Authors: Linda J. White
Bloody Point
Chapter 16
W
HEN Jake woke up the
next day, it took five minutes for him to remember where he was. He got out of
bed, washed his face, put some clothes on, and went downstairs. Jazz greeted
him with her tail wagging and dropped a tennis ball at his feet. He’d never
been around dogs much and he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with her.
Trudy was nowhere to be found, so Jake walked out through the
kitchen door, into the bright morning sunshine, Jazz dancing around his feet.
The steps led into a large back yard. Off to the right were an old shed and a
woodpile. To the left was a neat vegetable garden, surrounded by marigolds and
zinnias. In the back was a wooded area, and one tree, a massive oak, had fallen
onto the lawn. Its leaves were still green. It could not have been down long.
Once more Jazz dropped a ball at his feet, then stared at it,
inviting him to play. He picked it up and pitched it with his left hand. She brought
it back, and dropped it at his feet once more. He threw it again. He pitched
the ball to her over and over until she was panting hard. He could throw it
pretty far, even with his left hand, and it felt good to him to be out there in
the sun playing ball, even if it was with a dog.
“She won’t quit, at least not before you do.” Trudy appeared
from around the side of the house. Dressed in denim capris and a pinstriped,
sleeveless shirt, she was carrying a large basket in her hands. “How are you
this morning? I was just taking some vegetables to my neighbor.”
“I’m fine … good.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Jake gestured toward Jasmine. “The dog
really likes to play.”
“Oh, now that she’s discovered you know how to throw a tennis
ball, you’re her best friend.” Trudy watched as Jazz dropped the ball at Jake’s
feet. Jake picked it up and threw it. “She’s really taken to you. You must have
had a dog before.”
“No, not really.” Jake launched the ball again, sending it in
a high arc almost to the woods. “Never did have one as a kid. My dad would have
beaten it to death.”
“Oh, my,” Trudy responded. She brushed a stray hair away from
her face. “Where are you from?”
“Detroit.”
“And what did your dad do for a living?”
“He was an auto worker. And he didn’t have much use for
pets.” In fact, Jake’s dad didn’t have much use for anything that required
affection. His main hobby was pitting Jake and his brother against each other.
From early on, Jake had learned to fight. Maybe that’s all he had learned.
“That’s quite some tree,” Jake said, gesturing toward the
oak.
“Yes. It came down in a terrible storm a couple of weeks ago.
I’m so thankful it didn’t hit the house or the shed! I’m going to have to
figure out what to do with it pretty soon.” Trudy shifted the basket she was
carrying. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
“Sure.” Jake wiped his hands on his pants.
They walked inside, Jazz dashing between their legs. She
headed straight for her water bowl and began lapping loudly.
“Would you like coffee? Bacon? Eggs?” Trudy asked, but Jake
did not respond. His hand was curling and he had a metallic taste in his mouth.
As he reached for the table, his vision went dark, his knees buckled, and then
he fell, taking a chair down with him.
When he regained consciousness, he was aware of a cool cloth
on his face. He opened his eyes and looked through a tunnel to see Trudy
bending over him. He blinked, swallowed hard, and struggled to sit up.
His vision cleared. Jazz was lying next to him, her head
resting on his thigh. She raised it, watching his face.
Trudy said, “It’s okay, Jake. Take your time.”
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his temples. “I’m … I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you didn’t hurt
yourself.”
Trudy stayed with him, just talking to him gently and waiting
for him to be ready for the next step, like she had nothing else to do the rest
of the day. Her patience kept defusing his frustration.
There was a big, comfortable armchair in the corner of the
kitchen, something he’d thought odd at first, but now he was grateful for it.
When he was ready, she helped him into it, and he sat there, trying to relax,
trying not to let the anger that welled within him erupt.
After an hour, he was ready to eat. Trudy made him coffee and
bacon and fried eggs, over easy, just the way he liked them.
While he downed his breakfast Trudy asked him questions, and
he answered them, and when she asked him if he’d be willing to try the
neurologist she knew, he said yes. She told him she’d already called, and he
could see Jake on Friday, and she would be glad to take him. The office was in
Baltimore, at Johns Hopkins University Hospital.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m getting really tired of this.”
“I’m sure it’s frustrating.”
“Very,” he said. “The latest in a long series of
frustrations.”
She looked at him curiously, but didn’t ask more.
Cassie was late. She zipped in and out of traffic on Route 2
at well over the speed limit. When she’d gotten the call from Desiree, Cassie
had thought she could leave the newspaper right away. But her editor wanted to
talk to her about some story ideas, and then Brett needed her to look at some
pictures. Now she had to race to meet Desiree.
She didn’t want to keep Desiree waiting. The woman said she
had something she wanted to give Cassie. As tenuous as the relationship was,
Cassie wanted to cement the deal quickly. So she’d agreed to meet her at a
restaurant off Route 83, north of Baltimore.
The good news was, Jake was settling in with Trudy. She’d
checked with her aunt that morning. That was a relief.
As she approached her exit to get on the Baltimore Beltway,
her cell phone rang. It was Craig Campbell. “Just an update,” he said. “We’ve
tracked Jake as far as Kansas City. Someone saw him get on a Greyhound bus … at
least, we think it was Jake. We thought we had the bus driver, but we just
found out the guy we’d been talking to was a substitute. The original driver
got sick and was replaced in Kansas City. We’ve been talking to the wrong guy
for two days.”
“Oh,” Cassie said, glancing right so she could change lanes.
“His brother is in Chicago, so he may be headed there, but how
we don’t know.”
“You alerted his brother?”
“The agent in Chicago is having trouble connecting with him.”
“Oh, okay.” A guy in a black Firebird cut Cassie off. She
slammed on her brakes, moved left, and then she noticed Craig had been oddly
quiet. Quiet for too long. “Okay, Craig, thanks,” she said.
“Where is he?” Craig demanded.
“What?”
“You ought to be going ballistic right now, since we can’t
find Jake. Where is he, Cassie?”
“How would I know? Listen, Craig, I gotta go. I’m in really
bad traffic. Thanks for the update.” And Cassie clicked off the phone.
He’s
where he needs to be
, she thought,
and the Bureau doesn’t need to mess
with that. The ball is in my court this time
.
She ignored the arrow of guilt that stabbed at her gut.
Cassie pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. It was
5:10 p.m. Only ten minutes late.
Desiree was sitting at a table eating an apple dumpling and
drinking coffee. Her eyes looked puffy, like she’d been crying for the last
century, and Cassie suddenly felt sorry for her.
Cassie got a cup of coffee and a salad, and listened to
Desiree talk. The death of her lover had overwhelmed her again. Cassie was very
familiar with that pattern of grief. Just when you think you’re coping, bam! It
hits you again, like an ocean wave you regrettably turned your back on.
When Desiree had spilled her story, she reached into her
purse. Cassie thought she was going for a tissue, but instead, she pulled out a
small silver Palm Pilot. “I want you to have this. It’s Frederick’s,” Desiree
said.
Cassie’s throat tightened. She took the device. “Have you
shown this to the police?”
Desiree shook her head. “I just found it, in the couch. I
want you to have it. I don’t trust them.”
Cassie nodded. The PDA was evidence. Who knew what
information was in there? “Thanks, Desiree. I hope you start feeling better
soon.”
“Thanks. I hope so, too.”
As Cassie drove back to Annapolis, she mulled over various
scenarios. She could give the Palm Pilot to Craig. She could unlock it herself.
She knew what she
should
do, but what would she decide?
Late in the evening, Jake sat on the edge of the bed trying
to clear the fog out of his brain. The day had gone badly. Was it stress? Or
fatigue from yesterday? He didn’t know, but he’d had two more blackouts after
breakfast and then he’d developed a massive headache. Trudy had done what she
could to help, but finally he’d simply decided to go back to bed, to escape
into sleep.
He could hear soft music playing, something classical. Jake
struggled into some clothes and went downstairs.
A few candles were lit, adding a warm glow here and there.
Jazz padded out to greet him when she heard him, a ball in her mouth, tail
wagging. He rubbed her ears. The kitchen was empty and so he followed the sound
of the music to another room, a room off the kitchen he had not entered before.
Trudy sat in a big wingback chair. A lamp was on next to her
and she was reading. She looked up when Jake entered the room, put the Bible
down, and rose to greet him. “How are you? Better, I hope?”
“I think so,” Jake responded.
The room was large with a whole wall of windows on one side
and a beautiful brick fireplace at the end. A large painting of a sailboat
heeling in the wind was over the mantle. Inside the door Jake had just come
through was an old oak washstand with a marble top, which held a lamp and a
framed picture. Jake picked it up.
Shocked at what he saw, he looked at Trudy, then down at the
picture again.
Trudy walked over to him. “That,” she said softly, “is my
husband.”
Jake’s throat tightened. There was a buzzing in his ears. He
wondered for a moment if he were going to have another blackout. The man in the
picture was thin and pale, and he was lying in a hospital bed. His wrists were
bent spasmodically and there was an odd expression of surprise on his face.
“What happened to him?”
“Sit down,” she said, motioning to the wide-armed couch
opposite the windows, “and I’ll tell you. First, though, let me get you
something to eat.”
Jake declined food, but was grateful for a tall glass of
water. He sat on the couch, and Trudy sat in her chair. Jazz curled up on the
floor between them. Slowly, the story unfolded.
“My husband, Wes, was an electrical engineer,” Trudy said,
brushing a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “He was very, very smart. He worked
for the power company. We met in college and got married after graduation. For
a while, life was idyllic. He worked and I taught kindergarten. When we found
this house, we felt like we’d come home. It was just right for us! So we bought
it and immediately started to work on it.
“The only cloud on our horizon was the fact that no children
were coming along. We had no idea what was wrong and it was very frustrating.
Still, we loved each other and had a lot of work to do on the house, so we
pressed on and tried to make the best of it. Periodically, we’d talk about
adopting, and as time went on we were more and more open to it. We began to
think about a child from China or South America.
“For our tenth anniversary, we had decided to treat ourselves
to dinner at a fancy restaurant overlooking City Dock in Annapolis, where all
the boats parade up and down. Then we were going to spend the night at a bed
and breakfast on the Severn River. I had bought a new dress, a royal blue,
elegant dinner dress, and Wes was going to wear his best black suit. He looked
so handsome in that suit!
“I was dressed and sitting on our bed, putting on a bracelet.
Wes was in the bathroom, shaving. A song was playing on the radio, an old song
called “Only You.” I was sitting there thinking how lucky I was to have a
husband who loved me. Suddenly, Wes cried out, ‘Trudy! Oh, God! Trudy!’
“I heard him fall as I raced to him. He was lying on the
floor. His eyes were wide open but he was not responsive.
“I called for an ambulance. It seemed to take forever for
them to get here. They took him to the hospital in Annapolis. I went along, in
the ambulance, dinner dress and all. I must have been quite a sight, but
everyone was so concerned about Wes, nobody was looking at me.
“My brother Jim, Cassie’s father, met me at the hospital. He
was already a widower, with two little kids, so it must have been very hard for
him to drop everything and come to me, but that’s the kind of guy Jim is. He
was not going to let me go through this alone.
“The doctors told us Wes had suffered a ruptured cerebral
aneurysm. A balloon had formed in a blood vessel in his brain, and something
made it burst that night.” Trudy paused, and took a sip of tea from the cup on
the table next to her. She put her closed Bible in her lap, and held on to it.
“At first, the doctors didn’t think he would live. He was
totally paralyzed, absolutely unable to move a muscle, although there was
plenty of brain-wave activity. After two weeks, they took him off the
respirator, fully expecting him to die. He didn’t. They advised me to consider
removing the feeding tube. I wouldn’t.
“They moved him to a rehab center, then a nursing home.
Finally, four months after the accident, Jim and Wes’s dad and I sat down at
the kitchen table and talked things out. I decided to bring Wes home. I just
couldn’t see letting him vegetate in that center.
“A group of people from my church helped Jim and Wes’s dad
build this room. We designed it with lots of windows, so Wes could see outside,
and the big fireplace, so he could feel the warmth and smell the burning wood.
We hung a TV in the corner near the ceiling and built ramps and extra-wide
doors.