Friends, Lovers...and Babies!
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Joan Elliott Pickart
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16
Prologue
A picture-perfect California sunset streaked across the sky as the patrol car moved slowly along the residential street of Ventura. The windows of the vehicle were rolled down, and the officer who was driving inhaled deeply.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, glancing over at his partner. “Can you smell that, Ted? Someone is barbecuing.”
“Smell it?” Ted Sharpe said. “MacAllister, I’m drooling on my shirtfront. There is nothing finer than food that has been cooked on an outdoor grill.”
Ryan MacAllister frowned. “Sherry and I got a barbecue for a wedding present. We’ve been married seven months, and the thing is still in the box.”
“So drag it out, put it together and cook some steaks. This is June, summer is upon us and barbecuing is part of the package.”
“That’s not the point,” Ryan said. “With our weather a guy could cook outside year-round if he wanted to. What I’m saying is, Sherry and I don’t eat many meals together because of our work schedules. Her shift at the hospital and mine on the police force rarely match up. We hardly see each other, unless you want to count watching each other sleep.”
“Really? I don’t remember you complaining about work schedules before you got married.”
“It wasn’t a problem then,” Ryan said. “She was a floor nurse and her shifts matched mine the majority of the time. She had put in for a transfer to the emergency room, but had been waiting so long for an opening that we really didn’t think about it.”
“And?”
“And,” Ryan said, shaking his head, “the transfer came through a couple of weeks after we were married. Ever since then, we’ve had one helluva time connecting with each other. I was hoping it would straighten out somehow, but it hasn’t. It sure as hell hasn’t.”
“That’s rough,” Ted Sharpe said, nodding. “I mean, hell, you’re still newlyweds. I imagine you’d want to be together every minute you could.”
“No joke. Sherry’s on duty now and will get off in about a half an hour. She’ll spend the evening alone, then go to bed. I’ll get home about two hours before she has to get up and report back to the hospital. It’s nuts.”
“Have you two talked about it?”
“Sure. Sherry could be a floor nurse again, or go into private care. You know, tend to someone in their house on a straight eight-hour day until their family comes home from work. There are a lot of openings for that kind of nurse. Or she could work in a doctor’s office.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yeah, but Sherry’s not having any of it,” Ryan said, then sighed wearily. “She waited a long time for that transfer, and she likes the excitement and challenge of the emergency room. She doesn’t want to go back on the floor, and said she’d be bored out of her mind in an office or private home. She’s an emergency room nurse, and that’s that. End of story.”
Ryan turned the corner and drove slowly down the next residential street. He raised one finger in greeting to a young boy riding a bike.
“Cute kid,” he said. “That’s another thing, Ted. I want a family. Sherry and I discussed it before we were married and agreed to wait a couple of years but…” His voice trailed off.
“But?” Ted said.
“You were at the hospital with me when my sister, Andrea, and her husband, John, became parents of twins. You saw Noel and Matt right after they were born. Well, they’re four months old already, and they’re really something special.
“Every time I see those babies, I realize I don’t want to wait to start a family. I’m thirty-five years old, for Pete’s sake. I want to have kids while I’m still young enough to enjoy them. You know, go camping, play ball, all kinds of stuff.”
Ted chuckled. “You’re an old-fashioned dude, MacAllister. Me? I’m very satisfied with the singles scene, thank you very much.” He paused and his smile faded. “Ryan, you and Sherry are headed for some heavy-duty problems. I’ve seen it happen to a lot of cops on shift work. Marriages get blown away. Big time. Don’t think it’s going to solve itself, because it’s not. You’d better tackle it straight on before it’s too late.”
“Believe me, Ted,” Ryan said, nodding, “I’ve given a lot of thought to exactly what you’re saying. Sherry and I are going to have to sit down and—”
Ryan was interrupted by the squawk of the radio, then the voice of the female dispatcher.
“All available units One-Beaver-Three. There is a four-seventeen in the R room at Valley Hospital. Approach code three.”
Ryan slammed on the brakes, not hearing the numerous officers responding to the dispatcher’s message. The color drained from his face and his hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
In the next instant he hit a switch, then pressed hard on the accelerator.
“What are you doing?” Ted said, his eyes widening.
“Code three. Lights and siren,” Ryan said, a pulse beating wildly in his temple.
“MacAllister, are you crazy? She said One-Beaver-Three. That’s not our sector, not even close. We can’t go over there. What in the hell are you doing?”
“Damn it, Ted,” he yelled. “There’s a shooting in progress in the emergency room at Valley. Sherry is on duty in that R room!”
“Lord,” Ted said, dragging one hand down his face. He shook his head. “Ryan, we can’t leave our sector.”
“Go to hell, Sharpe,” Ryan said, increasing his speed. “I’m driving. It’ll fall on me. You’re just along for the ride.”
Despite the fact that vehicles pulled quickly to the side of the road as Ryan approached, it seemed to him that everything was moving in agonizingly slow motion. The screaming siren matched the horrifying voice beating against his brain.
Shooting in progress…four-seventeen…four-seventeen…shooting in progress…Sherry…Sherry…Sherry…
Ted kept silent, not wanting to do anything to break his partner’s concentration as he drove at breakneck speed.
Ryan was going to catch hell for what he was doing, Ted thought, mentally throwing up his hands in defeat. But he would do exactly the same thing. He knew he would. He’d be prepared to pay whatever career consequences came down, just as Ryan was. Hell,. MacAllister, drive faster!
Ryan whipped around the corner of the block where Valley Hospital was located, slowed his speed, then hit the brakes as he was blocked by numerous patrol cars with their lights flashing. Two unmarked dark sedans were also there, along with a fire truck. Several vans with television station call letters painted on the sides sat on the fringes.
A group of uniformed police officers kept an ever-growing crowd back from the hospital, and two officers were stringing yellow tape between wooden sawhorses.
Ryan left the patrol car and raced toward the hospital. Before he’d gone twenty feet, a man in a dark suit and tie gripped Ryan’s upper arms to halt him. The man staggered slightly from the impact of Ryan plowing into him at full speed.
“MacAllister,” the man said, “what in the hell are you doing here?”
Ryan ripped his arms free of the man’s hold.
“I’m going in there, Captain,” he said, a steely edge to his voice. “Over you, through you, whatever it takes, I’m going in there. My wife, Sherry, is a nurse on duty in that R room.”
“Sherry MacAllister,” Captain Bolstad said under his breath, then muttered an earthy expletive. He didn’t move from in front of Ryan.
“Slow down. Take it easy,” the captain said quietly. “It’s all over in there. The shooter went berserk, was strung out on drugs. He’s dead, Ryan. He turned the weapon on himself after he…Look, let’s go to my vehicle where we can have some privacy. This place is crawling with television camera crews.”
“Why? Why do you want me to go to your vehicle?” Ryan grabbed the lapels of Captain Bolstad’s suit. “Where is Sherry?”
Ted hurried forward and clamped a hand on one of Ryan’s biceps.
“Ryan, let him go,” Ted said. “Get your hands off of the captain, for God’s sake.”
Ryan ignored Ted as he tightened his hold on Captain Bolstad’s jacket.
“Ryan,” the captain said, “Sherry was shot.”
“What?” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “How bad is it? Where is she? I have to go to her.”
“I’ll take you to her,” Captain Bolstad said, “but…ah, hell, Ryan, I’m sorry. Your wife…Sherry is…Sherry is dead.”
Fury and agonizing pain consumed Ryan with such intensity that a red haze blurred his vision. He dropped his hands from the captain’s jacket and took a step backward, shaking his head.
“No,” he said, “you’re lying, you bastard. Sherry is alive. She’s my wife and I love her. She wouldn’t die and leave me. You’re crazy. Tell me where she is, or I’ll take you apart.”
Captain Bolstad raised both hands. “Okay, Ryan, we’ll go inside the hospital. Ted will come with us.”
“Come on, buddy,” Ted said, his voice strained with emotion. He placed one hand flat on Ryan’s back.
“Get away from me,” Ryan yelled, then took off at a run toward the hospital.
“Damn,” Captain Bolstad said. “Let’s go, Ted.”
The two men ran after Ryan. The crowd chattered among themselves, speculating as to what was happening. The television crews filmed the drama on the chance there might be a further story unfolding.
Inside the hospital emergency room, the milling police officers, doctors and nurses had become statue still. An eerie silence hung over the area as Captain Bolstad and Ted entered.
Ryan was kneeling on the floor, holding Sherry in his arms, rocking back and forth and whispering her name over and over. The front of Sherry’s white uniform was covered in blood, staining Ryan’s shirt and pants.
Sherry MacAllister was dead.
Ryan MacAllister wept.
Three days later at ten o’clock in the morning, Sherry was buried beneath a mulberry tree in a nearby cemetery.
At two o’clock that afternoon, Ryan resigned from the police force.
