There's only one reason Gloria would call, and it sends an anchor to the pit of my stomach. When I answer the phone, my voice shakes.
"They're safe, for now," she says in a panicked voice. Her New York accent is thicker than I remember, her voice huskier, and I know it's because she never did give up smoking. I probably sound the same to her. "But Alex is in hot water. You need to get her out of here. Now."
I turn my eyes to Jim who's head is butted up to the phone. He pulls back and gives me a confident nod and the most pathetic excuse for a smile I've ever seen. Taking the phone from me, he sets the wheels of our trip in motion.
I have no idea what awaits me. I just know that I'm going to meet my daughter. After almost twenty years apart, I'm going to see my baby girl. The devastation that overtakes me is something I can't explain to Jim. Even after he gets off the phone with Gloria, I'm at a loss for words. I should be happy, he says. Scared and worried, yes. But happy. I don't feel happy, though. I feel like I'm being taunted with much-needed oxygen that's going to be taken away just as I'm suffocating. Like I shouldn't hope that this is really happening. That despite the circumstances, this won't end well and she won't live up to the hundred different things I expect her to be. Or that she's going to hate me. Or even worse, that she'll never know who I am or how much I've grieved not having her in my life.
Jim stands from the bed and starts to dress in a hurry. I stare at him in part confusion and part anger. Where the hell is he going? As if he can read my mind, he crosses the room, grabs me behind my neck and pulls me in.
"I'm cashing in that marker. We're going to get our girl."
CHAPTER 21
Jim
Brooklyn, New York
April 2016
Mancuso's downfall
Slowly, I pry my eyes open only to be met with the harsh, bright lights of the hospital. It takes me a moment to realize what's going on and where I am. A low-level buzz rings in my ears, worrying me. I don't know a whole ton about medical stuff, but I know a ringing in your ears is usually not a good thing. Fuck. Instead of torturing myself with the unwelcome noise and fucking interrogation lights, I let my eyes fall closed while I hope for it all to just go away. A few minutes pass, at least it feels like a few minutes, before the ringing stops. When it does, I realize that it wasn't in my ears at all, but rather a nearby machine. I hate hospitals more than anything.
"Mr. Stone?" A soft, feminine voice calls out to me, forcing me to push myself back into the world. I'd rather stay like this, stock still and in silence with my eyes closed. But if this nurse can do something about the lights, I'm going to play ball.
"Yeah," I grunt. My throat is sore and uncomfortably gravelly. Forcing one eye open, I size up the intruder. She's got to be close to six feet tall, and she's got broad shoulders, with honey-blonde hair and gray-blue eyes. She's pretty, even in her animal-print scrubs, and she's giving me a kind smile. Well then.
"It's nice to see you awake," she says. I nod my head, not really wanting to repeat the whole talking thing again.
"I'm Vicky, your nurse for about the next thirty minutes. I'll be sure to bring your new nurse around before I leave so you don't feel too abandoned." With that, she moves around the small space, checking machines and writing things down on her clipboard.
For the first time since I woke up, I really survey the space around me. I'm not exactly in a room, so I think I'm still in emergency. There's a wall to my left, but to my right and in front of me are glass walls that are mostly shielded by a bright and colorful curtain. My view of the nurse's station is partially blocked by a man's broad, suit-clad shoulder and his short black hair. Craning my neck around, I see a mural on the wall behind me that's made up of teddy bears, balloons, and bumble bees.
"We had to put you in the peds corner," the nurse says with a head nod toward the glass door across the room. The man is still there. Realizing I still don't understand, Vicky leans in and checks my vitals. In a hushed tone, she says, "Detective Davis insisted you be in a secure room. It doesn't matter how many times your wife has told him how you and your stepdaughter were injured, the detective doesn't seem to believe her. He's been standing guard for hours now."
"I don't need his protection," I say. Davis. That name sounds familiar, but my brain is foggy. On the other side of the glass door, the suited man I now know as Detective Davis shifts in place. His hands gesture to something across the emergency room from us, and then he pulls out his phone, puts it to his ear, and walks away.
"I don't think that's why he's here," Vicky says.
"Alex, shit," I say, finally realizing I haven't asked about our girl. She has to be okay, not fine, but okay. "I need you to check on Alexandra Mancuso's condition for me."