Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Name?”
“Connor Fitzgerald.”
She gestured to the chairs behind me. “Have a seat, and I’ll check in with the doctors.”
But I couldn’t sit. So I paced. Counting the number of times I went back and forth to keep my mind focused on something other than “It’s very serious. You should come to the hospital immediately.”
Thirty-two.
Thirty-three.
Thirty-four.
Finally, someone opened the door a few feet from the reception window. The woman looked right at me. “Mrs. Fitzgerald?”
I rushed over. “Yes.”
“Come with me, please.”
I took a deep breath and followed. The treatment area was a wide square, with glass, podlike examination rooms lining all four walls. Patients lay in beds, and doctors and nurses sat around chatting at the center nurses’ station. This was supposed to be an emergency room, but no one was moving like anything was urgent. When we got to the last room on the left, the woman held her hand out.
I expected to see my husband lying in a bed. But instead there were three men standing, a doctor in a white coat and two men in gray suits. The gurney next to them caught my attention. The entire top half was a deep red, stained with so much blood.
The doctor followed my line of sight and pulled a blanket up to cover it. Though I could still see the red through the threadbare linens. He extended a hand. “Mrs. Fitzgerald?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Bruner. We spoke a little while ago on the phone.”
I nodded. At least I think I did. “Where’s Connor?”
He exchanged a quick glance with the two men and pointed to a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I don’t want to sit. Where’s my husband?”
One of the two men in suits extended his hand. “Mrs. Fitzgerald, I’m Detective Green. Your husband was in a very serious accident. I arrived at the scene when Mr. Fitzgerald was being extricated from the vehicle.”
Extricated? My nerves couldn’t take it anymore. “Can someone please tell me where Connor is?”
The doctor stepped forward. He reached out and took my hand. “Mr. Fitzgerald sustained very serious head injuries in the accident. He was unresponsive when brought in by ambulance. I’m very sorry to tell you that we were unable to revive him. Your husband died, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”
The room started to spin. “What?”
The doctor put his hand on my back. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”
“Call?”
He nodded. “To be with you. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Nausea rose from my gut. My hand went to my stomach. “I need to sit down.”
The shorter of the two detectives grabbed the chair next to him. Metal legs skidded across linoleum as he pulled it over to me.
“Can I get you some water?” The doctor guided me to sit. “I’ll grab you some.” He nodded at the men in suits before stepping out and sliding the glass door closed behind him.
I looked down at my hands, rubbing my thumb over the tip of each finger.
I couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel the tips of my fingers.
I watched my thumb touch each one, but there was no sensation at all.
Was this even real?
Maybe I’m dreaming.
Why aren’t I crying?
A doctor just told me my husband is dead. I should be crying. Hysterical. Gasping for air.
I looked up at the two men who watched me in silence.
“Am I dreaming?” I held up my right hand and showed them how my thumb touched all of my other fingertips. “I don’t feel this.”
Detective Green crouched down in front of me. “You’re likely in shock, Mrs. Fitzgerald. It happens.”
But I was a psychiatrist. Wouldn’t I know if I was in shock?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
The detective cleared his throat. “Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions, Mrs. Fitzgerald?”
I shook my head. “What happened?”
“The accident, you mean?”
I nodded.
“We’re still trying to piece that together. But it appears Mr. Fitzgerald was speeding and ran a red light. He struck two pedestrians, lost control of the car, and crashed head-on into a nearby building.”
My eyes widened, my stomach dropping. “He struck two pedestrians?”
The detective’s face was somber as he nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Are they okay?”
Detective Green looked up at the other man before shaking his head. “No, unfortunately they’re not. Can you tell us anything about this evening? Where Mr. Fitzgerald was coming from at the time of the accident?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. We had a fight earlier. He left.”
“What time was that?”
“I’m not sure. It was just getting dark. I looked out the window of our apartment to see which way he was walking. The sun was going down. I remember the sky was orange.”
“So probably about five thirty or six, then?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Did Mr. Fitzgerald have a history of drinking?”
“He was drunk?”
“We’re not sure. It will take a bit of time before toxicology reports come back. But an eyewitness reported his car was swerving before the accident. What about drugs? Did Mr. Fitzgerald have a history of drug use?”