Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
She’s alive …
For nearly three hours … I’ve thought she was dead. My heart pounds, aching from the brutal fists of reality striking it over and over today. Even this new sliver of hope cuts into all four chambers because she still might not make it. Sometimes hope is the evilest bearer of bad news.
I sit in the waiting room when I know I should be writing up reports or checking with Rains to see if they caught the shooters. After a rancid cup of coffee, I call her parents, but it will take them a while to get here. Will she wait for them, or will they show up just to wait for some other medical examiner to complete the autopsy and release the body to them for the funeral?
She should have stayed at my place or gone home to pack her shit and move in with me. Literally anything that would have kept her far away from the evils of humanity. This is on me. I invited her. I was selfish for wanting more time with her.
Hours later, Josie’s out of surgery and in the ICU in critical condition.
“If she makes it through the night, then she has a good chance of waking up,” the doctor says.
I nod. Then I sit and wait some more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Mom.
She smiles, but I don’t trust it. My dreams have been too vivid.
Dad.
He’s in my dream too, but they’re not doing anything except staring at me. Mom has tears in her eyes.
My gaze circumnavigates the room. It’s not my bedroom. It’s a hospital room. Great … one of these dreams again. In a few more blinks, I’ll be autopsying myself. This is a crazy, reoccurring dream that I have at least once a month. Last time I found cancer; the time before that, it was asphyxiation.
“Josephine, I’m Dr. Panchak. Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I rasp. Jesus, my throat hurts. The pain in this dream is more vivid than others have been.
I squint when he shines a light in my eyes. I jump when he presses a stethoscope to my chest.
He chuckles. “Sorry, it’s a little cold.”
This is so real.
Dad brings his phone to his ear, but I can’t make out what he’s saying as he slides his gaze to me every few seconds.
“You had a gunshot wound,” Dr. Panchak says. “Do you remember that?”
“No,” I whisper.
This doesn’t feel real. Is it real?
“Do you know the year?”
“Twenty-twenty-two.” I reach for my throat as the words cut like razor blades.
“Good. Do you know the two people standing behind me?”
“My parents.”
“Excellent. You were pulled from the water, resuscitated, and we removed the bullet from your small bowel and repaired it. We’re keeping you for a few days, but I expect a full recovery. You were very lucky someone pulled you out of the water when they did.”
“Did they find him?” I whisper.
“The shooters? I’m not sure. We can check on that for you.”
“N-no … there was no gun,” I say.
My parents give the doctors a look. I’ve seen that look before. It’s the look you give someone when you’re in the presence of a crazy person. But I’m not crazy.
“Josie …” My mom grabs my hand when the doctor steps aside, tapping his tablet while my dad sidles next to me, opposite my mom. “Colten pulled you from the water. Your dad just called him. He’ll be here soon. He’s been here for days. We told him to go home and shower.”
“There were two. They were about five and eight.”
“Two what?” Dad asks, his brows furrowed.
“Two girls. He buried their bodies in the cemetery.”
Mom squeezes my hand. “You need to rest. We’re so glad you’re going to be okay. I’m sure things are a little confusing now. You’ve been unconscious for two days. I think you need to give your brain a chance to recoup and catch up. We’ll talk about what happened later. Okay?”
Later? What about the families? Have they notified the families? They’re going to be equal parts devastated and relieved. Closure is incredibly bittersweet. I’ll ask Colten when he gets here.
Within the hour, Colten arrives. He rests his hand on mine and clenches his teeth while swallowing. “Hey,” he says as if he’s the one with a sore throat.
“Hey. Did they get him?”
He shakes his head. “You mean them? And no. They crossed the Mexican border and took out several border patrol officers in the process.”
“What are you talking about?” I cough and point toward the glass and pitcher of water the nurse brought in for me.
Colten pours me some water and holds it to my mouth so I can sip it from the straw.
“I’m talking about the remains of the two girls at the cemetery. You know, the long hair tied to the oak tree branches at the church?” The sicko shaved their heads.