To Write a Wrong
Page 16
JOB 8:3
“Riley.”
She knew that tone. Riley pulled over to the side of the road and tightened her hold on the cell. “What’s wrong?” Her brother didn’t call at eight at night using that tone unless something was wrong. “Is it Savannah?” Last she heard, his goddaughter was doing well with her latest heart surgery, but that could change suddenly. It had on several occasions.
“Savannah’s fine. Where are you?”
“Just leaving Jasmine and Peggy’s place and heading back to Ardy’s.” Oncoming car lights shone in her eyes. If it wasn’t Savannah . . . “Is Maddie okay?”
“Maddie’s fine, last I talked to her a couple of days ago. Says you never call her, though.”
“Then what’s up?” Maybe the connection was bad or she imagined his tone. She slipped the car back into gear.
A large pickup passed her.
“Why don’t you call me when you get back to Mrs. Simpson’s?”
She jerked the car back into Park. “Rafe, you’re scaring me. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“We got word today.”
“Word about wh—?” The parole hearing. “And?”
“Riley, they granted his parole.”
Every beat of her heart echoed in her ears, drowning out all else and pounding out a cadence. Parole-parole-parole.
“Riley? Riley!”
“What?” She nearly choked.
“Are you okay?”
What kind of stupid question was that? “Yeah.” About as stupid as her answer.
Parole-parole-parole.
“I knew I should’ve waited till you were at Mrs. Simpson’s. How far are you from her place?”
“I’m fine.” That could very well have been the biggest lie she’d ever told in her entire life. “I mean, I’ll be okay.”
Headlights blinded her as she stared blankly out the windshield.
Free-free-free.
“I can call Hayden and have him come get you if you tell me where you—”
“When?”
“What?”
“When will he be let out?”
“Mr. Patterson indicated it could be as early as Monday.”
Parole-parole-parole.
Days. The man who murdered her parents would be free and on the streets in four days. Four days and he’d be able to hug his sister. Kiss that phony fiancée. Start his arranged job.
“Riley, let me call Hayden.”
“No. I’m not that far from Mrs. Simpson’s. I can make it.” But she didn’t want to go there. She didn’t know what she wanted except to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head and pretend like none of this was happening.
But she couldn’t do that.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m not a child, Rafe.”
Free-free-free.
“I know. It’s just, well, the news . . .”
Her emotions were so tangled into a knot, she couldn’t discern one from the other. “I know.”
Silence hung over the connection.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Rafe’s voice was barely a whisper.
Riley blinked away the tears as best she could. “I said I’ll be okay. I’m going to go to Mrs. Simpson’s, take a hot shower, and let her make me a cup of that hot tea of hers.”
“Okay. I love you, Ri. Drive carefully. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I love you too.” She pressed the button and ended the call, then threw the phone into the console.
Fresh grief raked against her raw heart, burning her chest. Stark as the night her parents died.
She laid her head on the steering wheel, sobbing. She was alone, no one to see, so she abandoned herself to the grief. She missed her mother and her father. Missed not being able to pick up the phone and call whenever she just wanted to hear her voice. Missed Mom telling her everything was going to be okay and reminding her that God was always in control.
God, where’s the justice in this? Where are You now? Oh, God, I miss them.
How could the board have let him out? Didn’t they listen? Didn’t they understand how wrong it was for him to be out, walking around with the upstanding citizens?
Honk!
Riley jumped as the diesel sped past. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked like death.
Grabbing a napkin from the fast-food place on the edge of town, she wiped the tears from her face. She still looked splotchy and red, but she’d take a long, hot shower as soon as she got to Ardy’s.
She put the car in gear and eased back onto the road. Maybe if she concentrated on something else—anything else—she could make it home without incident.
Gaining speed, she headed toward the interstate.
Peggy had finally agreed to let her go with the faith element for the next article. Since Jeremy would be opposed, Riley would wait until the last minute on Wednesday to submit the article. Oh, the argument would come, but perhaps with less time, he’d give in quicker.
She slowed as she passed an abandoned vehicle on an overpass.
Her heart raced. Riley struggled to breathe. Think about something else.
Jasmine got up in enough time to talk with Riley. As Peggy had said, her eye was an attractive shade of purple. Jasmine joked that it looked like she’d been playing in her mom’s makeup.
Riley remembered playing in her mother’s makeup. Mom had caught her but hadn’t been mad. Instead, she’d sat down and applied eye shadow all over her own face so Riley wouldn’t feel bad.
Bile burned the back of her throat, threatening to gag her.
One more exit to go.
Something else. Jeremy had said he loved the article for Monday. Said the mail room had to start storing some of her mail in overflow bins.
She exited, then took a right. Drove four miles, then took a left.
Her limbs trembled. Her stomach felt like she’d just ridden the tallest roller coaster in the world.
Think about anything else!
She glanced heavenward. The moon blazed high in the sky, full and bright—something she hadn’t seen the past few days with all the crazy storms. Stars twinkled, as if winking at her. Was there some cosmic secret she’d missed? A joke she wasn’t in on?
Two headlights shot out from the darkness, causing her to squint. She gripped the steering wheel tightly. Only a mile or so more until she reached the final turnoff. Maybe she should ask Ardy for something to help her sleep. Somehow she didn’t think a nice cup of decaf tea would do the trick.
She rounded a corner . . .
Yellow lights flashed. A white truck sat on the edge of the road, but not completely clear of passing traffic. Door open. An infant car seat sat on the road beside the truck.
Riley slammed both feet on the brake and jerked the wheel to the left. She skidded to a stop, about two feet shy of the car seat and door. Oh, mercy. The baby!
Her heart shot to her throat. Her hands trembled. Mercy, mercy, mercy. Let that baby be okay. Nausea roiled.
What kind of an idiot put a baby in the road on a dark night?
She grabbed the door handle and stepped on the pavement. Her knees nearly gave out, but she steadied. “Hey!”
No one answered.
Riley strode toward the open door. “Hey, are you okay?” She glanced inside the truck: It was empty. As was the car seat.
Very odd.
Her skin prickled in the night air. No one around?
“Hello?” Perhaps a woman traveled alone with a baby and hid in the woods along the road. But without the car seat? “Hello? Is anybody there?”
If help had come, surely they would’ve moved the truck, or at least the car seat, and shut the door.
She spun, rushing to her car.
Pop!
Riley couldn’t move. The world looked like it’d gone slow motion. A vibration hummed in her ear.
Air wouldn’t enter her lungs. Heat filled her chest. Burning.
So hot.
Her knees hit the pavement. Her hands went to her chest.
They came away wet. Red. Blood.
Car lights split the darkness. She blinked against the brightness. Falling. Burning.
Her face smacked against the asphalt. Pain radiated down her neck. Hot. Her chest constricted.
Blackness consumed.
The daily recap of the day’s Masters flashed on the screen.
Hayden chewed a potato chip as the golfer made an eleven-foot putt for a birdie. Beautiful shot! The greens were smooth and fast.
He couldn’t help but be envious—it’d been weeks since he’d looked at a club, much less played a round.
His cell phone vibrated against his hip. Hayden put down the oyster po’boy he’d picked up on the way home. He couldn’t even sit down and enjoy a sandwich in front of ESPN without interruption. He grabbed the phone and glanced at the caller ID, then quickly flipped it open. “Hayden Simpson.”
“Sir, I’m on scene of a shooting,” Officer Edward Gaston said. “Victim was taken to the hospital via ambulance after 911 was dispatched.”
So much for a quiet dinner and catching up on the day’s sporting events. Hayden pushed off the couch and carried his tray to the kitchen. “Where are you?” He took a swig of iced tea before setting it in the sink. He wrapped his sandwich back in the waxed paper and shoved it in the refrigerator. Would probably taste nasty reheated, but if he was starving when he got home, it’d be better than nothing.
“That’s just it, sir. Officer Fontenot called it in. He found the victim as he was headed to do the scheduled drive-by at your mother’s. Shooting occurred on Bayonnette.”
His stomach clenched. The road his mother lived off of. “Who is the victim?” He paused at the counter. Lord, please not Mom or Emily. Please.
“Not your family, sir. Um.” The sound of papers rustling crinkled over the line. “Riley. Riley Baxter.”
The air vacuumed out of his lungs. He balanced himself against the wall. Oh, dear God . . .
“She’s at the hospital now. We don’t have an update. Officer Fontenot says she was shot in the upper body and unconscious when he arrived.”
Hayden charged out of the house and stormed to his cruiser. Shot . . . “I’m on my way to the hospital. Secure that crime scene and don’t leave it until you hear from me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hayden flipped on both the light and the siren as he whipped out of his driveway and gunned down the road.
Lord, please let her be alive. Let her be okay. Please, God.
Chapter Eighteen
“Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow.”
ISAIAH 1:17
“I don’t know what else to tell you, Commissioner. The doctor will be out soon to speak with you.” The nurse spun on her slip-on shoes and left the nurses’ station.
Hayden returned to his pacing. And praying. He’d been alternating between the two for the past forty-five minutes since he’d arrived at the hospital. If someone didn’t let him know what was happening with Riley soon . . .
His phone vibrated. He snatched it free. “Hayden Simpson.”
“Hey there.” Bella—Remington’s voice soothed his nerves. “Sorry I didn’t get your call earlier. We were in the middle of a movie. What’s up?”
“Is Rafe with you?” He moved to the waiting-room area, stepping into a corner away from the handful of people waiting.
“Yeah. After the day he had, we decided a comedy was needed.”
The day he had? It was about to get a whole lot worse. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh . . . didn’t Riley tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“The board elected to parole the drunk driver who killed their parents. She didn’t tell you?”
“She didn’t have a chance.” He swallowed, staring at the door the nurse had told him the doctor would enter from. “I need to talk to Rafe in a second, but first, are y’all in the car?”
“No. We’re in the parking lot. Why? What’s wrong?”
“Just let me talk to Rafe.”
“Here he is.” Mumbling sounded before Riley’s brother got on the phone. “What’s going on?”
“Riley’s been shot. I’m at the hospital, but the doctor hasn’t been out to talk with me yet.”
“Shot? Where?” His voice echoed with confusion. Hayden could only imagine. He’d be crazy if Emily was shot in another state and no one could tell him about her condition.
“A couple of miles from Mom’s. I don’t have details yet, only that one of my officers drove up very soon after the shooting and called for an ambulance. Initial report is gunshot wound to the upper body. She was unconscious when EMTs arrived.” Rafe needed to hear all available details, even though it would worry him.
“Report from the hospital or EMTs?”
“Just that she was unconscious when she arrived.”
“I’m calling the airport now. I’ll let you know my flight information. Call my cell as soon as you hear anything.” The line went dead.
Hayden took a moment to whisper a prayer for Rafe.
“Commissioner Simpson?”
He turned as a man in blue scrubs approached the waiting room.
His heart raced. “Yes?”
“Are you here about Riley Baxter?”
Hayden’s mouth went dry. He nodded.
“She’s resting comfortably now. The bullet went straight through her shoulder. Clean in and out.”
Hayden could barely breathe. Thank You, Lord!
The doctor smiled. “If she had to get shot in the upper body, the angle and path it took was perfect. Minimal damage, all temporary.”
He still couldn’t speak. All of a sudden, he felt extremely light-headed.
“She suffered blood loss, as well. We’ve debrided the wound and sutured it, put her arm in a sling, started antibiotics, and checked that her tetanus immunization is up-to-date. We’re going to keep her overnight for monitoring, but unless she gets an infection or a complication arises, she’ll be discharged in the morning.” The doctor shook his head. “She’s one lucky woman. An inch to the left and the bullet could have nicked the top of her lungs or pierced her heart.”
Luck had nothing to do with it. Only the merciful Lord had protected Riley’s heart and lungs. “Thank you.” The knot holding Hayden’s voice hostage finally untied itself.
“They’re getting her settled in a room upstairs for the night.” The doctor motioned toward the elevators. “Fifth floor. Check in at the nurses’ station there in a few minutes and you should be able to see her.”
His training and professionalism kicked in. “You said the bullet went straight through. So, you didn’t recover a bullet?”
“No bullet. Entry from the back, at about a thirty degree downward angle.”
“Thank you.”
The doctor nodded, then rushed away, his slip-ons not squeaking on the tiles.
Hayden dialed Rafe’s cell on the way to the elevators. As soon as he answered, Hayden gave him the good news of Riley’s condition. Rafe and Remington were on their way to the Arkansas airport, a friend of Remington’s on standby with a personal plane to fly them out tonight. He hung up, stepped onto the elevator, then dialed his mother’s number.
“Hello?” Emily answered on the second ring.
Hayden groaned
inwardly. He didn’t need to deal with Emily tonight, on top of everything else. Especially if she was in one of her moods. He forced his tone to be light. “Hi, Em. What’re you doing at Mom’s?”
She giggled. “Helping Mom organize some of our baby pictures. You were such a chubby baby, Hay.”
Good. She was in a good mood. “Thanks a lot, Em.”
“I, on the other hand, was born beautiful.”
“Yeah, I know.” That should be enough to pacify her. “Hey, let me holler at Mom for a minute.”
“Okay.”
“Hi, Hayden. I made fried chicken for supper. You should’ve come by.”
“Mom, I’m at the hospital with Riley. She’s okay, but she’s been shot.” He stepped off the elevator and ducked to a corner.
“Shot?!”
“Yes. The doctor just said she’ll be fine, most likely released in the morning.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus. How did she get shot?”
That’s what he wanted to know. “I’m going to see her, make sure for myself that she’s okay, then I’ll head to the crime scene. I don’t know much more than that.”
“We’ll be up there in a minute.”
We? “Mom, Rafe and Remington are on their way. They have a friend flying them in. I’m sure they’ll need a place to stay. Why don’t you ask Em to get the rooms ready?”
“We’ll get sheets changed and then head that way.”
No polite way to ask her to leave Emily at home without causing a huge brouhaha. “Be careful on Bayonnette. I have units there.”
“She was shot that close to here?”
“Yes, ma’am. Please be careful.”
“Don’t you worry, honey. We’ll be there soon.”
Hayden hung up and slipped the phone back into its holder on his hip, then approached the nurses’ station. “Which room is Riley Baxter in, please?”
The nurse clicked on a keyboard. “They’re finishing up with her now. She’ll be in 507. That’s down that way,” she pointed to the right, “about six doors down. You can see her in about ten minutes.”
“Thank you.” Hayden headed back to the quiet corner.
He’d spend the next ten minutes talking to his Father—thanking Him for His grace and mercy and keeping Riley alive.