A Faint Cold Fear gc-3 Page 3

  “Tess?” she tried again, then waited to the count of twenty.

  There was no answer.

  A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, and Sara felt a disconcerting prickling on the back of her neck. Rubbing her bare arms, she took a few more steps down the trail. After about fifteen feet, the path forked. Sara tried to decide which way to go. Both trails looked well traveled, and she could see overlays of tennis-shoe prints in the dirt. Sara was kneeling, trying to make out the flat tread of Tessa’s sandals among the ribbed and zigzagged treads, when a sound came from behind her.

  She jumped, saying, “Tess?” but it was only a raccoon who was just as startled to see Sara as she was to see him. They stared at each other for a few beats before the raccoon scampered off into the forest.

  Sara stood, clapping the dirt off her hands. She started down the trail to the right, then backtracked to the fork, drawing a simple arrow in the dirt with the heel of her shoe to indicate which direction she had taken. As soon as she made the mark, Sara felt silly, but she could laugh about the precaution later, when she was driving Tessa home.

  “Tess?” Sara said, breaking off a twig from a low-hanging branch as she walked down the trail. “Tess?” she called again, then stopped, waiting, but there was still no answer.

  Ahead Sara could see that the path took a slight turn, then forked again. She debated whether or not to get Jeffrey to help but decided against it. Part of her felt foolish for considering it, but another, deeper part of her could not quell her fear.

  Sara moved forward, calling Tessa’s name as she walked. At the next fork, she shielded her eyes with her hand again, looking both ways. The trails gradually curved away from each other, the one on the right making a sharp turn about eighty feet ahead. The forest was darker here, and Sara had to strain her eyes to see. She started to draw a mark toward the left trail, but something flashed in her mind, as if her eyes had taken their time relaying an image to her brain. Sara scanned the trail on the right, seeing an oddly shaped rock just before the sharp bend. She took a few steps forward, then ran, realizing that the rock was actually one of Tessa’s sandals.

  “Tessa!” Sara yelled, snatching the shoe from the ground, holding it to her chest as she spun around, frantically searching for her sister. Sara dropped the sandal, feeling a wave of dizziness. Her throat constricted as the dread she had been suppressing all along flowered into full-blown terror. In a clearing ahead, Tessa lay on her back, one hand to her stomach, the other out to the side. Her head was turned awkwardly, her lips slightly parted, her eyes closed.

  “No—” Sara exhaled, running toward her sister. The distance between them could not have been more than twenty feet, but it felt like miles. A million possibilities went through Sara’s mind as she raced toward Tessa, but none of them prepared her for what she found.

  “Oh, God,” Sara gasped, her knees buckling as she sank to the ground. “Oh, no . . .”

  Tessa had been stabbed at least twice in the stomach and once in the chest. Blood was everywhere, turning the dark purple of her dress into a deep, wet black. Sara looked at her sister’s face. Her scalp had been ripped open, part of it hanging into her left eye, the bright red on the underside of the flesh a stark contrast to her pale white skin.

  Sara cried, “No . . . Tess . . . no . . . !” putting her hand to Tessa’s cheek, trying to make her open her eyes. “Tessie?” she said. “Oh, God, what happened?”

  Tessa did not respond. She was slack and unresisting as Sara pressed her torn scalp into place and forced open Tessa’s eyelids, trying to see the pupils. Sara tried to check for a carotid pulse, but her hand was shaking so much all she managed to do was smear blood in a macabre finger painting on Tessa’s neck. She pressed her ear to Tessa’s chest, the wet dress sticking to her cheek as she tried to find signs of life.

  Listening, Sara looked down at the stomach, at the baby. Blood and amniotic fluid oozed from the lower incisions like a dribbling faucet. A piece of intestine pushed out through a wide tear in the purple jumper, and Sara closed her eyes to the sight, holding her breath until she heard the faint beat of Tessa’s heart and felt the almost imperceptible rise and fall of Tessa’s chest as she took breath into her lungs.

  “Tess?” Sara asked, sitting up, wiping blood from her face with the back of her arm. “Tessie, please wake up.”

  Someone stepped on a twig behind Sara, and she turned at the loud snap, her heart in her throat. Brad Stephens stood there, his mouth open in shock. They stared at each other, both speechless for several seconds.

  “Dr. Linton?” he finally asked, his voice small in the large clearing. He had the same startled expression as the raccoon back up the trail.

  Sara could do nothing more than stare at him. In her mind she was yelling at him to go get Jeffrey, to do something, but in reality the words would not come out.

  “I’ll get help,” he said, his shoes clomping on the ground as he turned and ran back up the trail.

  Sara watched Brad until he disappeared around the bend before she let herself look back at Tessa. This was not happening. They were both trapped in some horrible nightmare, and soon Sara would wake up and it would be over. This was not Tessa—not her baby sister who had insisted on tagging along like she used to when they were little. Tessa had just gone for a walk, gone to find a place to relieve her bladder. She wasn’t lying here on the ground bleeding out while Sara could think of nothing to do but hold her hand and cry.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she told her sister, reaching over to take Tessa’s other hand. She felt something sticking between their skin, and when she looked in Tessa’s right hand, there was a piece of white plastic stuck to her palm.

  “What’s this?” she asked. Tessa’s fist clenched, and she groaned.

  “Tessa?” Sara said, forgetting the plastic. “Tessa, look at me.”

  Her eyelids fluttered but did not open.

  “Tess?” Sara said. “Tess, stay with me. Look at me.”

  Slowly Tessa opened her eyes and breathed, “Sara . . .” before her eyelids started to flutter closed.

  “Tessa, don’t close your eyes!” Sara ordered, squeezing Tessa’s hand, asking, “Can you feel that? Talk to me. Can you feel me squeezing your hand?”

  Tessa nodded, her eyes opening wide as if she had just been startled out of a deep sleep.

  “Can you breathe okay?” Sara asked, aware of the shrill panic in her voice. She tried to take the edge off, knowing she was only making things worse. “Are you having trouble breathing?”

  Tessa mouthed a no, her lips trembling from the effort.

  “Tess?” Sara said. “Where’s the pain? Where does it hurt most?”

  Tessa did not answer. Hesitantly her hand moved up to her head, fingers hovering over the torn scalp. Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she asked, “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Sara told her, not sure of anything but the need to keep Tessa awake.

  Tessa’s fingers found her scalp, the skin moving underneath until Sara took her hand away. Tessa said, “What . . . ?” her voice trailing off with the word.

  There was a large rock near her head, blood and hair scraped onto the surface of the stone. “Did you hit your head when you fell?” Sara asked, thinking she must have. “Is that what you did?”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “Did someone stab you, Tess?” Sara asked. “Do you remember what happened?”

  Tessa’s face contorted with fear as her hand reached down to her stomach.

  “No,” Sara said, taking Tessa’s hand, stopping her from feeling the damage.

  More branches snapped as Jeffrey ran toward them. He dropped down to his knees opposite Sara, demanding, “What happened?”

  At the sight of him, Sara burst into tears.

  “Sara?” he asked, but she was crying too hard to answer. “Sara,” Jeffrey repeated. He grabbed her by the shoulders, ordering, “Sara, focus. Did you see who did this?”

  She looked aro
und, just now realizing that the person who stabbed Tessa might still be here.

  “Sara?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t . . . I didn’t . . .”

  Jeffrey patted her front pockets, finding her stethoscope and putting it into her limp hand. When he said “Frank is calling an ambulance,” his voice sounded so far away that Sara felt as if she were reading his lips instead of hearing his words.

  “Sara?”

  She was paralyzed by her emotions and could not think what to do. Her vision tunneled, and all she could see was Tessa, bloodied, terrified, her eyes wide with shock. Something passed between them: abject horror, pain, blinding fear. Sara was utterly helpless.

  Jeffrey repeated, “Sara?,” putting his hand on her arm. Her hearing came back in a sudden rush, like water sluicing through a dam.

  He squeezed her arm hard enough to cause pain. “Tell me what to do.”

  Somehow his words brought her back to the moment. Still, her voice caught when she said, “Take off your shirt. We need to control the bleeding.”

  Sara watched as Jeffrey pulled off his jacket and tie, then ripped through the buttons of his shirt. Gradually she felt her mind start to work. She could do this. She knew what to do.

  He asked, “How bad is it?”

  Sara did not answer, because she knew that voicing the harm done would give it more power. Instead she pressed his shirt to Tessa’s belly, then put Jeffrey’s hand over it, saying, “Like this,” so he would know how much pressure to exert.

  “Tess?” Sara asked, trying to be strong for her sister. “I want you to look at me, okay, sweetie? Just look at me and let me know if anything changes, all right?”

  Tessa nodded, her eyes darting to the side as Frank made his way toward them.

  Frank dropped down beside Jeffrey. “They’ve got Life Flight less than ten minutes away.” He started to unbutton his shirt just as Lena Adams came into the clearing. Matt Hogan was behind her, his hands clenched at his sides.

  “He must have gone that way,” Jeffrey told them, indicating the path that led deeper into the forest. The two ran off without another word.

  “Tess,” Sara said, pressing open the chest wound to see how deep it went. The trajectory of the knife would have put the blade dangerously close to the heart. “I know this hurts, but just hang on. Okay? Can you hang on for me?”

  Tessa gave a tight nod, her eyes still darting around.

  Sara used the stethoscope to listen to Tessa’s chest, her heartbeat like a fast drum, her breathing a sharp staccato. Sara’s hand began to shake again as she pressed the bell of the stethoscope against Tessa’s abdomen, checking for a fetal heart rate. A stab to the belly was a stab to the fetus, and Sara was not surprised when she could not find a second heartbeat. Amniotic fluid had gushed from the wound, destroying the baby’s protective environment. If the knife blade had not damaged the fetus, the loss of blood and fluid certainly would.

  Sara could feel Tessa’s eyes boring into her, asking a question Sara could not bring herself to answer. If Tessa went into shock, or her adrenaline surged, her heart would pump blood more quickly out of the body.

  “It’s faint,” Sara said, feeling her stomach lurch at the depth of the lie. She made herself look Tessa in the eye, taking her hand, saying, “The heartbeat is faint, but I can hear it.”

  Tessa’s right hand lifted to feel her stomach, but Jeffrey stopped her. He looked down at her palm.

  “What’s this?” Jeffrey asked. “Tessa? What’s this in your hand?”

  He held up Tessa’s hand so she could see what he meant. A look of confusion came to her face as the plastic fluttered in the breeze.

  “Did you get it from him?” Jeffrey asked. “The person who attacked you?”

  “Jeffrey,” Sara said, her voice low. His shirt had soaked through with blood, covering his hand to the wrist. He saw what she meant and started to take off his undershirt but she told him no, grabbing his coat because it was quicker.

  Tessa groaned at the momentary change in pressure, air hissing out between her teeth.

  “Tess?” Sara asked loudly, taking her sister’s hand again. “Are you holding up okay?”

  Tessa gave a tight nod, her lips pressed together, nostrils flaring as she labored to breathe. She squeezed Sara’s hand so hard that Sara felt the bones move.

  Sara asked, “You’re not having trouble breathing, right?” Tessa did not respond, but her eyes were alert, darting from Jeffrey to Sara.

  Sara tried to keep the fear out of her voice, repeating, “Are you breathing all right?” If Tessa became incapable of breathing on her own, Sara could do only so much to help her.

  Jeffrey’s voice was tight and controlled. “Sara?” His hand was tensed over Tessa’s belly. “It felt like a contraction.”

  Sara shook her head in a quick no, putting her hand next to Jeffrey’s. She could feel uterine contractions.

  Sara raised her voice, asking, “Tessa? Are you feeling more pain down here? Pelvic pain?”

  Tessa did not answer, but her teeth chattered as if she were cold.

  “I’m going to check for dilation, okay?” Sara warned, lifting Tessa’s dress. Blood and fluid covered Tessa’s thighs in a sticky black matt. Sara pressed her fingers into the canal. The body’s reaction to any trauma was to tense up, and Tessa’s was doing just that. Sara felt as if she were putting her hand into a vise.

  “Try to relax,” Sara told Tessa, feeling for the cervix. Sara’s obstetrics rotation had been years ago, and even the reading she’d done lately in preparation for the birth was sorely lacking.

  Still, Sara told her, “You’re fine. You’re doing fine.”

  Jeffrey said, “I felt it again.”

  Sara cut him with a look, willing him to be quiet. She had felt the contraction, too, but there was nothing they could do about it. Even if there was a chance that the baby was alive, a cesarean section in this setting would kill Tessa. If the knife had cut through her uterus, she would bleed out before they reached the hospital.

  “That’s good,” Sara said, pulling out Tessa’s hand. “You’re not dilated. Everything is okay. All right, Tess? Everything’s okay.”

  Tessa’s lips still moved, but the only sound she made was the sharp pant of her breathing. She was hyperventilating, throwing herself into hypocapnia.

  “Slow down, sweetie,” Sara said, putting her face close to Tessa’s. “Try to slow down your breathing, okay?”

  Sara showed her, breathing in deeply, letting it go slowly, thinking all the time that they had done this same thing in Lamaze class weeks ago.

  “That’s right,” Sara said as Tessa’s breathing started to slow. “Nice and slow.”

  Sara had a moment’s relief but then every muscle in Tessa’s face tensed up at once. Tessa’s head started to tremble, and Sara’s hand then her arm absorbed the vibration like a tuning fork. A gurgling noise came from Tessa’s lips, and then a thin stream of clear liquid dribbled out. Her eyes were still glassy, her stare blank and cold.

  Sara kept her voice low, asking Frank, “What’s the ETA on the ambulance?”

  “Shouldn’t be much longer,” Frank said.

  “Tessa,” Sara said, making her voice stern, threatening. She had not talked to her sister this way since Tessa was twelve and wanted to do a somersault off the roof of the house. “Tessa, hold on. Hold on just a little bit longer. Listen to me. Hold on. I’m telling you to—”

  Tessa’s body gave a sudden, violent jerk, her jaw clamping tight, eyes rolling back in her head, guttural sounds coming from her throat. The seizure erupted with frightening intensity, working through Tessa’s body like a current of electricity.

  Sara tried to use her body as a barrier so Tessa would not hurt herself more. Tessa shook uncontrollably, grunting, her eyes rolling. Her bladder released, the smell of her urine strongly acidic. Her jaw was clenched so tight that the muscles in her neck stood out like steel cords.

  Sara heard the whir of an engine in the di
stance, then the distinctive chopping of a helicopter’s blades. When the air ambulance hovered overhead before circling toward the riverbed, Sara felt tears stinging her eyes.

  “Hurry,” she whispered. “Please hurry.”

  2

  Jeffrey could see Sara through the window of the helicopter as it lifted into the air. She was holding Tessa’s hand to her chest, head bent down as if in prayer. Neither he nor Sara had ever been particularly religious, but Jeffrey found himself thinking a prayer to anyone who would listen, begging for Tessa to be okay. He kept watching Sara, kept silently praying, until the helicopter made a wide right turn, angling over the tree line. The farther away it got, the less easily the words came to mind, so that by the time the machine turned west toward Atlanta, all he felt was anger and helplessness.

  Jeffrey looked down at the thin white strip of plastic he’d found clutched in Tessa’s hand. He had peeled it off her palm before they loaded her into the helicopter, hoping that perhaps it would lead them to the person who had attacked her. Staring at it now, he felt a crushing sense of hopelessness bearing down on him. Both he and Sara had touched the plastic. There were no obvious fingerprints in the blood. There was no telling if it even had anything to do with the attack.

  “Chief?” Frank handed Jeffrey his suit jacket and shirt, both of which were dripping with blood.

  “Jesus,” Jeffrey said, extracting his police badge and wallet. They were as soaked as his clothes. He found an evidence bag and sealed the plastic strip inside, asking, “What the hell happened?”

  Frank held out his hands, speechless.

  The gesture irritated Jeffrey, and he bit back the cutting comment that came to mind, knowing that what had happened to Tessa Linton was not Frank’s fault. If anything, it was Jeffrey’s. He had been standing with his thumb up his ass less than a hundred yards away when Tessa had been attacked; he’d known something was wrong when Tessa was not at the car, and he should have insisted on going with Sara to look for her.