As the Wicked Watch(93)

Ellen nodded yes as she glowered at me, trying to conceal her anger from the doctor.

It only now occurred to me that I hadn’t looked at my face. Based on Dr. Patel’s reaction, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“Dr. Patel, if it’s all right, can I go to the bathroom first?” I asked.

“Sure. There’s one just around the corner to the right.”

I scooched across the floor in my hospital-issued nonslip socks and gown to the tiny bathroom. I felt like I was crashing, so I closed the door and leaned against it to steady myself, then reached out and grabbed the sink and lifted my eyes. I didn’t recognize the person in the mirror. My top lip was so swollen that it almost completely covered my bottom lip. A cut above my right brow dripped dried blood and my right eyelid was half closed. I turned my head and there was the literal imprint of his fist fused into my cheek, as if my skin was some type of mold. Right then, any doubt that remained that this attack wasn’t random was removed. I’d been the victim of pure rage, not simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whoever did this came for me, and he found me.

My eyes bloodshot red, all cried out, I made my way back to the examination room. I read in Dr. Patel’s face that she had sensed I was visibly more shaken when I returned than when I’d left. I’d worked hard to prove that I was more than a pretty face. But the reality was that in television, the way I look was tantamount to my ability to work in this business and advance to the next level.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

All I could do was shake my head no.

“Let me get a look at you,” she said.

Dr. Patel examined me, paying attention to every contour of my face like a sculptor. “The good news is you don’t need stitches,” she said.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God!

“But I would like to run a CT scan to rule out any bleeding or clotting on the brain. So I want to keep you overnight.”

Great.

“Beyond that, I think you’re going to be fine, at least on the outside.”

As she turned to leave, I snapped out of my own lassitude to ask her what she knew about Bass.

“Dr. Patel, there was someone brought in with me named Harold Brantley. A nurse told me he was in surgery, that he’d been stabbed. Can you get some information on how he’s doing? Where he is?” I asked.

“Yes, the nurse told me you’d been asking about him. I checked right before I came in. He’s in pretty bad shape. Worse off than you. He’s still in surgery, so I probably won’t know anything for another hour or two. Just pray for him.”

I’d never heard a doctor say pray for someone. Prior to today, I’d never been in the hospital for anything in my entire life. Every interaction I’d ever had with a doctor, other than a routine checkup, had been on my beat or during an exchange at a news conference, where information was guarded and answers were given in stark, often emotionless detail. And here she was telling me to pray for Bass. Pray for what? Was he dying? What did she know?

“So it doesn’t look good? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m not saying that at all. I’m not in surgery with him. I’m not his doctor and you’re not a family member. I’m just saying pray for him. I’ll be back to see you soon, Ms. Manning. Try to get some rest. Excuse me.”

Dr. Patel left and Ellen walked back in.

“I’ve got your phone,” she said, handing it to me, the Holy Grail that it was. The battery was almost dead, but I could read the long list of calls and text messages I’d missed.

“I need to call my mom,” I said. “Ellen, thank you. Thank you so much for finding my phone.” I hoped my gratitude would soften the edge that Ellen could care less about trying to conceal.

Mom answered on the first ring. “Jordan, where are you? Are you okay?”

She wouldn’t let me get a word in, stopping only to tell me that she was filling Daddy in on the other line.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “There have been some robberies in the neighborhood and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’m okay. The guy was looking to steal cars and I stumbled into him.”

“I’m flying there as soon as I can get a flight out,” she said.

“The doctor said I can go home in a few minutes. Click over and let Dad know everything is okay,” I said.

“Hold on,” she said.

Ellen mouthed, “You’re lying to your mom.”

“Shush!” I said.

Mom clicked back over. “Between you and your father trying to keep me from coming there, I’m over both of you.”

“I’ll admit it was scary. But I live in a big city. Things happen. But I promise, they’re letting me go home soon. And the Bennetts are going to come by.”

The Bennetts didn’t even know what happened, but I knew that mentioning them would back Mom off me a bit. And it turned out, I would have to cut our call short anyway, because two uniformed officers stepped into the room.

“Hey, Mom, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you later. I love you.”

I relayed to them everything I remembered about what happened. Because I’d come in close contact with my assailant, the officers asked if I would submit to having my fingernails scraped for possible DNA evidence. In a surprise attack, it was quite possible that I might have scratched my assailant or ripped off pieces of his hair.