Chapter 3 — Something Moved Beneath My Hand

I stopped breathing.

My own pulse beat hard in my wrist. Perhaps that was what I had felt.

I lifted my hand.

Waited.

Put it back.

“Mr. Falcone?”

The room answered with the hiss of the vent.

I leaned close to his face. His lips were parted slightly, but I couldn’t tell whether air moved between them.

I watched until my eyes watered.

Nothing.

Then his throat shifted.

It was so small that I might have missed it if I had blinked.

I sat up too quickly. The mattress rocked, and I caught the rail.

“Gabriel?”

It was the first time I had said his name without a title.

I put two fingers against the side of his neck. My hands were shaking so badly that I couldn’t trust what they felt.

I wasn’t a nurse.

I had once taken a workplace first-aid course in a church basement, where a tired instructor taught us what to do if somebody collapsed. That was years ago. Nobody in that room had explained what to do when a doctor had already signed a man’s death certificate.

I leaned down again.

A faint breath touched my cheek.

I started crying.

Not quietly this time. A broken sound came out of me, and I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep it from carrying through the door.

He was alive.

I didn’t know how. I didn’t know whether he could hear me or whether he would survive another minute.

But a dead man didn’t breathe against your cheek.

I slid from the bed and hurried to the wall phone.

I pressed every button I could see.

The red light blinked.

I lifted the receiver, replaced it, tried again.

“Come on.”

I looked around for another way to call.

Near the sink was a blue square with a white bell symbol. I pulled the cord beneath it.

A light flashed above the door.

No sound came from outside.

I pulled again.

Somewhere beyond the room, a faint chime rang once.

Then it stopped.

I waited.

Footsteps approached, and relief made me reach for the lock.

Carmine’s voice came through the door.

“Has Mitchell finished the paperwork?”

A different man answered.

“He’s upstairs. Says he needs another hour.”

“He can have it. The van arrives at six.”

My fingers went still on the lock.

“Do we need him to check the body again?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

“The doctor said—”

“The doctor said he’s dead. We’re not dragging this out because you’re nervous.”

I backed away from the door.

There was a pause, then the other man lowered his voice.

“Lorenzo keeps calling.”

“Let him.”

“He wants to come back.”

“And I want him at the warehouse until I know who was involved.”

Carmine moved closer. I could see the shadow of his shoes beneath the door.

“Listen carefully. Nothing leaves this wing except that body. No photographs, no calls, no surprises. Understand?”

“Yes.”

They walked away.

I stood in the middle of the room with my hands against my stomach.

I had heard men speak carefully around Gabriel all the time. They feared his anger. They feared being misunderstood.

Carmine hadn’t sounded careful.

He had sounded annoyed that Gabriel’s body still required attention.

I looked at the blue call light.

It had gone dark.

If I shouted, someone would come.

Perhaps that person would be a doctor. Perhaps it would be Carmine.

I returned to the bed.

Gabriel’s breath was too faint. Too far apart.

“Please don’t make me choose wrong,” I whispered.

I tried the medical monitor beside him, pressing the power button. The screen lit, but loose cords hung from its side, and I didn’t know how to make it tell me what I needed.

I searched the supply room again.

Inside a drawer, I found a handheld radio attached to a charger. The battery symbol was nearly full.

I switched it on.

Static crackled.

“This is the east wing,” I said.

Nothing answered.

“I need help in the medical room.”

A male voice broke through.

“Who is this?”

I shut my eyes in relief.

“Matilda. I’m—”

“Which staff member?”

I recognized him then. One of the men at Carmine’s table.

My thumb tightened on the button.

“The wall alarm went off. I don’t know how to reset it.”

“You shouldn’t be in there.”

“I was told to collect the towels.”

A pause.

“Turn the radio off and get out.”

I lowered it.

The device was working.

That was something.

I turned the volume down and kept it beside the bed.

I needed a voice I knew. Lorenzo. Dominic. Someone Gabriel had trusted enough to let stand behind him.

But I couldn’t find them by guessing, and Gabriel’s breathing was worsening.

I bent over him.

“Stay with me.”

For a few seconds, I couldn’t detect another breath.

The old first-aid lesson came back in scattered pieces: the instructor kneeling beside a practice dummy, correcting my shoulders, telling me that hesitation could cost more than an imperfect attempt.

I began trying to revive him.

I worked awkwardly around the dressings, terrified of his injuries, terrified of doing nothing. I called his name and watched his face. When a shallow breath returned, I stopped and held him close beneath the blankets.

Then it failed again.

Time became a series of small, dreadful tasks.

Listen.

Watch.

Try.

Wait.

I couldn’t tell whether my efforts were helping until his lips began to lose the gray-blue color that had frightened me.

Even then, I refused to trust it.

My sleeves were damp. Sweat cooled at the back of my neck. Each time I changed position, pain ran through my shoulders.

I thought of calling openly for the doctor.

Then I remembered Carmine saying no surprises.

I tried the radio once more.

“This is Matilda in the east wing. If Lorenzo is on this channel, please answer.”

A burst of static.

Then someone said, “Lorenzo isn’t here.”

I switched it off before the questions started.

Gabriel’s fingers moved.

I stared.

His hand lay against the blanket, still pale, still marked with blood I hadn’t managed to clean.

One finger curled.

“Can you hear me?”

I took his hand between mine.

“If you can hear me, don’t try to move. Just stay.”

His eyelids didn’t open.

But his hand tightened faintly.

It might have been a reflex.

I didn’t care.

I held on.

The clock passed five.

Then five-thirty.

I tucked the radio beneath a folded blanket and sat beside his shoulder. The medical room seemed less empty now. I was no longer speaking to someone who couldn’t possibly answer.

“You’re going to be angry,” I told him, trying to keep my voice steady. “I know. I’ve broken several rules.”

His breath caught, then continued.

“I’m in your bed. I locked your doctor out. I used equipment I wasn’t supposed to touch.”

A tear fell onto our joined hands.

“You can dismiss me later.”

I thought I heard a sound in his throat.

I leaned closer.

“Just wake up first.”

Beyond the door, metal rattled.

I looked toward it.

A key scraped inside the lock.

There was no time to hide the radio properly. No time to put on my shoes or arrange the blankets or become the harmless woman people passed without seeing.

Carmine pushed the door open.

Dr. Mitchell stood behind him carrying a folded black body bag.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Carmine looked from my bare feet to Gabriel’s exposed face, then to the blankets around us.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I stayed between him and the bed.

“He needs—”

“He doesn’t need anything. Get down.”

“Please ask the doctor to examine him.”

Mitchell frowned.

Carmine stepped forward.

“I said get down.”

He caught my arm hard enough to make me gasp.

Behind me, Gabriel drew a breath that everyone in the room could hear.