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Shaking his head, Henry pulled out his phone and swiped his way to what he needed. He flipped the screen and Taylor watched as a man walked into the main entrance. He was visibly shaky, whipping his head wildly to and fro and pointing a semi-automatic rifle all the while. His movements were jerky, and when he was approached by security officers, Taylor watched as the jerking intensified. He started shouting and suddenly he began firing the weapon.
Henry shut down his phone. “We are here.” Sure enough, they were touching down on the Fletcher family helipad.
Taylor climbed out and turned and watched as Derrick gingerly extracted himself from the whirring chopper, bracing his wounded side as he did. Her mind pushed aside what she had just witnessed and instead focused on her husband. She touched the hand he had pressed against his chest when he was out and beside her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just sore,” he said, but he didn’t stop her from putting her arm around him and helping him make his way to the elevator waiting for them on the roof.
“Mrs. Preston-Fletcher,” said a Fletcher Mansion staff member, “I need to take you downstairs to the—”
“No, I need to get Derrick to bed,” she told the staff member.
“Taylor, you don’t have a choice here,” Henry said, crowding into the elevator with them. “The only way I could get you two out of there was to agree they could interview you here.”
“Come on, Tay, the sooner we talk to them the sooner we can get answers,” Derrick said.
Taylor didn’t talk but she silently fumed as she stomped her way into the elevator.
The elevator took them to the first floor of the mansion and Henry led the way toward the drawing room. On the way down the corridor a door opened, stilling Henry and making Taylor tense in apprehension.
Marty exited the open door. “Hey,” she said, her voice breaking into a bright smile as she saw Henry, “I thought—” Marty stopped short, her face registering shock as she leaned and took in Taylor and Derrick clustered behind Henry. “Uh, what are you guys doing here?” she asked in a flat voice.
“Someone tried to attack us at the hospital,” Derrick said dully.
“No, not us, me,” Taylor said. “I am the problem here. And they made us leave.”
Marty pointed at Derrick, “Are you even well enough to be home?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Derrick ground out.
Marty rolled her eyes and turned to Taylor, “Did the nurses rebel?”
“No, one of my employees came into the hospital with a gun. He is dead now,” Taylor said, still very much disturbed about the latest events around her.
“Oh my God,” Marty said in horror. “That’s awful. Are you guys okay?” she asked, flitting her eyes around to the three before her.
“Yes,” Taylor said, shaking her head. “But now we have to talk to the police,” she said waving her hand down the hall to their destination. Taylor was eager to get this night over with.
Marty nodded, now a little dazed herself and then shook her head. “Is this our life now?” she asked in anger. “Like what the fuck is going on?”
“I don’t know,” Taylor said, hoping that this was not their life, that this was just a run of bad luck.
“Let’s go talk to the police, Taylor,” Derrick said. “Maybe they have more input.”
“Hopefully.”
“Well I am going to mark us as safe,” Marty said. “I am sure my phone has blown up,” she declared shaking her head and making her way down the hall away from the group.
“Mark as safe?” Taylor asked Derrick, her face reflective of her overt confusion.
Derrick shook his head, “I’ll explain later.”
“This way,” Henry commanded as he once again led Derrick and Taylor down the hallway to the drawing room where Detective Watts awaited them.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Taylor muttered under her breath as she entered the room and saw the detective before her.
“What?” Derrick asked, looking at her and following her glare to the detective.
“Hello again, Mrs. Fletcher,” the detective said and then turned his attention to Derrick. “Mr. Fletcher, I am Detective Watts” he introduced himself. “How are you guys doing?”