Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
The hospital hallways glisten under the bright fluorescent lights.
Upon the neutrally painted walls are large, framed photographs of nature.
One has a close-up shot of leaves dotted with raindrops.
The next photo is a field filled with daisies.
Another is of a dilapidated barn and silo, reminding me of many I’ve seen around Blue Gil.
Within the picture, the sky is on fire with the reds and oranges of the setting sun.
As I wind around the maze of Julie’s floor, I notice more photographs that I didn’t see before.
There are no duplicates, just calming, nonconfrontational stills to add color and contrast yet not stand out.
Perhaps it’s because it’s Tuesday morning and people are at work.
I’m not sure of the reason, yet the hallways feel emptier than before.
Since Sandy, Ollie’s girlfriend, and Matt, Olivia’s boyfriend, need to work today, we have fewer people to sit with Julie.
While I wanted to hear Sheriff Manes’s announcement, instead, I’m about to relieve Michelle, Matt’s mother, at Julie’s side.
While the stress is taking its toll on the whole family, I probably slept better than my parents who again spent the night here before Michelle relieved them.
Of course, my ability to sleep last night was based more upon my alcohol intake than lack of stress.
There’s nothing like an abundance of wine flowing through one’s veins to make the worries of the world melt away and allow slumber to whisk you away.
Once Becky arrived last night, my research went by the wayside. That’s why this morning I have my computer bag in tow.
Finally, I reach Julie’s room.
The bottom of the door scuffs against the tile floor as I push the door inward. A chorus of beeps and blips coming from the machines near my sister’s head greets me as Michelle looks up from a magazine.
The hospital bed has my sister partially inclined, yet her eyes are still closed.
Eyes.
She has hers.
That’s another blessing we can add to our list.
Michelle stands.
“Mrs. Lane,” I say softly.
It’s the first time I’ve met her. And based on Matt, who is easily six feet three or four, with darker hair, I wouldn’t peg this woman as his mother. She is barely five feet with curly blond hair and a stocky build.
“You must be Jillian,” she says with the same hushed tone and a pleasant smile.
“Yes.”
“I’m Michelle. Forget the Mrs. Lane part. After all, we’re practically family.”
“Oh,” I say, my eyes on Julie and back. “Do you know something we don’t?”
“As in a marriage? Heavens, no. I would welcome it. No matter what the kids decide, we adore Olivia.”
“I’m kind of fond of her too.”
I set my purse and computer bag on the long vinyl sofa near Julie’s feet. “And Matt seems great. Thank you for helping with Julie. I can stay here now.”
“I don’t mind,” she says as she collects her things. “I rushed in here when Shannon called. Before I leave, I’m going to get some breakfast in the cafeteria. Can I get you anything?”
I lift the disposable cup filled with coffee that I’m holding. “I’m good. Thank you.”
“Okay, I’ll check in after I eat.” She heads toward the door and turns around. “Is there any news on your sister’s friend?”
“Umm, the sheriff is making an announcement to the town” —I look at my watch— “soon.”
“And you’re not there?”
“I’m here,” I say with a sad grin. “You probably know that I live in California. It isn’t often I can help my family.”
Michelle nods. “Your parents need all the support they can get. This has all been hard on them.”
“Of course. No one wants to see their daughter this way.”
Michelle’s head shakes. “It’s been a difficult time. I’m sure Shannon’s told you about it all. It isn’t my place, but I pray for that woman every day. They always say you have that one child who keeps you hopping.” Her gaze goes to Julie.
“You mean about this incident?”
Michelle turns back to me. “Really, I shouldn’t say.
It just seems that Julie is completely different than Olivia.
Sometimes it’s difficult to understand how two children raised in the same household.
..” She waves her hand. “Of course, I don’t know you but look at you.
You’re independent. You aren’t causing your mother sleepless nights. ”
Julie is?
I force a grin. “Maybe not now, but I had my turn.”
“Well, worrying about our children is just part of being a mother.” She shakes her head. “Are you sure you don’t want anything from the cafeteria?”
“I’m sure. Thank you again.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Lane says as if remembering, “I messaged Shannon. The nurse said Dr. Chaudhry would be in about one. They’ve already started decreasing some of her sedative medications.”
I look again at my sister. “Already?” Anxiety bubbles within me as I watch Julie’s chest rise and fall.
As Michelle nods and exits the room, leaving me alone with Julie, the beeps, blips, and swish of the door, I wrestle with what she just shared. I can’t help wondering what my mother has been through or feel guilty that I don’t know anything about my youngest sister.
I walk closer to the bed and ask, “Julie, what was Mrs. Lane talking about?”
No response.
Taking her free hand in mine, I continue speaking, “I’m scared for you to wake.
What do you remember about Saturday night?
” I fight tears as I smooth stray strands of her copper-colored hair away from her face.
“Sheriff Manes is going to tell the town what happened. Mom pushed him. Don’t be upset with her.
People need to know what happened for their safety.
They need to catch this horrible man who hurt you, and.
..” I don’t think she can hear me. I’ve read studies about what people remember after waking from unconsciousness.
Yet, Michelle said they’ve already started decreasing some of her medications.
I don’t want to be the one to tell her about her friend.
I swallow the tears I refuse to shed. “We’re all here for you, Julie. You’re not alone.”
She’s not. I know what loneliness feels like, even when it’s self-imposed.
“Julie, I don’t think you can hear me, but if you’ll listen to your older sister for just a minute, I say do as I say, not as I did.
Mom, Dad, Olivia, and Ollie are all here.
You’ve been through something horrific, and that doesn’t change the way your family cares, even me, Julie.
I know I don’t say it, but I care. Let them.
Don’t hide. It doesn’t really solve anything.
” My voice trails away. “It makes it more difficult to return.”
As I’m about to step away, I reach out and place my palm against her cheek.
Her skin is warm beneath my touch. With my pulse racing, I glance around the room.
The door to the hallway is closed and while the drapes near the window are open and sunshine streams in, being on the fourth floor, there’s no risk that anyone can see us.
“Sorry, Julie,” I whisper as I use my thumb and first finger to lift one of her eyelids. The blue is barely present upon the white of her orb. I let out a breath and do the same to her other eye.
Both eyes are present and accounted for.
Yes, that was strange, but nothing since I’ve returned to Blue Gil has been normal.
What is normal?
An image of Becky and Hank embracing comes to mind.
I gave Hank’s and my talk some thought as I drove to Kalamazoo. I’m not the same person who left Blue Gil six years ago. Maybe it’s time for me to recognize that others have changed too.
Going back to the couch, I open my computer bag. Pulling out my phone, I create a hot spot, open my notebook, and turn on my laptop. Within minutes, I’m lost in my research.
My list of questions continues to grow as I try to go through each individual case.
First, I create a profile on Craig Gilbert. I add both what I know and what I’ve heard. Hearsay isn’t permissible in court, but in life and in Blue Gil, it is right up there with gospel. I look at connections with the other victims. Most obviously, he taught at the school where the girls attended.
Second, I write what I know about my sister. Sadly, it isn’t much.
She’s had a difficult year—a broad statement.
She was accepted to Michigan State and decided instead to go to KVCC—a community college—while living at home.
She and her boyfriend, Austin, broke up.
Who broke up with whom? Becky said they’d been hot and heavy.
Is there a connection between the breakup and her decision not to move away for school?
How are her grades? Have they changed for the worse or better?
For connections, she and Marty were good friends, and Craig was a teacher at their school.
Lastly, I write what I know about Marty Thompson.
Her real name is Martha. She worked at Sanders Feed on weekends.
Hearsay says that she came on to at least one married man.
She also had dark hair and perky breasts.
She and Julie were friends, and they both attended Blue Gil High School where Craig taught.
In a sad way, it seems like I know more about Marty than my own sister.
Eyes.
Julie has hers. Craig and Marty don’t.
Was Marty conscious when they were removed? Did she fight? How about defensive wounds?
I look up at Julie. Are any of her bandages covering defensive wounds or only lacerations and bites?
In my head I see the production of an hour-long episode.
This mindset is easier because it isn’t real.
It isn’t my sister’s friend but an actress.
She’s sprawled out on the shed floor beside Julie—who too is played by an actress.
Both girls are unconscious. Marty’s hair is a tangled mess.
Julie’s red hair is fanned over the filthy floor.
The blood in the scene is fake. The eyeballs lying near Marty are replicas.
Was she in the gardening shed?
It makes sense in my mind, but it hasn’t been confirmed. If she were, there would be trace evidence on her person, such as mouse feces and dead insects in her hair. Then again, that evidence could also have come from the swale.
I write more questions.
Staring at my notes, I think about a Venn diagram. We often use them when brainstorming story lines to show all possible logical relationships.
Julie and Marty are both seniors in high school. They both attend Blue Gil High School where Craig Gilbert taught. All three live or lived in Blue Gil. That seems to be the center of my diagram.
The two girls were friends and attended the same party on Saturday night.
Craig didn’t attend the party.
Who did and who didn’t?
I make a note to give Theo Morton another visit and discuss the Saturday night crowd at the Walleye Tavern. He isn’t the only one I can ask. Keith Gilbert said he had been at the party for a brief period of time.
As an outsider, he probably wouldn’t know many of the partygoers’ names, but as a detective, he may have a better memory than most. Keith is worth asking.
I’m startled as the door to Julie’s room moves inward.
“I brought you a drink,” Michelle says softly as she enters with a smile. She looks at my notebook as she hands me the cup. “What are you doing?”
“It’s work,” I say as I close the folder, unwilling to share my thoughts.
“What you do must be exciting.”
“It can be.” I place the cup on a nearby table as the door opens again.