Chapter 6
Six
Emma wasn’t sure what to think. She was not surprised to find out that Owen had been conducting his own amateur investigation. That detail helped her find a bit of calm, illuminating what he had said to her at the scene of the accident and erasing her fears about his mental state.
With adrenaline racing through his system, Owen had uttered his suspicions.
He battled horrific pain from a gunshot wound to get behind the wheel.
His injuries in the wreck were the least of his problems. The very act was selfless and heroic.
With what he thought were his dying breaths, Owen wanted to ease her suffering.
He was a good person. Her heart ached for pulling away from him and everyone else.
Emma couldn’t explain why Owen would be a target any more than she could accept her sister’s death had been murder. But as she followed Daniel into the hospital, she reasoned she didn’t have to. Motive, opportunity, and suspects were the sheriff’s domain. She’d gladly take a backseat.
A deputy in full uniform stood outside one of the hospital rooms.
The man nodded at Daniel and stepped to the side.
Daniel opened the door and held it wide, letting Emma pass first.
She wasn’t sure what she expected to find.
Last night, she had been here. She’d already seen the updates to the building, the new flooring, the LED lights, the softer color on the walls.
But all of the comforting changes washed away when she spotted Owen in a gown on the bed, banged up and bruised, hooked up to machines and an IV drip.
In seconds, she traveled back to her sister’s broken and bruised body, lying flat and lifeless with a crisp sheet covering her at the morgue. An awful, metallic taste filled Emma’s mouth. She snapped to the present and swallowed a small drop of blood; she’d bitten the inside of her cheek too hard.
“Oh, you’re here,” Lucille said.
“Good morning, Mrs. T, Mr. T,” Daniel greeted both Thomases in turn. “How’s our patient doing today?” He faced the bed but addressed the room at large.
Emma stepped farther into the room, noticing Owen’s eyelids fluttering. He was in a fitful sleep, or he was pretending to doze so he could avoid questions from the sheriff. She didn’t blame him for the latter, if that was the case.
“He’s doing much better,” Lucille said. “The doctor thinks he’ll be able to go home at the end of the week.”
“Was he able to speak to you this morning?” Daniel asked.
Both Thomases nodded.
“Oh yes,” Lucille said. “His voice is a little scratchy after being intubated yesterday, but he had a lot to say. I’m so glad you came.” Lucille addressed Emma. “I’m sure this isn’t easy.”
Emma gulped. It was typical of kindhearted Lucille Thomas to think about someone else while her son was lying helpless in a hospital bed. “I’m fine.”
“I’d like to talk to Owen,” Daniel said, “but I can see he’s still groggy. I’d like to speak to the deputy outside for a few minutes. Is it all right if Emma stays in here with you?”
“Of course,” Lucille said, “you’re very welcome here, my dear. Right, George?” She elbowed her husband.
“Good to see you again,” George grumbled.
Emma plastered on a smile, still clasping her hands together in front of herself. She didn’t know where to stand, what to say, or how to act. Did she address Mr. Thomas by his first name, too?
Speaking to the Thomases was the least of her worries.
After Daniel’s revelations, she wanted to talk with Owen alone.
She wanted to hear what he had to say. And why he hadn’t reached out to her before now.
But she didn’t know how to say anything in front of his parents to get time alone.
If her life was in danger because of what Owen had learned, she’d like to know everything.
A cell phone rang. George unclipped an old flip phone from his belt holster. He answered gruffly.
Emma fought a smile of genuine amusement. Where could he even find a flip phone?
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh, oh,” George said, shooting a worried look at Lucille.
“We’ll be on our way then.” He closed his phone and re-secured it in the clip on his belt.
“There’s some sort of issue with the power happening at the camp.
The generator isn’t kicking in. All of the fridges and freezers are going to be off-line if we can’t get back and sort it out. ”
Lucille darted her gaze between her husband and her son, her eyes almost wild with worry.
“I can stay here until you get back,” Emma said, stepping forward and hoping to ease the burden on Lucille’s face. “I’ll keep Owen company.”
“Are you sure?” Lucille asked, rubbing her hands together. “You wouldn’t mind? We shouldn’t be long. This happens all the time, but we’re the only people who can ever seem to fix it.”
George grunted.
“Of course not. I’m happy to be here.” Privacy might encourage Owen to stop feigning sleep and speak with her.
“Thank you, dear. We won’t be long,” Lucille said. She and George left the room.
The door shut behind them.
Emma walked around the bed toward the window, glancing through the break in the curtains.
A few clouds gathered in the distance, threatening another storm.
Often, clouds completely disappeared into the sky, and despite a break from the hot sun, no weather event happened to ruin the day. Much ado about nothing.
“Hey,” came a hoarse whisper. “Are they really gone?”
Emma spun and glanced first at the door, before turning her attention to the figure on the bed, his eyelids still heavy over his eyes. “Yes, they’re gone.”
“I’m glad you came back. I wasn’t sure you’d ever come home. I thought a reunion was my best chance to see you so we could talk.”
Emma was touched and uneasy by the attention. She’d focus on clarity for lack of time. She held up a hand. “If you want a trip down memory lane, you’ll be disappointed. I don’t remember much.”
“Are you well?”
She hated having to explain herself. The mental redaction happened in response to a massive traumatic trigger.
While it was voluntary—at the surface level—the truth was so much more.
Her inner self had sought protection. She worried the girls in the bunk would judge her like she’d chosen to forget and let go of the pain.
She’d give everything to get back all the good she lost along the way, too.
His genuine concern shone through the question.
He was recovering from surgery in a hospital and was worried about her.
She didn’t mind telling him the truth. “I don’t have cognitive issues, and I wasn’t hit on the head like a cartoon.
My therapist thinks it’s a coping technique.
I’ve blocked out a lot of memories from that time. ”
He nodded, and a soft, sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His somber expression was enhanced by his surroundings.
“I struggle with nightmares, too,” she continued. “In the beginning, after the accident, I barely slept through the night at college. In the years since it’s more sporadic, and I can get some solid hours of REM. I’m worried I might trigger them again, but I decided to return. I’ve come to…”
“Face your fears?”
She scrunched her nose. “I’m not afraid. I want to reclaim what I’ve lost. I don’t know if it’ll work or if I’ll create false memories.” She shuddered. She was getting off-track. “Don’t worry about me. What’s going on? Were you chasing me last night?”
“I wanted to talk to you. Alone, and preferably out of earshot of the camp.”
“Before or after you were shot?” She shouldn’t ask questions in rapid-fire, but she had to know.
“Both. I thought I was being invisible. I didn’t want to draw attention to any conversations between us. I didn’t want harm to follow you. I can’t be sure if the gunshot was aimed at you or me.”
Just like Daniel had told her. She was in danger.
She wasn’t sure she had the courage to ask anything more for fear of what she might learn.
Owen hadn’t answered her questions. The most important thing to ask remained unspoken.
Because she worried if she did try to get him to remember his assailant, she’d trigger an adverse reaction.
At the moment, he wasn’t whole. He would recover, and she had time to push later.
If he ended up in coma, he wouldn’t be of any help.
She scrambled for something gentle. “Do you remember what you told me? After the accident?”
He opened his eyes fully and then looked at her. “We spoke?” His voice was thick and rusty.
She almost recoiled at the bloodshot vacant stare, looking back. But she held her ground. “You told me no accidents, Liz. What did tha—”
The power cut.
She jumped.
The room darkened but not completely. The window curtain was cracked open, a thin shaft of natural light cast a gentle glow.
“That scared me,” she admitted with a drudging laugh.
“You both were always afraid of the dark as kids,” Owen said.
Emma sighed. The tidbit didn’t offer any illumination to the past. “Most kids are.”
She strode toward the window and pulled back the curtains wider.
Emergency power sources kicked on. All sorts of buzzes and beeps sounded from seemingly every inch of the room.
“It’s so loud.” He flinched.
“I’ll go get help,” she told him. “Stay here.”
He rolled his eyes at her bad joke.
In the hallway, Emma didn’t find either the deputy or the sheriff outside the door. Wasn’t the room supposed to be guarded? Alarms blared and machines beeped, noisier than the room.
Emma pressed her fingers to her ears.
A masked nurse brushed past her and strode into Owen’s room, shutting the door behind her.
One problem down but Emma couldn’t shake the dread snaking over her. Where was law enforcement? Why tell her she was potentially a target and then abandon her? Her pulse picked up, and her vision blurred. Nothing felt right about the situation.
She shut her eyes, focusing on her breathing and calming herself down.
Emma was jostled and lost her balance, falling to the ground.
Two POPs sounded in the rapid succession. The window in the door behind her shattered.