Chapter 30

Yanking the door open, Richie stepped back to let the doctor in, then frowned in confusion at the sight of a room service waiter carrying a tray with a bottle of scotch.

 

“What the……?”  He said in surprise, then his brain caught up and he realised why Billie had so easily opened her door to him when he arrived - she’d ordered herself some amnesia and thought it had arrived.

 

“Sir?” 

 

The waiter was staring pointedly at his sleeve, at the blood soaking the fabric, and he took a step back from the door, looking down the hallway in search of security.  He recognised the man who’d opened the door, and like most of the country knew of the guitarist’s struggles with alcohol.  Unfortunately, he was putting together Richie and alcohol and bloodstains and getting all the wrong answers.  Luckily, though, before he could speak again the elevator doors pinged open at the end of the hallway, and a man carrying the unmistakable bag of a doctor emerged.

 

“Oh, thank God.”  Richie muttered, stepping into the hallway.  “Down here!”

 

As he moved back into the room, Richie glanced at the bottle of scotch.  He could hardly blame Billie for ordering it - he’d tried it for long enough himself, to use alcohol to chase away his pain.  Just that her pain was far more immediate and brutal than his had been.

 

“You can take that away.”  He told the waiter as the doctor got to the door. 

 

When the doctor had entered the room, Richie closed the door in the stunned face of the waiter, turning to face the doctor.

 

“She’s through here.”  He led the way to the bedroom.  “I got here about ten minutes ago, and she was…….” 

 

The doctor nodded.  The blood pooled on the floor, the trail of blood drops heading to the bedroom said enough.

 

“I took her through to the bed, but she passed out a few minutes ago.”  Richie swallowed hard.  “She’s bled a lot, doc.”

 

“I see that.”  The doctor nodded as they entered the room. 

 

Even the bedcover was now stained with blood where it had soaked through from her robe, and Richie heard the doctor suck in a horrified breath, then grab at his professional composure, stepping up to the bed.

 

“Did she tell you what happened?”  He asked as he felt for her pulse, finding it weak and thready.

 

“She was assaulted.”  Richie said slowly.  How much should he say?  As much as he had to, to make sure she got the help she needed.  “She said somebody beat her, raped her.  And worse.” 

 

His last words were whispered as he found himself unable to say it, and the doctor looked up in confusion for a second, then thought maybe he understood.  As Richie waited helplessly, the doctor moved the cover back and untied her robe again, his face paling as he looked at Billie’s battered form.  The fact of most of the blood on the back of her robe, combined with the dark streaks in the blood, told him what had happened to this woman, and he had to fight to keep himself together.  Dammit, he was a hotel doctor, there to dispense aspirin and band aids - he wasn’t an ER doctor.  Or a surgeon, which was what she needed.

 

Richie stood watching.  The way the doctor had turned pale told him even more how badly hurt Billie was, and he just didn’t know what to do.  He was rescued from the indecision by a loud knocking on the suite door, and a voice calling ‘paramedics’.

 

“Thank God.”  He muttered, heading for the door to let them in.

 

Much as the waiter and doctor had done, the paramedics had a quick double-take at the man who opened the suite door, but Richie just pointed them toward the bedroom.  He closed the door and leaned against it, looking to the bedroom door, wondering if he should call anyone.  Well, okay, not anyone.  Wondering if he should call Jon.  The answer didn’t take him long, and he pulled out his cellphone, hitting the speed dial and pacing toward the window, hoping to muffle his words a little.

 

 

In New York, Jon looked angrily at his phone.  Angry because he had to lay down his wineglass to pick it up as it buzzed.  The display told him it was Richie, and he answered grouchily.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Hello to you, too, Jon.”  Richie snapped back, his worry sharpening his tone.

 

“What is it?”  Jon shifted the phone so he could pick up his wine again.  He’d already had a bottle and a half, but needed more to try to get his brain to stop playing back Dot asking for a divorce.

 

“Bro…..”  Richie paused, trying to make his voice gentler.  “You need to come up to Philly.  Now.”

 

“Why?  Middle of the fucking night.”

 

“Because Billie needs……”  He was about to finish ‘to go to hospital’, but Jon interrupted too fast.

 

“Billie needs?!  Hasn’t she taken enough from me for one day?”  Dammit, he knew he was being unreasonable, but the wine, and the hurt, told him he was justified.

 

“Fuck you, Jon!”  Richie snapped, turning to the window, hoping his words hadn’t carried to the bedroom where he could hear the soft voices of paramedics and the doctor as they worked on Billie.  “She hasn’t taken a damned thing from you, and you know it!”

 

Jon straightened in his chair as something in Richie’s voice got through to him.  Something that told him something very bad had happened up there.

 

“Shit.  Sorry.”  He exhaled sharply, setting down the wine.  “What’s wrong, bro?”

 

“Billie’s been……..”  Richie paused.  He couldn’t make himself say it over the phone this way.  “She’s been hurt.  I stopped by to say hello, and it was lucky I did.  The paramedics just arrived.”

 

“Paramedics?!”  Jon shot upright, already getting to his feet.  Okay, so she wasn’t his ‘problem’, but dammit she was his son’s mother and for that alone he cared about her.

 

“Yeah.”  Richie sighed.  “Get up here, Jonny.  She’s bad.”

 

“How bad?”

 

“Bad.”  He replied firmly.  “I’ll let you know when I find out which hospital.  Can you let Jay know?  I don’t have his number……”

 

“Shit.”  This wasn’t how Jon wanted to be talking to his son, but he had to man up - cowboy up - and do it.  “Let me know which hospital, then I’ll call him, okay?  Once we know where to send him.”

 

“Will do, bro.  Get here.”  Richie finished firmly, closing his phone and heading to the bedroom.

 

At the door, he paused, stepping aside to let one of the paramedics leave the room.

 

“Gurney.”  The guy said as he passed, a quick explanation of why he was leaving, and Richie just nodded, entering the room.

 

“How is she?”  He asked diffidently, and the doctor looked up, shaking his head silently, mouthing ‘not good’.

 

He stepped back against the wall, hating to watch, but unable to leave, caught between fear and the need to know what was going on.  What worried him more than anything - and he was no doctor, so didn’t know if it was really as bad as it seemed - was that she lay so quiet and still.  He’d have almost preferred if she was moaning in pain, thrashing on the bed.  This pale, silent sight terrified him. 

 

What scared him most was that maybe he’d arrived too late.