Connor watched heartsick as the priest administered the Last Rites to Sylvie. They didn’t call it that anymore. The priest performing the ritual referred to it as ‘the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick,’ but Connor knew enough about Catholicism to know that it was being done because they all thought she was dying. But he wouldn’t accept that. He wouldn’t allow her to die.
He’d wanted to immediately airlift her to a trauma center in the city, but the EMT’s overruled him and the local police sided with the ambulance crew. Connor had no standing, he was just an ex-boyfriend. He had no authority to make medical decisions for her. So Sylvie was taken to the nearest hospital, in Ellenville, a half-hour away, to be stabilized. Connor was livid, but there was nothing he could do except chopper in two trauma surgeons he knew in New York to oversee her care until he could get her out of here. But he didn’t know when that would be.
As far as he could tell they were doing little more than scratching their asses and running tests: X-rays, CAT scans, MRIs, ultra sounds, and various blood work. They said they were assessing her condition. They talked about everything they should do, but they hadn’t really done anything yet. Nothing proactive. She was on a ventilator to pump oxygen into her lungs and had been given a couple of blood transfusions. They’d inserted two chest tubes in her, he assumed to drain her lungs, and had been sticking needles in her abdomen and withdrawing fluid from there every 30 minutes since they’d arrived. They’d also removed the ceramic phallus that bastard had shoved in her.
Sylvie’s injuries were what one doctor termed ‘devastating.’ She’d suffered severe head trauma from repeated blows to the skull. As well as a broken nose and a fracture to the orbit of her left eye. Sylvie had a punctured lung and several broken ribs which had caused both lungs to collapse. There were ‘ruptures’ to the spleen, bowel, possibly her gall bladder, and to the kidney. They were worried about renal failure and the very real possibility of serious infection. She had internal bleeding, damage to her vagina, urethra, and most likely her uterus, and numerous lacerations and burns. And a possible myocardial contusion. The prognosis wasn’t good…and it was getting bleaker by the hour. They needed to do surgery immediately to relieve the pressure in her skull. All their other efforts would be worthless if she suffered irreversible brain damage.
They were trying to prioritize what needed to be done before they handed her off to a better equipped, better staffed hospital. Many of the injuries were life-threatening in and of themselves. Her lungs needed to be surgically re-inflated; they had to go into her abdomen and try to repair her bowels and deal with her kidneys, spleen, and the rest. There were specialists at the hospital in Ellenville, but not of the caliber found at a large, well-funded medical center in Manhattan. They said transporting her now might kill her; but he worried that without the best doctors working on her, she might very well die on the operating table. Over the years he’d given millions to hospitals in New York City, Long Island, Northern New Jersey, and elsewhere. He was calling in favors from everyone he knew who could help and had teams of thoracic, colorectal, gynecological, and neurosurgeons on their way up here now. As well as several general surgeons. He was also bringing in consulting cardiologists and orthopedic surgeons. All preeminent experts in their fields, they would be assisting in whatever surgeries had to be performed immediately. He just hoped they arrived before they rolled Sylvie into the operating room.
He’d arranged for a plane from Rochester to fly her family here and one of the corporate jets to pick up her brother Ben from North Carolina where he was now stationed. But they hadn’t arrived yet. They were flying into Stewart Airport in Newburgh. He had no idea what he’d say to them when they arrived. Sarah had become hysterical when he’d called her. And Sylvie’s father Lucas…he would never forget the anguish in his voice.
Connor was responsible for this. He knew it. If it hadn’t been for him, this never would have happened. Knowing him, loving him, had brought her to this. He’d fucked up every step of the way. He should have never bedded her in the first place, never led her on. He knew she loved him and he’d used it against her, taking advantage of her feelings. He’d forced her into a life style she neither wanted nor understood. He made her abide by rules she found loathsome and unfair. He’d attempted to control every aspect of her life, never giving a damn what she wanted or needed. It was all about him. His wants, his needs always took precedence. And when she objected? He told her to take it or leave it. Connor had promised to protect and take care of her. But he hadn’t. Oh, he’d provided food, shelter, and money alright. But he’d always kept his emotional distance. He cared for her, but… But what? He didn’t want to get involved? He should have thought of that back in July. He’s the one who lured her in. He got her involved! He was like a spider, casting a web to snare her. Connor wanted a sex toy and a bedmate. Sylvie wanted a future. Then when the shit hit the fan with the investigation, he’d compounded his mistake by sending her away. He’d, in essence, thrown her to the wolves. Oh, he could tell himself that he’d been following the cops’ suggestions and had done it for her own good. But he’d be lying. It was an excuse. He’d already begun to worry about and question his feelings for her. He should have never let her out of his sight. He should have stepped up to the plate and been a man. Taken responsibility for her and what he’d done. The danger he’d put her in. But he’d been afraid he was getting too close to the little imp. He’d prided himself on never needing anyone. Love weakened a man. It made him soft, irrational. It had scared the hell out of him when he discovered he might actually need her. So he tried to distance himself. But he couldn’t stay away. She was worming her way into his heart and he couldn’t have that. He’d spent the last three months miserable without her and yet he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself. And every time he saw her, what did he do? He treated her like shit. He punished and pushed her away. Connor had used Sylvie and then abandoned her. He tried to justify his actions, saying that he was doing it to keep the killer’s focus off her, but that was only part of it. Yes, he was afraid the killer would come after her. Yes, he sensed he was being surveilled every time he was in the city. But that wasn’t why he’d behaved like such a cad to her the last few weeks. Why he’d set out to deliberately hurt her. He reasoned that if she was so angry at him that she wanted nothing more to do with him; he wouldn’t have to deal with his feelings for her. His intention was always to keep her safe. What he didn’t want to do was love her. When he felt himself succumbing, no matter his best efforts; he cut her off completely. He should have known this would happen. He knew she loved her job. She was certainly good at it. Connor had thought if he threw enough money at her, kept raising her salary, she’d be a good little girl and stay cloistered in the penthouse, editing his books, and doing what she was told. What a dumb-ass! Sylvie never gave a shit about the money. She’d stayed for him. But he’d finally pushed her too far. He’d wounded her pride. He’d broken her heart. And he’d driven her into the arms of the killer.
He was so fucked up! Becoming insanely jealous of any man who even spoke to her, let alone touched her. What did you call it when a man felt that way about a woman? When you woke up at three in the morning bereft for want of her? When you couldn’t face the day without seeing her smile? Couldn’t sleep without the warmth of her body near? Wanted to envelope her in your arms and hold her there forever? Jesus Christ! He couldn’t even say the fucking word! What was he so afraid of?
The priest ended his prayers, making the sign of the cross. He turned to the nurses and nodded. They had come to take her to the OR. Now it was in God’s hands. Connor rushed to the bed and bent to whisper in her ear. ‘Don’t leave me Sylvie! Please don’t leave me!’
Connor was pacing the floor in the waiting room when her family rushed in accompanied by the four security people who’d picked them up at the airport. Matt looked like he was ready to kill Connor and started for him, but Lucas grabbed his arm. ‘What happened to my girl?’ Lucas demanded to know. ‘What the hell was she doing at Tiz’s all alone? Matt tells me there’s a serial killer on the loose. That he’s murdered several of your former girlfriends. What the hell did you get her involved in? Tell me what’s going on! Why some maniac attacked my daughter?’ Tears were gathering in his eyes as he glared at Connor.
The only people who knew about the investigation were Connor, his security people, the cops, and Sylvie. He made sure to keep everyone else in the dark. Even made Sylvie swear not to talk about it to anyone, even her family. The trooper on the case must have told Matt about it. Why hadn’t her brother forced Sylvie to go home to Wyoming where she’d be safe? Forcing Sylvie? That wasn’t such an easy thing to do. She was stubborn and willful, with a mind of her own.
Connor had done everything in his power to keep the investigation under wraps. He hadn’t wanted any publicity linking him to the deaths; hadn’t wanted to dredge up the past or reveal the intimate details of his personal life, his relationships. But the time for silence had long since passed. He nodded at the older man and told him everything.
