“Oh, right. So, I said that stuff. Then I hung up. A few minutes later, there was a knock on my door. I assumed it was Sam, but he has a key, so that seemed weird. But I was pissed and ready to confront him. I walked up and opened the door, and it was the serial killer.”
“The serial killer!” Valerie Stone exclaims.
I nod furiously. “It washim. He was all ghostly and zombie-ish.”
“Zombie-ish?”
“Pale. You know. Undead. Only now he reallyisdead,” I murmur.
“Keep going. What did he say and do?” asks Martinez.
I tell them what the creep said to me. It was embarrassing to admit that he kept calling me a slut, but I knew I had to do it. “When he said, ‘You’re a goddamn slut and do you know what happens to sluts?’ I told him they kick him in the nuts.”
Sawyer chuckles, and Martinez finally smiles. “What happened next?”
“I kicked him in the nuts. What did you think?”
“Nothing. I’d expect nothing less, MacKenzie,” Martinez says, smiling so big I can actually see teeth—straight, white teeth.
“I got up and tried to run, but he grabbed my ankle. I turned around and stomped on his hand. He curled up into a ball, and I ran up the stairs. I came around the corner and Sam was just pulling up. I yelled at him to ‘get a gun, a Taser, or the holy hand grenade,’ because the serial killer was in my place.” I take a deep breath. Telling the story raises my anxiety and makes me a little short of breath.
“What the hell is a holy hand grenade?” asks Sawyer.
“Monty Python,” murmurs Gill.
“Did Sam have a weapon?”
“Yes, he grabbed a gun from somewhere on his body. He told me to get into his car and lock the doors. I listened to him, for once, and did what he said.”
I hear someone snicker. It’s Sam’s mom. I think I like her.
“I heard two shots and then nothing. I grabbed Sam’s phone to call 9-1-1. You guys came, and you know the rest.”
“So, you don’t know who attacked whom first?”
“Don’t answer that,” Gill says quickly. “She wasn’t there. She doesn’t know anything. Those are questions for Sam.”
The policemen nod. They know it’s true. I put my arm around my friend and look over at her, but she’s not looking at me—she’s beaming at Gill. My girl is smitten.
After the cops leave, we only have to wait a few minutes until a younger guy dressed in scrubs walks into the waiting area. “I was told to ask for a MacKenzie. Is she here?”
“Yes?”
“You’re the fiancée?”
“Um, well....” Sam’s mom gasps at the news, but I ignore her for now. I lift my hand and gesture to her. “This is his mom, Valerie.”
He nods, acknowledging everyone in the room. “I’m Dr. Thompson. Can we talk?” he asks, looking at Gill and Lauren.
“They can listen, too. We’re all family.”
“Very well. Samuel is out of surgery and in recovery right now. He had a relatively large puncture wound to his femoral artery. The traditional approach in EVAR or endovascular aortic repair involves surgical exposure of the femoral arteries with bilateral groin incisions. Through the groin access, and under fluoroscopy, a special insertion sheath introducer is used to position a stent graft in the desired location with the patient under general anesthesia.”
I blink at the doctor, hoping that someone in the room knows what the heck he’s saying. Thankfully, Lauren speaks up. “Doc? Speak English. We have no idea what you just said.”
He smiles shyly at all of us. “Sorry. I get caught up and forget that I’m talking to regular people.”
Regular people?“Is he okay, Doctor? Is he gonna be okay?” That’s all I care about, and I suspect that’s what everyone else cares about, too.
