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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tate sped through town, taking back alleys to keep from hitting stop signs and red lights. He made it to the hospital in just under eight minutes. He entered the E.R. on the run, and was met by a lab tech and a nurse.
He recognized the nurse but couldn’t remember her name. She, however, knew him.
“This way, Tate,” she said, and led him into an unoccupied bay. “Lie down here and push up your sleeve.”
He did as she asked without saying a word. Within moments they had the needle in a vein and the blood began to flow. He glanced over at the tube, watching the bright red blood running down into the bag and thought about the power contained in the dynamics of a family. Did blood prove you belonged? If you didn’t, did they care? Did belonging isolate you or insulate you? Some families drew closer when tragedy struck and others splintered. He knew where his fell in that scenario.
The nurse was standing beside him, waiting to rush the blood into the O.R. Without knowing the dynamics of his family, she assumed Tate would be concerned about his father’s welfare.
“He’s a tough man, Tate. They’re doing all they can.”
“I’m sure they are. Who was in the other car?”
She grimaced. “Mrs. Coffee. She didn’t make it.”
“Oh, my God,” Tate said, and closed his eyes.
He remembered the little librarian from his high school days and was sad that such a sweet woman’s life would end this way.
“Not much longer,” the tech said.
He glanced at the bag. It was almost full. If this was what saved Don Benton’s life, his dad was going to be pissed.
“That’ll do it,” the tech said, and stopped the flow, pulled the needle and quickly taped it off. “Here you go,” he said, and handed the blood off to the nurse.
“God bless you, Tate,” she said, and left the room at a run.
When Tate started to get up, the tech stopped him and handed him a juice box.
“You need to lie here for about ten minutes. I snagged you a fresh doughnut to have with this juice.”
Tate thanked him and sat up just enough so that he could swallow.
He ate and drank without thought, taking the food like medicine, and wondered how Beaudry was doing. Since he was already there, he decided go by and check on the chief before he left.
* * *
Hershel showed up for work with a snap in his step. Word had leaked out, and like everyone else in town he’d heard all about Leon Mooney being a copycat killer. He considered it a compliment. Too bad his intended victims weren’t dead. It would have added to the Stormchaser’s cachet, having a successful copycat following in his footsteps.
“Hey, you! Good to see you up and around,” Laura Doyle said. “Did you drive here?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then I need you to haul some of our supplies over to the First Baptist Church. Take this list and fill it from the storeroom. Do you know where the church is located?”
Hershel took the list, scanning it quickly. “I think so. Isn’t it the one a block south of Eats?”
“That’s it. Get some of the guys out back to help you load, and take someone with you. Doesn’t matter who. As soon as you’re through, come back here.”
“Will do,” he said, and went back out to drive his truck up to the back of the gym.
* * *
When they told Tate he could leave, he went to see Beaudry. The door was ajar, and even before he went in, he could hear the man griping, which had to mean he was on the mend. He knocked once then walked in.
Beaudry looked up and waved him over.