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“What happened this morning?”
I feel like I’ve just stepped in shit. I’m sure York or Whit didn’t tell her for a reason. There’s no turning back now. I either stand here in shit or wipe it off. I tell her everything, and when I get to the part of Nora’s reaction, she looks mortified … until I give her a reenactment.
After that, we get busy going through the bags, and when we find an old dead phone, we scramble to locate a charger that will work. When we can’t, I order one online and send a message to our group chat, asking if anyone has one. I get a response from Danny immediately.
Danny:
Think I might. I’ll get back at ya in a bit.
Me:
Bring it over if you have one. No stress though. I have one coming in tomorrow.
We dive back into the massive amounts of pictures Nelly had, and Chloe starts sorting them based on dates on the printed photos.
When Danny arrives with a cord, we plug in Nelly’s phone. I send a text to Pastor B that Danny and Chloe are here and that he doesn’t have to come over when I go to get Whit from work. Neither of us wants Chloe to be alone.
A mile from the Med Center, lights flash in my rearview mirror. I pull over to the side of the road, allowing an ambulance and then another, as well as a Walton PD car, Marks’s truck, and a state patrol vehicle following behind to go by.
My phone rings. It’s Marks, and I hit Accept.
“What the hell’s going on, man?”
“Cocaine Kris was shot; he’s bleeding out pretty fast. Massive accident on the interstate—it’s all backed up. They called our bus out and decided to bring them to our Med Center.”
“Them?”
“His sister, Alice, Pope. This happened outside the women’s shelter.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, well, they’re trying to stop Kris’s bleeding until a helicopter can get here and take him to Dallas. Pope, Whit’s gonna wanna stick around and help, but this isn’t sitting well with me. I think you should get her home.”
I park as far away from the action as I can and jog to the emergency entrance, where I see Whit relieve the EMT doing chest compressions on who I know is Kris. I’m not getting her out of here; she’s right where she thinks she needs to be. Having never seen her in action before now, I wouldn’t argue that fact. She’s doing good; she’s helping people, even ones who wouldn’t do the same for her.
They’re unloading the second ambulance. They have Alice in a seated position on the stretcher; her foot is bandaged up an bleeding through.
Marks hurries to her and walks beside the stretcher as they enter the emergency department. “Need your help finding the shooter, Alice.”
“I … I … is he going to be okay? Is Kris going to be?—”
“They’re doing everything they can, and we need to make sure we do too. Did you see the shooter? Do you know?—”
“She’s asked for her lawyer,” one of the State boys cuts Marks off.
“Why did I ask for a lawyer?” she asks the officer, clearly confused.
“Alice, shut your mouth,” he sneers.
“Nah, that’s not how this shit works, Berk,” Marks sneers back at him.
“This situation is out of your jurisdiction.” The officer, Berk, glares at him.
Marks boxes him out. “Alice, I want to make sure everyone in Walton is safe. If you know who did this?—”
“That’s enough. My client needs medical attention. Step aside, Officer Marks.”
Motherfucker, I groan inwardly.
