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Wait. That was the door. Somebody banging on the door. A voice shouting, “Police! Open up!” She could hardly hear it, though. The edges of her vision were going black, and her knees were buckling. She tried to fight it. She tried to pull that arm away, to scratch at it. Anything.
Another voice. Beckett’s. Shouting, “Quinn!” Then, “Break the door down. Break it down!”
Everything went dark.
* * *
Beckett said,still standing in front of the outer doors, much too far away, “You’ve got a ram. Something to get doors open. Bring it.”
The cop said, “Sir …”
Beckett held up the phone. “Youbitch,”Samantha said, then some more, and there was a sound like a thud and a whoosh of breath, and Samantha’s voice again. “I’ll bloodykillyou.”
The older cop told his mate, “Get the ram,” and started pushing doorbells the same way Beckett had.
One of them answered. The old lady. “Hello?” she said. “Police?”
“Open the door,” the cop said. A buzz, and she did, and Beckett was up the stairs two at a time. Two flights. Three. Four. Thedingof the lift, and he hoped the cops weren’t taking that. Six floors, and he was panting, gasping, looking around for the number, running down the passage and kicking at the door.
He couldn’t hear what was happening in there. All he could think was,Stupid. Stupid.Andplease.He shouted, at the top of his lungs, “Quinn!Quinn!”
The younger cop beside him, breathing hard, saying, “Stand back.” And swinging the ram. Three times. Four. The door frame bowing. Splintering. A hole in the wood, and the door opened with such force, the cop fell inside.
Beckett barely saw him. He saw Quinn, her legs sagging, and Samantha behind her, her elbow around Quinn’s neck. He was on her in an instant. Not trying to loosen her arm. Bashing her in the face instead with everything he had.
She let go. Blood spurted from her nose, and she fell off Quinn.
Beckett grabbed Quinn. Grabbed her, and held her. Her eyes were open, staring, her lower face was a mask of blood, and Beckett couldn’t tell. He couldn’ttell.He said, “Oh, my God. Quinn.No.”
55
HOLDING YOUR HAND
When Quinn opened her eyes, she was confused. What had happened? Everything hurt. Her head hurt. Her stomach hurt. Herthroathurt. Had she been in a … car accident? Or—wait. She wasina car. It was moving.
It was also noisy. Why was it so noisy? That wasn’t her ears ringing, was it?
She tried to sit up. She couldn’t. That was because she was strapped down.
Panic, because she remembered. Samantha. Samantha had her, and she was so strong … and there was something on Quinn’s face. Her arms were strapped down, and there was something on herface.
“Quinn.” It was Beckett’s voice. He was holding her hand. She turned her head and tried to say something, but she couldn’t, because of the thing on her face.
His face was twisting. She tried to say, “I’m OK,” but she still couldn’t talk.
He squeezed her hand and said, “You’re in an ambulance. Having another ambulance ride. Your second time,” and tried to smile.
Oh. That was the noise. Sounded weird. Not like a real ambulance. She tried to hold the thought, but she couldn’t, so she just lay there and hurt.
The doors opening. The gurney landing on the ground with a jolt. Back in the heat, then out of it. Dun-colored walls. Acoustic ceiling. Rolling along a hallway, Beckett running beside her, still holding her hand. She tried to say, “Don’t worry. I’m fine,” but she still couldn’t.
Oxygen mask. It was an oxygen mask. She had to breathe through her mouth, because her nose wasn’t working. That was good, though. Oxygen. She closed her eyes again.
* * *
It felt like hours.It probably wasn’t. Beckett sat in the chair where they’d put him, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, the thoughts whirling. The fear, and the blame.
Finally, somebody put a hand on his shoulder and said his name. A nurse, it was. She said, “Want to come back and see her?”
