Chapter 39
By the time we get to the hospital, the sun is starting to rise.
I hold my breath as I run inside with Alex, leaving the car illegally parked and its doors wide open.
I’m ashamed to say Bella didn’t even cross my mind.
Right now my only concern is Amaya, and I run as fast as I can toward the reception desk.
I remember where Amaya’s room is and run toward it. And that’s when I see him outside her room. A deranged mouse holding a gun, about to open the door.
—
True crime rule…I don’t think, because if I did, I would have considered another course of action.
I dive at the Mouse from behind, giving me an advantage that prevents him from shooting at me immediately.
I land on him with a sickening crunch, Magnus Mouse breaking my fall.
I jump to my feet quickly to look for the gun.
It has skidded across the hospital floor.
Alex grabs it, but he doesn’t need to. The Mouse is curled up in the fetal position on the floor.
“Fuck,” he yells. “You broke something!”
I start to apologize, when I realize he’s here to shoot my friend. I look at him and the gun and appreciate that he’s now much scarier than any off-brand Disney character.
“Police, police!” Alex yells, his faith in them not shaken as it has been for me.
A few seconds later, hospital security streams in and I instinctively put my arms up, but they go directly for Harvey. They’ve gotten the right guy for once, and relief washes over me like a wave.
“Nice work,” a nurse says, and it takes a second before realizing she was talking to me. “You’re pretty damn brave.”
I’d thought the stabbing was just a warning. Never did I anticipate the man would come back to finish the job. The seriousness of the situation hits me all over again.
I ponder the implications of this arrest. I know all too well that after an arrest, you’re brought in for questioning.
Will Harvey spill the beans, or, like me, will his attorney caution silence?
Is what he may say enough to clear my name?
Charlie hires Harvey and pays him with a Rolex?
Harvey takes the Rolex and stabs James and Amaya?
And then my DNA somehow ends up on the knife?
The connection is tenuous and confusing.
A few minutes pass before I’m allowed to see Amaya. She looks exhausted but better, and is able to move her arm now, something I can only assume is an excellent sign.
“Thank god you’re okay,” I say, approaching her bed. “I’m so sorry I’ve put you in this position.”
She opens her eyes and gives me a weak smile. “It’s my job, you know.”
“Not to get stabbed! Or shot!”
“I guess I’m bad at my job, if that’s happening.” Amaya laughs. “Ow, don’t make me laugh. It hurts. And…thanks for taking down a shooter for me. You’ve raised the bar for friends in my life.”
Still, I’m the luckier one in this friendship. I found someone who will quite literally defend me from murder.
“Why do you think this happened?” I say, changing the subject.
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Amaya responds, sharp as ever. Stab me in the shoulder and my brain is going on vacation for a good month—no critical thinking skills to see here.
“Him, coming after you. Why not me?”
“Well, usually you don’t wanna kill the woman you’re trying to frame for murder. Better to kill the meddling attorney, I guess?”
Just then Amaya’s parents walk in, carrying coffee and looking exhausted.
They seem to not know about the situation that has just transpired, likely missing it in its entirety while in the cafeteria.
The police still haven’t come to Amaya’s door, probably calling for backup.
Remembering their previous hysteria, I’m grateful for their ignorance.
No use worrying them when Amaya is okay.
“Oh hello!” they say, looking from Amaya to me, me to Amaya.
I can tell that they are trying to discern exactly who I am.
Amaya must have left it ambiguous when they asked earlier about me, the woman waiting by her bedside until they arrived.
I’m grateful that she hasn’t introduced me as a maybe murderer.
I can see how that conversation would play out.
Mom and Dad, everyone thinks she murdered someone in her cab, and she’s really the only viable suspect, but I believe she may be innocent.
Even the least discriminating parents would find me problematic company, and it’s likely her parents are picky.
Besides, I’m already a disappointment enough without the murder accusations.
In our culture, the prestige jobs are limited to doctors, lawyers, and engineers.
“She’s a friend,” Amaya says quickly, as if she hopes her parents won’t ask any prying questions. “She’s Sri Lankan too.” They seem comforted by the fact I’m Sri Lankan, as if the shared heritage makes me more trustworthy.
“Thank you for watching out for her,” Amaya’s mother says as I turn to go. “She’s lucky to have such a good friend.”
“No problem,” I mutter under my breath, afraid to meet Amaya’s parents’ eyes. “I better be going. Take care, Amaya,” I say as I show myself out of the room.
Thankfully, when Alex and I get back to his car, Bella, ever the good girl, is sitting patiently inside, guarding the parking ticket we’ve received.