The Rescuer (29 page)

gut what it takes to put it al on the line to rescue someone else.

"I know for a fact I'm a sinner: I live with me; I know how many times I blow it every day. Was dying for me the only way You could save me? Did You make that ultimate sacrifice on just the hope that we would one day be friends?

"It speaks volumes about Your character if You did, and it blows me away with its generosity. If You're wil ing to die for me, I should be able to trust You." He flexed his fingers and watched the veins move on the back of his hand. "You know trust is not something I easily give, but this feels real.

"My family and Meghan have been trying so hard to get me to see the truth. And I think I just saw a bit of it. But what now, Jesus? I don't have much to offer You in return." He thought about the last decades of his life.

"Not much at al . I'm a burned- out paramedic who's a decent carpenter." He picked up the Bible and tried to read through the rest of the page where the bookmark rested but couldn't concentrate on the words. He closed the Bible.

He didn't have much to offer at al . And the baggage of his past was stil there. A tear built in the corner of his eye. So much baggage. "Is Peg happy in heaven?"

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Meghan shifted pharmacy sacks in her satchel Friday afternoon. The number of holes in the attached punch card was her system for identifying them. She made rounds with Ashley delivering medicines and doing fol ow-up care visits, but errands like this to drop off supplies like gauze strips or diabetic blood sugar test strips was something Meghan could do on her own.

Craig Fulton was a borderline diabetic. Add to that the fact he had a drug addiction he didn't want to beat, and his health was fading fast. He'd missed his last two appointments with her dad, and the supplies were an excuse to stop by, check on him, and encourage him to make a third appointment. If she let him give up, there would never be a recovery.

She walked up his porch steps and opened the screen door. She knocked on the main door, startled when it moved under her hand. "Craig? It's Meghan. I brought you more supplies."

Blackie lunged forward in his harness, whining. She held him back and raised her voice. "Craig, are you home?"

Blackie came close to pul ing her off balance. "Okay, boy, okay. Take me to a person," she urged, opening the door wider. He tugged her inside.

The smel of oil, burnt toast, and rotting garbage came from al directions. Blackie pul ed her forward to her right. Under her

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feet she could feel places where the carpet was worn and frayed. Blackie sat and whined.

"Craig?"

Her searching hands found no furniture turned over.

Blackie pushed at her knee nearly buckling her. Her foot touched something hard that gave. She reached down and her hand hit flannel and warmth and..

.deadweight. She jerked back and her elbow col ided with the side of Blackies head. The dog yelped. Her hands searched in front of her and encountered rough denim, and she struggled to figure out how Craig had fal en. "Craig!" His body began to shake-he must be having a seizure.

She grabbed for her phone and scrambled to push the right buttons.

Stephen pushed through the narrow doorway into Craig's apartment, carrying the gray medical supply case. The weight of the case rubbed against jeans stil muddy from work rebuilding the water piping from the old wel on his farm. He'd managed an eight-minute response to get here, and from the look on Meghan's face it hadn't been fast enough. Tve got the backup kit, Bil ."

"Bring it over."

Stephen shoved a card table out of his way and stepped over Blackie to squeeze in beside Meghan's father. Stephen looked at their patient, then turned startled eyes toward Bil , who shook his head. It was hopeless. Craig's eyes were stil open, but life was gone. Bil was doing CPR, but it wasn't for the patient he was attempting to treat.

No...not this. Stephen closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and steadied himself. He reached over to rub Meghan's shoulder. "You need a hand?" She was rhythmical y squeezing the air bag.

"I've got it. I found him on the floor where he had fal en.

His

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pulse was racing; he was stil breathing. Seizures, three of them, hard."

"Okay. Slow down, honey. We're here now."

He tugged on latex gloves and studied Craig. There were signs of seizure-induced bleeding: muscles locked and blood vessels ruptured behind his eyes.

Stephen scanned the room. The drugs on the dresser and the trace on the floorboards marked the cause. He didn't need a chemical test to tel him the powder was cocaine and overly pure. He'd seen this death before-the overdose had exploded his heart. Craig was a dead man the moment he inhaled the drug, taking it straight through the back of the nasal cavity and rapidly into the brain. Even a doctor with the ful suite of drugs available couldn't have stopped it.

A terrible death. And Meghan had been here when those death rattles came.

Stephen pushed aside the footstool and stepped around to get closer to Meghan. He nodded to her father.

"Craig overdosed, honey," Bil said softly. "We can stop now." He discontinued his compressions and reached over to stil her hands on the air bag. "There's no way to bring him back."

"No. Do something! He was alive when I got here, when Blackie found him."

Stephen moved her back and nearly got his chin clipped with the top of her head when she tried to ward him off. He turned her head into his shoulder. Meghan was shaking. "He overdosed, Meg. There was nothing you could have done," he murmured, trying to comfort her.

She'd seen death before as an ER nurse. But this time- unable to see what was happening and why, with no medical equipment available, and Craig dying-those minutes alone must have felt like an eternity.

He stood, lifting her with him.

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The sheriff came in with the county paramedic.

Stephen looked over at her father. "We'l be outside."

Bil looked at his daughter, then back at him, and nodded. "I'l need to be here a while. Why don't you take her home?"

"If I've got any questions, I'l come by later," the sheriff said.

"Thanks, guys. Come on, Meg."

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She didn't want to go, but he insisted and led her out of the room. Blackie pushed against her leg and she reached a hand down, seeking his reassurance.

Stephen opened the door and her dog led the way outside.

Meghan pul ed away from him and sat on the top step.

She wrapped her arms around Blackie and buried her face in his fur. Stephen hoped she would cry, but she just clenched her hands in that warm fur. Slowly the shakes stil ed. Blackie whined and pushed at her.

"What did he take?"

"It looks like cocaine."

Stephen tugged over the smal medical kit the paramedic had left on the porch and found wet wipes.

He ripped three open and cleaned the blood from her hands. "You came to see Craig?"

"To drop off supplies," she said tiredly. "And Jonathan left Craig tickets for the benefit. Not that it was likely he would have come to the symphony but maybe to the gathering afterward. The two were friends since high school... You hope for the best of a friend. Jonathan thought he might come. I offered to drop the tickets off."

"Was he in seizures when you arrived?"

"Yes."

"He probably ingested the drugs in the hour before.

Seizures like you described mark the final moments."

He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her. "At least he didn't die alone. You were there with him."

Her tears final y came. He wiped them away as they ran down her cheeks.

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"I wish I'd been able to help him more than that."

"If he'd wanted help with his drug problem, he would have let you help months ago." Stephen got to his feet.

"Come on. I'm taking you home."

"I'd rather not go home," she whispered. "I don't want to take this with me."

"My place then. You can walk for a while."

Stephen stirred the chili and put it back in the microwave, then got out dishes from the cabinet.

Meghan might not feel like eating but it would distract her. He saw the sheriff's car turn into the drive. Meghan didn't need more hard information hitting her tonight, or questions. Stephen set down the dishes, stopped the microwave, and went outside to meet the man.

The sheriff leaned against the side of the squad car and waited for him. "Whoever sold him that packet might as wel have shot him. It was 90 percent pure, not cut down much at al . I sure hope it was only a smal batch and the dealer figures it out soon, or we're going to learn the hard way just how many in this community he's sel ing to."

"I was afraid of that."

"I wish I had more to tel you, Stephen. We're inventorying Craig's things, looking for whatever leads that indicate where he's been and who he's been dealing with. Craig's been acquiring cash to feed his habit from somewhere, and if he's turned to dealing, I figure we'l find a trail. I would have never placed him as a dealer, but then I also didn't see him as stupid enough to die from it."

"He's been getting cash from somewhere, Sheriff. Do you think he's connected to the stolen jewelry we found?"

"Maybe. The one thing Craig did a lot of was spend his weekends away from here, often driving to Chicago and Davenport.

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He could have been couriering pieces and getting cash that way." The sheriff pointed to Stephen's barn.

"Now that damage fits what I would expect of Craig."

"He fits the general size and build of the guy who gave me the shiner."

"And if you look below the overdose, it's pretty obvious he's

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been in a fight recently."

"I saw the bruises." Stephen pushed his hands into his pockets. "Does it end here if Craig was the one searching my barn and the courier for stolen pieces Neil was fencing? Both of them are now dead and we're finding the remaining jewels."

The sheriff pushed back his hat. "I'd be relieved if it was just the two of them. The barn suggests Craig knew about the jewelry, and Neil had to be the one creating those excel ent replicas. Maybe it does end here. Wel see what the investigation turns up to further connect them."

"You'l let me know what you find?"

"Sure thing. How is Meghan?"

Stephen glanced back to the house. "She doesn't like people dying."

"I've got no questions that can't wait for another day."

He opened the squad car door.

Stephen saw the sheriff off, then turned and went back to the house. He could also see Craig going through Meghan's house while she was away, lifting things he could use to pay for his habit. As tragic as this day had been, it may have just removed a few serious worries.

Stephen let the door close softly behind him and walked through the house. Meghan had shifted on the sofa and her eyes were closed, her hand resting down to curl in Blackie's coat. The dog was watching her, a vigil that hadn't changed since they arrived.

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He stood watching the two of them for a moment, then grinned.

He was jealous of a dog.

He tugged her sock to wake her. "How you doing?"

She moved her feet to let him have a seat on the couch. "Do I need to go home?"

"What?"

"I lost track of time. Do I need to go home?"

"It's only about eight."

She sighed. "Okay."

She slid the pil ow up over her face. Dwel ing on the memories was the last thing she needed, and sleep wouldn't come without images to disturb it. He wouldn't be shaking Meghan out of this silent depression easily.

"Stil chil y?"

"A little."

He added the blanket the baby goat had been playing with on top of the throw she was already using. The dust might make Meghan sneeze, but it was better than letting her end up with a chil .

"This is what you dealt with for years in Chicago-overdoses, guys splattered in car wrecks, and images like it," she observed, her voice heavy.

"Yes."

"No wonder your system said enough and forced you to take that vacation. I thought I understood what it was like to deal with trauma from working in the ER. I didn't even have a taste of it. Not the frontline weight of being first on the scene."

"You'l notice I'm now raising fish and pretending to be a farmer." Stephen reached over and clicked on the music, put the CDs on random play, then turned the volume down. "When I walked away from days like this as a paramedic, I'd go play basketbal to wear away the memories. What would you like to do?"

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Letting her rest here wasn't going to help her get over it. "Come on down to my shop. I'm working on a chest of drawers for Kate."

"Can I do something to help?"

"Want to help make the knobs for me? It's a little work with a whittling knife and a lot of work with sandpaper."

She opened her eyes and moved her head, making the effort to look toward him. "Do you have something warm I could borrow to wear?"

"I've stil got my North Dakota jacket around here somewhere. It's bigger than yours, but it'l keep you snuggly warm. I'l get it for you."

She offered her hand. "Put me to work."

Stephen tightened a piece of wood in the vice and then reached for his measunng tape and a pencil. "I like having you down here keeping me company, but if you fal asleep at that workbench, you'l fal off the stool and give us both a scare. What do you say I take you home now?"

Meghan ran her hand across the round drawer knobs she had sorted, sanded, measured, and confirmed were identical. "I like being here. How come you're not getting tired?"

"Because I like working on a piece until late into the night. It's therapy; gives me time to think. You on the other hand stop moving and the thinking stops; then you start nodding off to sleep."

She smiled at him. He was fal ing in love with that smile, and it had taken its time to final y reappear tonight. He didn't real y want to take her home, but it was getting late.

"Did you know Jesus was a carpenter?"

Stephen opened the vice and nudged the piece of wood farther down. "Jennifer mentioned it." The sadness that came just