Chapter 3 - The Night Nora Forgot
Nora woke at two in the afternoon with someone pounding on her apartment door.
She sat upright.
For one terrifying second, she thought of Vincent.
Then she heard her younger brother’s voice.
“Nora, open up before Mrs. Delgado calls the police on me again.”
Nora groaned.
Eli Bennett stood outside holding two coffees and a paper bag.
At twenty-six, he possessed the irritating optimism Nora had misplaced years ago.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He entered her tiny Rogers Park apartment and saw the bruises on her wrist.
His smile disappeared.
“What happened?”
“Patient.”
“What patient?”
“A difficult one.”
Eli looked closer.
“Nora.”
She took the coffee.
“Vincent Mercer.”
Eli nearly dropped the bag.
“The Vincent Mercer?”
“Unless Chicago has two terrifying crime bosses with touch aversion.”
“You touched Vincent Mercer?”
“He was bleeding.”
“And you’re alive?”
“Apparently.”
Eli sat down.
Nora expected questions.
Instead, he noticed something on the kitchen table.
The black card.
“You took his number?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why is it here?”
Nora stared.
She had left the card at the hospital.
She was certain.
A knock sounded again.
Nora’s entire body stiffened.
Eli moved toward the door.
She caught his arm.
“Don’t.”
The knocking came once more.
Three controlled taps.
Nora opened the door herself.
Caleb Rourke stood outside.
He held a white bakery box.
Nora stared at it.
“What is that?”
“Cannoli.”
“Why?”
Caleb looked uncomfortable.
“The boss said flowers might seem threatening.”
Nora blinked.
“And cannoli don’t?”
“He’s new at this.”
Eli made a choking sound behind her.
Nora folded her arms.
“What does he want?”
“To see you.”
“No.”
Caleb nodded as though he had expected that.
“He also said you’d say no.”
“Wonderful. Then this can be short.”
“He wants to thank you.”
“He survived. That’s enough.”
Caleb studied her.
“You really don’t want anything.”
“From him?”
“From anyone.”
The observation landed harder than Nora expected.
She looked away.
Caleb put the box on the hallway table.
“His doctor says his panic response is worse since waking up.”
Nora’s expression changed.
“That can happen after surgery.”
“He won’t let them change the dressing.”
“Then find a trauma psychologist.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“He threw him out.”
Nora sighed.
“That doesn’t make me responsible.”
“No.”
Caleb’s voice softened.
“But he asked for you.”
Nora hated that those words mattered.
An hour later, she was back at Lakeshore Crown.
Vincent was standing beside the window when she entered.
He should not have been standing.
His shirt hung open around fresh bandages. His face was pale.
“You’re supposed to be in bed.”
He turned.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Vincent said, “You came.”
“You’re going to tear your sutures.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
“I heard you.”
Nora approached.
He watched every step.
She stopped beyond arm’s reach.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been shot.”
“Three times.”
“I remember.”
“Good. Your brain works.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
Nora noticed.
So did Vincent.
His face immediately returned to stone.
She pointed at the bed.
“Sit.”
Caleb, standing near the door, stared at her.
Nobody ordered Vincent Mercer to sit.
Vincent sat.
Nora examined the dressing without touching him.
“May I?”
His body tightened.
Then he nodded.
She placed two fingers near the edge of the bandage.
Nothing happened.
Vincent exhaled.
Nora carefully checked the incision.
“Looks clean.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Touch me.”
Nora paused.
“I don’t know.”
“I want a better answer.”
“I’m a nurse, not a magician.”
His eyes remained on hers.
“You were at my house.”
Nora went still.
“What?”
“The night of the fire.”
She stepped backward.
“No.”
“Caleb checked.”
Vincent reached toward a folder on the table.
Inside was an old newspaper clipping.
Nora read the date.
October 14.
Eleven years earlier.
A photograph showed firefighters outside the ruins of a lakefront mansion.
Beneath it:
LOCAL NURSING STUDENT ASSISTS IN RESCUE BEFORE EMS ARRIVAL.
Nora’s face drained of color.
“I don’t remember this.”
“You gave a statement.”
“I remember a fire.”
Vincent stared.
Nora’s breathing became shallow.
She saw flashes.
Rain.
Smoke.
A broken window.
Someone screaming that a man was still inside.
She remembered being twenty.
She remembered driving home after a late class.
She remembered flames against the sky.
And then—
A man on the lawn.
Burned.
Unconscious.
Her hands pressing against his chest.
“Jesus.”
Nora sat down.
“That was you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you died.”
Vincent’s expression shifted.
“You stayed until the ambulance arrived.”
“I barely remember.”
“You held my hand.”
Nora looked at him.
Vincent’s voice lowered.
“I remembered your voice yesterday.”
She swallowed.
“What did I say?”
His eyes held hers.
“You said, ‘You’re not dying tonight.’”
Nora’s chest tightened.
Twenty-year-old Nora had touched him before terror had taught his nervous system to reject everyone.
Maybe somewhere inside him, his body remembered safety before his mind did.
Vincent looked down at his hands.
“I spent eleven years believing the last person who touched me without hurting me was a hallucination.”
“You weren’t hallucinating.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You were real.”
A knock interrupted them.
Melissa entered carrying medication.
Her smile was too bright.
“Nora. I didn’t know you were coming back.”
“I’m off duty.”
“I can handle Mr. Mercer’s dressing.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“No.”
Melissa stopped.
“I’m the nursing supervisor.”
“And she is the person I want.”
Nora winced.
“I’m standing right here.”
Melissa’s humiliation was immediate.
She put the medication down.
“Of course.”
Then she left.
Nora watched the door close.
Something bothered her.
“What?”
Vincent asked.
“She knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I was here the night of the fire.”
Vincent’s expression sharpened.
“How?”
“She had your chart last night.”
“So?”
“Historical records from eleven years ago wouldn’t normally be in an emergency chart.”
Caleb stepped forward.
Vincent looked at him.
“Find out who accessed my old medical records.”
Caleb nodded.
Nora stood.
“I should go.”
Vincent’s hand moved.
He stopped himself before touching her.
Nora noticed.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For coming?”
“For both nights.”
She smiled faintly.
“You’re welcome.”
As she reached the door, Vincent spoke again.
“Nora.”
She turned.
His expression was unexpectedly vulnerable.
“Will you come tomorrow?”
Her instinct said no.
Her heart said something considerably more dangerous.
“I work at seven.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to survive until seven.”
Nora rolled her eyes.
“That line probably works better when you haven’t been shot.”
This time Vincent actually smiled.
Nora walked away before she could decide what that smile did to her.
Behind her, Caleb’s phone buzzed.
He read the message.
His face changed.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
Caleb closed the door.
“Someone accessed your sealed fire investigation records three weeks ago.”
“Who?”
“The request came from this hospital.”
Vincent’s expression turned cold.
“Melissa?”
“No.”
Caleb turned the phone around.
The name on the screen belonged to a physician Vincent had not seen in eleven years.
Dr. Samuel Grant.
May you like
Melissa Grant’s father.
And the man who had declared Vincent’s former fiancée dead after the fire.
