Death in Daytime (13 page)

"Can I get anything else for you?" the nurse asked. I shook my head and pointed to Paul.

"I'm sorry, sugar, but your husband is going to have to leave. Visiting hours are over--"

"He's not my husband! Just a minute," I said, "I want to talk to him . . . for a minute."

"I'm sure we can have five minutes, right, Nurse?"

Paul asked.

A conspiratorial look passed between them and she said, "Well, all right, but just five. I'll be right down the hall. You have this little button here--"

"I've got it," I said. I'd been in the hospital once in real life and many times in the soap opera world. It seemed that whenever my contract was up for renegotiation Tiffany was put in a coma until the network and I could come to an agreement. If I agreed to their terms, Tiffany miraculously awoke; if not, then Tiffany sadly would pass on (supposedly). Not to mention Tiffany had fallen off a cliff or two, had been mugged once, miscarried twice and was involved in several fires and earthquakes. Tiff had had a rough life. My real life was quickly catching up to my alter ego's life, and that made me uncomfortable.

When we were alone I asked, "W-what happened?"

"I came over to see you and nobody answered the door. I thought about going around back to your mom's house, but decided to check the garage instead. I don't know why. When I got to the door I heard a motor running inside and realized fumes were coming from beneath it. I tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. I tried the back door and it was locked. Finally, I just drove my truck into the garage door a few times until it buckled."

He loved that truck. "I got you out. Your mom must've heard the crash and she came running, and I told her to call nine-oneone. After that it was cops, paramedics, detectives, the whole nine yards."

"Where's Sarah? Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She's at home with your mom. They wanted to come here, but I told them you were okay and to stay put."

"You're sure they're okay?" He nodded, and I processed this for a few seconds.

 "Wait a second, wait a second, I remember something," I said. "You were arguing with Detective Jakes."

"Right. He was being an asshole and I told him so. The paramedics were on my side."

"Where is Jakes?"

"Outside with his partner, waiting to see if you'll wake up."

"My head hurts." I probed the back of my head and found a lump. "Somebody hit me."

"Right."

"No, I'm serious," I said. "Somebody hit me."

"I believe you."

I didn't like the emphasis he put on the word "I."

"What do you mean? Did I hear the word . . .'suicide' as I was waking up?"

He winced.

"You heard that, huh? I was reaming those two nurses--," he started to explain.

"Who said anything about suicide, Paul?"

"The nurses were talking at your door and one of them said they heard that you tried to commit suicide."

"What? Heard from who?"

"That's what I was trying to find out when you woke up."

He grabbed my hand and held it tightly.

"You scared the shit out of me," he said. "When I went into your garage I thought . . . I thought you were . . ."

It would have been very touching if I hadn't been so angry.

"I want to know who said anything about suicide,"

I insisted.

"So do I."

"Let Jakes and Davis in here."

"Are you sure? We can put it off until tomorrow, when you're feeling--"

"I want to do this now, before the story gets out about a suicide attempt."

He winced again.

"What?"

"Might be too late for that. There were newspaper people here when we pulled up."

"Great. If the nurses told them what they heard, I'll be tabloid fodder for days. Let's hope we can nip this in the bud, Paul. Let the detectives in."

"If you're sure--"

"I'm fine!" I realized I was being too strident with him. "I'm fine," I said again, softer this time, and I squeezed his hand. Men like it when you squeeze their hand. "Can we turn on some lights?"

"Sure," he said. "I'll go and get the detectives. But I'm staying while you talk to them," he added firmly.

"Good," I said, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Jakes and Davis came back in with Paul. The nurse was nowhere in sight. I guess there were no visiting hour limitations for cops.

"Ms. Peterson," Jakes said, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Somewhat," I said, rubbing my head.

"Would you like to tell us what happened?"

"Somebody tried to kill me," I said, "and apparently, they were trying to make it look like a suicide. Wouldn't that have made me look guilty, Detective?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Very guilty."

"The nurses were talking about my trying to commit suicide. That's going to show up in the papers tomorrow. I don't like being tabloid fodder, Detective."

"I'm sure it was just a case of conjecture on someone's part, Alex," he said, spreading his hands. "And if you didn't like being tabloid fodder, wouldn't you be better off in another business?"

"And if you didn't like eating donuts, wouldn't you be in another business?"

Paul chuckled, and even Davis laughed and said,

"She got you there, partner."

Jakes turned on Davis then and said, "You know, I'm getting goddamned sick and tired of you taking her side all the time just because you're a fuckin' soap opera junkie, Len."

Davis's face got red, and I thought he was going to jump right back into Jakes's face, but instead he said,

"I'll be out in the hall,
partner
."

Then Jakes turned on me.

"If it turns up in the tabloids tomorrow that you tried to commit suicide, don't blame me, Ms. Peterson. There were a lot of people at the scene, including your boyfriend, here."

"What the fuck?" Paul said. "Don't get in my face, Detective. I won't back down from you the way your partner did."

"For your information, my partner didn't back down," Jakes said, defending Davis's actions. "He's gonna ream my ass when we get back to the car. He doesn't like public displays of affection."

"Well, I don't have that problem with public displays," Paul shot back, his jaw jutting out, "so bring it on."

The two men faced each other with their chins almost touching, and I diffused the situation by applauding. They both looked at me.

"Okay, the lady is impressed, gentlemen. Now, why don't the two of you take it out into the hall. I have a splitting headache and my throat hurts. I'm done talking for today."

They both started to protest, but I held up my hand and waggled my forefinger at them. "Done talking," I said, "to either of you. Now . . . go."

Jakes looked annoyed, while Paul looked hurt. I actually was impressed by Paul holding his own with Jakes, but I'd let him know about it another time. At that moment I wanted everybody out of my room.

"I'll see you in the morning," Paul said.

"Okay."

He leaned over and kissed my forehead. I didn't like that under normal circumstances. It made me feel like a little girl. But in this instance I didn't like it because it was proprietary. He was marking his territory in front of Jakes. Why that should have bothered me I didn't know. I didn't have the least bit of feeling for Jakes as a man, only as a cop--and an annoying one, at that.

They both left and I helped myself to another cup of water. After that I reached for the buzzer and pressed it for the nurse. She appeared almost immediately. I wondered what I had done--or what anyone had done--to rate me that kind of response time.

"What can I do for you, sweetie?"

I wanted to tell her she could start by not calling me sweetie, but apparently she was my contact with the outside world.

"Can you tell me how long I'll have to stay here?"

"Probably only overnight," she said. "It's just a precaution."

"I'll bet I could go home right now," I said.

"You could," she agreed. "You could sign yourself out and walk out the front door, but I should warn you, there are still reporters out there. Staying here would at least give you a peaceful night."

How could I argue with that?

"Okay," I said, "thanks." As she started to leave I called out, "Oh, is the phone on?"

"Yes," she said, "it'll be on all night."

"Thank you."

As she left I grabbed the phone and dialed my mom's number. She answered the phone anxiously, and I had to assure her several times I was all right before she would put Sarah on the phone. I then had to assure my daughter that I'd be home the next day, and that she should go to sleep and stop worrying about her mom. She told me she'd go to sleep, but she would not stop worrying. I told her we had a deal, and how much I loved her.

I hung up the phone, my eyelids feeling very heavy. The next thing I knew I woke up in darkness. I lay very still and waited for my eyes to adjust, then looked around the room. It wasn't a private room, but the other bed was empty. Some moonlight peeked in from between the closed blinds.

I could see the doorway clearly. It was closed, and there was a little light beneath it from the hall. I suddenly felt very vulnerable. If someone had tried to kill me--what was I thinking? Someone
had
tried to kill me and make it look like I wanted to commit suicide out of guilt. What was to stop them from trying again tonight, in the hospital?

So much for my peaceful night.

I sat up in bed and buzzed for the nurse. Spoiled because of her earlier response time, I became nervous when she didn't appear.

I wondered what had woken me. My throat was raw and I still had a headache, but I was starting to feel that I should have just checked myself out and gone home.

I didn't like the light being off, but I stopped myself just short of turning on the lamp that was right above my head. If somebody was coming to get me and they entered the room now, I'd be able to see, but they wouldn't. My eyes were used to the dark while theirs would have to adjust. Small advantage, but I'd take what I could get.

I rang for the nurse again. No answer. Now I was really nervous. I looked at the phone, but whom could I call who could help me in the next few minutes?

I was on my own.

I tossed back the sheet and swung my feet to the floor, which was ice cold. I was wearing one of those hospital gowns that open in the back, and I could feel the cold along my spine, as well, but I didn't think that was where my chill was coming from.

I stood up, feeling light-headed now as well as headachy. I suddenly realized I was hungry. Never let it be said fear interfered with my appetite. Suddenly I saw something beneath the door, a shadow--two feet. My heart leaped into my throat and I looked around for a weapon. All I could come up with was a bedpan, but it was metal so I grabbed it and moved quietly toward the door.

I held the bedpan over my head and waited. The door opened slowly and I realized I'd been wrong about me being the only one who could see. Light from the hall streamed in and illuminated the bed, which was, of course, empty because I was behind the door with my bedpan held high, my hospital gown gaping in the back and the soles of my feet feeling like ice.

"Ms. Peterson?" a man said.

I started to bring the bedpan down when I saw clearly by the light from the hall that the man was wearing a policeman's uniform.

"Oh God," I said.

He turned toward me, startled.

"Ma'am?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

He reached out and caught me or I would have fallen. . . .

When I woke up I was back in bed with both the nurse and the policeman standing next to me.

"Now, honey, what were you trying to do?" the nurse asked.

"I just stepped away from the desk for a minute," she explained.

"I--I thought someone was . . . was coming after me. . . ."

"But you had a policeman stationed at your door," she said. "Didn't they tell you?"

"No," I said, feeling stronger--and madder--"they didn't."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry," the cop said. He had his hat off, revealing a head of steel wool-looking gray hair. I wondered how close to retirement he was. "I--I was just opening the door to check on you."

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "I almost clobbered you with a--a bedpan."

"I don't think you're strong enough to hurt me, even with that pan," he said. "I caught you when you fainted and put you back in bed."

I could feel my face flush bright red. Just how open had my gown been in the back?

"Honest, ma'am," he said, reading my look correctly, "I didn't see . . . or touch . . . a thing."

"It's all right," I told him. "I just feel . . . so silly."

"Well, to tell you the truth, Ms. Peterson," he said, smiling suddenly, "you looked kinda silly holdin' that bedpan over your head."

"Yeah," I said, giving him a wan smile, "I suppose I did."

"Do you want something to help you sleep, honey?" the nurse asked.

"No," I said, "I'll be all right." I looked at the cop.

His name tag said WILSON. "Officer Wilson, will you be outside my door all night?"

"Until I'm relieved in the morning, Ms. Peterson," he said, "or until you leave the hospital."

"Did the detectives say they'd be back in the morning?"

"I believe they did."

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you both. I'll be fine now."

Just go, I wanted to say, but I didn't and they went anyway, turning out the light on the way out. Paul was coming back in the morning, and so were the detectives. I wondered if I could get myself signed out before any of them arrived.

When I awoke the next morning my headache was gone, but my throat still felt a little raw. There also seemed to be a burning sensation in my nostrils. I realized that I had not spoken to a doctor at all. The clock on the table next to my bed told me it was eight thirty a.m. I had a choice. I could get up, get dressed--assuming my clothes were somewhere in that room--and get out of there before any of the men showed up to pester me, or I could buzz for the nurse and ask to see the doctor. Did I want to know how close I actually came to dying? And how long my nose and throat would feel this way?