Vanish (7 page)

more than a glance. Once, she’d been like these interns, young and cocky in her white coat.

Before she’d learned the lessons of defeat.

The elevator opened and she followed the interns into the medical unit. They breezed right past

the nurses’ station, untouchable in their white coats. It was Maura, in her civilian clothes,

whom the ward clerk immediately stopped with a frown, a brisk question: “Excuse me, are you

looking for someone?”

“I’m here to visit a patient,” said Maura. “She was admitted last night, through the ER. I

understand she was transferred out of ICU this morning.”

“The patient’s name?”

Maura hesitated. “I believe she’s still registered as Jane Doe. Dr. Cutler told me she’s in room

four-thirty-one.”

The ward clerk’s gaze narrowed. “I’m sorry. We’ve had calls from reporters all day. We can’t

answer any more questions about that patient.”

“I’m not a reporter. I’m Dr. Isles, from the medical examiner’s office. I told Dr. Cutler I’d be

coming by to check on the patient.”

“May I see some identification?”

Maura dug into her purse and placed her ID on the countertop. This is what I get for showing

up without my lab coat, she thought. She could see the interns cruising down the hall,

unimpeded, like a flock of strutting white geese.

“You could call Dr. Cutler,” Maura suggested. “He knows who I am.”

“Well, I
suppose
it’s okay,” said the ward clerk, handing back the ID. “There’s been so much

fuss over this patient, they had to send over a security guard.” As Maura headed up the hall, the

clerk called out: “He’ll probably want to see your ID as well!”

Prepared to endure another round of questions, she kept her ID in hand as she walked to room

431, but she found no guard standing outside the closed door. Just as she was about to knock,

she heard a thud inside the room, and the clang of falling metal.

At once, she pushed into the room and found a confusing tableau. A doctor stood at the

bedside, reaching up toward the IV bottle. Opposite him, a security guard was leaning over the

patient, trying to restrain her wrists. A bedside stand had just toppled, and the floor was slick

with spilled water.

“Do you need help?” called Maura.

The doctor glanced over his shoulder at her, and she caught a glimpse of blue eyes, blond hair

cut short as a brush. “No, we’re fine. We’ve got her,” he said.

“Let me tie that restraint,” she offered, and moved to the guard’s side of the bed. Just as she

reached for the loose wrist strap, she saw the woman’s hand snap free. Heard the guard give a

grunt of alarm.

The explosion made Maura flinch. Warmth splashed her face, and the guard suddenly

staggered sideways, against her. She stumbled under his weight, landing on her back beneath

him. Cold water soaked into her blouse from the wet floor, and from above seeped the liquid

heat of blood. She tried to shove aside the body now weighing down on her, but he was heavy,

so heavy he was crushing the breath from her lungs.

His body began to shake, seized by agonal twitches. Fresh heat splashed her face, her mouth,

and she gagged at the taste.
I’m drowning in it.
With a cry, she pushed against him, and the

body, slippery with blood, slid off her.

She scrambled to her feet, and focused on the woman, who was now free of all her restraints.

Only then did she see what the woman was gripping in both hands.

A gun. She has the guard’s gun.

The doctor had vanished. Maura was alone with Jane Doe, and as they stared at each other,

every detail of the woman’s face stood out with terrible clarity. The tangled black hair, the wildeyed gaze. The inexorable tightening of the tendons in her arm as she slowly squeezed the grip.

Dear god, she’s going to pull the trigger.

“Please,” whispered Maura. “I only want to help you.”

The sound of running footsteps made the woman’s attention jerk sideways. The door flew

open and a nurse stared, openmouthed, at the carnage in the room.

Suddenly Jane Doe sprang out of the bed. It happened so fast that Maura had no time to react.

She snapped rigid as the woman grabbed her arm, as the gun barrel bit into her neck. Heart

slamming against her ribs, Maura let herself be shoved to the door, cold steel pressed against

her flesh. The nurse backed away, too terrified to say a word. Maura was forced out of the

room, into the hallway. Where was security? Was anyone calling for help? They kept moving,

toward the nurses’ station, the woman’s sweating body pressed close, her panicked breaths

roaring in Maura’s ear.

“Watch out! Get out of the way, she’s got a gun!” Maura heard, and she glimpsed the group of

interns she’d seen only moments earlier. Not so cocky now in their white coats, they were

backing off, wide-eyed. So many witnesses; so many useless people.

Someone help me, goddammit!

Jane Doe and her hostage now moved into full view of the nurses’ station, and the stunned

women behind the counter watched their progress, silent as a group of wax figurines. The

phone rang, unanswered.

The elevator was straight ahead.

The woman punched the down button. The door slid open, and the woman gave Maura a shove

into the elevator, stepped in behind her, and pressed ONE.

Four floors.
Will I still be alive when that door opens again?

The woman backed away to the opposite wall. Maura stared back, unflinching.
Force her to

see who I am. Make her look me in the eye when she pulls the trigger.
The elevator was chilly,

and Jane Doe was naked under the flimsy hospital gown, but sweat glistened on her face, and

her hands trembled around the grip.

“Why are you doing this?” Maura asked. “I never hurt you! Last night, I tried to help you. I’m

the one who
saved
you.”

The woman said nothing. Uttered not a word, not a sound. All Maura heard was her breaths,

harsh and rapid with fear.

The elevator bell rang, and the woman’s gaze shot to the door. Frantically Maura tried to

remember the layout of the hospital lobby. She recalled an information kiosk near the front

door, staffed by a silver-haired volunteer. A gift shop. A bank of telephones.

The door opened. The woman grabbed Maura’s arm and shoved her out of the elevator first.

Once again, the gun was at Maura’s jugular. Her throat was dry as ash as she emerged into the

lobby. She glanced left, then right, but saw no people, no witnesses. Then she spotted the lone

security guard, cowering behind the information kiosk. One look at his white hair, and Maura’s

heart sank. This was no rescuer; he was just a scared old guy in a uniform. A guy who was

just as likely to shoot the hostage.

Outside, a siren howled, like an approaching banshee.

Maura’s head was snapped back as the woman grabbed her hair, yanking her so close she

could feel hot breath against the back of her neck, could smell the woman’s sharp scent of fear.

They moved toward the lobby exit, and Maura caught a panicked glimpse of the elderly guard,

quaking behind the desk. Saw silver balloons bobbing in the gift shop window, and a

telephone receiver, dangling by its cord. Then she was forced out the door, straight into the heat

of afternoon.

A Boston PD cruiser screeched to a stop at the curb, and two cops scrambled out, weapons

drawn. They froze, their gazes on Maura, who now stood blocking their line of fire.

Another siren screamed closer.

The woman’s breaths were now desperate gasps as she confronted her rapidly narrowing

options. No way forward; she yanked Maura backward, dragging her once again into the

building, retreating into the lobby.

“Please,” Maura whispered as she was tugged toward the hallway. “There’s no way out! Just

put it down. Put the gun down, and we’ll meet them together, okay? We’ll walk over to them,

and they won’t hurt you . . .”

She saw the two cops edge forward step by step, matching their quarry’s pace the whole way.

Maura still blocked their line of fire, and they could do nothing but watch, helpless, as the

woman retreated up the hall pulling her hostage with her. Maura heard a gasp, and out of the

corner of her eye, she spotted shocked bystanders frozen in place.

“Back away, people!” one of the cops yelled. “Everyone get out of the way!”

This is where it ends, thought Maura. I’m cornered with a madwoman who can’t be talked into

surrender. She could hear the woman’s breathing accelerating to frantic whimpers, could feel

the fear running through the woman’s arm, like a current through high-voltage wires. She felt

herself being dragged inexorably toward a bloody conclusion, and she could almost see it

through the eyes of the cops who were now inching forward. The blast of the woman’s gun,

the gore exploding from the hostage’s head. The inevitable hail of bullets that would finally end

it. Until then, the police were stalemated. And Jane Doe, trapped in the jaws of panic, was just

as helpless and unable to change the course of events.

I’m the only one who can change things. Now is the time to do it.

Maura took a breath, released it. As the air whooshed from her lungs she let her muscles go

slack. Her legs collapsed, and she sagged to the floor.

The woman gave a grunt of surprise, struggling to support Maura. But a limp body is heavy,

and already her hostage was sliding to the ground, her human shield collapsing. Suddenly

Maura was free, rolling sideways. She wrapped her arms around her head and curled into a

ball, waiting for the blast of gunfire. But all she heard was running footsteps and shouts.

“Shit. I can’t get a clean shot!”

“Everyone, move the fuck
out
of the way!”

A hand grabbed her, shook her. “Lady? Are you okay? Are you
okay
?”

Trembling, she finally looked up into the face of the cop. She heard radios crackle, and sirens

keened like women grieving the dead.

“Come on, you need to move away.” The cop grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She

was shaking so violently she could barely stand, so he slung his arm around her waist and

guided her toward the exit. “All of you!” he yelled at the bystanders. “Get out of the building

now.
”

Maura glanced back. Jane Doe was nowhere to be seen.

“Can you walk?” the cop asked.

Unable to say a word, she merely nodded.

“Then go! We need everyone to evacuate. You don’t want to be in here.”

Not when it’s about to get bloody.

She took a few steps forward. Glanced back one last time, and saw that the cop was already

moving down the hallway. A sign pointed to the wing where Jane Doe was about to make her

last stand.

Diagnostic Imaging.

Jane Rizzoli startled awake and blinked, momentarily confused, at the ceiling. She had not

expected to doze off, but the exam table was surprisingly comfortable, and she was tired; she

had not been sleeping well for the past few nights. She looked at the clock on the wall and

realized that she’d been left alone for over half an hour. How much longer was she supposed to

wait? She let another five minutes go by, her irritation mounting.

Okay, I’ve had it. I’m going to find out what’s taking so long. And I’m not going to wait for the

wheelchair.

She climbed off the table and her bare feet slapped onto the cold floor. She took two steps, and

realized that her arm was still tethered by the IV to a plastic bag of saline. She moved the bag to

a rolling IV pole and wheeled it to the door. Looking into the hallway, she saw no one. Not a

nurse or an orderly or an X-ray tech.

Well,
this
was reassuring. They’d forgotten all about her.

She headed down the windowless hall, pushing her IV pole, the wheels shimmying as they

rolled over linoleum. She passed one open doorway, then another, and saw vacant procedure

tables, deserted rooms. Where had everyone gone? In the short time she’d been sleeping, they

had all disappeared.

Has it really been only half an hour?

She halted in that empty hallway, gripped by the sudden,
Twilight Zone
thought that while

she’d been asleep, everyone else in the world had vanished. She glanced up and down the

hallway, trying to remember the route back to the waiting area. She had not been paying

attention when the technician had wheeled her into the procedure room. Opening a door, she

saw an office. Opened another door and found a file room.

No people.

She began to pad faster through the warren of hallways, the IV pole clattering beside her. What

kind of hospital was this, anyway, leaving a poor pregnant woman all alone? She was going to

complain, damn right, she was going to complain. She could be in labor! She could be dying!

Instead, she was royally pissed off, and that was
not
the mood you wanted a pregnant woman

to be in. Not
this
pregnant woman.

At last she spotted the exit sign, and with choice words already on her lips, she yanked open

the door. At her first glimpse into the waiting room, she did not immediately understand the

situation. Mr. Bodine was still strapped to his wheelchair and parked in the corner. The

ultrasound technician and the receptionist were huddled together on one of the couches. On the

other couch, Dr. Tam sat next to the black orderly. What was this, a tea party? While she’d