Authors: Sharon Woods Hopkins
Killerwatt (24 page)
Once more, Rhetta found herself staring out of the
window in Randolph’s room. Slices of amber light danced across the eastern
horizon, signaling the impending arrival of a yellow-orange summer sun.
After the security guards had removed Kenneth,
Rhetta filled Randolph in on everything that had happened. The lateness of the
hour prevailed, and he eventually dozed off. Rhetta stayed, sitting by his bed
and holding his hand. When daybreak approached, she stood, stretched out aching
muscles, and limped to the window to savor the morning sunrise. And the peace
that accompanied it.
The world below appeared normal. Cars and trucks
wound their way in and out of the parking lot. Everywhere she gazed, lights twinkled
on as area power was increasingly restored. Things might have looked
drastically different had she and Woody not stopped the final attack on the
substation. Undoubtedly, the chaos she’d experienced earlier would have been a
mere sample of what turmoil could have ensued.
Following the struggle with Kenneth, her left wrist
began swelling and the throbbing pain had intensified. Rhetta had asked Dr.
Marinthe to look at it. Kenneth had used that arm to launch her across the
room, and she feared a broken wrist as the result.
Marinthe came to Randolph’s room and examined her
arm. He called the night admissions clerk, insisting she come to the room, so
that Rhetta could complete the necessary paperwork allowing him to order an X-ray.
A half hour after the clerk left, Rhetta was out of Radiology Room 3 with her X-ray
completed.
“It isn’t broken,” Marinthe announced as he came
through the door from Radiology into the small waiting room where Rhetta sat.
“Soft tissue swelling, however, doesn’t show up on the X-ray. I shall refer you
to an orthopedic physician who can help. I believe your ligaments and tendons
are badly sprained.” Gently, Marinthe lifted her arm and examined it again.
“Let’s get you in a sling for now to ease the
throbbing. You will need to keep your wrist elevated.” Marinthe led the way
through the physician’s entry to the Emergency room. “Stay here a moment,” he
said, holding up his hand. Rhetta obeyed. Marinthe disappeared behind a
curtained partition.
A strong sense of déjà vu washed over Rhetta as she
glanced around. How long ago was it that she’d rushed here to see Randolph
after hearing news of his accident? Two days? Three? A glance at her watch told
her it was four thirty-five. She shook her head.
In the morning
? Panic
welled. She honestly couldn’t remember what day it was. Was it still Saturday?
No,
wait, it’s Sunday.
Isn’t it?
She couldn’t remember.
Marinthe returned carrying a sling kit. He motioned
for her to follow him. He led her to the elevator.
“What day is it?” Rhetta asked as they rode upward.
She pressed against the elevator wall, her head spinning from fatigue.
“It’s Sunday morning,” Marinthe answered.
She nodded.
Good, I thought it was Sunday.
She wasn’t completely crazy, just exhausted.
The soft
ding
of the elevator signaled they
had arrived at Randolph’s floor.
Marinthe stopped Rhetta outside Randolph’s door
where he carefully fastened the sling on Rhetta’s arm. “You should go home now
and get some rest,” he said, putting the finishing touches on the knot he tied
on her sling.
“I’ll call my friend to come and get me, but I don’t
want to go home just yet. I want to stay here and make sure Randolph is really
all right.”
“I will be here until eight. Page me if you need
me,” said Marinthe, and turned to leave.
Rhetta reached out and touched Marinthe’s arm. “What
will happen to Kenneth?”
“I do not know, Mrs. McCarter.” Marinthe turned to
face her. “I’m sure however, that it will take a full investigation to
determine what he did to your husband.”
“Why did he do it?” Rhetta asked. A tear escaped and
trickled down her cheek. She found herself deeply saddened by Kenneth’s
betrayal. Her mind wrestled to comprehend why Kenneth would harm her husband.
She needed an answer.
Marinthe merely shook his head, shrugged, and limped
away.
*
* *
Rhetta
pulled the room phone as far away from her sleeping husband as the cord would
allow. “Are you up?” Rhetta asked when Ricky Lane answered on the tenth ring.
“I guess I am now. What time is it?” When Rhetta
announced it was six in the morning, Ricky said, “Dear God, Rhetta, it’s the
middle of the night.” Stifling a yawn Ricky added, “What’s up?”
“I need a ride home from St. Mark’s Hospital. Can
you come and get me?”
“Of course. Give me twenty minutes. What happened?”
Of everything that had occurred, Rhetta especially
dreaded telling her friend about losing Cami. Rhetta sighed. “I’ll fill you in
on the way home. I’ll be at the visitors’ entrance.”
When she hung up the hospital phone, Randolph woke
up. He held his arms out to her and she went to him. He held her close, rubbing
her neck and back, picking small pieces of twigs and debris from her hair.
“Babe, I’m fine. Go home and get some sleep.” He
kissed her cheek.
“I was hoping to check on Woody and Billy Dan before
I left.”
“You better go and clean up or you’ll scare them to
death.”
Randolph was right. After glimpsing herself in the
bathroom mirror, she understood why everyone had been staring at her. Covered
in dried mud, twigs, and blood, she resembled a zombie, recently arisen from
the grave.
He cupped her face with both of his hands and
grinned. “You’re my forever hero, Rhetta. But you need a shower.”
A smile worked its way across her lips. Then she
grinned.
*
* *
Thirty
minutes later, Rhetta slid into the passenger seat of Ricky’s 1978 Trans Am. As
soon as she was buckled in, Ricky gave Rhetta a once over. “I love your outfit.
Nice shoes.” The Trans Am sped away, all four hundred horses responding
powerfully as Ricky shifted easily through its gears. She’d juiced her ride
with an LS1 engine like the one she installed in Cami.
“I debated putting the T-tops in before coming to
get you.” Ricky eyed her friend as they headed up the ramp to I-55. “Glad to
know our open air ride won’t mess up your hair. What in the devil’s recipe
happened to you, girlfriend? Have you been through World War III when I wasn’t
looking?”
Pretty close to the truth!
Ricky was a night owl who usually turned wrenches in
her garage until after midnight. She yawned. “This had better be good.”
“I’ll tell you over coffee when we get to the
house,” Rhetta said, closing her eyes, and melting into the soft leather
interior.
She’d have to think of something to explain how
she’d let Cami burn up. Randolph had advised her not to tell anyone other than
the authorities that there had been an attack on the power grid, and that she
and Woody had wounded three of the four terrorists doing the attacking. And
that later the fourth terrorist had attacked her in the stairwell of the
hospital.
Why cause a panic? And would anybody, including
Ricky, believe her?
Damn, what’s that fool doing?” The Trans Am swerved
hard to the right. “Now he’s right on me again.” This time, Ricky swerved
equally hard to the left, her tires squealing in protest.
Rhetta bolted awake, her heart hammering. She
twisted around to see which car had provoked Ricky.
Bearing down on them was a familiar-looking, dark
green SUV.
“Take this exit, now,” Rhetta screamed.
Ricky careened across two lanes, and raced down the
off-ramp. The SUV didn’t make the exit and flew on past. She pulled over,
letting the Trans Am idle at the bottom of the ramp.
“What the hell was that all about?” said Ricky,
gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
“Let me have your cell phone,” Rhetta said, holding
out her hand while checking behind them for any sign of the SUV.
“Where’s your phone? In fact, where’s your purse?
And where’s Cami?” asked Ricky as she groped behind her seat and located her
cell phone on the floor.
As soon as Ricky dropped the phone into her hand,
Rhetta grabbed it and punched 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” The police
dispatcher answered after two rings.
“I need to speak to Sergeant Quentin Meade, please.
It’s an emergency,” Rhetta said.
“This is the Cape Girardeau police,” the operator
replied. “I can’t connect you to Sergeant Meade. He’s with the Missouri Highway
Patrol.”
Disconnecting without taking time to explain, Rhetta
stretched out her leg and dug into her jeans pocket, producing the card that
Meade had given her when they got ready to leave Benton on the way to the
hospital.
He’d told her to call him if she needed him. She
needed him.
“It’s a really long story,” Rhetta said to Ricky.
She focused on dialing the number on the card.
“Please answer, please answer, please answer,”
Rhetta intoned as she listened to the rings.
“Meade,” said a familiar voice.
The phone chirped in her ear. The 9-1-1 operator was
calling back. Rhetta pressed IGNORE.
“Sergeant Meade, it’s Rhetta McCarter. The terrorist
in the green SUV is on I-55 northbound out of Cape. He just tried to run us off
the road.”
Ricky’s hand flew to her mouth. “Terrorist? What
have you gotten yourself into?”
Rhetta held up an index finger to Ricky in a signal
meaning
just a minute.
After describing her exact location to Meade, Rhetta
disconnected and handed the phone back to Ricky. “It’s a long story, and it’s a
short ride to my house. Let’s go. I’ll fill you in.”
*
* *
The
same man who had tried to kill Rhetta earlier had nearly run Ricky off the
road. Rhetta ignored Randolph’s advice not to tell anyone what had happened.
Ricky deserved an explanation.
“Does the creep in the SUV have anything to do with
your fashion statement, your sling, the highway patrol, and terrorists?” Ricky
downshifted, and slowed for Rhetta’s driveway.
Mrs. Koblyk popped out from behind a hedge as the
black Trans Am eased into the lane. Rhetta waved at her as they sped by, before
continuing. “Yes, along with Randolph’s accident, Billy Dan Kercheval getting
shot, and the power failures.” Believing they’d be safer if Ricky’s car was out
of view, Rhetta added, “We’d better pull into the garage.”
Hopping out once the Trans Am rumbled to a stop in
front of the garage doors, Rhetta dashed through the walk door and hit the
automatic door opener for the side Cami usually occupied. Rhetta’s heart turned
over. She’d loved that car. Her silver Trailblazer occupied the other space.
Rhetta motioned for Ricky to pull inside, then closed
the garage door.
“Where’s Cami?” Ricky asked, glancing around as she
climbed out.
“Yeah, well, that’s part of what I have to tell
you.”
Rhetta unlocked her house door with a key she
retrieved from a hook near the freezer in the garage, and the two women trooped
into the kitchen.
“I’ll make coffee. You go shower,” Ricky called over
her shoulder and began opening up the kitchen cabinet doors. “And hurry up! I’m
making a double pot. I have a feeling this story’s going to be a doozy.”
“Coffee is in the refrigerator, and the coffee-maker
guts are probably still in the dishwasher,” Rhetta shouted, as she limped for
the master bedroom.
*
* *
After
letting water cascade over her for twenty minutes until she depleted the hot
water, Rhetta finally stepped out of the shower. After toweling off, she
dressed quickly in a pair of Capris and a sleeveless blouse. She left her short
hair to air dry, and padded back to the kitchen.
“Cami’s really gone? Burned up?” Ricky’s face turned
to a mask of disbelief.
Rhetta knew that losing Cami would hit Ricky hard.
Ricky had been the one to locate the original Camaro that she had transformed
into Cami. Additionally, she’d done all the mechanics along with supervising as
Rhetta and Randolph restored the interior.
“Randolph is going to be fine. I haven’t checked yet
on Billy Dan Kercheval or Woody, but not to worry, I was told they’re okay
too.”
“Oh, Rhetta, I didn’t mean that I wasn’t worried
about them. Of course I am.” Ricky ran to her friend and hugged her. “And you?
What about you? Are you okay?”
*
* *
It
took over an hour and two pots of coffee for Rhetta to tell Ricky everything
that had happened, starting with the bizarre phone message and Al-Serafi’s
death, up to the shootout with the terrorists at the Scott County substation,
and the attack in the hospital.
Everything, that is, except the part where she
nearly ran down her own father. She wasn’t proud of that. Maybe she should find
her father, talk to him.
Did Mama really tell him never to come back? Was he
dying now? Will I ever know the whole truth?
She suddenly felt sick and put down her coffee. Her
mother’s locket. It had burned in her purse, along with everything else inside
the car.
“I guess I’m not enough of a country girl, or I
would’ve known not to park Cami where her exhaust would be close to the hay
bales. That was dumb.” Rhetta left the kitchen table and carried their empty
cups to the sink. She rinsed the cups out. “I’ll be okay. I’m just tired. Not
even six cups of coffee will keep me from sleeping.”
Ricky hugged Rhetta again. “When all this settles
down we’ll need to find a replacement for Cami,” Ricky said, a smile sneaking
across her lips. “I may know just the car.”
At that moment, the thought of restoring another
Camaro didn’t bring Rhetta any joy. She was heartbroken over losing her
beautiful car and her mother’s locket. She forced a smile for Ricky anyway.
Ricky continued, rubbing her hands together in
gleeful anticipation. “I know of a 1981 Z28 that’s been in a barn in
Gordonville for twenty-five years.”
Rhetta had to smile. She agreed with Ricky who
claimed old muscle cars were the balm to heal the world’s pain, and with Bob
Seeger, who said rock’ n’ roll music soothes the soul. Her soul badly needed
soothing. As did her wrist, shoulder, and both feet.