Critical Impact (2 page)

A
nna opened her eyes. She was on her back in a single bed, blanketed to her neck in white. She was in a shadowy, dim hospital room.

She looked down at the bed. Her right arm was encased in a white plaster cast that went from her shoulder clear down to the ends of her fingers. Her arm was also hooked into a kind of contraption that held it completely immobile and slightly away from her body. Her left hand lay next to her, but a clear tube snaked from her inner wrist to an IV bag on a stand beside her. Just in front of the IV stand there was a movable bedside table with two bouquets—some stemmed flowers in a vase plus an orange potted mum.

Her gaze went back to her right arm. She was an esthetician. She was right-handed. Before this happened, she'd been working on Whisper Lake County's mock disaster drill. As head of makeup, it was her job
to make the fake wounds on the pretend victims look realistic.

The mock disaster was going to test the readiness of Whisper Lake County's fire and police departments, EMTs, hospital and search-and-rescue team. Was it still going to happen? Had it happened?

A movement to her left caught her attention. A man was standing beside her window, silhouetted by the streetlight outside. His back was to her. Hands in his pockets, he peered out at the night, seemingly deep in thought. For one horrible moment she thought it was Peter, and she shrugged away from the form and down into her blankets.

Her slight movement must have caught his attention, because he turned to her. It was a man she didn't know—yet she somehow did. And when he smiled at her, she remembered. This was the face she had looked up at, the man who had found her, rescued her and smoothed her hair away from her face as he rode with her in the ambulance to the hospital.

His face broke out in a grin and he came toward her. He was saying something to her, but it was muzzy in her ears.

He came closer. “Hello,” he said.

She tried to say something, but her voice was hoarse and crackly. She cleared her throat. “Hi,” she said.

“Miss Barker, I'm Deputy Stu McCabe, and this is Deputy Liz Corcoran,” he said, gesturing toward a
young lady who was now getting out of the chair by the door. Anna noticed for the first time that a woman was in her room. She was tall and long-limbed.

“How are you doing?” he asked her. She squinted up at him. His face was slightly blurry around the edges. Her contact lenses were gone, so nothing was really too clear. He was tall and was wearing a brown sweater. His hair was light and, from what she could see, cut short, like a military hairstyle.

“I don't know,” she answered. That was the truth. Right now she felt numb. She had so many questions, some that she was afraid to ask. Had it been a bomb? A gas explosion? An earthquake?

There was a deep, dull pain in her right arm. Her face hurt, and so did her left wrist where the IV was attached.

He bent toward her. “When you're up to it, we'd like to ask you a few questions.”

She nodded. That's the reason he was here. He was a police officer with questions. He had picked her up, held her closely and talked kindly to her on the way to the hospital simply because it was his job. It made her feel let down in a way she couldn't define.

“Okay.” Her voice broke. “But can you first tell me what happened?”

His face darkened. “A bomb.” He said it simply.

A bomb!
Her eyes went wide. “Why? What…?”

The woman named Liz came and stood beside
Deputy McCabe and said, “We don't know. We're still trying to piece things together.”

“What time is it?” Anna suddenly asked. When had this all occurred? She looked helplessly at her right hand where she normally wore a silver watch.

“Around 9:00 p.m.,” Deputy McCabe said.

“Wow,” she said, opening her eyes wide. “I've been here the whole time?”

“They just brought you to your room. You were in surgery for quite a while. Your family is in the hall. Your mother is here.”

“My mother's here?” Anna was finding it difficult to tear her eyes away from this man.

“We met your mother, Catherine, and your aunt, Lois.”

“Good. Um…” She was desperate for facts. “So it was a bomb? Did it have something to do with the mock disaster?” Her voice echoed in her own head as she spoke, but at least her hearing was getting better. “Did it go off accidentally?”

“No,” Deputy McCabe said. “It didn't. It wasn't supposed to be a real bomb. Just smoke bombs.”

“Pretty coincidental timing, though,” Liz said.

“Was it…terrorists?” She shifted slightly in her bed, but quickly came to the conclusion that any movement, no matter how slight, caused pain.

“Again, we don't know,” he said.

Liz added, “At this point we're looking at every possibility.”

“What about the others?” she asked. “Two of my students went in ahead of me.” Her head was spinning. Hilary had been inside City Hall and Claire, too. Plus, the mayor.

Deputy McCabe paused, took a breath. “Hilary Jonas and Claire Sweeney have been positively identified. They died this morning in the blast. I'm so very sorry, Anna.”

Anna swallowed several times. Tears welled up in her eyes. How could they be dead? She had been with those girls just yesterday. “What about Mayor Seeley? He also went into the building just ahead of me.”

“They rushed him by air ambulance to Portland. We haven't heard anything yet.”

She tried to lift her left hand to wipe her eyes, but it was tethered to the IV pole. She felt helpless. Deputy McCabe took a tissue from the box beside her and gently wiped her eyes. The gentle act made her tear up even more. She fought to regain her composure.

“Who would do this?” she gasped.

“That's what we're trying to find out,” Liz said. “That's why we'd like to ask you some questions before your family comes back in.”

“Okay,” she said. “I don't know how I can be of help, but okay.”

Deputy McCabe began asking questions. As best she could, Anna told them everything she saw, or didn't see just before entering the building. They asked the same questions in many different ways,
and she answered until her voice was hoarse and she couldn't think. She hadn't paid too much attention to what had been going on around her. Her mind had been on her lesson plan. There was still so much she had needed to get done before the mock disaster. She told them this, too.

When Deputy Corcoran asked her if she had received any threats lately, Anna paused. Deputy McCabe seemed to notice this pause and looked at her expectantly. Did Peter count? Should she tell them about Peter? But Peter was her own business.

She'd never said goodbye to Peter. Was that it? Some weird and awful act of revenge? Peter had lied to her. He'd told her he was a Christian. He'd told her she was special to him. All lies. And on that last date, when he slammed her up against the brick fireplace of his mansion. She thought he intended to rape her. But even if he wasn't going to rape her, she knew she had to leave. That's all he wanted from her. That's why he lied. He didn't want her for herself. She knew she had to get away from him. She had hit him hard in the chest and loudly said, “No!” until he lost his grip on her shoulders and she shoved him away, then ran.

The following day she left California.

She had been back in Maine a month when she received his e-mail.

The next time we meet, you'll regret it. I will be back.

Did that constitute a threat?

She took a deep breath and told them about Peter. If he had done this, he deserved to get caught. She gave them Peter's contact information.

Deputy McCabe wrote it all down.

She heard voices in the hall.

“Anna! Oh, Anna!” She turned toward the door. Her mother, Catherine, was there, along with her mother's sister, Lois. “Can we see her now?” her mother asked.

“Yes,” Deputy McCabe said. “Come in.”

Anna gave them a weak, “Hi!”

Her mother rushed toward her. “You gave us quite a scare. You were in surgery so long.”

“No one would tell us a thing,” her aunt, Lois, added.

Anna didn't see the two officers leave, but the next time she looked up, they were gone.

Her mother kissed her cheek and whispered, “I'm so glad you're okay. We've all been praying so hard. I put you on the prayer line at our church, and Lois had you on the prayer line at her church.”

“Thank you.” But here is where Anna had her first inkling of a serious question. Two young women had died. Was she alive because she had more people praying for her? And did they die because no one prayed for them? Why had God protected her, but left Hilary and Claire to die?

“We were so worried about you,” Aunt Lois added. “It's been all over the news. Everywhere!”

Anna nodded.

“Are you in pain, dear?” her mother asked. “Should I call the nurse? The doctor's on her way. I know she wants to talk to you.”

“That's good.” Anna tried not to wince.

Lois said, “We'll get the nurse. I can tell by your face that you need something for the pain.”

Anna's head felt muzzy. All she wanted to do was sleep.

“We won't stay long,” her mother said, smoothing her bangs away from her face. “We'll be back in the morning. I'll bring you your Bible and some magazines and books. Is there anything else you'd like?”

“Can you bring me my glasses?” she asked. “They're in my top dresser drawer in the cottage I'm renting. I lost my contact lenses somewhere.”

“Certainly, dear,” her mother said, writing all this down on a piece of paper.

“I'm in the cottage closest to the water.”

“I know, dear.”

“You can get the key from Bette. I don't know where my purse is.”

“Bette has already phoned us,” Lois said. “She sends you a hug.”

When Anna had moved back home to Whisper Lake Crossing in such a hurry, her mother had tried to persuade her to move into the cottage that she and her sister shared. Anna declined. She wanted—needed—her own place.

For her entire life, all Anna had ever wanted to do was to fix people's hair and play with makeup. It was a fascination that sometimes furrowed her mother's brows. What kind of career was esthetics for a nice Christian girl? Yet, when it became evident that Anna would not be swayed in her career goal, her mother reluctantly decided to support her. Anna breezed through Shawnigan Community College and was hired at a local spa. When a teaching job opened up, Anna applied for it and was accepted. She enjoyed teaching, but knew that what she really wanted to do was stage makeup.

Hollywood had beckoned. Maybe if she moved to California she could get a job doing makeup for movies. She packed up and moved. She'd apply for a job once she got there. She had never done anything quite so reckless before.

But what she didn't fully understand was the hierarchy in movie land. It made no difference what you knew, it was who you knew. She worked at networking. She met Peter and he promised her things. He said he could get her a job. He did.

But then she owed him.

Six months ago she came home to Maine without saying goodbye to anyone. Her mother knew what had happened, but her mother was the only one.

Anna was currently renting a cottage in a resort called Flower Cottage, which was only a few minutes' walk along the lakefront from her mother's cottage.

“And when you get out of the hospital, whenever that may be, you'll be staying with us,” her mother added. “The new windows came today. You'll stay in the parlor. We've already been talking about that.”

Anna smiled up at her mother and her aunt—her only family. The sisters were only a year apart in age, and no one would mistake them for being anything but sisters. Yet their personalities were like the moon and the sun. Her mother was soft-spoken and introverted while Lois was opinionated, outspoken and extroverted. When Lois's husband died and Catherine invited her to come live in the cottage, Anna worried that Lois would take advantage of her mother, yet Catherine seemed to be holding her own. And for this, Anna was glad.

But what would it be like to add a third person to the mix? She closed her eyes. Maybe she wouldn't have to find out. Maybe she could go home to her little rented cottage by the lake.

But without the use of her right hand for a while, she guessed she would have no choice but to stay at her mother's.

“I hate to break up this party,” a nurse said. “But we need to get Anna ready for the night. And it's way past visiting hours. The doctor will be here in a few minutes.”

The sisters kissed her good-night and left.

“I'm Sara,” the nurse said when her visitors left. “I'm your night nurse. If there's anything you need,
please call me. I'll clip the button right here beside your left hand. Is that okay?”

“Thank you.”

The doctor was an orthopedic surgeon named Dr. Neale, who told her that she was indeed lucky that her right hand hadn't been entirely crushed. It had been touch and go for a while, the doctor explained.

Anna nodded.

The doctor went on. It didn't look as if crucial nerves had been damaged, and they were doing every thing they could to save her hand. The cast and splints had been configured to provide the least mobility now at this critical stage.

Save her hand?
Anna blinked. She was told that her wrist and hand would require further surgeries, plus lots of physiotherapy. The doctor concluded by saying that her muffled hearing as a result of the blast should be temporary. Anna nodded, took the proffered pain pills and drifted off to sleep.

Anna woke up. It was dark. A doctor in green scrubs, a surgical mask and a bonnet was standing at the foot of her bed and holding a pillow. Anna squinted. Were they taking her for more surgery? She would be glad when her mother brought her glasses tomorrow. What did this doctor want? More blood? A check of her vitals? To change the IV?