Unbreakable (11 page)

Cory’s response was to slump against me heavily, his head lolling to the side. His breath had quieted to the barest whisper.

“No! Cory, wake up!”

No response. His eyes were open halfway, glazed with pain, and his mouth worked silently as he struggled weakly to draw breath.

Then I found myself in a sea of legs as S.W.A.T. and medical personnel surrounded us. They took Cory from my clutching arms and bent over him, working frantically. An officer knelt beside me and asked me questions but I hardly heard him. I just watched, horror twisting my heart, as an EMT opened Cory’s shirt and jabbed something into his chest. Blood spurted and Cory gasped, jolting upright, and then sinking back down, his breath deeper now.

“Alex…”

I shoved my way through and took his hand in my bloody ones, trying not to stare at the instrument—that looked like a pen casing—jutting from his right pectoral.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

He smiled faintly and then winced in a soundless scream as they lifted him onto to a gurney. They raised the head so that he was partially upright, while another EMT bent him forward to staunch the wound in his back. Then we were moving. I jogged alongside into the morning sunshine for the first time in four days, and then into an ambulance.

It seemed the blood would never stop flowing. Blood from behind Cory, blood leaking around the tube in his chest. They put an oxygen mask over his mouth and that became stained red as he coughed.

I clutched his hand tightly, so tightly. “Please don’t go,” I whispered. “Please stay with me. Cory, please. Stay…”

He wheezed for breath. It sounded so labored and thick with blood. His dull gaze landed on our entwined hands and his lips curved up ever so slightly, a weak version of his crooked grin.

He held on.

Weakly, struggling, in agony, he held on, drawing upon the great reservoirs of love and bravery I knew he possessed. He held on for his little girl. For his father.

And I liked to think that maybe, if only a little, he held on because I refused to let him go.

Alex

At Cedars-Sinai hospital, Cory was wheeled away into emergency surgery. I tried to read the faces of every EMT and ER nurse who handled him to gauge how bad his condition was, but every person wore the same mask of grim determination. And then he was gone.

I felt the strength go out of my knees. A police officer had been required to ride with us, to ensure I wasn’t a suspect plotting an escape under the guise of the distraught hostage, I suppose. His nametag read ‘Paulson.’ He took me by the arm and helped me to a seat in the waiting area. I sank into it gratefully and then stared at my trembling hands, my skirt, the front of my blouse and jacket. All covered in Cory’s blood, the taupe-colored material stained maroon.

“Are you are all right, miss?” Officer Paulson asked.

I nodded absently. “I need a restroom,” I said, hardly recognizing the frail timber of my own voice. “I’d like to wash my hands.”

“Of course.” Officer Paulson guided me to a small restroom around the corner. “I’ll wait here for you.”

Inside the bathroom, I kept my gaze averted from the bathroom mirror as I washed the blood from my hands. It took a long while. When I finished, I gripped the side of the sink and willed myself not to cry.

I looked up at my reflection. “Get a grip. You’re alive. You’re…”A choked sob escaped me.

My face was gaunt, as if I’d lost five pounds in the three days, and given my hectic work schedule, I hardly had five pounds to lose. My already pale skin was even paler, the small smattering of freckles across my nose stood out in sharp contrast. I never left the house without makeup—not even to yoga class—but now only the barest smudges of eyeliner remained. My hair was a tangled mess, my pale eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep.

“Jesus.”

I splashed some cold water on my face and wiped off the dark smudges with a stiff paper towel from the dispenser. I looked no better, and the tears threatened again.
Cory is fighting for his life and you’re worried about your appearance?
I took another deep, steadying breath, and started to walk out. Another woman walked in and actually let out a little cry at the sight of my bloodstained clothes.

“Excuse me.” I slipped past her, my arms crossed over my chest.

Two steps into the waiting room, I froze, staring.

Drew was there, a tall, slender figure towering over my parents. They seemed like visitors from a foreign land. Their faces morphed into shock simultaneously at the sight of me, and my father covered his mouth with his hand.

“It’s not my blood,” I blurted. I crossed the waiting area slowly at first, then flew into Ralph Gardener’s arms and sighed against him.

His voice rumbled tremulously against my ear. “Oh, Alex. My sweet girl. Are you okay?”

I wanted to break down and sob and wail out the pain and fear of the last few days but it would only frighten him. I pushed it all down, like swallowing jagged rocks. “I’m okay, Daddy.”

“Ralph, really.” My mother scolded lightly. “You’ll ruin your clothes.”

I emerged from my father’s embrace. Marilyn Gardener, who looked dressed for Sunday brunch, held me by the shoulders and kissed my cheeks. “Oh, Alexandra. Darling. What mess have you gotten yourself into this time?” She heaved a sigh, taking in my disheveled and bloody appearance with cool blue eyes that melted a little to look at me. “Well, all that matters is that you’re safe.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said dully.

I turned and there was Drew. My heart ached with a sudden pang to see his familiar face. Tall and lean and dark, he was the complete opposite of Cory, but he was my fiancé—by best friend in many ways—and I fell into his arms, hoping to feel a surge of passionate love sweep over me. Instead, I felt comfortable in Drew’s embrace, like being wrapped in a favorite blanket or putting on a favorite sweater.

“I was so worried,” Drew murmured. “I didn’t know what had happened to you. It wasn’t until two days ago that we found out you were in that bank.” He pulled away and looked at me hard with his blue eyes. Concern was etched into his narrow face and angular features. “Are you all right? Truly?”

How can I know that right now?
I wanted to cry. The ordeal’s end wasn’t two hours old. But I forced another smile, mostly for my father’s sake. “I’m not injured if that’s what you mean.”

“Good,” Mother said. “Now let’s get you home and out of those clothes. You look a fright.”

“Afraid not,” Officer Paulson cut in. “Ms. Gardener is a prime witness. We need to take a full statement—”

“Nonsense.” My mother squared her shoulders and tossed her shoulder-length silver-blond hair. “She’s not going to flee the country, for God’s sake. She needs to rest, shower, and change out of those horrid clothes.” She turned to Drew and patted his cheek. “Drew, love, be a dear and take Alexandra home…”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t allow that.” Officer Paulson looked apologetically at me. “You’ll be required to come to the station for questioning tomorrow, after you’ve rested. But right now, I need to get a preliminary witness statement. Just a few questions.” He indicated for me to sit in the waiting area.

I ignored my mother’s complaints and did as Officer Paulson directed, secretly grateful and guilty all at once. The highly intimate things Cory and I had spoken of and the few precious minutes we spent in the office alone were vivid in my mind. I imagined every bit of it was written on my face for Drew to see. But I couldn’t leave the hospital until I knew if Cory was going to be all right.

I answered Paulson’s questions—mostly regarding the monster squad—glancing frequently down the hallway for any sign of someone who might be able to tell me whether Cory had lived or died.

When Paulson asked if I knew any of the criminals prior to the robbery, my mother bristled. “Really. My daughter is a very important attorney. Alexandra doesn’t consort with those sorts of people.”

I offered Officer Paulson a wan smile. “That would a be a ‘no.’”

The questioning went on and I did my best to answer fully, but down the hallway another officer was talking to a nurse. Finally, a doctor in OR scrubs rounded the corner and joined them. Automatically I rose, and walked fast down the hallway, then jogged, then ran.

“Is he all right?” I demanded. “Is he going to be all right?”

The nurse started to gently but firmly direct me back to the waiting area back, the doctor—a tall woman with dark hair and kind but sharp blue eyes glanced briefly at my blood-splattered clothes. “Are you the young lady who rode in with Cory Bishop? Yes, must be, must be.” She smiled gently. “I’m Dr. Lownds. The surgery went well.”

“Who is this Cory person?” my mother asked, coming up behind me with my father and Drew in tow. “What surgery?”

“He was a hostage with me,” I said quickly, then turned to the doctor. “So he’s…okay? He lost so much blood…”

“Yes,” she replied. “He sustained a gunshot wound to the middle lobe of his right lung, as well as two shattered ribs. But we were able to retrieve the bullet and repair the lung tissue. He is currently on a ventilator but we don’t anticipate he’ll have to remain on it for very long. He’s a strong young man, that Mr. Bishop.”

I closed my eyes for a moment as relief washed over me. “Can I see him?”

“He’s in the ICU now and under heavy sedation. But so long as his vitals look as good as they have been, you should be able to visit him some time tomorrow.”

The nurse patted my hand. “Have you any idea how we can get in touch with his family, dear?”

“He has a wife…or no. Not a wife. Georgia…I don’t know her last name.”

The nurse smiled. “I’m sure these fine officers will track her down.” She gave Drew a polite but knowing smile and nodded toward the waiting area.

I let Drew lead me away but stopped. “He saved my life. I want everyone to know that.”

“We’ll get the whole story, ma’am,” Officer Paulson said, and took me back to the waiting area for a few more questions. I was finally released to go home with an appointment at the Westwood Police Station with the F.B.I. the next day.

“You and Drew will come to dinner Saturday night,” Mother said, kissing my cheeks again, and then she held my chin in her manicured hand. “Oh darling,” she sighed and just before she turned away, I saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. “Come, Ralph.” She began to walk toward the front doors, her heels clicking. “You know how I hate the smell of hospitals.”

My father embraced me tightly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Daddy. I’m okay.”

He kissed the top of my head, shook Drew’s hand, and followed Mother out of the waiting area leaving Drew and me alone.

“I texted Lilah,” he said as we walked to the elevators. Drew had parked in the garage. “She was worried sick, of course, but I told her you were okay, and she said she’d tell the others. She wants you to call her the second you can.”

“They took my phone,” I said, and flinched as a flashback of me putting my phone in Frankie’s white trash bag popped out at me like a jack-in-the-box.

Drew took my arm. “You okay?”

I smiled thinly. “Yes. Fine.”

The elevator took us down.

“I called Jon Lawson as soon as I knew the hostage crisis was over. He told me to tell you everyone at L&D is so glad you’re okay, and that you’re to take as much time off as you need. Just not too much.” He laughed lightly.

I looked up at him. “My trial…Munro…?”

“The news broke about the robbery before the jury reached a verdict. The defense filed a motion to have the jurors questioned, but the questioning revealed insufficient influence. Deliberations are continuing as we speak.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s a relief.”

The doors opened on the parking garage and a barrage of flashes went off. I shrieked and fell back. Drew moved in front of me as a crush of press—about fifteen men and women with TV cameras and small mics thrust in my face— began shouting questions all at once.

“You’re one of the hostages? What was it like?”

“Whose blood is that? Did they hurt you?”

“Did you know any of the robbers before the incident?”

“Is it true they wore monster masks?”

Drew put his arm around me and pushed through the throng. “No questions at this time. Ms. Gardener has yet to give her report to the F.B.I. Until then, no comment.”

The press—and questions—followed us to Drew’s silver Porsche.

“Are you her attorney?”

“You said Ms.
Garner
?”

“What’s your first name?”

“Could you spell that?”

Drew helped me inside and hurried to the driver’s side. I kept my face averted as they flashed their cameras right into the car, only backing off when Drew gunned the engine. We left the dark confines of the garage and sped out into the bright Los Angeles summer sunshine.

“That was crazy.” He shook his head, amazed but a little bit pleased too. But his face fell when he saw me trembling. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, Drew. I’ve hardly had a moment to process it all. I’m a little bit shaken up, to be honest, and talking to Officer Paulson felt like describing a crazy dream I had. It hardly makes sense yet.”

Drew reached over and patted my hand. “When you’ve had a chance to rest a bit you can tell me all about it.” He tapped the wheel with his fingers. “So. Who is Cory?”

I nearly flinched to hear one man’s name from the mouth of the other. “Another hostage.”

“Yes, of course, but what happened? He saved your life?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t want to talk about it just yet. I need a shower, a nap, and something decent to eat. Then I might feel steady enough to talk.”

“Of course.” Drew said, his smile tense. “Whatever you need.”

#

I took a long shower with water as hot as I could stand. When I emerged from the cloud of steam, I saw that Drew had removed my bloodstained clothes. He’d probably thrown them out. There was no salvaging them but even so, I felt a pang of regret. Or maybe grief—it was hard to know. My emotions were ping-ponging so fast I could hardly keep track. I scowled in anger that Drew would dispose of the clothes that bore Cory’s blood—blood he’d lost for me—and then I nearly burst into tears a moment later. I climbed into the king-size bed, still wearing the towel from my shower, and buried myself under the duvet.

“Rest,” I muttered. “You just need to rest.”

I closed my eyes and felt sleep reach up immediately to drag me down into quiet oblivion, and I was grateful for the respite from the uncharacteristic lack of control.

I’ll wake up better
, I thought.
Stronger. I will…I…

…I tossed and turned, bundling myself in the duvet. I heard breathing, raspy and fetid. My knee touched someone’s leg. Was Drew in the bed with me? I pulled back the cover and Frankie’s pocked face leered at me in an obscene grin.

“I’m ready for that blowjob, Red.”

I woke, choking on a scream, my hands clutching the duvet until my knuckles ached. My gaze roved the room, desperately trying to orient myself. It was the first time in three days I hadn’t woken up in that bank office. Drew’s large master retreat, with its tasteful décor in dark beige, blue, and grey surrounded me. Not the office. No ugly fluorescents. No Frankie.