Chapter 2

One of the policemen standing outside Blake’s front door was tall and holding an open pad. The short policeman next to him was blowing into his ungloved hands.

The tall policeman glanced at the pad and then looked up. “Mr. Conner?”

“Has there been a car accident? Is Tiffany okay?”

“Are you Tiffany Conner’s husband?” the tall policeman asked with the same emotionless expression.

“I am. Has there been a car accident?”

“No car accident, sir.”

“Thank god!” Blake realized his hands were trembling and not from the cold.

“But there was a shooting and—”

“A shooting?” Blake asked. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Sir, there was an incident at the supermarket your wife was in.”

“What kind of incident?”

“A robbery. She was shot.”

“How bad?”

“All I can tell you is that she was taken to the Good Samaritan hospital.”

“She’s okay though? Right?”

“I don’t know her condition. I was sent to notify you of the situation. Sir, do you need a ride to Good Sam?”

“A ride? No, I have a car.”

“Can you drive?”

“Of course I can drive.” Blake paused before asking, “Is there anything else. I want to see my wife.”

The policeman shook his head and the two officers turned and leaned into the wind as they walked to their patrol car. Blake bolted from the house, pulling the door closed behind him, and sprinted toward his car. The biting cold air pierced him like needles as he realized he had forgotten his coat. Blake spun around and ran back into the house where he grabbed the first jacket he saw. He was outside the house when he realized he had just showered and didn’t have his keys or wallet. He would need his drivers license and his medical insurance card. Blake went back into the house, took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and gathered what he needed. Then, after locking the front door to his house, Blake started walking and then sprinted to his car. He drove to the hospital.

Why hadn’t the policeman told him how Tiffany was doing? Or where she was shot or how many times. Those were the thoughts racing through his mind as he raced through the hospital parking lot and through the front doors into the lobby. He ran up to a desk.

“I’m looking for my wife,” Blake shouted to the woman behind the counter while gasping for air. “The police said she was shot. Her name is Tiffany Conner. Where is she?”

“The supermarket shooting?” the woman asked with no emotion.

“That’s what the cops said. Where is she?”

“The victims’ families are gathered on the second floor in the waiting area.” She rose halfway out of her chair to point. “The elevators are over there.”