I’m out of the hyperbaric chamber, have been checked, and heading back to my room. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, I feel better than I have in years. My head is clear, my body feels rejuvenated, and I can take in a very deep breath! It makes me feel angry that I’ve been overdosed for a year now and that my nephew was doing it on purpose. It makes me that much more dedicated to having Patrice solve this crime and put away everyone involved. I know I’m a target now, and so I have to be very careful what steps I take, but I’m determined to get my life back and my home and see justice done.
That afternoon, Doctor Wagstaff comes in and gives me good news. “Well, we got your latest test results back, and your liver enzymes are back where they should be, and your blood looks good too. Getting the meds out of your system will take a few more days, but the oxygen therapy worked. How do you feel?” He touches my arm.
“I feel great. It’s like I can think clearly and breathe much easier.”
“That was the goal. I do want to inform you that your nephew has been arrested, and Chief Errington in Grantsville needs you to come in and answer questions.”
I give him a startled look. “To the police station?”
“Yes. It’s all been cleared out now.”
“But, have they caught the person who threw the smoke grenade?” I could tell Doctor Wagstaff was lost in thought.
“Well, they have a suspect, but he has a pretty good alibi. The Chief will fill you in once you talk to him. It’s not my place to really talk about this.” I’m feeling nervous suddenly, but I understand he doesn’t want to get involved. It’s not even his city.
“Oh, okay. So, am I good to go home?” I then remember that if my nephew were arrested, I’d be back alone in my house – with a target on my back.
“I will get your discharge papers ready, but yes. Do you have someone to pick you up?”
“No, I don’t have my car. My nephew uses it.”
“Okay. Let me call Chief Errington and have a police officer come and escort you home.”
I nod and thank him, but that good feeling and clear-headed thinking is becoming replaced with fear and anxiety. Is the same person I saw driving slowly a few days ago the same one who smoked out the police station? Will he be stalking me? I don’t even own a gun. How am I going to protect myself?
An hour later, I’m in the same squad car I was in a few days ago with Officer Lopez. We don’t talk much, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing about this suspect they brought in.
“So, I heard a suspect was brought in for questioning about the other night.”
“Yeah, he was questioned for a bit, but he’s got a pretty good alibi. The night we got smoked out, he was sitting in the county jail.”
Now, I’m confused. “What made him a suspect?”
She scrunches her eyebrows inward. “Well, he threatened the Chief about a month ago, angry because there was a domestic disturbance, what they call it, even though his wife called the police because he was abusing her. They were called, and she got a restraining order put on him, but the morning his wife went into labor, he tried to see her at the hospital and was forbidden. So, he camped out on the hospital's steps and made quite the ruckus, yelling and threatening the Chief. Police were called, and he was arrested when he resisted and tried attacking them with his knife. That was around 7:30 that evening. So, it couldn’t have been him.”
“Oh, I see.” Back to square one with no suspect and no way to know if this person will try something again.
“But, we are doing everything we can to get leads. And I will stay with you for the next week, so you will be safe.”
“What about your family? I can’t do that to you.”
“Don’t worry. My kids are staying with my parents. My husband is on a business trip, and my mom talked about wanting to do something with the kids before they went back to school in early September, so I’m fine to stick around,” she said as she pulled up to my driveway and parked.
“Aren’t we going to the station?” I say as she flips the rearview mirror to look at herself. She rakes her fingers through her hair.
“Yes, but I’m sure you want to get changed.”
I look down at my clothes and realize I’m still wearing the scrubs from the hospital, and my face turns warm from embarrassment.
“Oh yes, of course.”
“I will come in and wait for you while you get changed,” she says, then opens the car door.
I’m hesitant to walk into my house. Even though I’m pretty sure it’s safe, I still see the scene of the night someone was shot in my home. The blood, the sirens, it all comes back, and I stop.
“Are you OK to go in?" She cringes as if she understands now. "Of course, I should have thought you would probably be a little fearful.”
I wring my hands. “I do feel safe with you here, but the memory of that night …”
“Is still in your thoughts,” she says, saying what I feel. “It’s OK to feel frightened.” She reaches out and takes my hand.
I take out my keys and unlock the door, and Officer Lopez goes in before me, telling me to wait until she can give the all-clear. A few minutes later, she returns breathlessly. “Okay, it’s clear; you can come in.” I walk in and feel like it’s been forever since I’ve been there, even though I was only at the hospital for a day. But I notice dishes on the living room side table, paper plates and cups, and a cereal box lying on its side with the contents on the floor. Beer cans are littered across the living room table, and a blanket is crumpled up on the chair. Trash is strewn everywhere as if no one cared about throwing anything away.
“Looks like your nephew threw a party in your absence.” She starts grabbing the cans off the table. I feel anger rising in my chest. How dare he!
“Yes, it looks that way.” We go around cleaning up. I go into the kitchen and see another mess: food left-out, dishes sitting in the sink. Did my brother not teach him respect? And then I remember that he didn’t even have self-respect, out drinking all night and never taking responsibility for his kids. It’s such a shame when the kids suffer from their parent’s stupid choices.
“You go get dressed, and I’ll finish here,” Officer Lopez says. “Just tell me where the vacuum is.”
I point to our front closet. “In there.”
I climb the stairs, hearing the vacuum turn on. I stop by my nephew’s room. I can only see a faint blood stain, but the bed looks like it hasn’t been touched. The bed is also made, which is odd because I’ve never seen my nephew make his bed.
In my room, I get changed, brush my hair, and put on makeup. My eyes look clear, and my face looks healthier. Oxygen therapy really works. As I put away my eye cream in the medicine cabinet, I notice the medication my nephew gave me isn’t there, and then I remember. He’s been arrested, and the police must have searched the cabinet to find the medication for evidence. I then go out and check under my mattress for the pills I have been hiding for months now, but what I see makes my stomach drop.
They’re gone.
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