Chapter 1
Monet looked up and across the counter of the nurse's station desk as the sound of cracking bubblegum assaulted her eardrums.
“Ma'am, where is the maternity ward?” A stout, middle-aged woman with short twisties in her head stood on the other side of the desk. She held a potted fern in one hand and several pink and purple balloons proclaiming,
It's a Girl
in her other one.
“Down the hall,” Monet pointed the way with her ink pen, “and around the corner.”
The woman shyly said, “Thank you.” She walked down the hallway per Monet's directions.
Monet continued to make notations in the folders when the telephone rang. “St. Bernard's Hospital, this is Nurse Caldwell. How may I direct your call?” she answered.
“Hi, Nay-Nay.” Nay-Nay was Marcus's pet name for his wife. “I know you're tired after pulling that double today. I wanted to know if you want me to pick you up from work?”
They lived in the community of Auburn on the southwest side of Chicago on the 3800 block of West Eighty-fifth Street. Monet and Marcus worked in the community of Englewood, one of the most economically challenged areas on the south side of Chicago. When the pair moved from Alabama to the Windy City, they were young and idealistic and decided to work in communities where they could make the biggest impact in the lives of African Americans.
Marcus worked at the Seventh District Police Station on Sixty-third Street, and the hospital was located on Sixty-fourth Street, so they worked less than five miles apart from each other.
“No, that's okay, honey; I'm good. I'm just about done here. This place has been like Union Station during Christmas travel all night,” Monet joked, as she laid the folder in the to-be-filed pile.
“Hmm, that bad? I guess you're tired then. By the time you leave the hospital, it will be close to midnight. I can swing by and pick you up; that's no problem. You don't need to drive if you're that tired. We can come back to the hospital tomorrow to get your car,” Marcus offered.
“Well, I am tired, but I can make it home,” Monet replied. A smile crossed her face as she thought about her and Marcus's tryst between the sheets earlier that morning. Monet looked down at her stomach and thought,
maybe God has blessed us, and we made a baby this morning.
“Okay, don't say I didn't offer to come get you. I'll call you later. Love you, babe. Be careful,” he said.
“I love you too, Marcus. I promise I'll be careful. You take care of yourself,” she responded before ending the call.
After she had finished adding notation to the files, Monet stood up, stretched her body, and rubbed the lower portion of her back. As she smoothed down the top of her now wrinkled green scrubs that she'd worn to work that morning, Monet prayed that she had gotten pregnant and envisioned smoothing the top over a baby bump. She sat back down in the ergonomic chair and was putting the remaining folders in the to-be-filed tray when Dr. Edwards walked over to the desk.
“I realize that it's time for you to get off work, Nurse Caldwell, but I have an emergency.” He glanced down at his still beeping pager. “Would you make sure this prescription gets filled for the patient in room 110?” Without waiting for Monet to reply, Dr. Edwards handed her a thick manila folder. “The prescription's inside the folder on top.”
“Sure, Dr. Edwards.” Monet stifled a yawn as she took the folder from him and laid it on the counter. She had just pulled a double, working the first and second shifts, and was tired. She knew that traffic would be lighter than normal at that time of the night on the Dan Ryan Expressway, and barring any accidents, she should be home in twenty minutes.
Monet asked a nurse's aide to take the prescription to the pharmacy ASAP and to wait for it to be filled. After the young man departed, she removed her black leather purse from her bottom desk drawer and walked to the locker area. Several minutes later, she had put on her hooded spring jacket, locked her locker, and was headed home.
No matter how busy her day was, or how tired she felt, Monet always stopped by the neonatal ICU to look at the babies and would say a prayer for the newborns before leaving the hospital. Since she and Marcus had been unable to have children, she considered the babies in the nursery her own.
A smile slid across her face as she watched the different shades of babies. Some of the tiny faces were screwed up and crying, while others slept peacefully. Monet's tiredness was forgotten.
She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and said softly, “Lord, thank you for helping me to complete another day of work at St. Bernard's Hospital. Thank you for keeping me in my right mind as I cared for your children. Father, I beg you to take care of the innocent babies here in this hospital today, and all over the world in every hospital right now. Help their parents to do the best they can to love and take care of your precious children. God above, if it's in your will, please bless Marcus and me with children. These blessings I ask in your Son's name. Amen.” Monet smiled at the babies and turned to walk to the elevator, which delivered her down to the first floor.
The temperature was mild for the fall season in Chicago in October. Halloween was next week, and paper ghosts, goblins, and witches adorned the pediatric ward and other areas of the hospital.
When Monet reached the hospital entrance, David, the security guard, was seated at his post at the main entrance. He asked Monet if she wanted him to walk her to her car since it was close to midnight.
“No.” Monet shook her head. “I should be all right.”
“Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Caldwell. Be careful.” He doffed his navy blue and white striped brimmed hat at her.
“I'm off work tomorrow; I'll see you on Monday,” Monet corrected David. “Have a nice weekend.”
She walked out the door and traveled half a block to the corner and turned left toward the parking lot. She was filled with a buoyancy of hopefulness. Monet had taken her temperature that morning and discovered that she was ovulating. She and Marcus had made tender love before she'd left for work that morning. Memories of the couple's coming together caused merriment to tug at the corners of her mouth.
When Monet entered the parking lot, she noticed the area was somewhat dim around her car due to the nonfunctioning overhead light. She frowned at the security camera which didn't appear to be functioning either. She hesitated, debating if she should go back to the hospital and take Dave up on his invitation to escort her to her car.
Stop being silly
, she chided herself.
You've walked in this lot millions of times
. She then decided to chance it since her car was no more than a few feet away. Her hand shook slightly as she removed her key remote from her parka pocket.
Suddenly the hairs on the back of Monet's neck stood at attention. She sensed someone behind her. But before she could react, she was pushed from behind. She fell hard, and became sprawled face down on the ground, weight pinning down her body. Monet was frozen, as a cloud of foul breath invaded the back of her head.
Terror filled her soul. “Please let me go,” she moaned. “You can have my purse.”
A sinister chuckle followed her pronouncement. Then a male voice growled, “Did I say I wanted your money? Now shut up!”
Monet felt her body being dragged into a clump of tall bushes outside the parking lot area.
Please, Lord, don't forsake me
, she prayed. She tried to grab hold of the gold cross that always hung around her neck, but her shaking fingers couldn't grasp the chain.
Her attacker flipped her over like they were gymnasts performing in a tournament, and pinned her arms behind her back. Monet groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She had no desire to see his face.
Her lips moved as she began silently reciting the Twenty-Third Psalm. T
he Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the path of righteous for His namesake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; they rod and staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
She could feel the material from her scrub pants scrapping across her skin like sandpaper, as her attacker tore the garment from her body. After he had his way with her, his fist smashed into the side of Monet's head, rendering her unconscious. Then the deranged man hit her in the face over and over again.
Chapter 2
Marcus was sitting at his desk in the police station, going over his notes for tonight's assignment. He paused and laid the pen on the desk. He hated doing what he considered a housekeeping chore . . . adding notes to a couple of his other case files. He worked in the Bureau of Investigative Services Division. He had about one hour or so before he and the squad would leave the station for a surveillance assignment.
He glanced at the clock. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, and Marcus assumed Monet was home by now. He picked up the telephone to call her, and then put it back inside the cradle. He knew his wife had to be tired. She had been putting in a lot of overtime hours since last month, due to one of the nurses retiring. The Human Resources Department of the hospital wasn't having much luck finding a replacement.
Marcus ran his hand over his head, rubbed his eyes, and resumed writing. He would rather be on the streets protecting the citizens of Chicago.
He weighed two hundred thirty pounds, and his body was all muscle, like cut marble. His tall height, along with an inch long scar on his left cheek, remnant of a burglary call gone awry, put fear in most lawbreakers when they came face-to-face with Detective Caldwell. Being a police officer for over twenty years, he'd seen the
good, bad and ugly
in people. His demeanor was one of seriousness, except when he was around Monet. Then he let his guard down. He loved God first, and then his wife more than life itself.
Bruce, one of Marcus's fellow officers strolled over to his desk and asked him, “Hey, man, did you hear there was some trouble at St. Bernard's Hospital awhile ago? The call came in about half an hour ago. One of the nurses was hurt. Isn't that where your wife works?”
Marcus's breathing became labored. He felt as though he was experiencing an anxiety attack. “Uh, yeah, that's where Monet works. But she got off over an hour ago, so I'm sure she's okay.” He tried to ignore the SOS signs that somersaulted across his mind.
Bruce held up his hands. “I was just checking to see if you'd heard the news. We have a preparation meeting in fifteen minutes. I'll see you there.”
“Yeah, I'll see you later.” Marcus was disturbed by the news Bruce had given him. He picked up the telephone and called his house. The phone rang and rang until the answering machine came on. “Nay-Nay, if you're there, pick up.” He waited for his wife to pick up. He glanced at his watch, noting that it was almost time for him to go into the meeting. He hung up and dialed his wife's cell phone number. The call was connected, and he could hear breathing on the line. “Nay-Nay, are you there?” he asked as his hands began trembling uncontrollably.
A threatening snicker greeted Marcus's ear. He held the phone away from his ear, and then put it back. “Who is this? Where is my wife?” he asked frantically, rising from the chair so abruptly it nearly toppled over.
The man on the telephone laughed aloud, and then disconnected the call.
Marcus sprinted rapidly out of the room to the area that logged incoming calls. He looked almost unbalanced as he shouted at the clerk, “Louise, did you receive a call from St. Bernard Hospital?”
Louise looked at Marcus and was so taken aback by his expression that her mouth drooped fearfully. She barely recognized him; he had a scowl on his face and held his body rigidly. “Yeah, a call came in,” she looked down and typed on her PC, “about forty-five minutes ago. Why? How come you got a bee in your bonnet?”
“What else did the hospital say, Louise? My wife works there, and I can't reach her.” Marcus made an effort not to yell at the older woman. The vein in his head throbbed uncontrollably.
Louise's heart palpitated rapidly. “Oh Lord. They said a woman was assaulted. Smitty went over to investigate the call and take a report. I'm sorry, Marc. I hope your wife is okay. Maybe she got tied up in traffic or something.” Her voice trailed off sympathetically.
“Did the hospital say anything about the woman's condition? Was she conscious when they brought her in?” Marcus asked fearfully. He felt lightheaded, like he was hyperventilating. He tried to take a couple of deep breaths.
“No, they didn't say. I'm sorry, I didn't ask.” Louise prayed silently,
Lord, please don't let the victim be Monet Caldwell. I think Marcus would go crazy
.
“Okay, Lou, I'm going over to St. Bernard's Hospital to see what's up.” Marcus rushed back to his desk, picked up his briefcase from the floor, and locked his desk.
The chief of police stood in front of Marcus's desk. “Where are you going?” Chief Walter Davis asked with a concerned look on his face.
“I don't have time to explain everything now, but I need to get over to St. Bernard's Hospital. I think the woman who was assaulted was Monet.” Marcus's deep bass voice trembled.
“What makes you think the woman is Monet?” Walter asked.
“Because I called her cell phone and a man answered. I can't stop and talk right now, sir.” Marcus snapped shut the two locks on his briefcase. The sound was abrupt, and the noise caused Marcus to flinch. He began walking rapidly, almost running toward the door. “I'll call you later and fill you in.”
“Okay, Marc, be careful. I hope things work out for the best for you and Monet,” Walter said.
“Thank you.” A grimace marred Marcus's face. He exhaled loudly, “I hope so too.”
He practically ran down the hallway, his stride was so brisk. He heard his partner, Wade, call his name and turned to look down the hallway.
Wade jogged over to him. “The chief thought I should come with you just in case the victim is Monet,” he said.
“Let's go then,” Marcus replied, and the men battled the wind as they walked to the parking lot. They got inside an older model brown Crown Victoria and sped away.
During the short drive to the hospital, Marcus's heart shied away from the possibility that Monet could be the victim at St. Bernard's. But his logical, orderly mind knew the woman in the hospital was probably Monet.
Wade was fifty years old, five years Marcus's senior. He was an inch taller than his wife, Liz, and his cinnamon colored face projected a kindly demeanor. He was medium in build and put God first in his life, followed by Liz, his children, family and friends. Wade could be depended on to be level headed in a crisis, which is why he drove himself and Marcus to the hospital. He kept glancing worriedly at his partner.
“You okay, man?” he asked.
“I don't know. I can't imagine anything happening to Monet. She's my life, man,” Marcus replied.
“I know what you mean. Shoot, I feel the same way about Liz and my kids. The kids drive me crazy sometimes, but I'd still lay down my life for them. But you know, man, if the victim is Monet, you two will get through this situation. You know the Lord doesn't put more on us than we can bear.”
Marcus shook his head from side to side sadly. “In my head, I know you're right. But why would a loving God allow this to happen to Monet? You know my baby; she wouldn't hurt a fly. She'd try to shoo one out the door or window before she'd kill it. I don't know if I can take it if Monet is hurt badly.”
“You'll be okay, Marc. Just trust in God. Plus, we don't know that Monet was hurt yet, so we could be jumping the gun.” Wade tried to calm his partner.
“Wade, I called Nay-Nay's cell phone,” Marcus looked troubled, and his voice dropped, “and a man answered. He actually laughed and hung up. If I had any hopes about Monet not being the victim, they were thwarted when I heard that voice. Man, that voice is in my head. It's like he's laughing and pleased about what he did.”
“Don't let him get to you, Marc. You know how those types are. The good thing is the cell phone has a GPS system, so maybe we can get a handle on him. Let's just hope he keeps her cell phone a little longer.” Secretly Wade agreed with Marcus's assessment of the situation, but thought he needed to encourage his friend for what lay ahead when they arrived at the hospital.
“If he hurt Monet, then I want to hurt him back,” Marcus confessed as he peered out the window. “I want him to suffer like she's suffering.”
“Naw, man, you can't do that. Vengeance is mine, said the Lord. Let God and the courts take care of this matter, and everything will work out. You'll need your strength to take care of Monet if she's hurt. As soon as we get to the hospital, I'm going to go see Smitty and tell him about Monet's cell phone; it could be a promising lead. Don't be foolish, Marc; let the people best equipped for these situations do what they have to do,” Wade said.
When they arrived at the hospital, Wade pulled the car in front of the emergency room entrance and said to Marcus, “I know you're eager to see what's going on, but before we go in, I want to say a quick prayer.”
“Go ahead, make it quick,” Marcus replied tight lipped.
Wade turned off the car and bowed his head. “Father, we come to you, asking that you take care of Monet and Marcus. If Monet is hurt, Lord, heal her body like I know you can. Give Marcus wisdom to do the right thing, and leave the legalities to the proper authorities. We know that your way isn't easy at times, but we can take comfort in knowing that you promised never to leave us. And I know that you won't. I ask this blessing in Jesus' name. Amen.”
He glanced over at Marcus, who sat in the car brushing tears away from his eyes. “Aw, come on, Marc, everything's going to be all right. We've been with each other through some tough times, and if Monet is hurt, then no doubt it's going to be one of the toughest experiences you've ever faced. But I got your back, and you know Liz is with me. We'll help both of you get through this; I promise,” Wade said sincerely.
Marcus tried to stifle a sob. “I don't know if I can take it if something has happened to Monet. You and I know what women who've been assaulted look like and the mental anguish they go through afterward. It's one thing when it happens to a stranger, but another thing when it's your wife.” He dropped his head in his hands, and his shoulders shook as he cried.
Wade just sat in the car and waited for his friend and partner to compose himself. He couldn't argue with Marcus. If Liz were in the hospital bloody and bruised, he didn't know how he would react. But he hoped that Marcus would turn his burden over to God. After all, He was the only one who could sustain them during this crisis.
A few minutes elapsed then Marcus wiped his eyes and put his stoic, police business expression back on his face. He turned to Wade and said, “I'm ready, and I hope, like you said, God will see us through this.”
The two men got out of the car and walked to the entrance of the hospital, uncertain as to what they might find inside. When they walked into the building, Smitty was waiting for them at the front security desk with a grim look on his face. Marcus knew then that Monet had been assaulted.
Smitty told Marcus the words he'd never hoped to hear, “Marc, I'm sorry. The victim is Monet. Why don't you go up to see about her while I talk to Wade about what we know and what we've done so far?”
Marcus nodded. He felt desolate and so alone. Just knowing that Monet was hurt made him feel like a vital part of his body was missing.
“Do you want me to come up with you?” Wade asked Marcus.
“No, we all know how important it is to process all the information while it's still fresh in everyone's minds. I'll go see Nay-Nay and come back and talk to you later. I take it you're the lead detective on the case, Smitty?” Marcus said.
“Yes, that's correct. I promise to do whatever I can to find out who's responsible for hurting your wife, and bring the perp to justice,” Smitty said.
Marcus nodded, thinking,
If you don't find him, you better believe that I will
. “I'll be back later,” he said to Smitty. He turned and walked to the nurse's station in the emergency room.
Lord, let her be okay, and I will make it all right myself. Take care of my wife,
he prayed.