Plain Truth. Debby Giusti

lights flicked off, leaving her in darkness and fumbling with the switch on the flashlight.

      If someone had warned her about how often she’d lose electricity, she might have chosen another location for the pediatric clinic. As it was, after five months, she was committed to the rural farm community near Freemont, Georgia, and to her patients, two of whom had just received IV fluids in her treatment room.

      Relieved when the Maglite finally switched on, she followed the arc of light through her clinic to the hallway and peered into the room where the five-year-old twins rested comfortably. Their worry-worn mother, Mary Kate Powers, slept on the chair next to the girls, oblivious to the pummeling rain and howling wind outside.

      Ella wouldn’t disturb the young mother’s sleep. Instead, she slipped into her slicker and left her clinic through the side door, heading for the generator that provided a backup power source.

      Quin would have called her generator inadequate, but her deceased husband had been prone to point out any number of her shortcomings. Surely eight months after his death was time enough to cease worrying about what Quin thought.

      Ella grimaced as the storm exploded around her. Lightning bolted overhead, followed almost instantly by ear-shattering thunder. Rain fell in torrents, stinging her face and drenching her hair. Too late, she pulled the hood of her coat over her head and bent into the wind as she picked her way through the sodden grass to the generator.

      Tonight, the tin overhang that usually provided protection from the elements did little to stem the battering rain and buffeting wind. She grabbed the gas can out of the nearby shed and filled the generator’s tank before she flipped the fuel valve to On and pulled out the choke. After pressing the control switch, she grabbed the pull cord and yanked once, then twice.

      The engine failed to engage.

      She tugged on the cord again and again, then sighed.

      A sound caused her to turn. Through the downpour, she watched the headlights of a car race along the two-lane road in front of her property. For half a heartbeat, she wanted to flag down the driver and beg for help. Then she steeled her shoulders and shoved out her chin with resolve. She’d come this far alone, and she wouldn’t waver in her determination to succeed. Although, in spite of her attempt to be self-reliant, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as the car disappeared from sight.

      Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. In the yard, the sign for the Children’s Care Clinic snapped in the wind. She was alone, other than for an exhausted mother and her two daughters in the building. Like it or not, Ella needed to solve her own problems.

      Opening the oil cap, she checked the level, making certain it was adequate. Then, after adjusting the choke, she pulled on the cord again...and again...and again.

      Her hand cramped with the effort. Stopping to catch her breath, she stretched her fingers and listened to a sound that floated over the storm.

      Turning her gaze toward the clinic, she tilted her head as the sound came again.

      Was it a cry? No, a scream!

      Her heart lurched.

      Grabbing the Maglite, she hurried across the slippery, rain-wet grass. Her shoes sank into a patch of Georgia red clay that grabbed like quicksand. Pulling free, she raced to the side door, shook the rain from her hair and stepped inside. Before she was halfway across the office, she stopped short. Someone else was in the room. She narrowed her gaze and raised her flashlight.

      A figure bathed in shadow stood over her desk. He raised an even more powerful light that blinded her in its glare. Momentarily frozen in place, she failed to react as he raced toward her and grabbed her shoulder. The crushing strength of his hold made her legs buckle. She dropped to the floor, losing her Maglite in the fall, and crawled on hands and knees to escape his hold.

      He kicked her side. She collapsed. He kicked again.

      Air whooshed from her lungs.

      She rolled over, and caught his foot before he could strike a third blow. Twisting his leg, she forced him off balance.

      He cursed.

      She grabbed his thigh above his knee and dug her nails into the tender flesh. He raised his right hand. She scooted sideways to avoid the strike, but her reflexes weren’t fast enough. His fist made contact with her neck, below her ear. Her body arched with pain.

      His shadowed bulk loomed above her. He drew a weapon from his pocket, aimed and squeezed the trigger.

      She screamed, expecting to be killed.

      The bullet failed to discharge. Again he tried. And again.

      Lightning slashed outside, but all she saw was the glare of his flashlight and the gun that refused to fire.

      He growled like an animal, a monster who wanted her dead. Raising his hand, he hurled the weapon against her skull. She screamed in pain, then slipped into darkness, surrounded by a cushion of oblivion.

      Thoughts of her patients dragged her back to reality. She blinked her eyes open and listened to his footsteps moving away from her. A door slammed, then another wave of oblivion overtook her. When she came to, panic grabbed at her throat. Worried about Mary Kate and the girls, she knew she had to get help.

      Ella inched toward the desk, where she’d left her cell phone. Her head and neck ached. Nausea washed over her. She raised herself far enough off the floor to grab her cell, tapped in 911 and turned to glance over her shoulder, using the light from her phone to scan the darkness.

      A body.

      No. Please, God, no.

      Mary Kate lay in a pool of blood.

      “Nine one one.” The operator’s raspy voice sounded in the stillness. “State your emergency.”

      “Children’s Care Clinic on Amish Road.” Ella gripped the phone with her trembling hand and forced the words from her mouth. “An...an intruder attacked two women. Send an ambulance.”

      “Ma’am, could you—”

      Scooting closer, she gasped at the gush of blood from the young woman’s side. Grabbing a towel from the nearby supply cabinet, Ella wadded it into a ball and pressed the thick terry cloth against the wound. With her right hand, she found the carotid artery, grateful to feel a pulse.

      “Tell the ambulance to hurry,” she told the operator. “I’ve got a patient who’s bleeding to death.”

      “Stay on the line, ma’am. The police and ambulance are on the way.”

      Ella wasn’t sure they would arrive in time.

      * * *

      Criminal Investigation Division Special Agent Zach Swain stood at the side entrance of the rural clinic that led into the doctor’s office and blinked back the memory of another medical facility long ago. A patient lay sprawled on the floor, and a doctor knelt over her, forcing air into her lungs. Fear clenched his gut as he was once again the eight-year-old boy screaming for the doctor to save his mother’s life.

      Swallowing down the vision from his past, Zach focused on the swirl of activity before him and the information Officer Van Taylor, a young Freemont cop who had checked Zach’s identification, was continuing to provide.

      “Her name’s Ella Jacobsen.” Taylor, tall and lean and midtwenties, pointed to the woman sitting on a straight-backed chair.

      “She runs the clinic?” Zach asked.

      The cop nodded. “She bought the three-bedroom ranch and attached a clinic to the side of the residence. Local families and some of the Amish who’ve settled in this area appreciate having a doc close at hand.”

      An older police sergeant, probably fifty-five, with a receding hairline and bushy brows, stood near the woman. Zach read his name tag: Abrams. The sergeant held an open notebook in his hand.

      Zach couldn’t hear their conversation, but he recognized the ashen