Page 57 of Broken: Taylor

Chapter 24

All hospitals smelled the same. Sickness had a very specific smell. It lingered in the cold air-conditioned air coating everything. The hallway to the room was long, but it was easy to see which room Felicia was in. Cops stood just outside the door refusing to leave. By the shadows under the eyes of the first one Taylor approached, they’d been there since the night before.

Three officers had been shot. One had died. Felicia lingered, one foot barely on the right side of living. Recognition flickered in the tired officer’s gaze. “They’re not letting anyone in right now. A doctor and a couple of nurses just rushed in. The machines were all bleeping.”

Taylor moved around him and peered through the glass into what looked to be controlled chaos. A man in a long white coat stood over the bed. With one hand he pressed a stethoscope against Felicia’s chest and everyone looked to a monitor. The doctor barked out an order and made sweeping motions to a nurse. Still talking and directing, he then reached for a long syringe that the nurse held out.

It was obvious to Taylor they were attempting to restart Felicia’s heart. His hands curled into fists as adrenaline rushed over him. He wanted to rush in and scream into her ear, tell her to fight. She’d beaten the odds before. There was no reason this time it had to be different.

He both struggled to breathe and then held his breath unable to take his eyes from the doctor’s face. The doctor’s expression was schooled, unreadable as the man stared at the monitor and once again pressed his stethoscope to Felicia’s chest.

The man’s brow crinkled and he said something to the nurses. One of them looked toward the glass meeting Taylor’s gaze. The older woman was obviously experienced because he couldn’t read anything in her expression either.

Once again the doctor said something and all three seemed to relax. Their shoulders fell, it was then Taylor knew.

Placing his stethoscope around his neck, the doctor walked toward the door. Before he reached it a man pushed Taylor aside and walked into the room.

“You get back there and keep trying.” The hoarseness in the man’s tone made Taylor take notice. It was then he recognized him as John Morris, Captain at the Billings Police Department.

“Don’t give up doc,” Morris pointed toward the bed. “She’s one of my best.”

The doctor was a tall man, youthful and attractive. The only indication he was older where the strands of silver through his dark brown hair.

“I’m sorry Captain Morris. She’s gone.” He stood his ground, not backing up when Morris walked up almost touching him. “We did what we could. Her internal organs, the major ones were all shot.”

From what Taylor had heard, drug dealers with semi-automatic rifles had opened fired when Felicia and her partner had responded to a domestic abuse situation unaware it was a meth house.

By the time back up arrived, Felicia and her partner had both been fatally injured.

“No,” Taylor walked past the men to where Felicia lay surrounded by now silent equipment, lines still attached to her.

Her face was perfect, no bruising or any kind of injury that he could see above the shoulders. It was as if she was sleeping.

There was a scream and Felicia’s mother raced to the door, her face transformed with emotion as her husband tried to hold her back. The doctor went to them and began explaining what he’d already said to the Captain.

Taylor stumbled backward to give her family room to stand next to where the ashen face Morris stood transfixed, his gaze locked to the bed.

A low hum sounded, at first Taylor looked around the room to locate where it originated. It grew louder. It was then he realized it came from his head. Lights swam before his eyes and he took a deep breath.

It was not like before when he’d been in and out of consciousness not knowing if he’d walk again. His career had ended in that same hospital, but he’d survived.

Felicia had made it too. That time. Why not now? He must have made a sound because one of the nurses came over to him and touched his shoulder. “I think you need to sit down.”

Afraid he’d pass out, Taylor allowed the woman to guide him to a chair. Nothing like being a pansy-ass at a time like this. But he’d rather be a sitting idiot than one passed out on the floor.

“Hamilton, right?” Felicia’s father stood beside the bed, his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“Yes sir,” Taylor willed himself to stand and unsteadily made it to where the man stood and held out his hand. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“Thank you.” The man’s gaze moved to Taylor’s left side. “She told me you were having surgery again.” The man struggled to swallow. “Felicia cared a great deal for you. She said you were her best friend.”

Taylor squeezed his eyes shut and looked to the floor fighting back against the tidal wave of pain. They’d been partners, at one time lovers, but through it all, she was right. They’d been close friends.

A heavy palm weighed on his right shoulder as whoever approached from behind offered support. Taylor could not move. He willed time backward, to the last time he’d seen Felicia. She’d walked into Eric’s house the night of the cookout to annoy him, talking loudly and commenting about the football game.

Although Felicia was young, mid-thirties, she’d seen more than her share of things. She had been an experienced cop who would have gotten far in the force.

Now her time had come and Taylor refused to believe it. He stared at the woman on the bed.

Wake up. Stop it already Felicia. It’s not your time. Wake the fuck up.

When she didn’t move, not listening to him as usual, Taylor turned on his heel and walked out. He kept moving until ending up outside the hospital. The area, which looked to be a break area thankfully, was deserted. Taylor could not breathe, his throat to thick to allow him air to pass. A sound akin to a sob erupted and he fell more than sat onto a hard bench.

Not able to keep from it, he rested his elbows on his knees, covered his face and cried.