As the Wicked Watch(91)

“Just try to relax. You’re okay now,” she tried to reassure me.

“Where are my things? My purse, my phone. I need my phone.”

“Just try to relax, Jordan. It’s going to be all right.”

“No! You don’t understand, I need my phone!”

I sat up a little too quickly and my neck snapped back like I’d been lassoed. Aware of my surroundings, I didn’t want to bring attention to myself, so I gritted my teeth to suppress all parts of my body telling me to scream. My face was numb, reminding me of that strange sensation after waking up from dental surgery before the novocaine had worn off.

Is my chin still on my face? I think so.

I brought my hand up to my right cheek and was suddenly terrified of what I must look like. The last time I got punched in the face was in the fourth grade, by a boy. I went crazy and tried to scratch his eyes out. Before it was over, the teacher had to pull me off him.

There’s no way they’re going to let me on the air tomorrow. Are you actually more worried about how you look right now after what just happened?

“Ms. Manning, you need to lie down,” the nurse pleaded. “You likely have a concussion. Please! Lie back down.”

I tried, but that just made the pain worse. “I can’t. It hurts too much. Just let me stay like this. Is my phone here?”

The nurse told me my belongings would arrive soon.

“How did they find me?” I asked.

“Someone who lives in your building discovered you and a guy who works there. You were both unconscious,” she said.

“What’s his name?”

“I have no idea. I’ll see what I can find out, okay?” the nurse said, speaking to me in a soothing tone of voice like she would a child about to get her first shot. “But you need to lie down for me first, okay?”

“And please, see if you can locate my phone. I need my phone,” I said.

“Will do, just sit tight. My name is Maggie, by the way,” she said.

“Thanks, Maggie.”

After she hadn’t returned ten minutes later, my patience was worn thin.

What’s taking her so long to get the answer?

A rush of adrenaline took me from the sitting position to thrusting my legs over the side of the gurney. Before I knew anything, I was up on my feet, wobbling across the floor and clutching the privacy curtain to steady myself. I pulled it open slightly, and then I realized I was only a few feet away from the nurses’ station located in the center of the room.

“Excuse me,” I blurted as I got closer to the desk nurse tapping away on a computer. “I’m trying to find out the name of the person who was found with me.”

The desk nurse was far less congenial than Maggie. “Ma’am, what are you doing up?” she scolded me. “You need to go back and lie down.”

“Please, you don’t understand. I need to find out. Who is it?” I pleaded.

A rush of fear took hold of me that it was Bass. He probably saw me drive up to the roof on the security cameras. He had ventured upstairs to escort me down before, like the time the access door got locked accidentally. Tonight maybe he went up to check on me and ran right into the assailant. It was the only logical explanation.

Oh my God! What happened?

Tears poured down my face. I could no longer feel the pain from my injuries. A panic attack surged through my body and I felt unsteady on my feet.

“You’re not okay,” she said. “You need to be checked out. Now get back to your room, or I’ll have to call security.”

“My God! Can’t somebody tell me who it is?” I screamed.

“Ms. Manning, I’ve got a name for her,” said the nurturing voice of Nurse Maggie, appreciated far more now than before. “Harold Brantley. He works security in the building.”

Bass.

“How is he? Where is he? Can I see him?”

“He’s being prepped for emergency surgery,” Nurse Maggie said. “Apparently, he was stabbed during the attack.”

Just like that, the wind was knocked out of me for the second time tonight. I clutched my chest and my body lunged forward as I burst into an avalanche of tears.

“You know him,” Maggie said. “I’m so sorry, but you really need to lie down and let a doctor examine you.”

She took me by the shoulders, but my feet wouldn’t budge. “Do you have my phone?” I asked.

“Your belongings should be here very soon,” she said. “Okay, back to bed now.”

“I’ve gotta make a call. Can I use that phone?” I asked, pointing to the phone on the supervisor’s desk. “Please, it’s urgent!”

“Ma’am . . .” started the desk nurse.

“Ple-e-a-se!” I cried. But my sobbing and begging only made the desk nurse more strident.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go!”

She got up to walk around the desk. While her back was turned, I reached over and grabbed the phone and dialed Joey.

Please answer. Please answer.

“Samuels?”

“Joey! It’s Jordan,” I managed to say through my sobs.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m at Northwestern. Someone attacked me at my apartment—”