“But…” The pain in her eyes was hard to watch. I liked Tad and Hank, but they were good friends of hers, and she was suffering.
“All right,” I started to say, but then stopped when there was a flurry of movement at doors to the asylum. “Something’s happening!”
We jumped out of Killian’s SUV just as all seven rescuers came hurrying out. Three of them were carrying a limp form that I recognized as Hank. The medics rushed over to meet them and—by the activity—we could tell that Hank was still alive.
As we headed toward the leader of the S&R team, it was obvious they were shaken.
“You found him? He’s alive?” Caitlin bombarded them as we closed the distance between them and us.
“We found him, and yes—he’s alive. He’s weak and incoherent but he should live, I think.” The rescuer shook his head. “Whatever’s in there is bad news. I don’t think I ever want to set foot in there again,” he said. “We’re going to run crime tape around the entire compound. We’ll rope it off before we leave.”
I wanted to go see Hank, but they were already loading him into the ambulance. I turned to Caitlin. “Let’s take the van back to the office, then we can drive from there to the hospital where we can see both Tad and Hank.”
She nodded. “I’ll call Wren and tell her what’s going down. She’s known them longer than I have, and she needs to know, even if she is a thousand miles away on vacation.”
I promised to call Killian from the hospital—by now he was highly invested in the case—and then Caitlin and I headed toward the van. I was never happier to see the back of a place as I was when we drove back to the main road.
Overhead, the storm broke and once again, snow began to flutter down again. We were settling in for a long winter, I thought, and right now the icy glow of the snow made everything seem sparkling, icy, and dangerous.
Chapter Thirteen
Back at the office, we unloaded the van, made sure everything was locked away and the alarm code was set, and then headed for the hospital in our separate cars. I stopped on the way at a drive-thru for sugar ordering brownies for both Caitlin and me..
Moonshadow Bay was jumping as I threaded my way through the busy streets. Holiday shoppers were out in droves, and it made me want to be with them. It would be so much better, more comforting, shopping for gifts than trying to stop some ravenous building from killing anybody else.
I snorted. Put like that, I sounded like a nutcase.
As I bit into the gooey peppermint-chocolate brownie, the serotonin kicked in and I began to relax. Self-medication through chocolate was a favorite tactic of mine. I parked in the espresso stand’s parking lot and finished the brownie, washing it down with my mocha. Then, wiping my hands, I aimed myself toward the hospital.
Ten minutes later, I arrived. As I stepped out of the car, it suddenly hit me how very much my life had changed in the past few days. A few nights ago, I had been torching my wedding dress. Now, I was wrestling ghosts of a different kind.
Caitlin was already at the hospital, in the waiting room. I hustled over to her side, handing her the brownie.
“I brought you food. Any news?”
“They haven’t told me anything yet. I called Hank’s girlfriend and she’ll be here soon. I also called Wren. She wanted to fly back tonight, but I told her to wait until we knew how they’re both doing.” She made space for me on the banquette.
I sat down. “Has Conjure Ink ever dealt with anything this dangerous before?”
She shrugged. “I guess we have, but we had the upper hand and—oh, I don’t know. I guess some of the hauntings we’ve dealt with were dangerous, but we’ve never encountered anything like this. I wish the whole building would just implode like the house in that movie Poltergeist.”
“Unfortunately, things aren’t as tidy in real life as they are in movies. Nothing gets wrapped up in a tidy bow and boom, happy ending. There’s always an after, in ‘happily ever after.’” I frowned. “I found that out the hard way.”
I was about to call Ari and let her know I was all right when a doctor emerged from behind double doors and headed our way.
“How are Hank and Tad?” Caitlin leapt to her feet. “Are they okay?”
“I’m Dr. Banks,” the man said. “And you are?”
“Caitlin Tireal, and this is January Jaxson. We work with Tad and Hank.” Caitlin took the lead.
“They’re in serious condition, but they should recover.” He looked around. “Do they have family members we should contact?”
“Crap, I forgot to call Tad’s mother,” Caitlin said. “I’ll call her right now.” She moved off to the side.
“I don’t know about Hank,” I said, trying to make conversation. “But I believe Caitlin contacted his girlfriend.” I tried to see what was written on the chart, but the doctor was keeping it close to his chest. “What happened to them?”
The doctor frowned. “I can’t give you that information without their permission. But they’re both awake, so if you’d like to see them for a few minutes, I can have a nurse show you back. Only five minutes, though. They’re both exhausted and I don’t want anyone tiring them out.”
By that time, Caitlin was off the phone and we followed a nurse through a labyrinth of sterile hallways painted in muted silver-grays and blues. Soothing, yes, warm—no. The sounds and scents of hospitals made me jumpy.
The night my parents had been in the car crash, I had come rushing into the hospital, desperate to hear any glimmer of good news. Ellison had begged off, claiming someone needed to stay home to tend to the magazine, so I had come alone. Both had survived for a brief window. I had driven like a bat out of hell all the way from Seattle, and thanks to my intense focus, none of the cops on the roads had noticed me speeding past.
I had walked down this very hallway, following the nurse to the ER. My parents had been in beds, side by side, and by the time I arrived, my father was on life support. My mother was reaching out, calling for him, awash in a haze of pain. The doctors hovered over her, and they motioned me back so I wouldn’t interfere. I had walked over to my father’s side, staring at the monitors, feeling numb. His heart was beating, but there was no brain activity.
Then, before I could ask anything, alarms sounded and the doctors near my mother flew into action, all talking at once.
“She’s crashing.”
“Get the crash cart!”
“Somebody get her out of here!”
The latter was aimed at me. A nurse grabbed my arm and hustled me to the door. I tried to protest but she pushed me out of the room, where another nurse quickly walked me over to a nearby bench.
“What’s going on?” I asked, begging her to find out, but another code sounded and she had to run, after cautioning me to stay where I was.
Twenty minutes later, the doctor came out and grimly introduced himself, adding the usual platitudes about how they had done everything they could, how my mother had fought for life but she was just too injured and hadn’t made it. He then asked me what I wanted to do about my father, who was brain-dead, but being kept alive through the ventilator.