Prologue
The man, standing by the hood of the car, was playing with the large umbrella in his hand. An uneasy feeling swept over her. She contemplated how she was going to escape if he came any closer. Should she put the packages down and try to get back in the car and lock the doors? Should she try to get in the house? She decided that trying to get back in the car would be too obvious and take too much time. So far the threat was merely her imagination. Or was it instinct? She decided to casually move toward the porch, which was about six feet behind the car. As she began to execute her plan, the man moved around the hood of the car.
“I'm sorry, sir. I wish I had some money to give you, but I don't,” she said. She moved more quickly up the stairs, keeping an eye on him over her shoulder. Her adrenaline was pumping causing her to shake.
As she tried to put the key into the door, he moved closer. Trembling with fear, she dropped the keys. When she bent down to pick them up, he stepped onto the first step. She rose and slipped the key into the lock. The umbrella came down full force onto her head. She fell into a heap. The man reached over her, unlocked and opened her front door. He then pulled her inside her house.
When she woke up some time later, she found herself on her bed, lying in a pool of blood.
Chapter 1
The thick, puffy, gray clouds rolled in like billows of smoke swallowing up the tall buildings in the city. The air was cold; much too cold for November. It was just the beginning of one of Nashville's worst winters on record.
As she drove into the parking lot, Renee ignored the four people huddled together on the sidewalk holding their Bibles and trying to keep each other warm. The protesters weren't violent and were usually quite friendly, greeting her as she arrived for work each morning. They used to anger her, but now she just ignored them or offered a curt little wave as she rushed inside. She was used to them now as they were to her. She had heard horror stories of protesters at other clinics shouting horrible things, throwing stones, setting bombs, and more. Luckily, the ones that picketed Women's Prerogative Place didn't use those tactics. They just stood there with their Bibles and prayed. When she first started working there, she was greeted with cold stares, harsh words, and blown-out-of-proportion pictures of bloody little body parts, but the protestors had mellowed out a lot since then. She was glad she didn't have to worry about her safety.
“Good morning, Renee,” the protestors said as Renee got out of the car.
“Good morning,” she replied. The wind attempted to steal her coat, but Renee pulled it around herself tightly. She very rarely zipped it because then it was too bulky in the car and her seat belt didn't fit right. The wind played havoc with her long dark hair. She took the time every morning to straighten it with a hair iron or she would have frizz to contend with all day. She only had to walk a few feet from her car to the front door of the office anyway. She pulled the glass office door open despite the resistance from the wind, rushed inside and pulled the door closed behind her. Renee wiped the tears the cold had produced from her eyes, leaving black mascara streaks on her white gloves. Her blue eyes were radiant under eyelids painted in shades of pink. Her lips were adorned with shiny pink-tinted lip gloss.
“How are you this morning?” Kristy replied, smiling. She was sitting at her desk behind an open window separating the office from the waiting room. Her long, light brown hair draped around her round face. She had big brown eyes and thick red lips that accentuated a mouth full of perfect, bright white teeth.
“I'm okay, but it is Monday. Ask me at lunch time,” Renee replied, chuckling.
“So, how was your weekend?” Kristy inquired.
“It was good. I got all of my holiday decorations out of the basement. I'm going to Mom's for Thanksgiving, but I'll be back on Saturday. I'll throw up the decorations on Sunday and be done with it,” Renee said. Renee liked the way the decorations looked, but she hated all the work that went into putting them up.
“I did my decorating last weekend. Mark was home all week so I put him to work.” Kristy and Mark had been married for three years. Mark was a bassist in an up-and-coming rock band. They were in the process of recording their first album for American Records. Even though they live in Nashville, where there are recording studios everywhere, the producer was located in Los Angeles. The band goes to the producer, not the other way around. Mark was in LA most of the time while they lay down the tracks for the album. Kristy could handle Mark touring better than she could stand the distance while they were recording. “My mother complains that you shouldn't decorate for Christmas until after Thanksgiving, but I figure I need to get it done when Mark is home to help me and decorating is not how I want to spend Thanksgiving weekend. I have shopping to do!” Kristy was one of those fanatic Black Friday shoppers. She is the one who will get a newspaper early Thanksgiving morning and plan out her whole Friday beginning at three o'clock when her alarm is set to go off.
“Have fun with that!” Renee might wander out of the house to do some shopping on Black Friday, but wouldn't last long due to the crowds and the craziness.
“How's your mom doing?” Kristy leaned back in her chair. Renee leaned on the counter.
“Fine, or so she wants me to believe. I feel sorry for her since Dad died.” Renee's father had died over the summer due to pancreatic cancer. Her father had been stubborn and would only go see a doctor when the pain was so bad he could no longer stand it. He didn't even know he had cancer until April. By then the cancer was so bad that chemo wasn't even an option. All they could do was give him pain relievers and wait it out. “She's so lonely out there in the country. She says she isn't, but I can hear it in her voice when I call. She has really been thinking about things—about life, about the after-life, if there is one.”
“Well, that's good, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose, but I think John is getting to her.” Renee abruptly changed the subject. “So, what are your Thanksgiving plans? Are you going to Maine?”
“No. We'll go up there for Christmas. Mark insists on going up once a year and since we're staying home for Thanksgiving, we have to go to Maine for Christmas. I don't mind it much and I love his family, but it's so dang cold up there.”
“I've never been to Maine, but hearing you complain about the weather every year is enough deterrent for me!” Renee laughed.
“Oh, it's not that bad. It's really beautiful in the summer and early fall. It's just that we can never seem to fit a summer trip into our schedules.” Kristy glanced at the clock. “We should probably get to work.” Kristy handed Renee a pile of folders. “We have four appointments this morning. The phone interviews are in there. Your first patient is new. She’s never done this before. In fact, she said she’s never even been to a gynecologist. Have fun,” Kristy chuckled. “Oh, and I thought you might like to see this,” Kristy handed her a news article printed from the internet.
“What's this?” Renee asked looking at it.
“It's an article I thought you might be interested in. The Obama administration wants to rescind the conscience rules that Bush implemented. This means doctors wouldn't be able to opt out of performing abortions.”
“Good. I mean if you are going to go into business to provide health care for women, you should provide all services that are related to women,” Renee said skimming the article in her hand.
“Exactly. Well, all of the details are in that article.”
“Thank you. I'm looking forward to reading it.” Renee set the printout on top of the files she was carrying.
“I'm excited about it,” Kristy said. “There are a few people outside that might beg to differ, though.” Kristy looked out the front window at the protestors as Renee headed down the hall to her office. Had she looked at the names on the files, in her hand, she may have been more interested in one of those.
Renee entered her office and set the files down on her desk. She removed her coat revealing black dress pants and a royal purple button-down blouse. She wore black pumps with moderate heels. She hung her coat on the hook behind her door. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee greeted her as she walked down the hallway toward the break room.
Renee poured the steaming liquid in her cup. She stirred it as she poured the non-dairy creamer until the coffee matched the color of her skin. She emptied one packet of sugar, stirred it again and put it under her nose. Breathing deeply she sighed, “Ah, that smells so good!” She took a sip and it tasted even better than it smelled.
When she returned to her office, Renee turned on the computer. While it was booting up, she picked up the files and leaned back in her chair. She opened the first one and read the demographic information about her first patient. She opened the second file just as Outlook notified her that she had new emails. She sat up and set the files back down, the shock of the third one yet to be discovered.
Renee skimmed through the list of unopened email. There was nothing unexpected in her inbox. She opened the daily update that greeted her every morning from Planned Parenthood. After skimming it over and discovering the only interesting news was the information about Obama's desire to rescind the conscience rules, she minimized Outlook and picked up the files again. She read the second file thoroughly. This was the one that Kristy had told her about. Her name was Chelsea. She was eighteen, never been to a gynecologist, lost her virginity five weeks ago, and just missed a period. “Oh, boy,” she sighed. Those were the most difficult for Renee because she was supposed to try to keep her opinion to herself and remain neutral as she presented the client with all of her options: keep the baby, give it up for adoption, or have an abortion. Ninety-nine times out of hundred, Renee thought abortion was best for clients like Chelsea.
She closed the file and set it down. Just as she opened the third file, her phone rang. She set it on the desk and picked up the phone. “Good morning. Women's Prerogative Place. Renee Truxton speaking.”
When Renee hung up the phone a few minutes later, she glanced at the clock. Only ten more minutes before the first client was due to arrive. She drained her coffee cup and picked up the file of the third patient. Rebecca D’Angelo. Renee wondered why that name sounded so familiar. And then it hit her! “Becky D’Angelo?” Renee said aloud. “Surely there is some kind of mistake. There is no way Becky would be seeking an abortion!”
