himself.

Lauren threw herself into her uncle’s arms and cried. Cassie drew a clearly upset Johnny off to the side. Taking in a deep breath, Zoe faced her kids. She knew it was her responsibility to explain things to them; but how could she when she couldn’t understand it herself? She’d have to find a way of course, but all she really wanted was to see Kurt.

o0o

FINALLY THE PAIN was abating. Kurt knew that the morphine drip they gave him was kicking in. Lauren leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, Daddy.”

“Night, honey.” He closed his eyes. Even the dim light hurt them. He ached all over and the intravenous plug itched like hell.

He heard the door close and breathed a sigh of relief. His daughter was reassured. His brother would take care of her. Now he could sleep. He turned his cheek into the soft pillow.

There was a swish of the door again. He pried open his eyes and saw Zoe enter the room. She approached the bed and bent over him, her face stricken.

“Hi, sweetheart.” It hurt to talk and he was woozy, but this was Zoe.

“Hi, love.” Gently she kissed his brow, her lips warm, her smell familiar. Her touch soothed him.

“I’m fine, Zoe.”

She swallowed hard. He knew she’d keep herself together here, then probably fall apart when she got alone. He wondered if somebody could stay with her for a while. “I know. Thank God.”

Reaching up with his good arm, he ran his fingers down her cheek. Even that effort was too much and his hand fell. “I blew it with Erica.” He could hear how slurred his speech was.

“Don’t think about that now.”

“I didn’t see...the drugs. What kind of doctor am I?”

“None of that matters now. All that matters is that you get well and Erica gets help.”

Zoe was a little blurry when he tried to focus on her. “I was too...preoccupied...with my personal life. With us. I lost sight of her needs.”

Zoe’s face paled, so he dropped the issue. Until later. He struggled to keep his eyes open. “Where is she?”

“Mitch said Hal Stonehouse is holding her at the police station. Her father’s with her.”

“No charges,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Don’t want to press charges.”

“Shh,” she said, her eyes glistening. “You’ve got to think about yourself now, no one else.”

Tired. God, he was tired.

And wrong. He’d been so wrong.

“Close your eyes. Go to sleep.”

He nodded. Later he’d tell her what he’d decided.

She sat in the chair next to him, grasped his good hand and brought it to her mouth. Having Zoe here, next to his bed, with him felt good. Very good.

Even if only for tonight.

o0o

“IF I HAVE TO, Hal, I’ll say I was confused and that the gun went off by accident.” Kurt stood in the police station, staring down both Hal Stonehouse, Bayview Heights’s police chief, and Mitch. Kurt’s arm was in a sling and his shoulder hurt like hell. He didn’t need this battle.

“That would be perjury,” the older man said.

Kurt arched a brow. “Maybe I
was
confused. I was gravely wounded.”

“I already released her into the rehab program on your insistence. We aren’t letting her off, Kurt.”

“She won’t be let off. She’s got a long treatment to go through, and the scars afterward will be punishment enough.”

Hal’s gaze flew to Mitch.

“Don’t look at me,” Mitch grumbled. “I can’t knock any sense into that hard head of his. He’d only stay with us for two days after he was shot, and then he went into the clinic on the third morning.” Mitch leveled angry eyes on him. “He’s a pigheaded son of a bitch.”

“I get it from my older brother.” Kurt turned to Hal. “Look, the girl was on drugs. Uppers, which in huge quantities cause personality disorder. In the end the
real
Erica gave me the gun willingly. She isn’t going to jail, Hal. I mean it.”

Thoughts of the incident still haunted Kurt’s dreams. God, what if he hadn’t been able to talk her down? She’d be dead now. He hadn’t told anybody the exact progression of the events of the night, though both Mitch and Zoe had tried to wring it out of him.

Zoe.

He wouldn’t think about Zoe.

“You’re feeling guilty.” Mitch prowled the office. “Just like Zoe. This is so stupid.”

Kurt folded his arms over his chest. “I seem to remember some stupid guilt on your part over Johnny Battaglia a few years back, big brother. People in glass houses...”