For Her Eyes Only. Sharon Sala
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they said you’d been dismissed! Why didn’t you call?”
“I tried. It was busy, so I got a ride home.”
Brenda threw up her arms in disgust and pointed to Jessica’s phone on a nearby table. “Is your phone working yet?”
“I don’t know. Stone brought me home. I didn’t think to check.”
Even in the shadows, Jessica was aware of her sister’s shock.
“Stone? As in Richardson?”
Jessica shrugged. “Do we know another? For Pete’s sake, Brenda, come inside. I need to sit down.”
Brenda’s mouth pursed. “Obviously you’ve been keeping secrets from me. However, we’ll discuss that later. You need to be in bed. Here, take my flashlight.”
“I have one somewhere,” Jessica muttered, looking back toward the chair in which she’d been sitting.
“No. Take mine and don’t move,” Brenda said. “I’ll be right back.”
Jessica waited while her sister killed the car engine, turned off the lights, then returned, carrying an overnight bag in her hand.
Jessica pointed the beam of the flashlight at the small blue bag. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Spending the night. And don’t argue. You have a concussion. You shouldn’t be alone.”
Jessica groaned. The last thing she needed was a baby-sitter, but from the look on Brenda’s face, it would seem she was getting one, just the same.
“You’re a mess,” Brenda said, fingering Jessica’s matted hair and drawn expression. “Come with me. I’ll get you cleaned up and tucked in a bed.”
“I don’t need to be tucked in. Besides, someone told me water is being rationed.”
“Up to now, you haven’t used any, so I’d say you’re allowed a quick bath. And you know what Mother used to say. Everything will look better in the morning.”
Jessica sighed. She knew better than to argue with Brenda when she got on a roll.
“Then, will you help me wash my hair? It feels awful.”
Brenda hugged her. “We’ll have to be careful not to get your stitches wet, but I suppose something can be arranged.”
“Then, okay. But you have to stick to your side of the bed.”
In the glow of the flashlight, Jessica saw her sister grin.
* * *
Jessica awoke in a panic and sat straight up in bed. Her heart was pounding, and the scent of gardenias was thick in her nostrils. She covered her face with her hands, fighting the urge to cry. Why was this happening? Why did she keep having this same awful dream, over and over and over?
Brenda sighed and rolled onto her back, one arm outflung on Jessica’s pillow, the other trailing off the side of the bed. Jessica glanced down and frowned. As if the dreams weren’t bad enough, Brenda had a tendency to take her half of the bed from the middle. She patted Brenda on the shoulder.
“Brenda!”
Brenda snorted softly, muttering something in her sleep.
The pat turned into a shove. “Brenda!”
Brenda groaned and cracked an eye. “What?” Then she remembered where she was and why she’d come. When she saw Jessica sitting up in the bed, she came awake in an instant.
“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
“No, but you’re going to be if you don’t move over,” Jessica muttered.
Brenda blinked like a baby owl. “Sorry,” she said, and scooted back to her side of the bed.
With a defeated sigh, Jessica tried to go back to sleep. But she kept seeing the needle glittering in the lamplight as the assailant plunged it into the back of Olivia Stuart’s leg. Something kept telling her there was more to what she was seeing than just a dream. Long minutes later, she rolled over.
“Brenda. Are you asleep?”
Brenda shoved a lock of hair from her face. “I’m not now,” she mumbled.
“Have you ever had a vision?”
Brenda rolled over. “Jessie, honey, does your head still hurt?”
“Of course it does. But one thing has nothing to do with the other.”
Brenda eyed the clock and groaned. “It’s three in the morning. Don’t you think we could save this conversation for daylight? You need your rest. I need my rest. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m afraid to,” Jessica said in a quiet, resigned tone.
Brenda sat up, her attention caught. “What do you mean?”
Jessica picked at a loose thread on the edge of the blanket without answering until Brenda yanked the blanket away.
“Jessica Leigh Hanson, I asked you a question.”
Jessica’s smile was slight as she looked up. “You sounded just like Mother.”
Dismayed, Brenda sighed and slid her arm around her sister’s neck. “Jessie, if you don’t talk, I can’t help.”
Jessica frowned. “I could talk from now to daylight and I still don’t think you can help. In fact, I don’t think anyone can help.”
“You’ll never know until you try.”
Jessica sighed. “I keep having this dream about Olivia Stuart dying.”
Brenda’s voice softened. “Oh, honey. That’s understandable. You must have been in the ER when they brought her in.”
Jessica shook her head. “I don’t think so. If I was, I don’t remember. I don’t remember much of anything after I hit my head.” Except Stone Richardson…but that doesn’t count.
“Maybe talking about it will help. What were you dreaming?”
“She was by a table.”
“Who was by a table?” Brenda asked.
Jessica rolled her eyes, trying not to let her frustration show. “Olivia Stuart,” she repeated. “At first I thought she was at my desk, but she wouldn’t come help me.”
Brenda brushed the hair away from Jessica’s bandage and patted her arm. “Honey, head injuries do weird things to people. Maybe you just—”
Jessica drew back in frustration. “I knew you would say that, but it’s not so! I know what I saw. I mean… I know what I saw in my dream, and in my dream, Olivia Stuart did not die from a heart attack. She was stabbed.”
Brenda gasped, for the moment caught up in the telling. And then she remembered. “But don’t you see? Now you know for certain it was just a dream. I heard that the doctors and nurses at Vanderbilt worked on her for some time. They would have seen a stab wound. There would have been blood. Lots of blood.” She patted Jessica’s arm. “It’s just a bad dream caused by the blow to your head.”
Fighting exhaustion and tears, Jessica laid back down and pulled the covers up to her chin as her sister rolled over to her side of the bed. Wrapped in quiet and lulled by a false sense of security, Jessica began to settle. But at the edge of sleep, her voice broke the silence.
“She wasn’t stabbed with a knife. It was a needle. A hypodermic needle…in the back of the leg.”
* * *
Brenda thrust her foot into the leg of her jeans and yanked them up while Jessica watched from the bed.
“Thank you for spending the night with me,” she said.
Brenda smiled. “That’s what sisters