Fiction Friday: Not for Profit, The End

[Part Five here.]

Jonathan turned to me and put out his free hand. “Miss Evans, I really am sorry for all this. I never…”

“Don’t tell me,” I snapped. I felt the adrenalin surge and realized, gratefully, that this was going to be easier than I thought. I pointed to Hector. “Tell him. Oh, right. You can’t. He’s dead.”

Turning my back on Jonathan, I walked over and knelt beside Hector’s body. I reached down and closed his eyes.

Jonathan addressed the remaining orderly. “How much do you want to let her go?”

As he spoke, I slipped the scalpel into my palm. It nicked my wrist, just slightly, and I knew I’d have to do this before the blood became noticeable. “You know what he wants.” I said. I stood up, gesturing with my free hand and keeping the scalpel pressed tight to my body, out of the orderly’s line of sight. “You know what they all want. It’s just money.” I was standing in front of Jonathan now. “Why do I have to die over money?”

I leaned forward, raising my hand, and Jonathan, who had never lost at darts, grabbed the scalpel and threw.

There was an awful gurgling moan and then a thud as the orderly hit the floor. Out of instinct, I started to turn, but Jonathan’s voice stopped me. “Natalie. Don’t. Look at me. Just look at me.”

“Keys,” I managed.

He shook his head. “The other one had them. There’s a pen in my jacket pocket.”

I grabbed his jacket and fumbled for the pen. He took it, dug his fingernail into a tiny groove at the base, and drew out a thin strip of metal. “Do something about your wrist,” he said as he worked the lock on the handcuffs.

I found a bandage, noticing in passing that Jonathan had hit the orderly in the throat with the scalpel. Funny how a split-second image can give you nightmares for life. Then Jonathan was up and grabbing my hand. He scooped up the orderly’s gun, and we were gone.

*******

Jonathan knew the closest side door. Nobody tried to stop us. I guess the few doctors and patients we passed had long since learned not to ask questions. Jonathan also knew where Hector’s Beetle was parked. When I saw the car, I did register a faint protest. “Won’t they be looking for this one?”

He nodded, his hands busy under the dashboard. “Yeah, but they may not have searched it yet. Check under your seat.”

As I did so, the engine sputtered to life. Under the seat, I found a cell phone, which I placed in Jonathan’s waiting hand. He dialed without taking his eyes from the road, but he smiled a little. “Sorry — I’m about to sound like a movie.” And he did. First an identification code, then an all-clear code. Then coordinates. Then an instruction to cancel any access or passwords associated with another identification code. And finally the news that he was bringing a civilian with him.

He hung up. Rolling down his window, he tossed the cell phone onto the road in front of the car and made sure he ran over it. A few minutes later, he pulled off onto a side road. He stopped the car in a clump of trees and pointed up a nearby ridge. “Can you climb?”

I slipped off my high heels. “Can you?”

He shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t bandaged. “Let’s find out.”

We scrambled to the top of the ridge. Beyond was a field, but it was also below, and I felt my bleeding feet start to give way. But there was a hand under my elbow. I stayed upright. “So… It’s all downhill from here?”

Jonathan kissed me. It was quick and rough, almost fierce, and everyone should be kissed like that at least once in their life. We stumbled and slid down together. At the bottom, he pulled me into the shadow of a tree and checked his watch. “Ten minutes.”

I sank to the ground and closed my eyes. “Natalie,” he snapped. “Talk to me.”

I didn’t care for his tone and opened my eyes so I could tell him so to his face. But then I saw the expression on his face, and in the same moment realized my palms were clammy. I decided he had a point.

I longed to ask about Hector, but I couldn’t. I knew neither of us was ready for that. Which left only one thing to ask. “Did you break up with me because you didn’t trust me?”

“No. I was…” He paused. “I was about to say I was protecting you. But that’s not really it. Truth is, I was protecting myself. I thought this would be easier if I had nothing to lose.”

“Do you still think that?”

“More than ever.”

I looked away. I had expected him to say he was protecting me, had been putting the finishing touches to my righteous indignation. But what he had said was unanswerable. I knew he would carry Hector with him for the rest of his life. Along with the knowledge of what had nearly happened to me. What right did I have to demand that he live with that fear?

“Natalie.”

This time there was nothing sharp about his tone. I looked around. He was holding out that gold signet ring.

“Marry me?”

I nodded. I tried to say Yes. But I couldn’t form the word, and before I could put out my hand for the ring I collapsed, fell to pieces on his shoulder. He gasped. I realized it was the wrong shoulder, started to pull away, but he shifted position, pulled me back toward him, and let me cry.

*******

That was two years ago. The scar on my wrist turned out to be bad enough to need explanation. On the flight home, Jonathan concocted a story about the night we’d been making our second batch of margaritas and I had just picked up the knife to cut the limes when he turned around and bumped into me. At first, I had objected that I was perfectly capable of being that clumsy all by myself, but he was adamant that it be his fault, and I let him have it. After the trouble that story took, we were both grateful that his scar was easier to hide.

It’s tough being married to an historian. He’ll be gone for weeks or months at a time, chasing down some obscure reference in a library halfway around the world, or following the trail his subject took so he can make the book authentic. My sister thinks he’s a little crazy, in a harmless sort of way, and that I’m a little crazy to put up with him. I just tell her that he has his work, and I have mine.

The hospital is still in business, under new management.

They did not get the grant.