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“What did you call me?” I demand from Dr. Pruitt.
He has the good graces to look embarrassed, but he still repeats himself, only slightly quieter and less sure, “You know . . . DDG?”
“If you don’t know my name, I’m sure you can look at my chart and find it right there in front of your face. If not, as a professional, you could ask. And a little hint, it’s embossed in brass on the plate outside my morgue. It’s Zoey Walker. Need me to spell it for you? Z-O-E-Y-W-A-L-K-E-R. Learn it, use it. Because never again will I allow someone to reduce me to a name meant to hurt me by keeping me in the past.”
Oh, my God, that felt so good to say!
I think that has been twisting and turning in my gut for a long time, gathering steam, finding strength, and through yet another horrible thing that’s happened to me, I finally found the power to set it free.
The room has gone silent, all eyes on me, and quite a few dropped jaws. Jeff breaks first. “’Bout damn time, Zoey.”
“Right then,” Dr. Pruitt says, “full tox and EKG on Mrs. Horne, and let’s get an X-ray of that cheek, Miss Walker.”
* * *
Jacob comes into the hospital like the whirlwind he is. I can hear him from the front door all the way to the exam room. “Zoey! Zoey! Where are you?”
“In here,” I yell, not worried about bothering anyone with the noise because the whole department, staff and patients, are gossiping about Yvette and me.
Jacob bounces off the doorframe as he skids into the room, his eyes going wide when he sees me in the bed. Panting for breath, he huffs out, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He looks doubtful, not believing my reassurance. “Really, Jacob. I’m okay.”
Relief washes through him visibly, and suddenly, I see the young teen who came to Grandma and Grandpa with a chip on his shoulder and fear in his veins. He’s grown up so much and is an amazing man now, but deep inside, he’s still that boy who doesn’t want to get left again.
“Come here.” I hold my arms out wide, and he falls into me, hugging me tight.
“Zoey, I thought . . .” he whispers into my hair.
“I know, but I’m okay. We’re okay.”
This time he believes me, and the boyish core disappears to be replaced by the cocky swagger I’m used to. “Did they catch the guy who did this? I’m gonna kill him.”
His bluster is appreciated but unneeded as Blake fills Jacob in with zero finesse. “He’s dead. Alver shot him.”
For someone who’s known death, lives it and breathes it, that should be easy to hear. Death is as much a part of life as . . . life. But I’m having a hard time reconciling the Sebastian who played with the dogs at the dog park, ruffling their fur and baby talking them, with the man who backhanded me and poisoned the Hornes. I think it will take me time, and maybe a little therapy, to make that connection stick.
Jacob is still young, at an age where death doesn’t have that same seriousness to him. “Well, let’s do some zombie voodoo shit and bring that fucker back to life so I can kill him again. I want to do it myself.”
Blake seems to agree because he fist-bumps Jacob like they’re old bros planning a night out bowling and not a séance-slash-murder party.
“How’s Yvette?” I ask, attempting to bring us back to the here and now, not a deadly fantasy that brings back flashes of Sebastian lying in a pool of blood in the grass where I thought I was going to be the one to die.
Blake, who’s been handling everything like a pro, asks the nurse, who’s been hovering, probably hoping for some fresh gossip. “Any updates on Yvette?”
The nurse startles like he thought we didn’t know he was there. “I’ll check, but I know the doctor said treatment for the heavy metal poisoning was going to take a while.”
Jacob squeezes my hand suddenly, and I pat his back. “Not me. Sebastian was poisoning both Richard and Yvette. I guess he had some master scheme, planned to kill them both and inherit the dog and the money. He just wanted me to change the cause of death.”
Jacob’s brows jump together. Incredulously, he asks, “That was the grand plan in kidnapping you? Change the cause of death and presto, magic-o, there’d be no more questions? Like no one would notice or care that you’d been kidnapped?”
I shrug. “He didn’t exactly strike me as a master schemer.”
That’s being overly kind. Sebastian seemed like a nice guy with a get-rich-quick scheme that he just couldn’t let go of, no matter how deep the water got or how quickly he was drowning.
