With that terrifying premonition also came a sense of panic, backed by utter helplessness. They had both started off as small eddies in the random whitewater currents of my emotions but grew exponentially on the way here, becoming violent undertows in their own right. Now, they were endeavoring to pull me down into the depths of a cold and darkened despair.
I felt something soft press against my palm. I looked away from the panel and over to see Felicity staring at me, a similar mask of fear and guilt evident across her features. I gave her hand a squeeze, trying to reassure her, but was gravely conscious of the fact that I failed in doing so. I was broadcasting my own emotions far more than I wanted to admit, and there was no way for me to soothe her when I couldn’t even comfort myself.
The elevator seemed like it was taking forever to deliver us to our floor. I knew we were moving because I could feel the vibration as we poked along. Just to be sure, I broke my silent gaze away from my wife and looked up. I stared at the numbers over the door, watching them flicker to life then wink back to darkness as the next would illuminate. In my mind they were advancing nowhere near quickly enough. Of course, I’m sure the futile exercise of willing them to go faster was only contributing to my ever-increasing agitation.
Finally, after the less than one-minute upward trip folded itself into feeling like ten, the car ceased moving. An electromechanical tone was followed by the sound of the outer doors rattling as they parted in sync with the inner barriers. I stepped out of the elevator as soon as the gap was wide enough to permit. Felicity, still clinging to my hand, kept up without missing a beat. We started down the starkly illuminated hallway, following the directions we had been given by the attendant at the main desk several floors below. Agent Parker, who had brought us to the hospital from FBI headquarters, fell in close behind, but she remained mute; not that such was anything different from the established norm. The simple fact was that none of us had uttered a word for several minutes now.
A good fifty yards ahead, the corridor abruptly terminated by emptying directly into a carpeted waiting area. The softer lighting of the distant room gave it the appearance of a calm oasis, neatly tucked away from the blinding glare throughout the rest of the building; however, I knew it was anything but. Especially, right now.
We instantly picked up the pace. From the moment we were out of the vehicle downstairs, we had been traveling at a fast walk, but with our destination now in sight, we automatically broke into a jog. I realized there was no logical explanation for the urgency we felt. It was all based in pure emotion. There was nothing any of us could do, and I knew that. I was certain Felicity and Agent Parker did as well. But, knowing didn’t keep us from rushing headlong toward some glimmer of hope. Whether or not it would actually be there when we arrived was another story.
Within seconds, the quick thud of our feet against the tile turned to a soft, thump, as the harder flooring gave way to the carpeted expanse of the waiting area. Entering through the wide archway, we slowed to a halt. I quickly glanced around, searching the hidden corners of the room with my eyes. Felicity and Parker were doing the same.
The lounge was devoid of anyone and anything save the furniture and dog-eared magazines resting in a haphazard pile on the center of a low coffee table. The glimmer we sought wasn’t here. All was empty and still, utterly silent except for the last flat echoes of our footsteps.
“Are we on the right floor, then?” Felicity asked, becoming the first to break our collective reticence. Her pronounced Irish brogue was an audible betrayal of the fatigue we were all feeling. Normally her accent was a mild lilt, noticeable, but not terribly prominent. However, when she was tired it would thicken as it did now. The accent highlighted her words in broad strokes with each syllable she uttered. Given the uncharacteristic Southern twang that had overcome her voice during the height of this nightmare, the familiar Celtic affectation was a welcome sound.
“The seventh floor waiting area is where they said they were,” Agent Parker responded. “They should be here.”
I had been fumbling in my coat pocket and now had my cell phone in hand. I began dialing a number as quickly as I could. “Yeah, well they should be but they aren’t,” I said, eyes never leaving my thumb as it stabbed buttons on the keypad.
“Could it be they’ve gone for coffee or something?” Felicity offered the question with a note of uncertainty in her voice.
“Maybe,” Parker replied, surety lacking in her tone as well.
Just as I was about to place the phone against my ear, a distant mechanical chime sounded from behind, prompting all three of us to turn in near unison. At the far end of the hallway, from whence we had come only moments before, a set of doors in the dual bank of elevators began to slide open with a muted rumble. As the stainless steel parted, a lumbering janitor exited, pushing in front of him a wheeled bin. Without looking up he aimed himself toward a nearby trash receptacle as if on autopilot.
The fresh expectation of hope instantly dashed, I felt myself sag right where I stood, slumping into a dejected posture that physically announced my disappointment. To be honest, at this point the only thing really keeping me upright and focused was adrenalin augmented with caffeine, but both of those were swiftly running out.
Of course, the rapid depletion of the chemicals from my bloodstream was the least of my worries. They were only keeping me awake. My emotional self-flagellation was quickly starting to get the better of me, and no amount of caffeine could fix that. I knew that if it weren’t for the immediacy of the current crisis, Felicity and I probably would have already given ourselves over to the post-traumatic breakdowns we both had looming on our personal horizons. There was no doubt they were coming-the only questions that remained were how soon and which one of us was going to have the worst time of it. Something told me neither journey was going to be a cakewalk. But, one thing I knew for certain was that the level of severity for both of us was presently hinging on Constance’s survival.
We had faced down far too much already, and this was just a sadistic extension of the horror we had now been living for better than a month. It was as if we were waking up only to find our fleeting relief shattered by a fresh terror in an endless cycle.
I felt someone nudge me, then a voice drifted into my ears.
“Aye, Rowan,” Felicity said. “Your phone then.”
I snapped out of the introspection and gave my head a tired shake, tearing my vacant stare away from the oblivious janitor. Glancing at my hand I saw the aforementioned device resting there, flipped open with my fingers wrapped around it. The small speaker on the phone was vibrating with a barely audible voice saying something I couldn’t quite make out.
I immediately placed the cell against my ear and asked, “Ben?”
“Yeah, Row,” Detective Benjamin Storm replied, the two words coming out slow and deliberate.
I could almost feel the exhaustion in my friend’s voice. It was something I had heard coming from him countless times over the years. However, what I detected now was different in a way far worse than anything I could describe. Not only did Ben sound tired, he sounded ancient, on the verge of feeble. But beyond even that, his tone held a percussive note of unimaginable emotional pain.
I feared I knew what was causing that anguish but chose to ignore the fresh twist in my gut. There was a question I knew needed asking, but because of his tone I dreaded the answer more than anything. I simply couldn’t bring myself to advance the query, so I danced around the subject as if doing so would make it magically disappear.