Karin Slaughter - Blindsighted

"He was a Baptist preacher," Jeb clarified. "He was a firm believer in the power of the Lord to heal what ails you. I'm glad he had his faith to get him through, but…" Jeb shrugged. "Some things you just can't let go of. Some things you can't forget."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Sara answered, knowing what he meant about not being able to let go. She looked down at her sandwich, thinking it was probably not appropriate to take a bite at this moment. Her stomach growled to spur her on, but she ignored it.

"It was a long time ago," Jeb finally answered. "I was just thinking about her today, with all that's been going on."

Sara did not know what to say. She was tired of death. She did not want to comfort him. This date had been made to take her mind off what had been happening lately, not remind her of it.

She stood from the table, offering, "Did you want something else to drink?" Sara walked over to the refrigerator as she talked. "I've got Cokes, some Kool-Aid, orange juice." She opened the door and the sucking sound reminded her of something. She just could not put her finger on it. Suddenly it hit her. Rubber stripping on the doors to the ER at Grady had made the exact same sucking noise when they opened. She had never made the connection before, but there it was.

Jeb said, "Coke's fine."

Sara reached into the fridge, shuffling around for the sodas. She stopped, her hand resting on the trademark red can. She felt a light-headedness, as if she had too much air in her lungs. She closed her eyes, trying to keep her sense of balance. Sara was back in the ER. The doors opened with that sucking sound. A young girl was wheeled in on a gurney. Stats were called out by the EMT, IVs were started, the girl was intubated. She was in shock, her pupils blown, her body warm to the touch. Her temperature was called out, one hundred three. Her blood pressure was through the roof. She was bleeding profusely from between her legs.

Sara ran the case, trying to stop the bleeding. The girl started to convulse, jerking out the IVs, kicking over the supply tray at her feet. Sara leaned over her, trying to stop the girl from doing any further damage. The seizing stopped abruptly, and Sara thought she might have died. Her pulse was strong. Her reflexes were weak but registering.

A pelvic examination revealed the girl had recently had an abortion, though not one that had been given by a qualified physician. Her uterus was a mess, the walls of her vagina scraped and shredded. Sara repaired what she could, but the damage was done. Whatever healing she would do was left up to the girl.

Sara went to her car to change her shirt before talking to the girl's parents. She found them in the waiting area and told them the prognosis. She used the right phrases, like "guarded optimism" and "critical, but stable." Only the girl did not make it through the next three hours. She had another seizure effectively frying her brain.

At that point in her career, the thirteen-year-old girl was the youngest patient Sara had ever lost. The other patients who had died under Sara's care had been older, or sicker, and it was sad to lose them, but their deaths had not been so unexpected. Sara was shocked by the tragedy as she made her way toward the waiting area. The girl's parents seemed just as shocked. They had no idea their daughter had been pregnant. To their knowledge, she had never had a boyfriend. They couldn't understand how their daughter could be pregnant, let alone dead.

"My baby," the lather whispered. He repeated the phrase over and over, his voice quiet with grief. "She was my baby."

"You must be wrong," the mother said. Rummaging around in her purse, she pulled out a wallet. Before Sara could stop her, a photograph was found-a school picture of the young girl in a cheerleading uniform Sara did not want to look at the picture, but there was no consoling the woman until she did. Sara glanced down quickly, then looked a second, more careful time. The photograph showed a young girl in a cheerleading outfit. She held her pom-poms out from her sides. A smile was on her face. The expression was a sharp contrast to the one on the lifeless girl lying on the gurney, waiting to be moved to the morgue.

The father had reached out, taking Sara's hands. He bent his head down and mumbled a prayer that seemed to last a long time, asking for forgiveness, restating his belief in Cod. Sara was by no means a religious person, but there was something about his prayer that moved her. To be able to find such comfort in the face of such a horrible loss was amazing to her.

After the prayer, Sara had gone to her car to collect her thoughts, to maybe take a drive around the block and work her mind around this tragic, unnecessary death. That was when she had found the damage done to her car. That was when she had gone back into the bathroom. That was when Jack Allen Wright had raped her.

The picture Jeb had just shown her was the same picture she had seen twelve years ago in the waiting room.

"Sara?"

The song changed on the stereo. Sara felt her stomach drop as the words "Hey, hey, Julia" came from the speakers.

"Something wrong?" Jeb asked, then quoted the words from the song. " 'You're acting so peculiar.' "

Sara stood, holding up a can as she closed the refrigerator. "This is the last Coke," she said, edging toward the garage door. "I've got some outside."

"That's okay." He shrugged. "I'm fine with just water." He had put his sandwich down and was staring at her.

Sara popped the top on the Coke. Her hands were shaking slightly, but she didn't think Jeb noticed. She brought the can to her mouth, sipping enough to let some of the Coke spill onto her sweater.

"Oh," she said, trying to act surprised. "Let me go change. I'll be right back."

Sara returned the smile he gave her, her lips trembling as she did so. She forced herself to move, walking down the hall slowly so as not to raise the alarm. Inside her room, she snatched up the phone, glancing out the bank of windows, surprised to see the bright sunlight pouring in. It was so incongruous with the terror she felt. Sara dialed Jeffrey's number, but there were no corresponding beeps when she pressed the buttons. She stared at the phone, willing it to work.

"You took it off the hook," Jeb said. "Remember?"

Sara jumped up from her bed. "I was just calling my dad. He's coming by in a few minutes."

Jeb stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. "I thought you said you were going by their house later."

"That's right," Sara answered, backing toward the other side of the room. This put the bed between them, but Sara was trapped, her back to the window. "He's coming to get me."

"You think so?" Jeb asked. He was smiling the same way he always did, a lopsided half grin that you would find on a child. There was something so casual about him, something so nonthreatening, that Sara wondered for half a second if she had drawn the wrong conclusion. A glance clown at his hand snapped her out of it. He was holding a long boning knife at his side.

"What gave it away?" he asked. "The vinegar, wasn't it? I had a bear of a time getting it in through the cork. Thank God for cardiac syringes."

Sara put her hand behind her, feeling the cold glass of the window under her palm. "You left them for me," she said, going through the last few days in her mind. Jeb had known about her lunch with Tessa. Jeb had known she was at the hospital the night Jeffrey was shot. "That's why Sibyl was in the bathroom. That's why Julia was on my car. You wanted me to save them."

He smiled, nodding slowly. There was a sadness around his eyes, as ü he regretted that the game was over. "I wanted to give you that opportunity."

"Is that why you showed me her picture?" she asked. "To see if I would remember her?"

"I'm surprised you did."