Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian (Fifty Shades 4)
Page 134“Okay.” She sighs. “I hope you sort out your situation. Have a safe flight.”
I wish I didn’t have to go.
“You, too, baby,” I whisper, and hang up before I change my mind and stay.
I CALL ROS AS we taxi toward the runway.
“Christian, how’s Savannah?”
“I’m on the plane coming home. I have a problem I have to deal with.”
“Something at GEH?” Ros asks, alarmed.
“No. It’s personal.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“How did your meeting go?”
“Positive. But I had to cut it short. Let’s see what they put in writing. I might prefer Detroit just because it’s cooler.”
“The heat’s that bad?”
“Suffocating. I’ve got to go. I’ll call for an update later.”
“Safe travels, Christian.”
Why would she do this to me?
The rain is lashing down as I climb out of the car; the day is as bleak as my mood. I take a deep breath to control my fury and head through the front doors. At the reception desk I ask for Leila Reed.
“Are you family?” The nurse on duty glowers at me, her mouth pinched and sour.
“No.” I sigh. This is going to be difficult.
“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“She tried to open a vein in my apartment. I think I’m entitled to know where the hell she is,” I hiss through my teeth.
“Don’t take that tone with me!” she snaps. I glare at her. I’m not going to get anywhere with this woman.
“Where is your ER department?”
“Sir, there’s nothing we can do if you’re not family.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it myself,” I growl, and storm over to the double doors. I know I could call my mother, who would expedite this for me, but then I’d have to explain what’s happened.
The ER is bustling with doctors and nurses, and triage is full of patients. I accost a young nurse and give her my brightest smile. “Hello, I’m looking for Leila Reed—she was admitted earlier today. Can you tell me where she might be?”
“And you are?” she asks, a flush creeping over her face.
“I’m her brother,” I lie smoothly, ignoring her reaction.
“This way, Mr. Reed.” She bustles over to the nurses’ station and checks her computer. “She’s on the second floor; Behavioral Health ward. Take the elevators at the end of the corridor.”
As I step out of the elevator on the second floor I know something is wrong. On the other side of what look like locked doors, two security guards and a nurse are combing the corridor, checking each room. My scalp prickles, but I walk over to the reception area, pretending not to notice the commotion.
“Can I help you?” asks a young man with a ring through his nose.
“I’m looking for Leila Reed. I’m her brother.”
He pales. “Oh. Mr. Reed. Can you come with me?”
I follow him to a waiting room and sit down on the plastic chair that he points to; I note it’s bolted to the floor. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”
“Why can’t I see her?” I ask.
“The doctor will explain,” he says, his expression guarded, and he exits before I can ask any further questions.
Shit. Perhaps I’m too late.
The thought nauseates me. I get up and pace the small room, contemplating a call to Gail, but I don’t have to wait long. A young man with short dreads and dark, intelligent eyes enters. Is he her doctor?
“Mr. Reed?” he asks.
“Where’s Leila?”
He assesses me for a moment, then sighs and steels himself. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” he says. “She’s managed to give us the slip.”
“What?”
“She’s gone. How she got out I don’t know.”
“Yes. She’s disappeared. We’re doing a search for her now.”
“She’s still here?”
“We don’t know.”
“And who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Dr. Azikiwe, the on-call psychiatrist.”
He looks too young to be a psychiatrist. “What can you tell me about Leila?” I ask.
“Well, she was admitted after a failed suicide attempt. She tried to slash one of her wrists at an ex-boyfriend’s house. His housekeeper brought her here.”
I feel the blood draining from my face. “And?” I ask. I need more information.
“That’s about as much as we know. She said it was an error of judgment, that she was fine, but we wanted to keep her here under observation and ask her further questions.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“I did.”
“Why did she do this?”
“She said it was a cry for help. Nothing more. And, having made such a spectacle of herself, she was embarrassed and wanted to go home. She said she didn’t want to kill herself. I believed her. I suspect it was just suicidal ideation on her part.”