Page 10 of Kill For Me Kill For You
There had to be a way to kill Wallace Crone.
And she was going to find it.
4
Ruth
Mount Sinai hospital had been home to Ruth for three days before they let the detectives talk to her. She had woken in her hallway, in horrific pain, her stomach and legs covered in her own blood. Weak and hysterical, she had crawled to the house phone on the hall table and dialed 911 before she passed out.
She didn’t wake again for a long time. She slept. And her dreams took her back to that hallway.
She stood in her night things, gazing into the pane of glass in her kitchen window, staring at the reflection of the man who had come to kill her.
Hello, sweetheart . . .
Ruth woke suddenly, her eyes wide open, mouth gaping. Like she’d come up for air from the depths of a dark ocean.
She could still see the man’s face. His eyes. His voice echoed in her mind.
She looked around, found herself in a dimly lit hospital room. There was an IV on the back of her hand. When she started to sit up, she felt a tightness across her stomach and chest. The pain in her left leg was sharper still. Then the wave came. It started low down in her stomach – a cold fire, and quickly it spread over her body causing every limb to tremble. Her breathing stuttered. Unable to take a deep breath, she gulped shallow mouthfuls and moaned until finally she had pumped enough air into her lungs to scream.
A nurse banged the door open, and as soon as she saw Ruth she approached very slowly, her hands up, telling her it was okay – she was safe now in the hospital.
That it was all over.
Even then, in the midst of panic, Ruth knew this would never be over.
Two more nurses came in, but Ruth couldn’t hear what they were saying. For a second, she wondered why, then realized she was still screaming.
‘She’s going into shock,’ said one of the nurses and took hold of Ruth’s arm. Ruth felt the butterfly needle pulling at her skin, then she felt suddenly dizzy, and then, sleep came.
And the blue-eyed man came with it.
When she next woke, it took some time to open her eyes. Her eyelids weighed five hundred pounds, her limbs wouldn’t obey her and she heard herself talking but couldn’t understand a word. Her fingers drifted to her face, and she felt a tube in her nose, helping her breathe.
Then she turned her head, with great effort, and Scott was sitting on a chair beside her bed. He was holding her hand, and whispering to her softly, telling her to lie still. She tried to lift her head, but it was too heavy. Unable to do anything else, she lay quietly and gazed at her husband. Black, hard stubble on his face and dark rings beneath his pale blue eyes. He caressed her hand, kissed it and a tear fell upon her skin.
‘What happened? There was a man . . .’ she began, and felt the wave rising in her chest again.
‘He’s gone. It’s all over. You’re going to be okay,’ he said, and repeated it until Ruth began to calm and then she cried. He got up on the bed and held her and together they wept until Ruth drifted off to sleep again.
‘Ruth, my name is Dr. Mosley. How are you feeling?’ said the man in the white coat standing beside her bed. He had a soft face, round cheeks and a shaven head. A handsome man with gentle music in his voice.
‘My chest, stomach. It feels tight. My leg hurts. The left one,’ said Ruth.
He came closer and nodded to Scott.
‘I’ve already spoken to your husband, but I need to know if you feel well enough to speak to the police. They have been very keen to talk to you. How would you feel if I let them in for five minutes?’
‘Okay, I guess,’ said Ruth. Her voice sounded scratchy. Her throat was still dry and sore, no matter how many glasses of cool water she sipped through a straw. Scott had wiped her lips with an ice cube, combed her chestnut hair and washed her face. She felt better, but she had questions. She’d tried to ask Scott what had happened, but he’d just said she was okay now. That it was over. Part of her didn’t want to know – was afraid to find out.
‘What happened to me?’ she asked.
Scott rose from his seat, his hand outstretched, as if he didn’t want Mosley to say anything. She was too weak to start an argument, but Mosley didn’t get into it with Scott – simply gave him a look, like he was admonishing a foolish child.
‘Ruth, you were admitted in the early hours of Saturday morning, the fifteenth, with multiple stab wounds and lacerations,’ said the doctor. Ruth closed her eyes, took Scott’s hand and squeezed it as hard as she could. ‘After you called 911, paramedics broke into your home and brought you here. You had lost a lot of blood. The stab wounds were deep, but we were able to repair a lot of the damage. You have been through a terrifying attack. As far as we know, you were not sexually assaulted. We will need to talk in more detail about your injuries, but not immediately. What is important right now is that you talk to the police. Do you think you can do that?’
Ruth nodded, opened her eyes and said, ‘Thank you. I’ll do my best.’
