As the Wicked Watch(92)

“In your apartment?” he asked.

“No, not in my apartment. In the parking lot,” I said.

“Ma’am! You cannot use that phone!” said my now nemesis of the ER.

“Wait!” I said, holding my hand up to her. “I’m talking to the police!”

She stood defiantly in front of me with her arms folded. Her mouth was moving, but I wasn’t focused on what she was saying. The other nurse held on to my left elbow, trying to nudge me toward my ER pod.

“Jordan! Can you hear me?” Joey said. “What happened?”

“And Bass was stabbed!”

“How badly are you hurt?”

“I’m in the ER,” I cried. “Please, get here fast!”

“Okay, that’s it,” I heard Nurse Ratched say from behind. “I need some help over here getting a patient back to her room!”

Just then, I looked up and saw Ellen rushing toward me.

“Jordan, my God, are you okay?” Ellen gently wrapped her arms around me as if I would break. “What are you doing up?” she asked.

I was determined to stay up on my own two feet, but I felt flush, faint.

“What are you doing out here?” Ellen asked again. “Oh, Jordan, look at you!” she said, placing a hand over her mouth.

“Excuse me,” the other nurse said, “if this is a friend of yours, can you convince her to get back in bed? She hasn’t even been seen by a doctor yet.”

“Sure,” Ellen said. “Come on, Jordan.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and guided me back to the gurney. I climbed under the sheet. Nurse Maggie cradled my head, taking the pressure off my neck, and slowly lowered me back onto the pillow.

“What were you trying to do out there?” Ellen asked. “Jesus!”

Ellen had no idea who Bass was. He’d become like a little brother to me. Learning that Bass had been seriously hurt felt more injurious than the beating itself.

“Ellen, you don’t understand. I just found out my friend who’s a guard in the building was stabbed during the attack,” I explained. “He’s one of the closest people to me in this town, and I need to know where he is right now. Where is he having surgery? What floor? This is all my fault.”

“No-o-o,” Ellen said. “You can’t blame yourself for this. He tried to save you.”

“How do you know that?”

“You know some of the best sources are paramedics and people who work at the hospital, right?” she said. “The Sun-Times got wind of what happened and called the desk to confirm that you were the victim. They probably picked it up on the police scanner. They knew even before we did. I called your mother, by the way. Don’t give me that look.”

The next-of-kin rule. When you’re unmarried, your emergency contact is none other than your mom.

I grimaced. She’s freaking out right now.

“Ellen, this wasn’t a random attack. He kept saying, ‘You fucked up.’ He was there for me. He was waiting for me.”

“But why?” she asked.

“It has to be connected to the Masey James case,” I said. “A lot has happened.” I took a deep breath and told Ellen how I believed Masey had gotten entangled with an older guy, about the fight between Terrence and Manny, and about my suspicion that either one or both of them could have been involved in Masey’s murder and tonight’s attack.

“Otherwise, this is one helluva coincidence. And I don’t believe in coincidences,” I said.

A swell of confusion floated across Ellen’s face. Frozen, half confused, half in disbelief, she lit into me. “What in the hell were you thinking?” she said, pacing the room with her hand pressed against her forehead. “If you wanted to be a cop, why did you become a journalist?”

Okay, is there a sign on me that reads “Jordan, you’re not a cop”? Because if I hear this one more time . . .

“You could’ve been killed!”

Ellen morphed into the personification of tough love. She was furious with me but at the same time deeply concerned, as was I, that someone was out to shut me up. “I know you’re dedicated, but you’ve gotta ease up. It’s no longer you might get hurt. You did get hurt!”

“Ellen, there are three little Black boys locked up right now on murder charges,” I said. “They didn’t do it. You know—”

Ellen interrupted. “Jordan, we can deal with that. But Keith was right. You put Grace in unnecessary danger, and I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. The case is important, but you’ve been reckless and impulsive. This is the second time I’ve had to call you reckless today. What don’t you get? I don’t know how much longer I can defend you.”

The curtain rustled and a woman in a white coat walked toward me. “Hello, Jordan, I’m Dr. Tina Patel,” she said, extending a hand. “How are you feeling? Looks like you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Let’s have a look at you.”

Dr. Patel was the escape I needed from the wrath of Ellen, whose anger had gone from a simmer to a boil. She was about to explode.

“Can you excuse us for a moment?” the doctor asked.

“Can you see if you can track down my phone?” I asked Ellen. “Please?”