“Go fuck yourself, Gennaro. Why would I tell you?” He threw a rag over his shoulder. “You’re the reason she was all upset. What the fuck did you do to her?”
“You…you talked to her? How upset was she when she left?” Terror squeezed Mike’s heart. It must have shown through his eyes because Tony’s expression suddenly softened, showing concern now, not anger.
“Very.” He leaned forward. “Scary upset.”
“Oh my God,” Mike whispered. “Please, Tony. Where is she?”
“She said she was going back to her apartme—”
“Thank you.” Mike bolted to the door, stumbling on chairs and tables. He ran with all his might to the apartment building, his tears flying in the cold air, scattered words flashing in his brain.
…a serious trigger …don’t wanna talk about my scar, Mike …you’re even dumber than I thought …my only chance at happiness …broken …without hope.
He skipped the elevator and raced to the third floor. He threw himself shoulder first against the door with all his strength. Then he stepped back and gave the door one loud kick, knocking it cock-eyed on the floor. “Maggie!”
She was standing in the dark in front of the mirror, with a gun pointed at her head.
He didn’t know how he reached her. He didn’t know what he was saying. What she was saying. All he knew was the horror that swept through him when a bang echoed in his ears and her eyes stared vacantly at him.
Scene79
Mike
Blood.
All over Mike’s hands. Her blood.
He squatted by the wall of the nearest area to the OR he was allowed. A number of nurses spilled out from all directions and hurried toward him.
“Mr. Gennaro, we need to get you examined.”
“We have a room ready for you, sir.”
“Are you in any pain?”
The questions hammered on him, and he wished they would have just been quiet. Why were they concerned with him? He wasn’t the one who got shot. “You should be with Maggie,” he said, his quivering voice hoarse, hushed. “She’s the one who needs your help.”
“Sir, she’s in the OR now with the best doctors in the hospital. We need to get you examined and cleaned up. There’s blood on you, and we need to make sure you’re not bleeding.” Hands and arms were helping him up now. He tried to block them. Push them away. He wanted them to stop touching him. “We’ll take care of you, sir.”
They escorted him to a private room where a couple of doctors stood. The nurses got him out of his bloody sweater and shirt while the doctors kept asking him more questions, their latex gloves groping him.
“Can anyone please tell me how she is? In English?” He didn’t understand half of the things the doctors in the ER told him.
“Mr. Gennaro,” a male doctor started, “the doctors are operating on Ms. Dawson to get the bullet out and stop the bleeding. She’s lost a lot of blood, but they’re doing everything in their power to get her stabilized.” He moved a tiny flashlight in Mike’s face while a nurse took off his jeans. “Look here, please.”
“I don’t need this shit. Is she gonna be all right or not?”
“She’s in good hands, sir. Let us take care of the bruises on your leg and shoulders, please. Do you know how you got those?”
“I kicked the door.” He shook his head. “I need to get back to her. I need to know what’s happening.” He slid off the bed. “Can I have my clothes back?”
“In a minute, sir.”
After they removed the blood, wrapped him in bandages, and dressed him in blue scrubs and a sweatshirt that had the hospital name and logo, the police came knocking at the door. “Mr. Gennaro, we need to ask you a few questions.”
“Do you mind if we do it on the way?”
“Not at all.” The two officers flanked him as he walked back to the area near the OR. “Can you tell us what happened?”
