Number Seventy-Five (2 page)

I had been thankful that Samuel was out of town and wouldn’t be one of the eyes watching me while on a date. Not only would I have been embarrassed for my childhood friend to know I was meeting someone that I met online, but it would have been awkward with him there since he still had feelings for me. What started out as puppy love for his older sister’s closest companion segued over to something much deeper as Samuel became an adult. When he would bring a person in to the ER for a breathalyzer or to follow up on an accident, he followed me around like a shadow.

The seventeen years I had worked at the emergency room at Bainsville Mercy General garnered lasting friendships with local law enforcement. A few, including Samuel, got too friendly after my divorce, but once put in their place after some choice words were plucked out of my southern girl repertoire, they backed off. It was my love for the idle banter and deep camaraderie that kept me from resigning my position and moving to another venue. Working alongside my ex, the renowned Dr. Scott Russell, was like having a tooth constantly extracted. The pain was damned near unbearable, but my friends helped me through it.

Both nurses and cops worked the same grueling shifts and witnessed up front and personal the dark deeds that humans inflicted upon each other. Oftentimes, the disturbed laughter and pranks pulled seemed to be the only release valve that could be found to keep from going stark-raving mad. Each group was exposed to senseless violence every day. The bonds were for life, and I felt an invisible safety net around me, so I let my thoughts leave the preparation stage and float over to the meeting.

The anticipation of seeing if the constant communication the last six weeks with Jacob online might lead somewhere hit me next. At the same time, I feared that it could be worth pursuing and that it might not. My palms poured gallons of sweat as I gripped the wheel with ferocious intensity.

What if all of our conversations were a drummed up farce? What if I walked in and didn’t recognize him? What if he took one look at me and ran out the door? Oh God, why did I ever let Shawna talk me into joining a freaking dating site?

I parked at the front entrance and willed my hands to stop shaking, wiping the dampness away on my jeans. All these crazy thoughts, self-doubt, and worry I had already played over a hundred times in my head before I ever agreed to our meeting. The pros and cons were weighed, and in the end, sheer curiosity won out. Determined to not let my normally jaded behavior win, I checked my reflection one last time in the rearview mirror and reached for my purse. The .22 was bulky and made an obvious bulge, so I decided not to scare the pants off my poor date and slid it inside my boot before stepping out into the night.

Hot, damp air greeted me as I exited, and I groaned in protest. I prayed my hair would stay in place and not become an enormous frizz ball before I made it through the front doors. I took a deep breath, grasped the door handle, and stepped inside.

Relief washed over me when Jacob rose from his seat in the waiting area. The face in front of me was different from his online profile…he was even more handsome in person. Thank God! His light-blonde hair hung just below his collar in soft waves. His dark-brown eyes were deeply set and huge and framed by black eyelashes. He was tall and well built, about six foot one. It was obvious he wasn’t a natural blonde, which I found rather funny. I hadn’t met very many men over the years who colored their hair, except for a few who washed the grays away. Seeing one who was a bottle blonde was rather comical and I had to force myself not to stare.

The first hurdle was cleared. At least he wasn’t some disgusting troll, nor did he run when he realized that I looked exactly like my online photo. Guess I
was
still a looker at forty-one, at least according to Shawna.

We shared pleasant conversation over a delicious meal for the next two hours, the flirting kept at a minimal level as we eased through first date blunders. Our conversation huddled around easy topics of discussion: the weather, the Titans’ chances for the next Super Bowl, the sweet yet messy ribs in front of us. Jacob’s laugh was easy and light, his comments polite and not filled with underlying sexual innuendoes, which was a welcome change from my other interactions with men.

We each excused ourselves once during the date to retreat to the bathroom. When I took my turn, I used the time to send a quick text to Shawna and asked if she would please contact Sam and ask him to call the deputy dogs off. The place was packed with familiar faces and I felt like a fish in a bowl while Jacob and I ate. When it was Jacob’s turn to use the facilities, while I sipped the cool iced tea, I wondered if he was texting someone too since he was gone longer than I had been.

When the evening drew to a close and Jacob asked if I wanted to go walk around town, I saw a hint of sadness when my response to his question was in the negative. Like the gentlemen I had come to know online, he walked me to my car and our evening ended with an awkward yet tender brush of his heated lips against my cool ones. The bland kiss was followed by hushed promises from him in my ear to meet again. With a disinterested glance, I watched him saunter back to his truck.

The cool leather seat of my car embraced my warm body, and I settled in for the drive home, filled with a rush of emotions that battled for control. Could I,
should
I, let my life be controlled by my lonely heart? That game had already been played and I lost my ass right along with my heart. Scott and I had been high school sweethearts and married the summer after graduation. I went to nursing school first; then supported us financially while he went to med school. Unable to bear children, our lives centered around our home, our friends, and various charities. Apparently that wasn’t enough for Scott because he discovered a new hobby in our fifteenth year of marital bliss…bed hopping.

After two years of painful counseling and shattered promises to remain faithful, I had had enough. I had been devastated, my spirit crushed. It took two years after our divorce for me to stop mentally castrating every male who came within ten feet of me and another one for my verbal assaults to end. My nasty attitude was quickly given a nickname by one cop after a thorough dressing down, and it spread like wildfire in a parched forest…“Maneater Mandy.”

I didn’t want to be a bitter woman any longer. I wanted to find someone to share my life with. A man who treated me as a partner, a best friend, a confidante… to walk through life holding hands and facing all the ups and down together as a united front. I wanted someone to sit on the porch with and admire the simple beauty of a sunrise or sunset in quiet awe. What my heart ached for was a gentle lover and a friend that tears and smiles could be shown to without fear of reprieve for being overly emotional.

While driving, I came to the conclusion that I
could
release my tight grip around my heart to love again…just not with Jacob Wilson. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the exact reason, but the small poke in my gut told me he wasn’t the one. Funny how online chemistry can be so deceptive because there were no real sparks flying between the two of us. I had been like a kid at the fireworks stand—all excited about the rocket purchased in hopes of seeing a vivid explosion of colors, but deflated when it fizzled out as a dud.

I called Shawna and my mother and told them I was on my way home. Shawna seemed shocked that I called her so early, a hint of disappointment in her voice at the date being over so soon. She begged me to divulge all the gossip, but I told her I would spill it when I returned home. The stretch of road I was on was about to turn curvy, and I wanted to maintain all my focus on the highway. Irritated, she told me I’d better before she hung up without another word.

I smiled at my first wade into the choppy waters of the dating world, unscathed and no worse for the wear. Even though this “love connection” wouldn’t happen, it did give me hope that eventually it could with someone else. Lost in thought, I was brought back to reality by a loud
bang
. The steering wheel jerked in my hands and I almost lost control of the car. I eased it over to the side of the darkened blacktop and climbed out.

The examination, done in bitter distaste as I stepped out onto the empty road, proved my theory…a blown right tire. Great! Just dandy! It was a perfect end to a not-so-perfect evening. Shawna would appreciate the irony since she knew one thing I had always feared was being stuck on a dark road with a flat.

When I started back to the driver’s door to retrieve my cell to call AAA, I almost called Shawna and asked her to send out a distress signal to the cops who had been spying on me all night long. Before I could dial, headlights shimmered in the distance--a welcome salvation for a stranded motorist.

A familiar vehicle approached and stopped, and the voice I didn’t plan on hearing again anytime soon spoke as he stepped out of his truck.

“Well, hey Mandy. Fancy meeting you way out here. Looks like you need some help,” Jacob said.

That’s when I noticed the tire iron in his hand and that he wasn’t heading for my blown tire.

He was heading straight toward me.

THE
THUNDERCLAP
OF
rushing blood in my ears momentarily made me forget the jackhammering in my skull. Panic welled up inside of me, dangerously close to being expelled from my body in the form of an ear splitting scream. My blood coursed through me, but all I felt was the chill of fear. The old adage I had read in so many books and scoffed at throughout the years I unfortunately now knew was true. Fear froze the flowing crimson. Terror turned my veins into a conductor of the slushy red liquid.

The memories from earlier that had danced a disjointed waltz through my foggy head came together in one looming picture. What was created was a terrifying portrait of my deadly predicament. The realization that my body was painfully twisted in a heap atop the damp, hard ground made the scream lurk at the edges of my parched mouth. But what caused the fear to skitter up my aching spine was that I finally recognized the sounds coming from behind me.

The clanking of a shovel ripping through the earth intermingled with the light groans of labor from the digger. Someone was digging a grave, and I was overwhelmed with the terror that it was for my body.

No longer did I concern myself with how I came to be face down in reeking dirt. Built-in survival instincts overrode everything else. Driven by sheer terror and the will to survive, I felt the lights in all interior rooms in my mind flick off, and only one bulb remained. The brilliant glow pulled me inside its formidable walls.

Escape.

Live.

Freedom.

I dared not open my eyes to survey my surroundings. First, I needed to assess the pain that ripped through me with each breath. A cracked rib, perhaps two, but no punctured lung, judging by the absence of the telltale gurgles I had heard so many patients suffer over the years. I forced my training to take over and continued my assessment, starting with my head. I isolated the intense pain to my right side, which centered round my eye socket and cheekbone area. Whether produced from a direct hit or concussion impact from the hard ground did not matter.

My right arm was pinned beneath my body and when I forced a slight wiggle from my fingers, the stab of pain let me know that several were broken. My mental examination continued to my pelvis. Relief brushed over me only briefly when I noticed no pain emanated from there. Ending with my legs, the ember-hot pain in my right knee was a sure sign the kneecap was either broken or dislodged. Lastly, the dull throb from my left ankle was difficult to determine, although it felt like it rested on top of a sharp rock.

Panic clenched at my chest again when it became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to jump up and run for my freedom. I forced the bile down that bubbled inside me and strained all my senses to focus on my foreign surroundings. The heavy digging still continued from behind me. Yet other than the grunts of air from my captor, I heard nothing else. No traffic. No bugs. No sounds of civilization. Not a single blip to help me figure out my location.

The small hairs on my exposed arms and face stood erect--a clear indicator that the temperature of the air was cold. This revelation added even more confusion to my situation. It was mid-May. I wanted to believe that the goose bumps were from the shock of injuries to my body, but the frosty air I inhaled told me a different story.