Final Revenge

By Dee Solberg

Some people are so evil they go through life leaving a trail of ruthless devastation behind them, and more than a few of their victims plotting revenge.

 

Marcia Knight just landed her dream job. She is the youngest VP of Nursing Services Claymore Hospital has ever had. The problem is, the job includes Dr. John Hawthorne, her vengeful boss who enjoys destroying anyone who questions him or gets in his way. It doesn't take long for Marcia to put herself at the top of his list.

 

Marcia can't defeat Dr. Hawthorne without facing the secrets she has hidden from since she was eleven, but facing them might destroy her before the doctor has a chance to. Four different plans for revenge are in the works. Will one of them succeed, or will Dr. Hawthorne outwit them all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dee Solberg
• Release date: May 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201764760

Dee Solberg

Dee Solberg is a retired R.N., living in Kansas City, MO. Until recently, she was a full-time RVer, traveling the country for nearly nine years. Years of adventures, adventures begging to become stories. Stay tuned!

Book preview

Prologue

Roberta jerked awake and listened, cursing the eerie silence. No snoring came from the other side of the lumpy bed. She flopped her arm out beside her, hoping to feel her husband’s warm body but not really expecting it. Her arm touched only sheets, and cold sheets at that.

Not again, she groaned, as she fought to shrug off the clinging ghosts of sleep.

She squinted at the clock, struggling to focus her bleary eyes on the numbers and groaned again. She’d only been asleep for an hour. That was barely a decent nap, not even close to a good night’s sleep. All her muscles ached with exhaustion, but she had to get up. Jeff was gone. Forcing her body to move, she pulled on her jeans, slipped her feet into sandals and stumbled out of the bedroom.

Halfway to the front door, a gust of cold air met her in the hallway and set off the alarm bell in her head. The cold blast meant the front door was open and Jeff was out of the house. She’d checked all the stupid locks before she went to bed. There were so many of them now, they looked like metallic fungus crawling along the edges of the outside doors. How did a man who couldn’t remember how to tie his shoes manage to undo all those complicated locks? 

The cold wind blew torrents of rain inside, where it gathered in puddles on the wavy fake-tile floor of the tiny entry. Roberta watched the puddles grow in fascination and absently hoped the floor wasn’t ruined. It might be the last straw for the landlord. If eviction papers arrived, she and Jeff would both be out wandering the streets.

Roberta shook herself back to reality with a stern reminder that Jeff’s absence was the top priority right now, not the silly floor. For five years, she’d watched as Jeff changed from a bright young mechanic into a frightened, confused shell of the man she married. He wandered out of the house almost every day now. Usually, he got lost and stopped before he reached the end of their driveway. Friends told her she should tie him down for his own safety; well-meaning friends who had never been in her position. Most of them were probably just trying to help, but she couldn’t tie him down like an animal. She could never do that to her husband. At the same time, she knew she couldn’t keep going like this, either.

Roberta searched the yard, then trekked up and down the block but found no sign of him. Searching proved hard enough during the day, it was nearly impossible in the middle of the night during a nasty thunderstorm. She hated to ask Natalie for help, but that was why she and Jeff moved in across the street from her sister in the first place, to have help.

A year earlier, Natalie spotted a For Rent sign on the house across the street from hers. She called Roberta right away, saying she wanted to help with Jeff’s care and it would be lots easier if they lived close together. Roberta signed the lease the same day. Not only would she have Natalie’s help, but the rent was seventy-five dollars a month less than what she’d been paying. The savings might slow their snowballing slide toward the poorhouse. Jeff hadn’t been able to work for almost four years and Roberta surely couldn’t work as long as he needed constant care and supervision.

Every day things got harder. Roberta dreaded sundown. As soon as the last swatches of color left the evening sky, Jeff’s confusion got worse, lots worse. She understood it was a common pattern for confused people, but understanding didn’t make dealing with it any easier.

Roberta blamed the whole mess on one person, the arrogant, incompetent doctor who treated Jeff for migraine headaches. First, Roberta recalled, the doctor gave him a prescription for Valac, some kind of seizure medicine that also helped migraines. It didn’t help Jeff, though, so when the headaches kept getting worse he returned to the doctor.

Roberta shoved the memories aside. At that point in Jeff’s story, she got angry. This wasn’t the time for anger. She sloshed through innocent-looking puddles that were really potholes in disguise. She turned her ankle and almost fell several times. Sandals were not the footwear of choice for tonight’s mission. As she trudged toward Natalie’s house, memories bombarded Roberta. They refused to obey her command to go back to sleep and leave her alone. She remembered when Jeff came home from the second appointment, holding a prescription bag.

What’s that? she’d asked.

Another medicine.

Are you supposed to quit taking the last one and start this one?

Jeff shook his head. He said to take both of them. I guess the combination of the two is better at getting rid of the headaches. It’s pretty much the same kind of thing as the first one, I think. Maybe it just works a little different.  He glanced at the pharmacy tag stapled to the bag. This one’s called Topate.

Roberta wrenched back to the present when she stubbed her toe on a rock hiding in a large puddle. Topate and Valac. The words tunneled under her defenses, making her fists clench. Those were the names of the thieves who’d stolen Jeff’s mind, leaving him confused and helpless. They thought it was funny to put a senile brain into a thirty-year-old’s body. She mentally added a third name, the most important one. Dr. John Hawthorne, the master of the thieves.

With the two medications Jeff’s headaches improved, but his memory quickly began to fail. He always felt sick and achy. When Roberta told the doctor, he assured her Jeff’s problems were just temporary side effects of the medicines and would disappear once his body adjusted.

The quack said ‘don’t worry’, Roberta muttered to the rain as she stomped toward Natalie’s house.

She stopped at a small mound of grass standing above all the pools and puddles. She visualized Hawthorne’s face on the mound and kicked it. Without thinking about it, she ground her foot into the grass with rising intensity and purpose. Her usual self-recriminations swirled in her thoughts. I should have worried and so should he. Instead, he brushed me off like I was a piece of lint on his fancy suit. He said the confusion would stop when the drugs left Jeff’s system, but he was wrong...again. Jeff just kept getting more confused. So here I am, in this living hell...thanks to the great Doctor John Hawthorne.   

When Roberta’s awareness returned not a blade of grass remained under her foot. Muddy water filled the hole her sandal made, and chunks of uprooted turf floated on top. Overwhelming fatigue replaced her anger as she trudged toward Natalie’s porch, slowing more with each step.

When Jeff’s confusion intensified, they returned to the doctor. He tried to convince Roberta she was overreacting, but she stood her ground and demanded that he figure out what was happening. She could still hear the man’s condescending little speech.

Mrs. Hutchison, in very rare cases the combination of the two drugs Jeff is taking can cause this type of confusion. I want you to stop both the pills, and once they’re out of his system the confusion should go away quickly. Just put the bottles away out of sight so you don’t get confused yourself and give them to him. We wouldn’t want that, would we?

What a patronizing, pompous ass. Even without the drugs, Jeff’s confusion progressed. Their young lives filled with old people’s equipment and concerns. Even though Roberta blamed Hawthorne, her upbringing taught her that no one was perfect. Everything and everyone had a good side and a bad side.

Splashing her way onto the porch, she pounded on Natalie’s door. Roberta wondered if she’d ever find the good side of all this. Her sister peeked out the window. A few minutes later, Natalie joined Roberta on the porch. She held a bright yellow umbrella against the wind like a shield. Halfway to Roberta’s car, the swirling wind flipped the umbrella inside out. Natalie dropped it and kept running, never looking back.

As frequently as Roberta had to go search for Jeff, especially in the past year, this time felt different. Tonight’s search held an odd, desperate urgency. She might have been spooked by the storm, but she didn’t think so.

The women scrambled into the car, ignoring the streams of water cascading onto car seats and floor mats. Following what had become established tradition, Natalie drove while Roberta searched. Teeth chattering, Roberta pounded on the dashboard in a pointless attempt to speed up the heater.

You’ve...checked all...around here? Natalie asked in gasps, out of breath from running.

Twice, panted Roberta. I only went to sleep for an hour, and he still got out. I thought I finally found some locks he couldn’t open, but... wrong again. Nat?

What?

I’m scared. I have a creepy feeling that tonight is different, tonight Jeff’s in trouble.

You’re always scared when he wanders off, Robbie, we both are. It’s probably just worse tonight because the weather’s so nasty.

It’s not the weather, Roberta murmured, and it’s not my normal kind of scared. There are icicles in my stomach, like when you know you’ll never see somebody again.

Knock it off, Natalie scolded, Jeff’s going to be fine.

Roberta concentrated on searching from the rain-streaked window, not mentioning her fears again. They’d been driving in widening circles for half an hour when the pouring rain became a violent assault that forced Natalie to pull off the road. The last thing she needed was to run Jeff down because she couldn’t see him.

Roberta’s nose nearly touched the windshield as she strained to see beyond the hood of her car through the waterfall of rain. The din of the deluge pounding on the roof joined the rapid, monotonous flip-flop of the wipers and her own internal debate to create such a cacophony she wanted to scream. The constant, bone-jarring noise drove her from the warmth of the car into the cold, relentless rain.

Jeff’s out there somewhere and I’ll never find him sitting in here.  She slammed the door without waiting for Natalie’s response.

Roberta couldn’t see Natalie behind her, but she heard sloshing and cursing. Her sister’s selfless commitment was reassuring but it also stabbed Roberta with regret and guilt. Was she being selfish in refusing to put Jeff in a memory care place? It wasn’t fair to Natalie, maybe not fair to Jeff, either. Roberta cried out when a sudden lightning bolt lit up a dark shadow on the sidewalk half a block ahead. The shadow looked and moved like Jeff. 

Trotting toward the figure, Roberta felt relief flow through her like warm brandy. Her mouth opened to shout Jeff’s name, but the word was swept away in a flood of frigid, dirty water. She gagged and coughed.

What the...? she screamed into the night. More lightning illuminated the teens in the car that just sped past her as they turned in their seats and grinned.

You stupid little punks, Roberta shouted. She shivered as the grit in her mouth scraped against her teeth. Turn around and watch where you’re going!

The teens honked the horn and laughed, still watching her. By the time the driver turned back to face the windshield, Roberta knew he’d done it too late.

She blinked and frantically rubbed her eyes, willing them to unsee what they were seeing. As the car horn blared, the Jeff-shadow waved and moved into the street to meet the speeding automobile. Maybe the shadow was another punk, she thought, waiting for his ride. As soon as she considered that idea she knew it was wrong.  It was a false glimmer of hope in a dark, oppressive nightmare. The scene before her slowed down, so her brain registered each tick toward disaster. The movie burned itself into her memory, never to be forgotten. Brake lights flooded the scene with red, turning the rain to a curtain of blood. Despite the brakes, the car didn’t slow. It floated from side to side along the road, the driver helpless to stop the hydroplaning.  Roberta ran toward the figure in the street, now sure it was Jeff as the headlights illuminated him.

Run, Jeff! Roberta screamed. Get out of the street! Jeff, it’s me...it’s Roberta, run to me. Move...move now!

Jeff stood squarely in front of the car as it barreled toward him, smiling and waving. She realized the car looked similar to hers, especially in the blinding rain. He thought it was her and he was being rescued. No matter how confused he became, he always recognized her and their car. She’d seen him smile and wave like that so many times when she found him wandering.

Panic seized her. She ran so fast her soggy sandals disintegrated, but she still might not be close enough to save him. She hoped to throw herself at him at the last second, pushing him out of the car’s path. If she calculated it right, she would be safe, too. If she didn’t... That thought whooshed out along with her breath as a massive blow struck the middle of her back and sent her flying. Sprawled on her belly in the mud with someone sitting on her, she smelled Natalie’s perfume and heard her labored breathing in her ear.

What are you doing? Roberta shouted at Natalie. Get off me right now. I have to go help Jeff.

Roberta screamed and scratched as she struggled to free herself from her sister’s grasp, even knowing she could never reach Jeff now. She raised her head from the muck, intending to shout to Jeff again. Her voice failed her and she could only stare in horror. It was too late.

Jeff quickly went from elated to puzzled as the car bore down on him. It struck him and he flew up and over the car, somersaulting limply as he went.

Noooo... she wailed, nooooo.

The skidding car careened into the ditch, red taillights pointing toward the sky like searchlights from hell. She smelled exhaust and burning motor oil. She tasted blood when she bit through her lower lip. She heard the muted thud when Jeff’s body landed in the street, and felt Natalie’s shaking body pressed hard against her back. The movie in her head broke up into photographs, a slideshow. A looping slideshow of death—the death of a man, the death of her dreams, the death of her future.

Wriggling out from under Natalie, Roberta ran to where Jeff lay at the side of the road. His body was contorted into such an unnatural heap, she cried out and briefly looked away. Sinking down onto the road, she cradled Jeff’s head in her lap, shielding his face from the rain with her body. She stroked his hair as she kissed his bloody face. She rocked back and forth, sobbing and keening. Searching his open eyes for any hint of life, Roberta saw only emptiness. There was no sign of the man she loved.

Dear God, don’t take my Jeff. Not my Jeff. He didn’t deserve this. Take that evil doctor, but don’t take my Jeff.

Natalie knelt beside her, smothering her in a tight hug. Roberta shook off the embrace and continued stroking Jeff’s head while she whispered into his ear. She didn’t move when the emergency vehicles arrived, their whining sirens winding down into silence as they stopped. Blinding red and blue lights strobed across the heartbreak, highlighting trees, knots of people, the car nose down in the ditch and the rain—the unending, pounding rain.

Roberta’s eyes saw it all, but her brain couldn’t make sense of it. She clung to Jeff when two gentle, yet insistent, paramedics tried to pry her away so they could examine him. She told them over and over it was too late. There was nothing they could do here. They should just leave her alone with her husband. Natalie finally pulled her to the side, allowing the emergency personnel to begin their work.

Roberta and Natalie sat in a small conference room at Southside Hospital with pools of rainwater forming on the floor around their chairs. The doctor left them alone after confirming what Roberta already knew and offering automatic, robotic condolences.

Robbie? Natalie pleaded, You haven’t said a word since we left the accident. Talk to me. Please?

Roberta gave no indication that she heard her sister. When the ambulance left the scene with Jeff inside, she’d heard a heavy door slam shut on her grief and felt a thick shell of something like insulation surround her. Isolated from the rest of the world she would nurture her anger and focus it into a laser-sharp weapon. Hatred and anger became the fire that would forge her shell into armor, and vengeful thoughts consumed her.

Even though the two careless teens actually killed Jeff, Dr. John Hawthorne was ultimately the one to blame. His incompetence led to Jeff’s slow death. Suing him wasn’t enough. Losing money wouldn’t punish him because he was rich enough to not miss it. If Jeff had been rich, it would have been a different story. The doctor would have listened when Roberta told him Jeff was getting worse. He’d shooed her away, though, because she was just the wife of some poor working-class slob.

Roberta believed people always paid a price for their mistakes. The youths paid for their recklessness, one died and the other would probably never walk again. Hawthorne just brushed off his mistake, like he brushed off Roberta’s concern. He didn’t think any of it was his fault and never would unless Roberta brought him to justice.

A flash of clarity made her breath catch. Her purpose vividly presented itself. She would devote her life to avenging Jeff’s death by making sure the doctor paid for his mistake. She closed her eyes, picturing Jeff’s broken body, and whispered her promise to him. She had plenty of time, time to plan carefully and intentionally, time to ensure her success, time to make sure the doctor knew who was delivering his payback and why. No matter how long it took, Dr. John Hawthorne would pay with his life.

Chapter 1

Ten years later

Marcia Knight unpacked her personal treasures and carefully set them on the polished maple desk. For eight years, her professional life revolved around her ambitious goal of becoming the Vice President of Nursing Services at James W. Claymore Hospital by the time she was thirty. That would make her the youngest VP in the hospital’s history. Claymore enjoyed a reputation as King Lake’s most innovative health system, utilizing the latest diagnostic equipment and the most skilled physicians—if skill level equaled fees charged, anyway. Marcia made sure the right people noticed her for the right reasons and it paid off. Now, two days before her thirtieth birthday, she occupied the VP’s office.

Marcia checked to be sure the door was closed, then twirled around and around in the leather executive chair. Her long legs splayed out in front of her, and soft laughter escaped from a grin that crinkled her entire face. Thick brown hair swirled around her shoulders. As the chair and its occupant lost momentum, Marcia reached across the desk to pick up a smooth black rock with a snow-white stripe slicing through the center.

The one and only family vacation during Marcia’s childhood was a trip to Alaska when she was ten. A river guide told her that native Tlingit tradition said if he presented her with the glacial rock, it would bring her good luck. Marcia knew it wasn’t really a lucky rock, or her mother wouldn’t have died a few months later. Regardless, it became her confidant, and the symbol of some of her last happy memories of her mother. She’d named it Rocky. As a source of comfort, Rocky proved a lot less conspicuous than carrying a teddy bear for the past twenty years would have been.

She held the turnip-sized rock between her palms and whispered, I made it, Rocky, I think Father might finally have been proud of me... maybe. 

Her words still echoed off the unadorned office walls when Marcia’s enthusiasm abruptly collapsed. Reflexively, whenever she thought of her father she felt as inadequate as a clumsy teenager with a mountainous pimple erupting on her chin. The next domino in the familiar sequence toppled and hot, defensive anger erupted from deep inside.

You won’t ruin this for me, Father , she hissed. I may only be a nurse, but at least I’m a well-respected nurse. I don’t get called a stuck-up SOB behind my back like you did. You and all your pompous cronies who think MD stands for Major Deity.

Marcia slumped back in her chair. She breathed rhythmically and slowly. Soon, the anger and hurt faded and she felt her pride returning.

Marica’s upward climb hadn’t been a ruthless one. She knew she was well-liked and admired by the other nurses, as well as most of the physicians. An outspoken patient advocate, she strove to become an administrator who never considered the business of running a hospital to be more important than good patient care. Even so, she did understand that a hospital was a business in today’s world. Could she remain true to her values while playing the business game?

Uneasiness replaced Marcia’s pride and elation. Her stomach knotted and her worried eyebrows lowered, creating the wrinkle between them that always betrayed her anxiety. Was all this caused by thoughts of her Father and business, or was there something else, something lurking in the VP job? She told herself to stop sabotaging and expecting the worst of every situation. Why couldn’t she be proud of herself without her dark side showing up to crash the party? 

JUST TWO WEEKS LATER, Marcia felt as if she had spent every moment walking a tightrope between the nurses and the administration. The nurses, cooperative allies before her title included VP, became challenging and stubborn. Her dream job was starting out as a bad dream, and being summoned to John Hawthorne’s office made her wonder if it was about to become an awful nightmare.

"It’s Doctor Hawthorne, and don’t you forget it," Marcia told Rocky, in a remarkably good imitation of the CEO’s gruff, haughty baritone.

She headed for her boss’s office with her head high, determined not to let him intimidate her...not more than he always did, anyway.

Marcia had never been in the CEO’s office before, and her intimidation was obvious. Once she sat in the chair across the desk from him, though, she realized it was intentionally lower than Dr. Hawthorne’s chair to put her in an inferior position from the start. She used the pettiness of that strategy as fuel for her confidence, knowing she’d caught him in his game.

Ms. Knight, Hawthorne began, with disdainful emphasis on the Ms., being the CEO of a hospital like Claymore brings many responsibilities. One of the most important is ensuring a cohesive administrative unit. I depend on my subordinates to help me accomplish that. However, I’m getting complaints that you seem to be having difficulty working as a team player. I realize you’ve only occupied your position for two weeks. , but I thought you understood that your promotion would require you to shift your mindset from that of a nurse to that of an administrator.

Dr. Hawthorne, I believe you just identified the primary issue, when you said I need to stop being a nurse and start being an administrator. I’m convinced the two can go together, and—

That’s a perfect example of why your peers are finding you difficult to work with. Your attitude is—

I don’t appreciate being interrupted, Dr. Hawthorne, and I’d like to finish what—

Marcia’s assertiveness wilted and died as cold, steely gray eyes glared at her from the other side of the massive mahogany desk. When Hawthorne finally spoke each slow, deliberate