Page 59 of As Angels Sin

One hour of waiting turns into two. With no frame of reference for how long this might take, my nerves start to spike. Four nurses visit us over the two hours, each coming to deliver the same message:

“The doctors are doing everything they can. You’ll get word shortly.”

I’d prefer they didn’t come at all. Every new arrival fills me with hope and dread, expecting an answer and being told to wait longer.

But when two men, dressed in fedora hats and long, brown coats, approach us, my fears reach new heights. Golden badges hang from their necks and bounce against their chests.

“Good morning, Miss Napoli. I’m Detective Harlow and this is Detective Jameson. We’re with the New York Police Department. Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?” the one leading the pair says, as soon as they reach Simone and me.

“Of course.” I gulp, offering them the two single-seater chairs next to me.

Both detectives sit. “Please don’t look so alarmed, Miss Napoli. This is just routine questioning. We have to do this whenever a gunshot victim comes into the hospital.”

“A gunshot victim?” My eyes widen.

“Yes,” he flips open a notebook and scans it. “A Mr. Crue Amos.”

“When they called me, they said he had been stabbed.” Maybe they were building up to the worst of it. I can totally see how I might have hung up before whoever spoke to me could say it, in my panic to get here.

“Do you know who would want to do something like this to him?” Detective Harlow doesn’t beat around the bush. He’s done this before. I can see it in the cold way he approaches the conversation. A gunshot and stab-wound victim is part of his everyday life.

“No, I don’t. Until a few hours ago, I didn’t even know he had me down as his emergency contact.”

The detective jots down my answer.

“I had a preliminary conversation with the ambulance driver. Crue was found face down on the side of a road in Queens.” Hesays a street name I didn’t know existed, and asks, “Have any idea who would want to do this out there?”

I shake my head as tears flood my eyelids. Crue was left to die in the street, with no one by his side. He must’ve been so afraid. He must have wondered if it was the end, maybe even believed it was.

I don’t cry, though. Not in front of Detective Harlow. Something tells me Crue wouldn’t want me to.

“Do you know anything at all?” Detective Harlow sighs, and forces a practiced smile on his face. It must be so frustrating to go from one scene to the next with no leads and nowhere to build a case. Like so many before him, Crue’s attack will fall into a stack of unsolved violence and be forgotten, save for the underpaid and overworked admin staff.

“No,” I answer honestly. Simone slides an arm over my shoulders and tugs me against her side.

“I’m sorry, Miss Napoli. Crue is in my prayers.” Detective Harlow says. He and his partner stand, and they walk off.

I get a little kick out of hearing him say that, though. A case involving Crue would make their careers. It would catapult them from detective obscurity into fame and fortune, and give them a great story they could tell. Yet here they are praying for his safe return to society, as if he’s some kind of saint who didn’t deserve this.

I realize his words are probably just practiced lines from his detective’s handbook — he says them to everyone he leaves behind carrying the fear and burden of a loved one’s death. But I like my version better.

Not long after the detectives leave, another doctor comes out to talk to us. He seems old beyond his years, with deep crow’s feet and thin stripe of gray running through his hair. He stops in front of us, smiling contently.

“Miss Napoli?” He’s looking at Simone. She gestures with her eyes toward me.

“The operation was successful, Miss Napoli. Mr. Amos suffered tremendous blood loss, but he’s in recovery, now. Only time will tell if he’ll be okay, but we’ve done everything we can to help him,” he says.

“Thank you, doctor.” I don’t know what to make of that.

Apart from waiting, there’s nothing I can do, except wait some more. Should I hope for the best and expect the worst? It’s horrible. All horrible.

But I’ll do it. Forever, even, if it that’s what it takes.

Because he’s going to come back to me. He has to.

I can’t do this without him.

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