Текст книги "Time to Die"

Автор книги: Caroline Mitchell

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Twelve

Bert

Searing white pain greeted Bert as he awoke with a groan in the narrow metal bed. ‘Mother?’ came out as a muffled ‘Muffah?’ through blood-crusted lips, and the world began to sway as he struggled to focus with swollen eyes. Panic rose in his throat as he clawed the bed, trying to find his bearings.

‘Steady now.’ A soft voice approached and a hand touched his bare arm.

Bert shrivelled from the contact. This was not mother.

‘You’re in hospital. Just try to relax,’ the nurse said, smoothing his blankets with soft, gentle hands. She was so close he could smell her perfume, which was flowery and sweet, somewhat like her.

Bert drew soothing breaths and his vision began to clear. ‘What happened?’ He touched his temples and winced. His head felt like it had been stuffed with bricks.

‘You’ve had a beating and concussion, but nothing that won’t heal. Here, have a drink.’

With trembling hands, Bert gripped the plastic tumbler and gulped down tepid water.

‘There’s an officer here very keen to speak to you. I’ll go and get her.’

Police involvement was the last thing Bert wanted, at least not yet. But by the time he sat up to argue, the nurse was gone. He gave a weary sigh as a broad woman in a very tight police uniform plodded through the curtain surrounding his bed. Her black bobbed hair hung limply as if it were attached to the inside of her police hat.

Bert looked past his unwelcome visitor and through the gap in the hospital curtain. A yellowed semblance of a man slept in the bed across from him, his toothless mouth drawing in the hospital air that could soon be his last. Bert shuddered. The thoughts of sleeping in a shared ward gave him a sudden impulse to grab his things and leave.

A deep voice broke into his thoughts. ‘I’m Officer Wallace, the neighbourhood constable for this area. Can I have a minute of your time?’

Bert stared, mesmerised by the woman’s facial hair.

She did not wait for a reply. ‘You were found in an alleyway by a man looking for his dog. We’ve had several reports of robberies in this area. Can you tell me what happened?’

‘I can’t remember,’ Bert croaked, wishing the flowery nurse would return.

The woman bit the top of her pen as she shuffled closer to the side of his bed. For one horrifying moment, Bert thought she was going to sit on it.

‘Can you start by giving me your details? You didn’t have any ID when they brought you in.’

‘My cards. They’ve taken my cards?’ Bert whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

She nodded sympathetically, completely missing the point. ‘You’ll have to report any missing cards to the bank. Now if you’d like to provide me with your details we can find out who’s done this to you.’

‘No. I don’t know anything. Just leave me alone.’ Bert flapped his hands. Why wouldn’t she go away instead of mooing in his ear?

The officer slapped her pocket notebook shut and backed away. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll come back tomorrow when you’re feeling better.’

‘Have a shave first,’ Bert felt like saying. He was not feeling charitable. If there was one thing he hated it was hospitals. He always left feeling like he had been taken apart and put back together the wrong way. Bert tried to remember the last time he was in hospital but the memories were behind doors that would not open.

He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, too tired to stop the voices flooding his mind. The dog barking, the broken concrete, the pock-faced man. They’re all from the premonition. Bert replayed the reading at the psychic fair, and biting his tongue to stop the words, which felt so unnatural in his mouth. Once a premonition was invoked, it was almost impossible to halt. What goes around comes around. It was the law of the universe.

Bert relived the attack, trying to make sense of it all. Lying in a piss-stained alleyway as the pock-faced man pummelled him with feet and fists. Curling up in a ball as the final kick came, shielding his head from the gut-wrenching blows.

He should have been relieved he saved the young woman and her son the consequences of such a terrible fate. After all, she was a young mother with a special needs child. But in the cold light of day he was wishing, more than anything, that it had been her, even if it had left her on a mortuary slab. A trolley rattled past and Bert waved away the offer of tea. I can’t stay here. I’ll get dressed and leave, Bert thought. His eyes grew heavy and despite the background noise, he succumbed to sleep. The closed-in feeling and antiseptic smell transported him to his bedroom and his earliest memory.

As soon as he learned to walk, he wanted to be outside. The whistle of the wind was far more enticing than his pull-along toys. While Callum sang nursery rhymes with mother, Bert remained silent, animated by the whispers of the forest that only he could hear. To him there was nothing more powerful than nature, the crashing thunder and the rolling clouds laced with rain that stabbed the galvanised roof of their home. Nature was a powerful call, and as he stared through the window, his painted wooden blocks and balding teddy bears paled in comparison.

Bert’s unwillingness to speak did not reflect a lack of intelligence, which was sharp beyond his years. His insight was not afforded to others. To his family, midnight was a time to turn their back on the beauty of the moon, the numbness of sleep blocking out the night cries of the nocturnal. But to Bert, the most enlivening time was between midnight and three am, when the veil between his reality and the world beyond was at its thinnest.

That night he stroked the long inky tail feather that had fluttered through his open window. Bert did not feel the cold as he stared out to the fields beyond. He gasped as a raven cut through the diamond-studded night, flapping, cawing, swooping through the air, the gap in its tail feathers reflected by the sombre moon. Holding the feather tight in his grasp, he pulled on his red wellingtons and duffle coat, his small bony fingers struggling to thread the thick buttons through the frayed loops. Pulling back his blanket, he positioned the pillow underneath. It was unlikely anyone would check, but it made him feel better about leaving. Grasping the window ledge, he stepped onto his toy chest and slipped through the open window to the back yard. He had often snuck out unseen during the day, splintering his palms as he gripped the rough wooden ledge. But this was his first night excursion, and a tremble of excitement rose as his heart tick tocked like the drum of his wind-up toy solider.

The frost sparkling on the gravel path seemed magical, and glinted invitingly as it stretched to the forest beyond. He glanced behind only once, before chasing the black feathered watchman down the track, deep into the purple shadows of the woodlands. A rasping caw of approval sliced through the air, and Bert’s heart clattered in his chest, as the exhilaration of freedom pumped blood through his veins like never before. He was running wild, and the night welcomed him. As he stretched out his arms either side, he imagined his flight, his clumsy red wellington boots replaced by powerful scaly claws, tucked under his body as he sped through the woodlands with ease. Eyes streaming, his hot breath puffed plumes of white smoke from his mouth, and for the first time in his short existence, he felt capable of anything. He ran until his lungs burned and the thorny-edged brambles tugged at his clothes, slowing his flight. Exhilarated, he dropped to the twitching forest floor, and a living carpet of tiny creatures scuttled away from their human invader. Bert smiled in wonder, breathing in the smell of frosted pinecones sweetening the air. He was lying in the birthplace of something dark and powerful, but he was not afraid. Whispers grew and branches crackled as he laid his weary body against a majestic tree – a silent witness of dark rituals and sacrifices decades before. The malevolence that seeped through the earth could not serve to hurt him now. It made the soil rich with an energy that promised strength, as long as he knew how to use it. His eyelids became heavy as the faint trace of icy fingertips touched his skin.

Bert drew in a sharp breath as he realised he was no longer a four-year-old child in the depths of the forest, but a sixty-five-year-old man in a hospital. Yet as he blinked in awakening, the fingers continued to touch his senses; glacial messengers sent through a psychic link, seeping curious thoughts into his presence. It was the detective. She was looking for him.

She was a person of flesh and blood like him, but with abilities beyond her understanding. He had been waiting for her, each victim a breadcrumb trail for her to follow. Their destinies were intertwined, but it was not yet their time. Bert swung his legs out of the bed and fumbled for his clothes, relieved to find his cards in his jacket pocket. Time was passing at a merciless rate, and more prophecies had to be delivered before the ritual came to its climax. His mouth cranked upwards at the promise of rejuvenation. A storm was coming for Jennifer Knight … but her death would not be in vain.

Chapter Thirteen

‘I don’t believe it!’ Jennifer threw her hands in the air. We’ve missed him by minutes.’ The smokers outside Haven Hospital gave Jennifer a bemused look as she paced the pavement.

‘In which case he can’t have gone far,’ Will said. ‘Come on, get in the car, we’ll have a scout around.’

Jennifer cursed her stupidity as she wrestled with the car seatbelt. She should have gone straight to the hospital after her premonition. She had seen a bruised man in a metal bed, but didn’t know what it meant. The beeping machines, a hand drawn over a curtain … it all made sense now. But it wasn’t until she received the call from the neighbourhood police officer in response to her missing persons report that everything clicked into place. PC Wallace had informed her that she visited an elderly man matching Bert Bishop’s description in hospital. Unfortunately, he had just left, after being treated for concussion and bruising. The nurse described him as pleasant enough, somewhat bewildered, a little evasive, and suffering from acute eczema. Apart from that, he seemed no different to the many patients that discharged themselves without so much as a by-your-leave.

The car jerked forward as Will pulled out of the car park, the wipers working to dispel the fat droplets of rain beginning to plop on the windscreen. ‘What’s the latest description?’

Jennifer swallowed. Her throat felt like a sandpit and she really needed a coffee. ‘He’s tall and thin with short grey hair, wearing a long black coat and hat. He has facial injuries and bruising to his cheekbone. They think he discharged himself within the last thirty minutes. Their CCTV is under maintenance so I can’t even get a copy of that.’

‘How do we know it’s our Raven? There must be plenty of old men that fall around drunk and end up in the hospital.’

Jennifer recalled her premonition and shuddered. ‘Take my word for it, I know.’

The streets of Haven were not ready to give up the Raven, and Jennifer attended afternoon briefing with the Lexton Murder Investigation Team, offering up what information she had of value. Returning to Haven with notes and tasks, her eyes were drawn to the yellow Post-it note alerting her to a missed call. She peeled it from her computer screen as she automatically dialled the number and introduced herself. It took her several seconds to recognise the voice on the other side.

‘My girl is dead. My beautiful Felicity is dead,’ Christian cried, the words erupting into sobs.

Jennifer cradled the phone against her ear, cursing herself for failing to recognise his number. She wondered if he felt more comfortable with her than his shallow showbiz friends.

‘I know. I’m very sorry for your loss.’ Jennifer bit her tongue. She hated those words, having heard them over and over at her mother’s funeral when she was just ten years old. Sorry for your loss, sorry for your loss, accompanied by firm handshakes from smartly dressed police officers conveying their sympathies. Wearing full dress uniform, with shiny buttons and squeaky polished boots, they extended their hands in sympathy. She had grasped each one until her fingers ached, while her father’s shoulders shook, tears running in rivulets down his unshaven face. She could smell the alcohol on his breath even then. The office door slammed, and Jennifer snapped out of her memory, returning her attention to Christian.

His slow deliberate tones could not disguise the slur in his voice. ‘Why have the police arrested my ex-wife?’ A bottle clinked against glass in the background.

‘I’m sorry, you need to speak to DC Hardwick,’ Jennifer said. Her knowledge of the arrest was that Christian’s ex-wife had denied all offences and been bailed for further enquiries while they checked out her alibi. Her reluctance to provide one was because she had been with another man, something she had wanted to keep to herself.

Christian’s thick breathing intermingled with old reruns of the reality TV programme, The Beauty Salon, as it played in the background. She caught the unmistakable laugh of his dead fiancée as it blared through his speaker system.

‘I’ve lost everything.’ Christian cried, great big heaving sobs down the phone.

‘I’m sorry, but …’

Lost in his grief, Christian just kept talking. ‘I told you there was something dark on the horizon and you wouldn’t listen. Now Felicity’s dead.’

Jennifer’s jaw clenched as his words hit close to the mark. She had forgotten all about his warning, but there was little point discussing it when Christian was off his face. ‘I’m at work now, but how about we meet for a coffee? I’ll text you when I’ve worked something out, how about that?’

But Christian wasn’t listening, and another sob erupted as he blurted out the words, ‘She’s dead. My beautiful girl is dead.’

Jennifer took a deep breath. She had been meaning to ask the question and now was as good a time as any. ‘Did Felicity have a keyring on her car keys?’

Christian sniffled loudly before replying. ‘A keyring? Well … yes. It was a diamond-studded D and G. I bought it for her when I gave her the car. I wish I’d never bought her that car …’

Jennifer sighed. At least she had clarification of the owner of the keyring. MIT would surely listen to her now. It had already been booked into the property system, a request on its way for forensics to check for fingerprints. She would also need a statement from Christian outlining what he had just said. But now was not the time. ‘You sound worn out. Is anyone staying with you?’

‘My … mum … and the children. What if the police charge my ex-wife? You should be speaking to my cousin, not her. What if she goes to prison? What about them?’

Jennifer extricated her fingers from the tightly wound phone cord as she prepared to end the call. ‘She may just be helping them with their questioning. Have you heard from your cousin at all?’

‘No … Why? You think he did it, don’t you?’

Jennifer paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘There are often several persons of interest in investigations. But if you hear from him, you must contact us immediately. I’ve put a flag on your address and phone line, so any calls will be treated as a priority. Now why don’t you get some rest, it sounds like you need it.’

Christian exhaled slowly, as if he had been deflated and was slowly coming to ground. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to have a go at you. I comfort people about life after death, but I’ve never experienced loss before. I don’t know what to do with myself.’

Jennifer’s voice softened. ‘You’ve had a lot to endure. Get some rest, you need to stay strong for your children.’

The phone call left Jennifer feeling emotionally drained. It wasn’t the right time to go into details of his cousin’s involvement. It was all so horrendous.

It was time to bring her sergeant up to date with the briefing on the Raven case, and inform her about the letter found in the glove box of her car. Admitting her discovery of a dead raven outside her home could have her removed from the case for her own safety, and she had warned Will to keep that snippet of information to himself.

Claire opened the door a couple of inches before swiftly pulling Jennifer inside.

‘Is everything all right?’ Jennifer said, wondering why the sudden need for secrecy.

Claire gave an apologetic smile. ‘Yeah, sorry. I’ve a guest with me and I didn’t want anyone else seeing.’

‘A guest?’ Jennifer looked around the empty room, and then heard a drumming noise under Claire’s desk. She bent down to see a small wiry dog lying on his back with his tail pounding a beat against the carpeted floor. ‘Hello boy,’ Jennifer said, his back leg twitching as she reached down and scratched his stomach. ‘Is that George’s dog?’

Claire smiled, ‘Yes. The old codger persuaded me to take him in while he sorted out his benefits. It’s the second time this week.’

‘Hasn’t anyone noticed?’

‘No, and don’t tell Will, because he’ll be mooning over him instead of getting on with his work.’

‘Hmm, pongs a bit though,’ Jennifer said, sniffing her hands.

Claire shrugged. ‘Ah well, that’s dogs for you. How are you finding Zoe?’

Jennifer peered out the window to see her new colleague chatting to Will, toying with her stationery, as she sat in her chair. ‘She’s a nice girl, although she didn’t need much babysitting from me, she seems happier working alone.’

‘We’ll have to organise a works night out soon, once we get on top of our workload. You and Will have quite a double act going on at the moment. You’re like yin and yang but I like it.’

‘It works for me. I feel like we’re on the verge of something big with this Raven case, but it’s frustrating not having full control of the investigation. I’ve got some fresh evidence, and it pains me to have to hand it over to MIT.’ Jennifer passed her report to Claire, which was typed up and ready to pass over.

Her sergeant scanned the pages, making ‘mmm’ sounds as she absorbed herself in the updates.

Jennifer glanced through the window again to see Will tidying her desk, straightening the pens and stationery that Zoe had inadvertently moved. A warm glow spread through her, and seconds passed before her sergeant cleared her throat.

‘Will found evidence in your car?’ Claire raised an eyebrow as she finished reading the report. ‘I’ll need to speak to the DI about this.’

The fact Claire had called him the DI and not Ethan set alarm bells ringing in Jennifer’s head. She hadn’t considered the option that she herself could become a person of interest in the Felicity Baron case. ‘Should I be worried?’

‘No, I just think he should be aware before you update them.’ Claire slipped off her pumps and scratched Tinker’s belly with her feet. The dog emitted a low satisfied moan, underneath her desk.

Jennifer gave a short-lived smile at her sergeant’s quirkiness. ‘Perhaps I am responsible for all this. Sometimes I feel like I’m attracting bad energies and the people of Haven are paying for it.’

Claire shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly. I just want you to hold off while I make sure we’re supporting you as best we can. Eventually the Raven will give a little more of himself, but for now, be careful. Don’t put yourself in a position where you’re vulnerable.’

Jennifer mulled over their meeting as she returned to her desk. Flipping back the cap from her anti-bacterial gel, she squirted a blob on the palm of her hand. Fresh dust particles on her computer monitor glittered accusingly under the light of the fluorescent tubes, feeding her growing apprehension. She itched to march outside and scrub the inside of her car, but she wouldn’t be able to touch it until crime scene investigators had checked for fingerprints. Her senses told her they would not be forthcoming. Something dark was on the horizon, and she could not shake off the feeling that another prediction was on its way.

Chapter Fourteen

The news that her sister was visiting that evening sent Jennifer in a tailspin of emotions. Amy had not visited her home in over a year, and there was something about the edge in her voice that left her uneasy. Her phone call had been short, not because Jennifer was driving home, but due to the way she grilled her like a suspect in custody. She had gleaned enough information to find out that Amy’s sudden attendance had nothing to do with the children. Jennifer took out her trepidation on the wooden hall floor as she gripped the scrubbing brush. She swirled the soapy water over the knots, then dropped the brush in favour of a toothbrush, working her way into the grooves until her arms weakened and her back ached. The carpet was the only surface she could not disinfect, and it never felt truly clean. She had been in far worse places, where her shoes stuck to the floor and she wiped her feet on the way out. But this was her home, and she had learned to cope with other people’s low standards of hygiene as long as her living space was clean and ordered. She sat back on her legs, pushing strings of hair off her sweaty face. Her prune fingers gave comfort as her need for order grew. When it came to her sister, the old feelings of protectiveness and control often came back into play. It had been tough for Jennifer to let go when Amy got married, and although David was as straight-laced as they came, he always made sure she had everything she wanted. Jennifer didn’t want anything to rock the boat now, not when things were going so well.

She had just enough time to shower and change before the doorbell rang. Anxious thoughts rebounded from one corner of her brain to the next as she searched the ceiling for invisible cobwebs. Amy would never call around like this, not unless she had a reason. It had always been up to Jennifer to visit her. Perhaps she was moving away, or there was something wrong with Josh. Perhaps …

The doorbell rang again as an impatient finger leaned on the buzzer. Taking a deep, calming breath, Jennifer opened it wide, her face breaking out into a smile as she welcomed her sister inside. Her hug was stiff and awkward, so unlike the warm squeezes her little sister would give her when she tucked her up in bed at night. She shook the beads of rain from Amy’s coat and hung it on the hanger, anxiously glancing at her muddied shoes. Amy opened the door to the living room and paused teasingly in the doorway.

‘I’d better take these off before you have kittens,’ she said, easing her feet out of her flat Mary Jane shoes.

She wasn’t far wrong. Jennifer felt she was expecting a bunch of lively felines already. She scratched the back of her hand, anything to keep her grounded.

‘Wow,’ Amy said, running her hands over the expensive furniture. ‘This place is even nicer than I remember. Can you imagine Josh in here? He’d have a field day with your cream carpet.’

Jennifer cleared her throat. ‘The kids are welcome here any time. Can I get you anything?’

Amy waved her offer away. ‘No thanks, I can’t stay long. I just wanted to pop in …’ Amy hesitated, swallowing hard. She stared at her stocking feet, unable to meet her sister’s eyes.

‘If you’ve come here to tell me something, it’s best you just get on with it.’ Jennifer stood at the fireplace, too nervy to sit.

Amy clasped her fingers tightly over her knee. ‘Straight to the point, as always, sis.’ She exhaled a short-lived laugh. I came because I didn’t want to tell you on the phone. But you’ve got to promise not to blow your top.’

Jennifer frowned. If it wasn’t anything to do with the kids, the other thing that could provoke such a reaction was … Her eyes opened wide. ‘Please tell me you’ve not been speaking to dad.’

Amy’s lips turned downwards as she squirmed in her seat. It was the same pouty frown she wore as a child when she didn’t get her own way. ‘How do you do that?’

‘Do what?’ Jennifer asked, wishing her sister would get on with it and tell her what was wrong.

‘Steal my thoughts. It’s the same with Josh. I only have to think something and he knows what it is.’

Jennifer felt a ripple of anger. ‘So you have been speaking to dad then?’

‘Yes as it happens. He wants to see his grandchildren,’ she said, her voice carrying an air of defiance.

Jennifer rubbed her hands against the back of her jeans. She had an uncanny urge to dip them in bleach and inhale the reassuring smell as they found her cuts and scratches. Disbelief, anger, and jealousy mixed in a sickening cocktail as it churned her stomach and raised her voice. ‘I don’t believe this. Why are you allowing that drunk back into our lives?’

Amy stood, pulling the thick strap of her handbag over her shoulder. ‘David said I didn’t have to justify my actions to you, and he was right.’

The comment inflamed Jennifer’s irritation. ‘Oh so what David says goes, is that it? What about us? Don’t you remember what dad was like?’

‘He’s not drinking any more. He’s changed.’

Jennifer rolled her eyes at the line. He’s changed. He’s sorry. He’ll never do it again. These were words she had heard victims recount countless times before. ‘And you believe that?’

Amy blew out an exaggerated sigh. ‘I can’t deprive the children of a grandfather. Aunt Laura thinks it’s a good idea.’

Jennifer’s fists clenched as she paced the airy room, wishing she could shake some sense into her sister. ‘Laura? That’s a joke,’ she said with a bitter laugh. ‘She’s carried a torch for dad for years. No wonder she wants him back.’

Amy took a step forward, jabbing her finger in her sister’s direction. ‘It’s all right for you, with your exciting job and designer clothes. For some of us, family is all we have.’

Silence descended as Jennifer digested the words. If family meant everything to her sister then why was she pushing her away? Fighting with Amy was the last thing she wanted, but she wasn’t going to allow her to slate everything she had worked so hard to build.

‘Oh, I get it. You’re speaking to dad to spite me, because you’re jealous of my lifestyle.’

‘Why would I be jealous of you?’ Amy retorted. ‘I mean, look around this place. It’s soulless. You don’t have one family photo on the walls. Where’s all the pictures Joshua drew you? Filed away in a cabinet under J?’

‘That’s not fair. Just because I don’t like clutter doesn’t mean I don’t treasure everything he’s given me. And speaking of Josh, don’t you think it’s time you put him first? Letting dad meet the kids is selfish and irresponsible.’ As soon as the words left her lips, Jennifer knew she had pulled the trigger on the grenade. If anything pressed her sister’s buttons, it was being accused of being a bad mother. Amy lived for her children, but Jennifer had had enough of bearing the brunt of her moods when her sister could not get her own way.

Amy’s face flared, red blotches staining on her cheeks. ‘You call me irresponsible? Perhaps if you hadn’t spun so many tales when we were kids, dad would have been allowed to see us.’

Anger rose in every cell of Jennifer’s body. Her sister may as well have slapped her in the face. Her fists curled as the heat spread from her fingertips to the flush in her throat.

‘Told tales? Told tales? I knew you were living in a dreamland, but you really don’t have a clue! Don’t you remember his three-day benders? Or the days I had to get you ready for school, while he was still wearing his vomit from the night before? Or what about the times his scummy friends tried to come into our bedroom while our precious dad was comatose on the sofa downstairs?’

Amy’s eyes darted around the room at the sight of her sister so incensed. ‘I knew you’d blow your top,’ she glowered, her words trailing behind her as she slipped her feet into her shoes in the hall. ‘Why do you think I didn’t want tea? I knew I’d be fucking wearing it.’

The front door slammed in her wake, and Jennifer let her go. She should have been shocked to hear her homely sister swear, but she was lost in the pain of her betrayal. With shaking hands she rummaged in her bag for anti-bacterial gel, her fury overtaking her as she fiddled with the cap. The memory of her father flashed before her, his breath tainted with the sour smell of beer and cigarettes.

She fumbled with the lid, feeling as if she was going to explode. ‘Argh!’ Releasing a scream, she sent the plastic bottle rebounding against the wooden floor, skidding to a halt at her front door. Her legs weakening, Jennifer plopped heavily onto the stairs. The thought of her father being welcomed into the fold while she was kept at arm’s length was more than she could bear. The betrayal in her sister’s words hit hard, and she guessed what happened to make Amy turn on her so savagely. Her sister had always been a daddy’s girl, and would believe anything if it softened her vision of days gone by. Her father was the master of denial, and lies came as easily to him as breathing. It would not have taken long for him to weave a new fabric of the past. One that involved him being the misunderstood father, grieving for his dead wife while his eldest daughter schemed against him. It was a romantic notion that would fit into the well-stacked bookshelf in Amy’s bedroom.

Jennifer threaded her fingers through her hair as she took stock. Her argument with Amy would soon blow over, but the words would not be forgotten. She felt a pang in her chest as she thought of her mother. If she were alive, she would stand up for Jennifer, and tell Amy to see sense. It seemed so unfair, that she would lose her mother at such a young age, especially when she had so much to cope with. Jennifer stared at the front door, wishing she could erase the last twenty minutes from her life. She would have to weather the storm, allow Amy to meet her father, then be waiting in the sidelines when he let her down all over again. But as Jennifer took the stairs to get ready for work, she knew things may never be the same again.