I hold my breath as the engine roars and tires start to roll but the nastier guard isn’t giving up so easily. The back of the ambulance opens and he jumps in while waving the away the other.
“Go. I’ll take care of her.” He swings the metal shut, the ground bumps under us, and thunder rumbles overhead.
Yikes. Is this how I die? Surely, he wouldn’t kill all of us? I keep my eyes glued to his hands. If they move, we are fucked.
What seems like hours later, attendants wheel my gurney through the emergency entrance, the two paramedics speak with a doctor, and the unwanted guest lags behind.
Alone, I jump up, run down the hall, and into the nearest supply closet. Breathing hard, I switch on the light. Mops, brooms, and cleaning supplies fill the small space. In every hospital thriller ever written, the heroine finds scrubs, a change of clothes, or a nurse’s uniform. As soon as I get out of this, I am writing a complaint to the Screenwriter’s Guild.
Shit. I need to go. Cracking open the door, I look both ways, and bolt up a flight of stairs.
At the top, an elderly man with a mop looks up. “You lost?”
“Yes. I’m looking for my sister. She just had a baby. Where is the maternity ward?”
“Next floor, Miss.” He gives me a toothy smile and points.
“Thank you.” My wet sandals squish as I take the stairs two at a time and stop. Right or left? Thankfully, crying babies act as a beacon and I jog down the dimly lit hall.
Reading names written in black marker, I stop at the door marked Smith and freak when I spot Gillian but no crib. Am I too late? “Psst. Wake up. Where’s your baby?”
“You can’t be here. It’s not safe.” Her eyes go wide and when she sits, her sheet drops down, revealing her big belly.
“Don’t worry, help is on the way. What happened?”
“The doctor said it was false labor. They’re taking me back in the morning.”
“Listen, fake some symptoms and force them to keep you another night. You’re safer here.” Holy shit. I need to go. By now, Mr. I’ll-Take-Care-of-Her has noticed I’m missing and is searching.
No doubt, the exit signs lead to the main entrance so instead, I run in the opposite direction. On the bottom floor, I sprint to the back of the building and find an empty room. After struggling with the window, I climb out and run down the road.
The first car I pass is a Chevy Impala. Do you know stealing a car is like riding a bike? Sitting on the floor, I find the familiar wires. With no knife, I break the wires and strip them with my teeth. Then, I jump behind the wheel.
That’s when the porch light comes on and a man with a baseball bat runs out. “Stop thief!”
I’m only borrowing his vehicle for a few minutes but this is not a great time to split hairs. Backing up over the lawn, I race down the street. In the rear-view mirror, his angry face turns blue as he thumbs his cell phone.
I probably have ten, maybe fifteen minutes before I’m caught. Maybe, I should let them but I have a really bad feeling. The authorities must know all about the island baby brokers and they could insist on taking me back. I can’t risk it.
The old dirt road is lined with docks and I stop at the first vessel I see, an aluminum boat on the water’s edge. Thank God, the owners left the oars within. Shouldering the vessel into the water, I use a wooden paddle to get deeper, stick the pins in the locks, and row until my hands weep from blisters. It’s not until the sun peaks over the horizon and the tide moves me from shore do I rest my eyes.
Suds will find me.
I hope.
Chapter 22
Suds
Ignoring the hospital’s front guard, I race to a gray-haired Bahamian woman sitting at an information desk. Before she sounds an alarm, I calm her with palms down.
“My wife. She was just brought in. She’s a blond, about yay tall.” I lift my hand to five foot five. “She might’ve been having cramps.”
While I speak, the fiftyish uniformed woman I passed on my way in approaches. “She was here but went missing.”
“Excuse me?” My momma raised me right but I am about to let loose a string of expletives that would make a sailor’s ears bleed.
“When? Who brought her in?” I swear, if someone hurt her, I can’t be responsible for what happens next.
