Dying To Remember. Sara K. Parker
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start weaning off of her sleep meds. But after years of counseling, kickboxing and prayer that seemed to do nothing but float hopelessly into the atmosphere, the pills had given her the first reprieve. During the days, she busied herself at work, distracted by clients and responsibilities. She kept her social calendar full and committed to a steady workout routine. All of these things she did to avoid the memory of finding her best friend—Roman’s sister—murdered.
Then the night would come. And, in the dark solitude of her bedroom, memories assaulted her, relentless. The sleeping pills muted the nightmares, offering the restful sleep Ella was desperate for.
She considered asking a nurse for something to help her sleep, but she didn’t want to give the psychiatrist further reason to detain her. Still, memories flooded her mind, an all too familiar sensation of panic rising.
Futilely, she took a slow, deep breath and let it release. Usually her heartbeat would slow, her calm return, but tonight Ella could not settle. No amount of counselor-advised deep breathing exercises could combat her creeping anxiety. “God, I need...” she whispered, but words failed her. What did she need? And did it even matter? It seemed to her that God had already declared the matters of life, and no amount of prayer could change His mind or His plans.
* * *
Hours later Ella woke to lights being flipped on and a nurse telling her that her psychiatry appointment would be at eight thirty. A bag next to her bed held her laptop and a change of clothes. Roman must have come by in the night and decided to let her sleep. The thought warmed her as she dressed, and somehow she felt hopeful as Triss and a nurse escorted her to her appointment.
It wasn’t long before that hope turned to worry. Sitting across from Dr. Paul McClintock, his gigantic, framed degrees decorating the gray wall behind him, Ella felt decidedly like throwing up.
She wasn’t sure what to expect as the psychiatrist finished typing notes into his computer. His opinion was all that stood between her going home or into a psychiatric ward. Yet, for the past hour, she’d answered question after question and stared back into his eerily calm face and expressionless eyes and had no idea what he was thinking in his highly educated mind. That worried her. Her own story worried her—it wasn’t believable and she knew it.
Finally, Dr. McClintock stopped typing, looked up at her and smiled. No, he grimaced. It was definitely more grimace than smile.
“I would like to admit you for further monitoring...” he started, and Ella’s hackles rose. But before she could get out a word, Dr. McClintock continued. “What concerns me the most is—”
A knock sounded at the door and the doctor looked up. “Yes?”
The door opened and Ella turned to see Roman standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a stranger—presumably a doctor, judging from his smart business attire and the stethoscope at his neck.
Roman nodded toward her, his face serious.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the doctor said and then turned his attention to Ella. “I’m Dr. Thornton, the attending physician this weekend.” He gestured to Roman. “Your friend was busy last night, working with the police on your behalf. It seems there may be enough evidence at your mother’s home to suggest proof of an attacker.”
Ella glanced at Roman. He looked tired, wearing the same white shirt as last night, but more wrinkled and worn, his hair a bit mussed, a shadow of stubble along his jawline.
Most importantly, he was no longer looking at her the same way everyone else had been for weeks. Somewhere in between her falling asleep and her waking up, it appeared that Roman had found a solid reason to believe in her.
“The police have been in your mom’s house and have dusted for prints and taken photos.” Roman filled her in. “They’d like me to take you to the station to give a statement after you’re discharged.”
“I’ve already put your discharge orders in,” Dr. Thornton said.
Ella started to stand.
“Now, hold on just a minute,” Dr. McClintock interjected, rising to his full height of at least six-foot-two. “How can we possibly be certain—”
“Unfortunately,” Dr. Thornton interrupted firmly, “unless you discovered something alarming during this interview, she’s legally free to go.”
Neither doctor looked convinced, but McClintock quickly moved to his desk, sharply grabbed up his papers and turned to thrust them back into the file drawer behind him, not saying another word.
“Your nurse will get you squared away back in your room when you go to collect your things,” Dr. Thornton said, brushing past Roman into the hallway. “Take care,” he added as he headed down the hall, his black dress shoes squeaking along the tiled floor.
Ella fell into step beside Roman as they left the psychiatrist’s office and turned toward the elevators.
“Doing okay?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over her.
“Now that I get to leave, yes,” she said, her heart skipping as his palm came to her back. “What did you find at the house?”
“Let’s get you out of here and we’ll discuss it in the car.” He jabbed the call button for the elevator.
“When do we have to be at the police station?”
“We’re supposed to go directly there,” Roman answered. “But we have time to visit your mom.”
She was relieved he’d remembered. She tried to visit every day, hoping her mom would hear her voice and be reminded that the people she loved needed her to come back to them. But with each day that passed, Ella’s hope had begun to dwindle. Years ago she’d learned that some prayer requests went unanswered, and she was afraid this may be one of those times.
Which reminded her...
“This is probably not the best time to tell you I’m supposed to be at a funeral at eleven thirty.”
Roman glanced at her as the elevator doors slid open. He didn’t look happy with her announcement. “Whose?”
“Marilynn Rice. She used to work at Graceway.” Her throat felt tight as she stepped into the elevator. “She and my mom were really close. Her house was robbed Monday evening. It looks like she was pushed down the stairs. Broke her neck. No one knew until the next morning when she didn’t show up for work.”
“Ella.”
She looked up at Roman as the elevator rose.
“Yes?”
“Have you made the police aware of the possible connection between your mom, Marilynn and what you’re going through?”
“I’ve tried to,” she said. “But I’m not exactly what they’d call a competent or reliable witness.”
The doors slid open and they stepped out into a bustling hallway on her mom’s floor.
“Let’s table this conversation until we get out of here,” Roman said.
* * *
A half hour later, the dark clouds of a brutal winter day loomed through the glass doors ahead as Ella walked with Roman in a slight haze toward the exit. She’d had to rush the visit with her mom, but at least she’d been able to see her. Her throat ached from held-back tears. With each passing day it seemed less and less likely her mother would ever wake up. And if she did, there was no guarantee she would be the same.
Roman pressed the door open and a blast of cold air stole Ella’s breath. He draped his jacket over her shoulders and set a protective arm at her back.
She couldn’t help but glance behind her at the hospital as they left. What she was looking for, she couldn’t be sure. But at the edge of her memory, she was fairly certain she knew something. Something that could put an end to the questions keeping her up at night—and maybe something that could save her life.
“You’re