Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,95
grabbed for the IV machine. He was sure it had some other technical name, but he didn’t give a fuck what it was. He grabbed it and pulled it along with him. The wheels rolled with a soft squeak. The stitches in his shoulder pulled a bit as he walked. Maybe he’d get some more morphine for that pull when he got back. He’d call in that sweet runner of a nurse.
He opened his door. Looked left and looked right. The linoleum gleamed beneath his feet. So . . . Jim Porter was on this floor. Wonderfully convenient. But which room was his?
Matthew started walking. The wheels squeaked again, and the noise seemed too damn loud. He took his time, though. If someone spotted him, if a nurse appeared, he’d just act confused.
Morphine could do that to a person. Make him all disoriented.
His gaze slid toward the doors. Names were written on them—just last names. Oh, that made things easy.
He just kept walking, looking for the right door.
A janitor headed toward him. The guy barely even glanced his way.
A young man in scrubs followed behind him. Again, not even a second look.
Hospitals. Got to love them.
Then Matthew found the door he needed. Porter. He opened it and pulled his squeaking buddy along with him. Maybe he should have taken out the IV before this little trip, but—nah, why bother?
The curtain was pulled around the bed. His left hand rose and pushed it back. The man in the bed had his eyes closed. Monitors beeped beside him. Heavy white bandages covered his throat.
Matthew crept closer to the bed.
The wheels squeaked again.
And Jim Porter’s eyes flew open, locking on him.
Matthew smiled. “Hello, there . . .”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CLOSURE. VICTORIA NEEDED it before she could get on the plane and leave Savannah. So she and Wade didn’t go straight back to their B&B. They went to Mercy Hospital, and when the elevator doors opened on the third floor, a nurses’ station waited right in front of them.
They asked about Jim Porter’s room and a blond nurse pointed to a hallway. She didn’t ask for IDs, didn’t even ask if they were family. Just pointed and got back to work.
The hospital floors were gleaming, and they passed a janitor swinging his mop. Doctors were buzzing around, nurses going in and out of rooms.
“This is it,” Wade said, stopping before the door at the very end of the hallway. A whiteboard hung near the door, Porter written on it with blue marker. The door was slightly ajar and Wade rapped lightly with his knuckles.
There was no response from inside.
“Jim?” Wade said.
Victoria shook his head. “He isn’t going to be able to talk, Wade.” She pushed open the door and headed inside. “Jim?” She called. “It’s Victoria and—”
Jim wasn’t alone.
Matthew Walker stood beside his bed, his body swaying, one hand gripping an intravenous infusion pole. He wore a green hospital gown and he blinked a bit dazedly at her.
“What are you doing?” Wade demanded as he closed in on Matthew. “Why are you in here?”
Jim’s eyes were open. His gaze slid from Victoria to Wade to Matthew, and he looked so confused. And scared.
Victoria reached out and her fingers closed around Jim’s. He was connected to half a dozen machines, and beeping filled the room. “It’s all right,” Victoria said. “We just wanted to check on you.”
That’s what we wanted . . . but why is Matthew Walker here?
Some of the panic faded from Jim’s gaze.
“The nurse . . . she told me he was in here,” Matthew said, his voice sounding groggy. “After everything . . . I wanted to see him . . . tell him how sorry I was . . . about Melissa . . .”
Jim’s gaze cut toward him. His stare seemed to harden.
Victoria pulled her hand away from Jim’s. There was a notepad on the bedside table. She reached for it—and the pen attached to it—and handed it to Jim.
He gave her a quick nod of thanks.
Then he scribbled on the pad. Dr. North? Dead? Saw . . . on TV. She read his notes out loud as he wrote them so the others would know what he had to say.
“Yes,” Matthew said on a long sigh. “He’s gone. He won’t hurt anyone, not any longer. I just wish . . .” His grip on the intravenous pole tightened. “Wish we could have stopped him . . . before he took . . . Melissa.”
“Melissa and Kennedy,” Wade said. “Two women.