Keep Them From Harm: The Past Life - Book 3 Read online

  Keep Them From Harm

  The Past Life - Book 3

  Kelly Utt

  Keep Them From Harm is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  2019 Standards of Starlight E-book Edition. Originally published as Places Blue in the George Hartmann Series.

  Copyright © 2019 by Kelly Utt-Grubb, writing as Kelly Utt

  All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.standardsofstarlight.com

  Cover art by Elizabeth Mackey

  Contents

  I. The Found

  1. Critical

  2. Disbelief

  3. Wishful Thinking

  4. Madness

  II. The Depths

  5. Descent

  6. Ties That Bind

  7. Footing

  8. Nightfall

  III. The Hero

  9. Recall

  10. Gone

  11. Truth

  12. Through the Darkness

  Enjoy this book?

  Also by Kelly Utt

  About the Author

  Part I

  The Found

  1

  Critical

  I clamor around the hospital room and rush towards the door, dragging my IV pole behind me. I can hardly believe what Duke has just told me. The others are still sleeping hard, so I do my best not to wake them as I maneuver around Leo's hospital bed and past the row of chairs occupied by my extended family members.

  I'm not wearing shoes. The linoleum floor is cool on my feet as I step out into the hallway and close the door as gently as possible behind me. I bunch the hospital gown I'm wearing up on one side and hold it securely so as not to expose myself if I can help it. But none of this really matters. Nothing matters right now except getting to Ali.

  I'm still weak and it's hard to hold myself up as I walk down the hallway towards the elevators. Despite my best efforts, I have to stop and lean on one of the railings affixed to the wall along the way. I probably should have let someone push me in the wheelchair. Duke seems almost excited as I am to get downstairs, but he slows down to help me when he notices I'm having trouble.

  "I've got you, brother," Duke says as he puts one of my arms around his shoulders to help support my weight.

  I nod to thank him, but I don't say anything. I'm conserving my energy.

  When we reach the elevators, there's a cleaning lady getting on at the same time. She looks elegant and sophisticated, like she doesn’t belong here. She sort of reminds me of a villain in a James Bond movie and I wonder to myself if it’s a sign of things to come. I’m not sure I can handle suspense and intrigue today. Let’s hope it’s just my overactive imagination trying to keep the terror at bay.

  She holds the doors for us, then pushes the button for the Ground floor before we have a chance to. As we descend, she pats the sides of her slicked back hair while eyeing us curiously. Maybe she thinks Duke is trying to break me out of the hospital. We smile without giving an explanation as to what’s happening.

  It feels strange to smile. I don’t know what my face is supposed to be doing right now. My face doesn’t know either. I’m happy because Ali has been found alive, yet I’m scared to death because they say she’s in critical condition. We still don’t know if my wife is going to pull through.

  The cleaning lady continues to look at us for what feels like forever as we wait on the elevator to go down from the fourth floor to the first.

  When the door opens, I bolt out as fast as my weary body will move me. I quickly scan the signage to see which way the arrow to the emergency room points. Duke sees it at the same time as I do and we take a hard right turn. He helps support my weight again and we teeter together past the waiting room, the reception desk, and the dreaded private room where less than twenty-four hours ago Officer Stuart Dunley and Dr. Paulette Adams told me they didn't expect Ali to make it out of the crash alive. We continue to the back corner of the building which houses the emergency department and a private entrance for ambulances.

  I'm reminded again of the day Dad died. I feel it on a visceral level. I remember standing alone, waiting for his ambulance to arrive. I remember not being able to make my legs move as I saw him wheeled past on a stretcher. My God, I hope today is a better day.

  When we reach the nurse’s station in the emergency department, I fling my weight forward against the counter, intent on getting someone’s attention immediately.

  “Alessandra Davies," I say. "My wife. Where is she?"

  The first nurse to notice me sees how much trouble I'm having, so she pulls a wheelchair out from a storage room and brings it around for me to sit in. I appreciate the gesture and gladly plop down onto the seat, then exhale deeply with relief. The walk downstairs took more out of me than I expected.

  “Are you Mr. Davies?" the nurse asks once I’m situated and she has returned to her chair behind the counter.

  She’s a young, red-headed woman who looks to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She has freckles on the bridge of her nose and reminds me of a grown-up version of the little girl on the Wendy’s logo. Her employee badge reads Clara Berry. Ali would proclaim that a pretty name. My wife has been a sucker for anything berry-related as long as I’ve known her. I’ll take it as a good omen.

  "I'm Dr. Hartmann. Her husband," I say.

  She looks up at Duke and I can see her reading the words on his t-shirt: South Lake Tahoe Police Department.

  "Can I see some identification, please?" she asks.

  "Are you serious right now?" I ask in reply, doing my best to remain calm. "I'm a patient here. Surely you’ve heard what has happened to my family. My driver’s license is in my pants, in my room. I'm not even sure what room I'm in because I was most recently on the fourth floor with my three little boys and my mother-in-law, who is also injured. So, forgive me if I can't produce identification right now."

  “It’s standard procedure, sir,” Clara Berry says.

  She looks hard at me for a minute, while simultaneously flipping through something on her computer. Suddenly, her demeanor softens. Apparently, she’s located our information.

  “See?” I ask.

  "Okay, Mr. Hartmann,” she says. Then she adds, "I'm sorry. You said it was Dr. Hartmann."

  "Either is fine," I say. "How about you call me George?"

  "Alright, George,” she confirms.

  Her voice is kinder now. I thank her with my eyes.

  “Your wife is en route via ambulance, but she hasn’t arrived yet. Please wait over there," she says motioning towards another waiting room. "I'll let the attending physicians know you're here."

  “When can I see her?” I ask. “I want to see her right away.”

  “I understand your concern,” she says. “You’re a doctor. You know how this works.”

  “I’m not that kind of doctor,” I say.

  “He’s a rocket scientist,” Duke adds. He sounds proud.

  “Oh,” Clara says.

  “More like an aerospace engineer,” I clarify. “But that’s beside the point. I want to see my wife as soon as she gets here.”

  Clara gives me a look that says she’ll get tough with me if I don’t cooperate. I imagine she’s had to handle unruly family members in this emergenc
y department on more than one occasion.

  “George,” she begins. “I’ll make sure you can see your wife just as soon as possible. But when she first arrives, our team will need to assess and treat her promptly. There won’t be time to waste. You’ll need to let them do their jobs. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “I know she’s not out of the woods yet,” I say, realizing the cruelty of the pun the second it comes out of my mouth.

  I didn’t mean to say it that way. I don’t think any of this is funny.

  Clara stands up and steps around the desk then leans down near me.

  “George,” she tries again. “Look, I realize that up until a short time ago, you thought your wife had passed on, right?”

  “Yes,” I say. “That’s right. My friend Duke here is a police officer and he came upstairs about fifteen minutes ago to tell me Ali had been found alive. I got downstairs as fast as I could.”

  Duke gives Clara a cautious smile as if he wants her to look on the bright side with us.

  “George,” she begins once more. “I know you’re eager to see Ali, but the medics who found her at the crash site listed her condition as critical. Do you know what that means?”

  I can’t help but notice how Clara is using my first name a lot now that she knows it. She must be trying to help me feel better. Or calmer. Or something. It seems like a technique she learned somewhere. Maybe in nursing school? I’m not sure I like it.

  “I heard critical, yes,” I say. “But is she stable?”

  Clara waits a minute before answering. She’s collecting her thoughts.

  “Sometimes you hear patients described as critical but stable on the news or in television dramas,” she explains. “But that’s not really accurate. By definition, patients in critical condition are unstable.”

  “Okay,” I say, waiting for her to go on.

  “When we say a patient is in critical condition, it means their vital signs are unstable and not within normal limits. The patient may be unconscious. Indicators are generally unfavorable.”

  “Oh,” I mutter softly.

  “The vital signs we record are indicators such as blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and respiration. Critical condition is very serious.”

  She looks at me for a minute to see if I’m absorbing the information.

  “Your Ali is in critical condition,” Clara repeats for emphasis. “Her condition is very serious.”

  I sit silently without giving a response. The gravity of the situation is beginning to sink in. I got so excited when I heard she was alive. I guess I didn’t think about the fact that she might not be alive for long. They might not be able to save her in the end.

  I suddenly remember the dream I had a few hours ago where I saw Ali and she seemed to be communicating with me the same way Dad and John Wendell had done before. Dad and John Wendell were both dead at the time of that communication.

  Duke puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “What should I do?” I ask Clara.

  She smiles at me sympathetically and places one hand lightly on my knee.

  “I’m going to find you a private room to wait in while your wife is treated,” she says.

  My heart sinks at the mention of the private room. I’d like nothing more than to walk out of this hospital with my family and never have occasion to be sent to one of those damn private rooms again. The walls in those rooms must be dripping with fear and heartache. I doubt much good news is received in there.

  “Is there anyone else I can call?” Clara asks, kindly.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Duke can go up and tell the others what’s going on.”

  “No problem at all,” he chimes in. “I’ll go up now.”

  “Wait,” Clara says, stretching one arm out to stop him.

  Oh, no. She doesn’t want me left alone. That’s how bad it is. This is turning out to be one hellish roller coaster and I get the feeling it’s nowhere near finished yet.

  “What for?” Duke asks.

  “George,” Clara says again. I’m not sure whether she’s being kind or condescending at this point. I don’t know whether to be grateful or angry.

  “I think it’s best if you’re not alone right now. What room is your family in? I’ll ring the phone in the room and tell them myself. Maybe someone else will want to come down to be with you.”

  I didn’t think my body had the capacity to short circuit any further after the volatility it displayed yesterday, but apparently, it’s time to go another few rounds. A chill runs up and down my spine while a wave of nausea sloshes in my abdomen. My ears begin to ring, which is new. I break out into a cold sweat while, inside, it feels like my blood will boil. I can’t help but think what a cruel twist of fate it would be to have my beloved Ali found alive and brought back to me only to be taken away again. I wonder if I’ll even have a chance to see her alive. Or, like happened with Dad, I wonder if I’ll have to sit around helplessly without the opportunity to say parting words or kiss her cheek one last time.

  “Okay,” I manage. “Fourth floor. The patients’ last names are Hartmann and Davies.”

  I can’t remember what day or time it is right now, let alone our room number. Luckily, Duke does, so he fills Clara in on the pertinent details.

  I’m glad Duke is here with me right now. Just six months ago, I didn’t even know him that well. We’ve grown closer since my family and I moved back to Ithaca and he got engaged to Ali’s best friend Jen. And now we’re going into business together as well. I trust him. I can tell he’s loyal and will stand by me through thick and thin. I need every single one of my people to help me get through this.

  The fact that Duke had a friend on the South Lake Tahoe police force who allowed him to get involved with the investigation into my family’s disappearance was a Godsend. Duke’s a good cop in Ithaca. It sounds like he’s been a good cop here, too, and that his involvement has proved invaluable. No one else would have thought to pull out the social media picture of my dad to show the motorists who reported being flagged down by a man with dark hair and an eighties mustache. They claim the man disappeared once they found the crash site where Ali was pinned. If it weren’t for Duke, I wouldn’t have known that those motorists identified my long-deceased dad as the man who stepped in front of their vehicle and led them to my Ali. What an uncanny turn of events. I can hardly believe it myself.

  While Duke tells Clara more about who she should talk to when she calls upstairs for the others, I begin to talk quietly myself. I'm not a religious person, but I am spiritual. I feel a connection to something bigger than me. And right now I need divine intervention.

  Since Dad is apparently already involved, I begin speaking directly to him.

  "Dad, wherever you are right now, I hope you can hear me," I begin. “I can't thank you enough for the save which brought Ali back to me. I hope you're still watching over us now so you can see her through."

  Clara and Duke both stop talking to turn and look at me, but after they listen for a minute, they decide to leave me alone and go back to their own conversation.

  "Seriously, Dad,” I continue. "They say Ali is in critical condition and may not make it. I assume you know how much she means to me and to our little boys. We need her. I need her. Let me be crystal clear: I don't mean that I would like to have her or that I would prefer to have her. I mean I need her with every fiber of my being. She and I are part of one whole. We go together like a matched set. The fact that we waited since Ancient Greece to have a happy ending makes it even more important that we actually get one. If there's anything else you can do to save my wife, I beg you to do it."

  I turn my attention to the Universe in general. To God, if you want to call it that.

  "Dear God, and any other Powers That Be, I appeal to you on behalf of my wife, Ali, right this moment. I’m asking for you to save her life."

  Duke and Clara have finished, so Duke begins to wheel me to the dreaded private room. I continue talking out loud to a hi
gher power, oblivious to what's happening around me.

  "I’d give my own life right now if I could trade places with her. I’d do it in a minute without hesitation. God, if we can make some kind of deal-- my life or hers-- consider it done. Take me," I say softly.

  Duke again puts a hand on my shoulder without saying a word. It's a kindness. And a comfort.

  "Use me any way you like, God,” I implore. “I will gladly do your bidding. I will become an instrument willing to work in the world any way you ask of me. Just save my wife. I'm not ready to lose her."

  For some reason, I almost feel worse now than I did a few hours ago when I thought Ali was dead. At least then, I thought she was at peace and no longer in pain. And I thought it was over and done with. The feeling of needing desperately to do something to help, yet being unable to do anything at all is horrible. It’s hellish, even. People talk about heaven on Earth. Well, this has to be hell on Earth. One version of it anyway.

  I decide I want some privacy, so I ask Duke to reel me into a bathroom adjacent to the waiting room. It's a unisex bathroom, much like the one Ali and I made love in the night little Will was born. A wave of sadness washes over me as I remember and think about the fact that I may never make love to my wife again.

  Duke pushes me into the little room. I flip on the light switch, then turn and lock the door behind me. The smell of hospital soap assaults my olfactory senses and again takes me back to the day Dad died.

  “Are you sure you're going to be okay in there?" Duke calls out from the other side of the wooden door.

  "Yeah,” I say softly as the overhead light flickers.