Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

Jama had always believed she’d endured a nearly unbearable load of guilt these past years; how must Jack feel?

“I’ve been so wrong,” Ruth whispered, as if Jama’s thoughts had been spoken aloud. “I’ve been so focused on my own loss and anger that I’ve given little thought to what Jack must be going through.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to forgive him?” Jama asked.

Ruth looked at her, touched her arm, leaned forward. “Thanks to you, I think so. It’s going to take some time, but if he calls again, I’ll have Chelsea give the call to me.” She sniffed and dabbed at the moisture on her face, then stood, taking a deep breath.

She looked at the clock. “I’m going back to sleep. You want half my blankets?”

“No, thanks, I’m staying with Zelda across the street.”

“Then get there and get to bed. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

Jama went. The boss was back on duty.

But she had brought up some pretty thought-provoking suggestions.

A missionary. Who’d’ve thought?

Doriann sat on the side of the exam bed, dangling her legs and swinging her feet back and forth. Her mother did the same, as the two FBI agents sat across from her, asking questions. She held on to Mom’s arm. She couldn’t let go.

“Clancy and Deb,” the agent said.

“Yes, but Deb wasn’t a killer.” And once again, Doriann told the story. She’d told Uncle Tyrell about this already, but the agents wanted to hear it all again.

Mom still wore her dark blue scrubs from work, and tears kept trickling down her face. Dad sat on a chair next to the bed, holding Doriann’s other hand.

Doriann had only been able to let go of Uncle Tyrell’s hand when Mom and Dad arrived. Her parents needed her worse than Uncle Tyrell did.

And she needed them.

Jama walked across the chilly parking lot and paused at her car. She didn’t make a habit of calling people at half past three in the morning, but she suspected Renee was still awake and on her way to the hospital-if she hadn’t convinced the FBI helicopter pilot to fly her to Jefferson City with Heather and Mark.

Renee answered her cell phone on the second ring. “Jama? Why didn’t you go to the hospital with Tyrell and Doriann?”

“I explained to the agents that I had a critical patient.”

“But you were hurt.”

“I’ve been patched back together. I have a question for you. Remember when Mark was dating Debra Benedict in high school?”

“Sure I do. She and Heather nearly got into a catfight over him. You remember how pretty Debra was, except she was all Goth, never wore anything but black. Mark only dumped her because she was using. That’s when he started dating Heather.”

“What was she using?”

“Speed. Why?”

“She’s at her grandmother’s, and she doesn’t look the best.”

“You mean she’s still using?”

“Looks like it.”

“Is she still as pretty as she was?”

“She looks twenty years older. Worse, she looks as if she’s been beaten. She claims it’s from a bike wreck, but I can’t help wondering if she hasn’t come into contact with an angry man. Was she extremely upset about the breakup with Mark?”

“She begged him to come back to her,” Renee said. “She promised she’d stop the drugs, that she was just experimenting. You know how she loved to break the rules. Kind of like you.”

Yeah, thanks for the reminder.

“He went back to her,” Renee continued, “at which time Heather gave up on him and started dating someone else. I don’t know what happened after that, because we went to college. Heather and Mark met again their sophomore year, and Debra was out of the picture. You say she’s in River Dance now?”

“At Zelda’s. She just arrived a few hours ago.”

“And you called to ask me this because…?”

“I was just curious and knew you’d be awake.”

“And this patient you told the agents about, that couldn’t possibly be Debra, could it?”

“That’s the one, though she won’t let me touch her until morning. She needs to sleep.”

“Poor Zelda,” Renee said. “She tried so hard with her grandkids. Then her grandson moves away as soon as he can after graduation, hardly comes to see her, and now this with Debra. Can I call you back? I’m not on my Bluetooth, and traffic’s a little heavy.”

“No need to call back. I plan to get some sleep. I’ll see you soon.”

“You did great today, Jama.”

“Thanks. So did you.”

“I’ll give Tyrell your love when I get to the hospital.” Renee disconnected before Jama could reply that Tyrell didn’t want her love.

On Tuesday morning, Tyrell woke up from a fitful three hours of sleep in the darkened waiting room. His sister Renee lay in the far corner on a futon. She must have had wings on her car, because she’d arrived at the hospital an hour and a half after Tyrell and Doriann.

It was growing light outside, and old habits died hard. He always rose with the sun.

He had been given a key card to the shower room upstairs, plus a toothbrush. He intended to use both.

He was halfway to the door when Renee yawned.

“Doriann’s being released this morning, Tyrell. We can both go home and get some real sleep.” She paused. “Well, anyway, you can get some real sleep. No way I’ll be sleeping with four kids romping all over me.”

“Somehow, I don’t think the helicopter’s going my way this morning.”

Renee sat up, her short brown hair tousled over her forehead. “Did you sit in on Doriann’s debriefing?”

“Parents only, but Doriann pretty much told me everything on the way here.”

Renee patted the seat beside her. “So spill, big brother. I want to hear it all.”

He covered his mouth. “Morning breath.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out two sticks of gum, one for him, one for her. Then she crossed her legs and leaned forward, eager for news.

After a good, hard nap of four hours, Jama was up again and walking Debra across the street to the clinic. Zelda was snoring away in her bed.

Chelsea Franklin would be arriving in about ten minutes for X-ray. Debra had cleaned up and washed her hair, and was wearing some of Zelda’s old scrubs that hung loosely on the skinny young woman’s frame. She wore a jacket with the logo of Dancing River Winery. Though the swelling in her face had gone down, there was a lot of discoloration, and she walked slowly, as if in pain.

“Still have the migraine?” Jama asked.

Debra nodded. “It’s worse.”

“You’ve had them before?”

Debra nodded again. She stumbled when they reached the gravel, and Jama took her by the arm.

“Take your time. Can you tell me how long you’ve been using?”

Debra’s steps slowed. She sighed and looked down.

“A long time, then,” Jama said. “Since high school?”

“Don’t say anything to Grandma.”

“You don’t think she already knows? Debra, we can get you help.”

“I’ve tried to get off the stuff, but it’s so hard. It’s like chains binding me.” Debra raised her hand to her neck and massaged it.

Jama unlocked the front door, wondering if Ruth was still asleep in her office. “I want you to get into a gown…if I can find one.”

“I’m just wearing these scrubs. No metal. Do I have to change?”

“No bra with snaps?”

Debra held her arms out to her sides and looked down at her stick-straight frame. “For what?”

Jama’s cell phone vibrated as she led Debra back to the treatment room with the most comfortable exam bed. She almost ignored the call-no personal conversations on clinic time, as per Dr. Ruth Lawrence-but she checked the screen. Sydloski.