Dawn releases her hold on the fabric. Continues up the porch steps.
“Feel better, Dawn.”
Dawn salutes the Sheriff. Unlocks the cabin door. Disappears inside.
“Thanks for playing chauffeur today, Antoinette.” Ren folds the blanket. Once. Twice. Holds it out to her. “It was... Real good seeing you again.”
“Likewise, Ren.” She takes the blanket. “You take care. Let me know if I can help any.”
“Just... Focus on Paula. On getting whoever...”
She nods. Watches him climb the steps. Then: “My mom wants to see you.”
Ren turns. Troubled. Netty soldiers onward.
“She wants you to-- You and Dawn, too. She wants both of you to come for dinner. Tomorrow.”
Ren looks pained. Searches for a response. Netty doesn’t wait for one. “You know how she is... Started planning the meal the minute she heard. Probably in the kitchen this very minute.”
“I don’t know, Antoinette... Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
Netty nods. Not in agreement.
“It broke her heart too, when you left. You were like... She thought of you as a son. She still does.”
Ren is quiet.
“So, it’s settled.” Netty tosses the blanket into the backseat. Shuts the door. “Her cooking hasn’t improved. Not one bit. But you’re going to clean your plate, and you’re going to ask for seconds, too.”
“It’s not that ham of hers, is it? Said I liked it one time, and ever since she--”
“You. Are going to ask. For seconds.”
Ren smiles. Defeated. “Yeah, okay. Tell her we’d love to.”
“Already did.”
Her phone buzzes. She grabs it quickly. “Sheriff, here. Hold on.” She points at Ren. “Five, sharp.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ren turns to enter the cabin.
A dozen giant mosquitoes congregate on the screendoor. Awaiting their chance to steal inside. He waves them off, but before he can turn the handle, notices the throbbing sound of heavy bass coming from the next cabin. Looks over.
He notes the green Jeep. Vaguely recalls it from the ferry. Doesn’t make out the couple watching from the porch-swing, until the woman’s cigar tip flares orange.
Have they been watching? Are they now? Resisting the urge to keep staring, Ren forces himself to turn away. Enters the cabin, followed by a few of the more fortunate mosquitoes.
As the door clatters shut, Netty rises from her squad car. Eyes puffy. Tears rolling down her cheeks. “Ren?”
One foot in the car, one out. Clutching her phone like a lifeline. Seeing he’s already inside, she doesn’t call out a second time. Instead, sinks slowly back into the driver’s seat.
“All right, uh... I’ll be--” Netty’s voice catches in her throat. She swallows the sob before her dispatcher can hear it. “I’m on my way. Do you need... Do you think Millie can contact the family. ‘Cause I need to...” She restarts the car. Twists the key forward maybe a moment too long.
“No. I’m fine to drive myself. Sure as hell not waiting around for someone to come get me.” Netty starts away from the cabin. “Good. Let the hospital know. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She drives off. Altogether too quickly. Halfway down the lane, she remembers she’s in a police car. Turns on the lightbar. Flashes blue and red through the elms as she heads for the highway.
~
Mrs. Hunter crushes out her cigar on the side of the porch-swing. Heads inside. In a little while, her husband will follow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Midgate General Hospital is quiet. The halls mostly empty. Visiting hours long over. Staff reduced to the minimum required.
The lone duty nurse on the fourth floor is doing a Sudoku puzzle on her cellphone. Imagining she is exercising her mind by arranging numbers into squares. Trying to beat her best time.
She is not expecting any excitement. Most of her charges are comatose. Vegetables, she never-ever calls them out loud. Requiring little in the way of attention. On the overnight shift, at least.
But up the hall from her, in room 432, Paula Fields is restless.
Breathing hard. Almost panting. Paula’s vitals are elevated. Not yet in a range that might alert the desk, but notable to anyone monitoring her.
She frowns. Agitated. Her eyes flutter, but ultimately remain closed. Her head rolls to the left. Then right. More independent movement than she has been capable of since the attack.
With a sudden gasp, she inhales through her teeth: “Ssssssss...” As she exhales, it sounds almost as though she says: “...Ssstarsss.”
“Shhhh...” A hand presses against Paula’s forehead. Her breathing calms. Her movements slow. Cease. The machines record her return towards what have become her normal rhythms. “It won’t be much longer, now, Paula. I promise you.”
Mother Agatha’s touch soothes. She smiles down on the injured woman. Gaze benevolent. Full of compassion.
“Soon your misery will come to an end.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Deke Mackey Jr. has spent most of his life
sitting cross-legged in a corner. Rocking in place.
Knocking his head against the wall.
Quietly telling himself stories.
Recently? He’s been getting louder.
Occasionally, he can be found making trouble at:
www.dekemackeyjr.com
FROM AWAY ~ BOOK ONE Page 15
