AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But then she stops. A man stands in the doorway in his recognizable black uniform, waiting, guarding, hands behind his back. He nods, smiling, as a doctor goes past him into the ICU, and Jess knows there’s no way she’s going to see her daughter tonight.
She ducks back around the corner, breathing heavily, on the edge of tears. She’d just wanted to check on Alice, hold her warm hand, kiss her, tell her that everything was going to be okay. But Mom and Dad are there, she tells herself. She remembers the hundreds of times in her past that her parents had commanded the doctors, sitting patiently by her bedside, for however long it took. She may not be able to see Alice, but they are the next best thing.
She turns. She could go back to her ward. Put her faith in the police, that they will find out the truth. But the unease that follows that thought quickly pushes it out of her head.
She starts to walk again. She passes two nurses chatting in the corridor and smiles at them confidently. “Cigarette,” she mutters. They scowl but let her go without question, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she’s clear.
She looks for signs for the main entrance. Her heart is thumping in her chest the whole time, convinced that at any minute someone is going to see her and pull her back to her ward, this time in handcuffs. But perhaps it’s too late, or people are too weary. Either way, nobody stops her.
She sees the double doors of the main entrance in front of her. There are more people here—nurses getting coffees at Starbucks, the bored receptionist checking her computer. All it would take would be for one person to recognize her. And it would be game over.
“Hey.” A voice speaks next to her, a hand grabbing at her sleeve. She turns, her breath caught in her throat. “You dropped this,” the man says, holding out a five-pound note.
She takes it, her hand shaking. “Thank you,” she croaks.
“Can I help you with anything?” he asks.
“No, no, I’m fine. Just going out for a cigarette.” She smiles, the expression feels strained.
“In this weather?” he asks. She looks at the doorway. The rain is coming down in sheets, puddles flooding the concrete. She doesn’t have a coat. He seems dubious; he’s looking at her as though she’s a mental patient, escaped from the wards on level three.
She smiles again. “I won’t be long.” She forces a laugh. “They’ve cut me off from my methadone, so nicotine’s the only drug I’m allowed.”
The tactic works and the man backs away from her. “Well, look after yourself,” he says, and hurries away.
The rain is worse than she anticipated. She’s soaked in seconds, clothes sticking to her body, water dripping over her face. She moves as quickly as she can toward the staff parking lot, freezing, head dizzy, guessing at the location of Nav’s black Renault Clio.
She walks down the rows of the top floor of the multistory garage, pressing the button on the car keys over and over again. The wind is whipping through the soaking pullover, and she starts to shiver. And then, at last, a flash of orange. She says a silent prayer, thanking Nav for being a man of routine, and heads toward the car, throwing herself inside, shutting the door against the wind and the rain.
But go where?
There’s Nav. She could go to his house. Hide until he comes home.
Her parents too. But they’re still at the hospital. With Alice.
She realizes with a jolt she doesn’t have any other friends. At least, not close ones where she could knock on their door in the dead of night and say, “Hey? Would you like to harbor a suspected murderer?”
But she knows there’s only one place to go.
She wants to go home.
CHAPTER
7
THE HOUSE BARELY stands. The blue and white crime scene tape flaps, bedraggled ribbons in the wind.
Jess parks the car behind a white panel van and turns the engine off. She stares through the open window. She can hear cars passing a few roads over, but otherwise the street is quiet. It’s 5:34 PM.
The sight of her ruined home is horrifying, but she can’t look away. A broken mess of black and gray, the roof on the left-hand side gone, collapsed into where she knows the front bedroom would have been. Where Patrick had been sleeping. A sob bursts out of her, and she starts to shake as she cradles her head in her hands. If they hadn’t had the argument, he would have been sleeping in the same bed as her. He would be alive.
Meeting Patrick all those years ago had been unexpected, and even more surprising to Jess when he asked her to marry him. She’d thought herself unlovable. Too much of a mess, too broken. He’d been warm, funny, loving—and tolerant of her problems. He’d just wanted her to feel better. To be normal.
But now he’s gone. And her home has been destroyed.
Jess opens the car door and stands in the freezing cold. She knows there can’t be anything left, but part of her wants to go inside. Most of the windows on the front are shattered, and there are teetering piles of debris in the front garden, more littered around the house, obviously placed there by the people investigating the arson. She can see a large yellow and white sticker plastered to the front door, telling people to keep away. “Active Crime Scene,” it says.
Is this what it’s reduced to? The first house she bought with Patrick, the horrendous seventies decor disaster lovingly renovated into their home. The place they brought their newborn daughter to, where she cried through the night, where she took her first steps.
