Resuscitation (21 page)

“Remember me, Sweetheart?” Julian said, his face pressed against her curly red hair.

“What the
fuck
!” Beer-Man yelled.

“You’re driving, shithead. Get in.” Julian ordered. “Try anything heroic and your girlfriend’s brains are going to decorate the inside of your shiny new SUV.”

“Please, man,” Beer-Man pleaded, “don’t hurt her.”

“That’s entirely up to you. Now get in the fucking car and drive.”

Julian forced Redhead into the back seat and sat next to her. Still holding the gun against her temple, he barked directions to Beer-Man. During the short ride to his loft, he kept a close eye on Beer-Man, talking to him constantly, making sure he didn’t speed or drive erratically. Neither Redhead nor Beer-Man said a word.

With his body pressed firmly against her, his arm wrapped around her waist, and his face nestled in her curly red hair, Julian caught a whiff of Redhead’s coconut shampoo. He adjusted his hand and could feel it brush against her breast. Her denim mini-skirt left little to his imagination. The last thing Julian needed was a distraction. But his thoughts moved toward tantalizing possibilities.

Julian felt as though he were dreaming, unable to fathom what was going on. Some force had taken hold of him and he was incapable of breaking free. The more he thought about what he’d just done, the more excited he became. But his excitement quickly turned to paranoia. Suppose someone had seen this abduction? What if they’d called the police? His entire life, all the hard work, all the hours of sweat and blood, could be gone in a blink of an eye. And what about his family? How would they feel when his photo was plastered all over the front page of the newspaper? He could see the headlines now:

“
Esteemed Cardiologist Arrested for Kidnapping
.”

How would his family survive the humiliation? At this juncture, the situation was beyond the point of no return. His only option was to move forward and turn this madness into something productive. After all, he had hoped to find a way to experiment on two subjects simultaneously. So, he had to clear his mind of these troubling thoughts and focus on his objective.

Still pressing the gun against Redhead’s temple, he released his grip on her long enough to reach in his jacket pocket and push the garage door remote. The steel gate swung open and Julian told Beer-Man where to park.

Having only a one-bedroom loft, Julian sat Redhead on a wooden chair next to the bed, and pointed the gun at Beer-Man. He motioned with the .380. “Lie on the bed, face down.” He swung the gun toward Redhead. “And don’t you even think about moving.”

Beer-Man did as he was told, and Redhead sat frozen.

Julian opened the drawer on the cart holding the surgical instruments and grabbed a handful of nylon straps.

“Get over here,” he yelled at Redhead.

Once there, Julian tapped his gun on Beer-Man’s shoulder. “Roll over.”

He handed four nylon straps to Redhead. “I want you to secure this asshole’s wrists and ankles to the bed. And make them tight.”

When Redhead was finished, Julian checked to be sure the straps were secure.

“Back on the chair,” he ordered.

Once Redhead sat down, Julian bound her ankles to the legs of the chair and secured her hands behind her back.

From the moment they’d set foot in the loft apartment, the cocky-confidant woman who’d insulted Julian with her wiseass attitude was reduced to a sobbing little girl who’d just lost her Barbie doll. “Why are you doing this? Please let us go.”

Julian found no logical reason to explain. Not yet.

“Are you some kind of fucking pervert, or what?” Beer-Man shouted, the fight in him still very much alive.

Ignoring him completely, Julian went into the storage closet and returned pushing a heart monitor. He wheeled it next to the cart with an assortment of surgical instruments and related items. He picked up an instrument looking like fancy pliers and held them up as if examining them.

“What the fuck is all that shit?” Beer-Man shouted.

“What was that you were saying about tearing out my tonsils?”

“Did you enjoy staying with Emily?” Sami asked Angelina.

“Yes, Mommy. Emily played with me. Lots.”

“How can I thank you, Emily? I owe you big time.”

“Well, if you run into any rich doctors looking for a trophy wife, we can call it even.”

If Doctor Templeton hadn’t been married, Sami thought, she would have loved playing cupid. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

As Sami and Emily chatted about nothing in particular, each sipping a cold Corona, Angelina sat cross-legged in front of the TV watching
Sponge Bob
. Shuffling her feet across the hardwood floors, Josephine appeared through the archway.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Sami asked, launching off the sofa and dashing to her side.

“Every time I cough, it feels like the incision on my chest is going to split wide open.”

“Are you holding the pillow tight against your chest?” Emily asked.

Josephine waved her hand as if dismissing Emily’s question. “Pillow, schmillow. My body doesn’t always warn me when it wants to cough or sneeze.”

“There’s an extra pillow in the closet,” Sami said. “I’ll put it on your nightstand.”

Josephine eased her body into the recliner. “I’m a little hungry. Any leftovers in the fridge?”

Sami looked at Emily.

“There’s a little meatloaf and some mashed potatoes left over from dinner,” Emily said.

“I’d rather have something Italian.”

“Want me to order some takeout from DeMarco’s?”

Josephine’s eyes lit up. “Eggplant parm with a side of ziti. And tell them not to overcook the ziti. I hate mushy pasta.”

The Rizzo family called DeMarco’s for takeout regularly, so Sami had their number programmed in her cell phone. After she called in the takeout order, Emily volunteered to pick it up and walked out the door.

“Can I talk to you about something, Sami?” Josephine asked.

By the stern look on Josephine’s face, Sami guessed that her mom wanted to talk about something important. “Sure, Mom, what is it?”

“Since my heart attack and the surgery and all the time I’ve had to lie around and do nothing but think, I’ve been talking to God a lot.”

The announcement caught Sami off guard. Her mother hadn’t mentioned God in years, and hadn’t been to church since Sami’s father died. Her only reference to God was blaming Him for Angelo Rizzo’s untimely death.

Josephine continued. “I want to go to confession and start going to mass again on Sundays.” She pointed to Sami and then Angelina. “And I want you two to come with me.”

Sami lay wide awake, twisting her pillow in every possible direction to get comfortable, but she couldn’t fall asleep. Flooded with so many consequential issues, she couldn’t turn off her frenzied brain. Foremost in her mind—at least at this particular moment—was her mother’s request that Angelina and Sami accompany her to church.

Her mom’s announcement brought back bitter memories. There was a time when Sami attended church every Sunday without fail. And what she enjoyed most was the fellowship with other churchgoers. She felt as if she were part of something special. Something sacred. She had thought that the friendships she had built through the church community were lifelong. And she foolishly believed that her fellow Christians would stand by her side through thick and thin. But when she went through her awful divorce, a period in her life when she needed support and understanding more than ever, she learned firsthand the hypocrisy of those who proclaim to be godly people.

One woman in particular, Margaret, a woman with whom Sami had spent many holidays—Thanksgiving and Christmas in particular—went from dear friend, sister in Christ, to judge and jury. Because Sami went through a divorce, an event the Catholic Church and the Bible condemn, Margaret completely turned her back on Sami and dissolved their friendship. She had become part of Margaret’s family, almost as if she were adopted. So when Margaret figuratively tossed her to the curb, Sami lost not only Margaret’s friendship but also her relationship with Margaret’s family. Sami felt such a deep sense of loss that she swore she’d never go to church again. But now, her mother’s request forced Sami to reconsider.

Sami was still reeling from her earlier conversation with Al. She had never seen him like this. So desperate. So emotional. He had told her that Aleta’s EEG was abnormal, and if it went flat, he would have to make the decision whether or not to keep her on life support. Sami so desperately wanted to be by Al’s side, but she respected his wishes. She had considered telling him about her rendezvous with Simon, but what purpose would it serve? In time, she would.

She closed her eyes, feeling certain that it would be a long night.

“Please, please,” Redhead begged, “Don’t hurt my fiancé.” She was still bound to the chair adjacent to the bed where Beer-Man lay, but Julian noticed that she’d stopped struggling to break free. Even her voice lacked spirit. Had he broken her will?

He stood next to Beer-Man, ignoring her plea, and focused his attention on the task at hand. He quickly inventoried the surgical tools lying on the cart and untangled the ten leads attached to the heart monitor.

“Enough is enough!” Beer-Man shouted. “Now let us go!”

Julian found a fresh razor and started shaving Beer-Man’s chest.

Squirming like a worm on a fish hook, Beer-Man violently twisted his body but could not break free. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Julian pressed on Beer-Man’s shoulder, trying to hold him steady. “This will be much easier for you if you relax.”

Beer-Man’s face changed from angry to terrified. “I’m sorry, man, I really am. I didn’t mean what I said. I was a little shit-faced and thought you were hitting on my fiancée.”

“I was.”

“You rotten son of a
bitch
!”

“You haven’t figured it out yet, have you? This is not a game and I’m not trying to get even.” Julian’s voice grew louder. “Now shut the fuck up before I really give you something to scream about.”

Beer-man finally broke down, sniffling and sobbing with breathless bouts of tears.

“Mister,” Redhead called out, her voice utterly desperate. “I’ll do anything you ask. You can have me
any
way you want. Just let us go.”

Finished shaving Beer-Man’s chest, Julian set down the razor, moved toward Redhead, and knelt next to her. His mouth was inches from her ear. “Tell me,” he whispered. “When you say I can have you any way I want you, what does that mean exactly?”

“Do I have to spell it out?”

“As a matter of fact, you do.”

“If you let us go…I’ll, um, have sex with you.”

“You think that’s what I want?”

“You’re a man aren’t you? Has there ever been a man in history who’s turned down a sure thing?”

“I don’t see how your offer benefits me. I can take you right now without your consent, so why should I make a deal?”

Julian noticed that Beer-Man was leaning toward them, stretching his neck as far as the restraints would allow, obviously trying to hear what they were talking about.

Redhead didn’t answer right away. Julian guessed she would choose her words carefully.

“Even if you force me to have sex with you, there will still be limits on what you can do. Wouldn’t it be better for you if I cooperated
completely
?”

“Maybe I don’t like it that way. Maybe I
want
you to fight.”

“However you want me, I’m yours.”

“How can you be sure I’ll honor my end of the bargain?”

“I can’t. But what other options do I have?”

“Let me think about it.”

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Beer-Man shouted.

Julian walked back to the bed.

“Your fiancée is trying to make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“She wants to trade her body for your freedom.”

Beer-Man fixed his stare on his fiancée, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “Don’t you
dare
fuck this asshole! I’d rather die than have him touch you!”

Beer-Man glanced at the heart monitor and the assortment of surgical tools on the cart. “Go ahead, fuck-straw. Perform your sick experiments.”

“As you wish.” Julian started connecting the heart monitor leads to Beer-Man’s chest, shoulders, wrists, and ankles. “Sick is not the appropriate word. Call it medical research.”

Beer-Man sat forward as far as the nylon straps would allow. “Are you a
doctor
?”

Julian mounted the IV bag on the rolling stand and turned on the heart monitor. “A cardiologist.”

“You’re going to do something to our hearts, aren’t you?” Redhead asked.

“Your hearts will be central to my experiments.”

“What are you going to do?” Redhead asked.

“Even if I explained it you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try.”

No need for him to get too technical. “I’m going to use certain drugs to induce a condition called atrial fibrillation, which is an arrhythmia. The drugs will cause your heart to go into a spasm. Then, I’ll perform specific surgical experiments to determine how your heart responds.”