Shattered

Chapter 4 Mark

"I'm convinced that tragedy wants to harden us and that our mission is to never let it."  Felicity

Mark's head dropped. He quickly tried to recover and turned to the side, so Bradley wouldn't see his disappointment. The gloomy walls and poor lightening of the hospital room complimented the silent and solemn mood. It wasn't the answer anyone wanted. It wasn't the answer anyone expected. Bradley's enemy was faceless, nameless and worst of all, still out there. Mark's job as her protector, defender, just became a million times harder. Was she a random victim or was this a calculated plot from someone she knew?

Mark gently stroked the top of Bradley's hand with his free hand until she slowly released the death grip she had on his other hand. Her tearful eyes pleaded with him to stay, but he couldn't contain his anger and frustration any longer. The room was stifling and every moment he stayed increased his suffocation. He felt Conner's eyes on him until he stepped into the hall and disappeared around the doorframe. He inhaled the stale air and backed against the metal railing along the wall. The hallway was pretty quiet, only a few of the staff were moving about down at the nurse's station.

Mark heard Detective Jones answer her phone as she exited Bradley's room. She turned the other direction and continued her conversation down the hall. Mark sluggishly trailed, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"She said the same thing. They all allege they don't remember what happened to them." She stopped at the elevator bank. Mark paused, hoping she wouldn't turn around. "All three girls had Ketamine in their bloodstream. While amnesia is certainly a side effect, it seems unlikely that all of them have no memory whatsoever of who might have drugged them." She tapped the glowing elevator button several times. "Yes, Emma had a higher trace of Ketamine. Bradley and Kristin had about the same. But Bradley is at least 15 pounds lighter than Kristin. They either took the same dose around the same time or were drugged around the same time. Who have you interviewed from the party so far?" Mark slipped behind an open closet door to avoid being seen. "Phil Catalano asserts he hit Kristin Whitfield with an oar but claims he doesn't know why? When I interviewed Kristin she said she fell earlier in the night injuring her legs. No, I haven't interviewed Mark Harber yet, but I retrieved the clothing he was wearing from a security guard. He's my next conversation."

Mark shook his head in disbelief. Why would she want his clothes? Was he a suspect? He cursed himself for forgetting his bag of clothes in the waiting room downstairs. How could she possibly believe that he would have anything to do with hurting Bradley? He didn't have anything to hide. He needed to talk to Phil. He heard the elevator doors close behind Detective Jones and dashed to the nurse's station. A male nurse was furiously typing behind the counter.

"Can I use your phone?"

He held up his pointer finger, indicating Mark needed to wait. Mark glanced back at the doorway to Bradley's room. Nobody else had emerged.

"Is Kristin Whitfield or Emma O'Donnell on this floor?"

The nurse looked up and pressed a cup of piping hot coffee to his lips. He took a long sip and then sat back in his chair. "HIPAA."

"What?"

"I can't give you information about any patient's care unless you're on the authorization form, which, I'm certain you're not. You're lucky we're even allowing you on this floor after visiting hours."

Mark sighed. "I wasn't asking for information on patient care. Can I please use your phone? It's an emergency."

Before the nurse could answer, Mark felt a soft hand on his shoulder. "I think it's time for us to chat," Detective Jones suggested nonchalantly.