The Locked Door Page 5

  “Right.” I think for a minute, wondering if there are any strings I can pull at the hospital to get him an IT job. But I’m not sure if he’d appreciate that. “I’m sure you’ll find something else.”

  “Yeah… The job market isn’t great now. Of course, it’s all my fault.” He rubs at his chin which has even more stubble than last night. Back in college, he could barely grow a beard—now it seems to be happening against his will, as the night goes on. “But the truth is, I like working here. It’s a good break. I was going cross-eyed sitting in front of a computer day in day out for fifteen years. And carpal tunnel sucks.”

  He smiles at me again. Boy, he’s cute. Why on earth did I break up with him? It’s driving me nuts that I can’t remember. “I always figured you’d be married by now,” I remark.

  He glances down the bar to make sure nobody is trying to get his attention. But it’s quiet tonight. “I was. Not anymore.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t say sorry.” He shakes his head. “Back when I was married, that would be the time to say sorry. Now you should say congratulations, because I’m out.”

  “Oh. Well, congratulations.”

  “Gracias.” He looks pointedly down at my left hand. No ring. “How about you?”

  “No, never went that route.”

  He snorts. “Not surprised.”

  I inhale sharply. “Why?”

  He laughs. “That was your mantra in college, wasn’t it? I will never get married, Brady. I never want kids.”

  “Oh, right. I guess I knew what I wanted at an early age.”

  I take another sip from my drink. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or what, but I don’t remember feeling quite this drawn to Brady back in college. I liked him, but he’s on another level of sexy now. But so what? Nothing is going to happen. It’s been too long. And also, I just noticed a splatter of blood on the leg of my scrub pants, right in that gap between where my gown ended and the booties began during my surgical cases from today. That’s pretty much the opposite of sexy.

  Well, unless you’re my father.

  “That guy from yesterday…” he says. “He didn’t bother you after you left, did he?”

  I decide not to mention the fact that Callahan started following me as I drove home last night. It would just worry him. “No.”

  He leans on the counter close enough that I could smell a hint of his aftershave. “I was worried, you know. I was about to go to the door and watch to make sure you made it to your car okay, but then this big crowd of customers came in together and I had to deal with them.”

  “It’s fine. I could’ve handled him.”

  A smile plays on his lips. “Yeah. I’ll just bet you could have.”

  Why can’t I remember why I broke up with you?

  Somebody is calling for Brady to get a drink, so he leaves me alone. I sip on my Old Fashioned, watching him. There’s a woman at the other end of the bar ordering a drink, and she’s flirting with him. Her hand is on his forearm, and she’s laughing at some joke he made. Or maybe just laughing. He’s flirting back, but a few times, I catch him looking in my direction.

  I don’t want to encourage him though, so I turn my attention to the television screen over the bar. The evening news is on this time. The handsome reporter is talking about a young woman named Amber Swanson who’s been reported missing. The police are searching, but she’s disappeared without a trace.

  It’s a dangerous world out there.

  I finish the last of my drink and pull out my purse to pay him. But before I can get out my wallet, Brady is suddenly back in front of me. He’s staring across the counter of the bar with his nice brown eyes.

  “Hey,” he says. “You heading out?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Got an umbrella?”

  I glance out the window. The rain seems to have intensified since I’ve been here. Gigantic droplets are plummeting from the sky. “I’ll be fine.”

  Brady reaches under the bar. He pulls out a small folded umbrella and holds it out to me. “You don’t want to get soaked.”

  “I don’t want to steal your umbrella.”

  “Steal it—please. It’s pouring out there.”

  I almost refuse again, but he’s insistent. I have a feeling he’s not going to take no for an answer. “Well, thanks.”

  He hesitates for a moment. “I get off work in half an hour. Do you want to go get a drink?”

  I stare down at my drained cocktail. “I think I’ve had enough for the night. You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?”

  “Okay, okay…” He raises an eyebrow. “Dinner then? I know a great Greek place.” He grins at me. “We can catch up on old times. It’ll be fun.”

  Right. We can “catch up” on “old times.” Although I have no doubt it will be fun.

  “Hmm.” I fiddle with my wallet, even though I already know what I’m going to say. “The thing is, I’ve been up since five in the morning.”

  “Yes, but you seem so bright and perky.”

  “Looks are deceiving.” I smile apologetically as I drop a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Plus I have to be up early tomorrow morning. Life of a surgeon, you know?”

  “I don’t.” He sighs and shakes his head sadly. “But I do appreciate you letting me down easy, Nora. I always liked that about you.”

  “Happy to oblige.”

  Am I making a mistake? Maybe a night with a cute guy is just what I need. But no. I have a feeling if I spend the night with him, it won’t just be a night. There’s something about him…

  “Listen.” His mild brown eyes stay on mine. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here another half hour, like I said. And I’m on tomorrow night too. Just in case you wake up tomorrow, deeply regretting not hanging out with me.”

  I feel a smile twitching at my lips. “What if you change your mind?”

  “No chance of that.” He nods at the black umbrella I’m clutching in my right hand. “Besides, you have to come back to return my umbrella.”

  He holds my gaze for another moment. To be honest, I’m very tempted to change my mind. But I decided a long time ago this isn’t a good idea. I know who I am, and I know what I can handle. So I get up off the barstool and leave Christopher’s. I’ll return the umbrella when he’s not around, and then I’ll find a different bar to go to until he finds another job.

  Chapter 8

  The rain is coming down in buckets.

  Even though I tried to refuse it, I’m intensely grateful for Brady’s umbrella as I sprint to my Camry. Even with the protection, my right foot plunges into a massive puddle and soaks through my clog down to my sock. There will be no more stops on the way home.

  I toss the umbrella into the passenger seat beside me and get on the road to go home. I can’t wait to get back to my house and change into something warm and dry. On days like today, I wish I had figured out how to get my fireplace going. Maybe someday.

  I turn down the side road to get back to my house. But the second I turn off the main road, I become aware of the headlights behind me.

  Oh God. Not again.

  My heart starts pounding in my chest. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Yes, this road is usually deserted. But I do occasionally see people on it. And I didn’t see Henry Callahan anywhere at Christopher’s. Would he really waste his time following me two nights in a row?

  Of course, I did have Harper call him and fire him from my practice. He may not have appreciated that.

  After the third turn in a row with the headlights staying far too close for comfort, I can’t deny this is unlikely to be a coincidence. This car is definitely following me.

  When I slow down at a red light, I stare hard into the rearview mirror. It’s a blue Dodge behind me—I’m certain of it. And the silhouette of a man in the driver's seat looks familiar as well. Henry Callahan is having a little fun with me again.

  He turns on his high beams. Light floods my vehicle, and I’m nearly blinded for
a moment.

  I take a deep breath.

  What would my father do?

  I’ve been taking this route home for years. I accelerate slowly down the narrow path, watching in the rearview mirror as the car behind me does the same. No matter what I do, he is staying very close. Dangerously close.

  I could drive to the police station again. But I don’t.

  Again, I veer off the usual route that I take when I go home. Instead, I go on a different path. One that I often take to the hospital and know extremely well. It’s narrow, with lots of turns. Turns that are hard to see on a dark, stormy night.

  And then I push my foot on the gas.

  After about two minutes, I see the sharp turn approaching. I only know it’s there because I’ve driven this way so many times. There’s a sign, but it’s impossible to see in the dark, with the rain. I gently switch my foot to the brake and turn the steering wheel.

  My Camry glides over the turn with only a slight screeching of the wheels. The small Dodge doesn’t handle nearly as well. And also, he didn’t see it coming.

  I hear the crash before I see it. Metal crunching as the Dodge wraps itself around a tree. I wince at the sound of it, and then I glance in my rearview mirror. I can see smoke billowing up from the collision. The headlights are gone.

  Once I put a little distance between myself and the collision, I bring up the Bluetooth on my phone. “Call 911,” I say.

  After a few rings, I hear a female voice on the other line. “This is 911. What’s your emergency?”

  “I… I think I passed a car accident on the road behind me,” I say with just the right amount of concern in my voice. “The driver might be hurt.”

  I give the 911 operator the approximate location of the accident before hanging up. And then I keep driving. I don’t stop. I don’t check that he’s okay. I certainly don’t contemplate performing CPR or other life-saving maneuvers.

  I leave him there.

  See, there’s something you should know about my father, Aaron Nierling.

  My father is an incredibly dangerous man, who has done unspeakable things. He has committed evil, terrible acts, without even the slightest twinge of remorse. He’s the sort of man you wouldn’t want to run into in a dark alley. Or the street. Or anywhere.

  And as they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  Chapter 9

  When I get home, the house somehow seems even more empty than usual. I step out of the garage and into the foyer, flicking on the lights.

  “Honey, I’m home!” I call out.

  My voice echoes through the first floor. I’m grateful I didn’t buy one of those giant houses on the market, even if I could (just barely) afford it. Anything larger than this would be frightening at night. Not that I’m easily scared.

  As I stand in the hallway, I wonder if the paramedics made it out to Henry Callahan yet. I wonder if he survived the crash.

  I feel a sudden flash of guilt. Yes, it was his fault for following me, and I wasn’t the one who made him crash. But I knew what was going to happen at the turn. I could’ve at least gone back to see if he needed medical attention.

  But I didn’t.

  I should have stopped. I’m a doctor—if he was in distress, I could’ve helped him. And I chose not to. It’s the sort of thing my father would have done. Not me. I’ve chosen to live my life differently.

  But then I push away the guilt. He was the one following me. The bastard had it coming.

  Anyway, I’m not going to think about it anymore.

  This morning, I stuck a load of laundry in the dryer before I left the house, and I figure I’ll go grab it before I eat dinner. I hate it when there’s a load of laundry sitting in the dryer. It’s like I can sense the laundry in there, taunting me. Put me away, Nora.

  That’s not strange, is it? Doesn’t everyone’s laundry talk to them?

  I open the door to the basement and I flick on the lights. My house is relatively old, and the basement came unfinished. I considered fixing it up, but I’ve got plenty of space on the first two floors of my house. What do I need a finished basement for?

  But on the occasion I made the mistake of inviting Philip over, he was emphatic that I should get the basement fixed up. It looks like a dungeon down here, Nora.

  As I step down the concrete stairs to the basement, I recognize the truth in his words. The walls of the basement are made of brick, and the dull gray paint covering the ceiling is cracking. The only light in the room is a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, which flickers slightly as I walk across the room.

  This basement looks exactly like a dungeon.

  You don’t want your house to look like a dungeon, do you? Philip had said. But as I look around the room now, I wonder if perhaps that’s exactly what I wanted when I chose this house. After all, my father built a dungeon in our basement. But I was savvy enough to buy a house with one already supplied. It looks, in fact, a lot like the basement back in my childhood home. There’s even a lock on the basement door, even though I usually keep it unlocked.

  I take a deep breath, and for a moment, I detect a hint of lavender.

  I shake my head to clear it, and I sprint over to the laundry machine. As quickly as I can, I stuff piles of clean scrubs into my laundry basket. Then I race back up to the first floor and slam the door to the basement behind me.

  I lean my forehead against the door to the basement, breathing hard. I swallow a lump that has lodged itself in my throat. I don’t know why it smelled like lavender down there. I don’t use any cleaning supplies that have lavender in them. I must’ve been imagining it. Anyway, it doesn’t look that much like my father’s basement.

  Does it?

  From the back door, I can hear the familiar sound of that cat bashing her head against the door. I swallow down the lump in my throat and drop the basket of laundry on the ground. I’ll feed the cat, then I’ll put away the laundry. Then I’ve got to eat something. About half of my panic attack in the basement was probably due to hypoglycemia.

  I grab a can of cat food from the cabinet. Pork this time. I open up the back door and the cat is looking up at me. I’ve never taken care of a living thing before—not even a plant—and I don’t dislike it. I’m glad I’m making the cat happy.

  I empty the can of cat food into the bowl, and the cat laps at the food happily. I hesitate for a moment, then I run my hand along her back. Her fur is so soft. She pauses in the middle of eating and lifts her head to nuzzle against my hand.

  It’s cold out tonight. Maybe I should let the cat stay in my house. It would be nice not to be alone in here, just for one night…

  No. No. God, what am I thinking? I can’t have a cat. Hasn’t the past taught me anything?

  I yank my hand away from her fur. The cat gives me a hard look—or at least, as much as possible—but then she goes right back to eating. I quickly close the back door, lock it, and go make dinner.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, I’m able to wake up at a luxurious seven in the morning. (I was lying to Brady last night. I don’t have any surgeries this morning.) I stop by a coffee shop to get a caffeine infusion for myself, Sheila, Harper, and even Philip. They put the piping hot drinks in one of those trays made to balance four cups, and I arrive at work an impressive fifteen minutes before my first patient.

  “Coffee!” I sing out to the empty waiting room. I feel good this morning. Like I could keep going for the next two days without stopping. “Brought one for everyone!”

  I spot Harper and Sheila at the front desk. I remember Harper’s dinner last night with Sonny, and I plaster a smile on my face. “Harper! Let’s see the ring!”

  Too late, I notice Sheila shaking her head at me. Then I see Harper’s puffy eyes. Uh oh. Sounds like the dinner last night didn’t go quite as planned.

  “Are you okay?” I ask gently as I rest the coffees on the desk.

  Harper looks up at me. The whites of her blue eyes are bloodshot, and her but
ton nose is pink. “He dumped me.”

  “Oh, Harper… I’m so sorry…”

  Her eyes fill with fresh tears. “He wasn’t taking me to a nice restaurant to propose. He was taking me there so he could dump me and I wouldn’t be able to make a scene.”

  “You should have made a scene anyway!”

  She shakes her head. “What’s the point?”

  “The point? The point is that you make him pay. You make him—” I see the expression on Harper’s face and realize that I’m talking to the wrong person. “Listen, you could have any guy you want. And now you can focus all your energy on your studies.”

  “Nora is right,” Sheila speaks up. “Harper honey, you’re gorgeous. You’re way too good for him. Mark my words, in a month he’s going to beg you to take him back. And you are going to say no way.”

  Harper offers a brave little smile.

  Philip waltzes into the office at that moment, whistling a little tune under his breath. Philip likes to whistle. He even does it during surgeries. It drives the scrub nurses batshit crazy.

  “Hey.” He skids to a halt when he sees us standing all together and Harper’s teary eyes. “What’s going on here? Everything okay?”

  “Girl talk,” I snap at him.

  He grins at me. “Like, you’re talking about your periods…?”

  I could strangle him sometimes. “No.”

  “Sonny broke up with me,” Harper blurts out.

  “Oh.” Philip manages what is actually a very empathetic expression. “I’m sorry to hear that, Harper. But I’m sure you’ll find somebody else who is even better.”

  It would have been such a nice sentiment if he wasn’t pointing to his own chest when he said it.