Witness on the Run

“I’d like to call someone,” Robin said, then hesitated. “But I don’t know who to call.”

She sounded sad, even to her own ears, yet she didn’t think she was a sad person.

“Here’s your briefcase.” The nurse placed it on Robin’s lap. “I’ll bet you’ve got an emergency number in your cell phone.”

“Great, thanks.”

“They’ll be down shortly to take you to a room.” The nurse wrote something on a chart and hovered beside Robin, probably afraid she’d have a complete mental breakdown if left alone.

Robin began the search of her messy briefcase. She dug and shuffled things around, but came up empty. No cell phone.

She zipped open a side pocket and found her wallet, keys, gum and lip gloss. She pulled out her driver’s license. “At least I’ll know where to tell the cab to drop me,” she muttered.

The nurse shot her a sympathetic smile.

Gripping her briefcase to her chest like a security blanket, Robin inhaled, hoping the scent would trigger some kind of memory. She closed her eyes and sighed.

A few seconds later, someone cleared his throat. She opened her eyes and Jake stood there, not too close, offering a tentative smile. “I thought… I wanted to make sure you were okay. You looked scared before.”

“Sir, you shouldn’t be here,” the nurse said.

“No, it’s okay.” Robin sat up a little and fought the urge to brush flyaway hair off her face. Sheesh, girl, he’s not interested in you that way. Not to mention she must look like she’d just gone ten rounds in a boxing ring.

“I’m glad you came back,” Robin said. “What happened tonight, to me?”

“We’re not sure.” He took a slight step closer, but just one. “I was outside the Chambers Building and saw you running. Something spooked you, big time.”

“They think I saw a murder?”

“Yes, but they don’t know for sure.”

Robin attempted a smile. “It’s a good thing you were there.”

“Glad I could help.”

A few seconds of awkward silence stretched between them as the nurse checked a monitor. Jake seemed uncomfortable, but Robin couldn’t figure out why.

“Well, anyway,” he said and turned.

Panic shot through her chest. “Are you leaving?”

He glanced back at her. “I wasn’t going to, not until you’re settled. If that’s okay.”

“Yes, very okay. I mean I’d rather you stay around if you’ve got nothing better to do, which I’m sure you do, but if you didn’t—” She stopped herself. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

The nurse smiled as she checked Robin’s IV.

“You’ve been through a lot tonight,” Jake said. “You’re allowed.”

“Guys hate ramblers.” She remembered that from somewhere.

“Not all guys.” With a half smile he pointed to the door. “I’ll be right outside that door.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She liked Jake and wished he’d been a permanent part of her past. Then again, this could be part of a goofy syndrome that happens when someone is saved by another person.

A handsome man with gentle eyes.

That hit to your head really messed you up.

“I’ve got to check on another patient. I’ll be right back, okay?” the nurse said.

“Sure.”

But Robin was far from okay. She had to get a grip on her discombobulated brain and focus on the problem at hand: remembering.

She clutched her briefcase to her chest, closed her eyes, took a slow, deep breath, determined to remember. Instead, anxiety washed over her. Something important was happening soon, and she was in charge of a lot of people. Yet she’d be lucky if she could cross the street on her own. Her knee was banged up, her head was wonky, and she’d sprained her wrist when she fell to the ground.

You were very lucky.

She’d heard those words at least five times since they’d brought her in. Yes, it could have been so much worse. She considered thanking God for her good fortune, but stopped herself. Somehow she sensed He’d never answered her prayers before, so why give Him the credit?

“Miss Strand, how are you feeling?”

She opened her eyes to the back of a doctor in green scrubs. He was doing something, probably looking over her chart.

“I’ve been better,” she said.

“I’m going to put something in your line to help you sleep tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.” The other doctor had said he didn’t want to completely zonk her out. Oh well. Different doctors, different styles.

The doctor stood just behind her bed and fiddled with her IV. “A good night’s sleep might help you move past the trauma.”

“And help me remember?”

“You don’t remember anything about what happened tonight?”

“No. Well, yes. I remembered the guy who helped me. That’s good, right?”

“Remembering anything is good.” He paused. “You don’t remember what you witnessed in the office building?”

“What I witnessed?” she repeated, feeling suddenly cold. “No, I don’t…” Her head felt like a lead weight sinking into the pillow.

“Rest, Miss Strand,” he said, his voice sounding far away. “Everything will be fine.”