Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (27 page)

As an ambulance howled its way to us, Farley turned toward the gutted building. “Look,” he said, and pointed at the old iron fire escape, the one I’d used to flee Henderson’s office, just the day before. It bowed tiredly in on itself and settled at the base of the hole that had been the Palais.

Farley was now as homeless as I was.

“I don’t know what to do,” Farley said. At least, I thought that’s what he said.

“Come with me,” I whispered. “We can talk at the hospital.”

“Okay,” James said, and he smiled that great big goofy grin of his as the EMs put me on the gurney and wheeled me to the ambulance.

“Okay,” Farley said, and I could see he was grinning, too.

Marie:
Explosion Aftermath

I hurt everywhere. My face, and my arms, and legs, and everything else that was still attached to my body, which was, luckily, pretty much everything. Even my hair hurt. James was staring down at me, with that befuddled look he wore sometimes that drove me crazy. His mouth moved. He was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“What?” I asked, then stopped talking when I felt how much my throat hurt.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” he whispered.

“What?” I was sure I’d heard him, but the explosion had caused a ringing in my ears, and he could have said, “I want to bring you a piece of cake,” or something.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” he said again, louder, concern creasing his brow. “You
are
awake, aren’t you?”

“Yes. My ears. The explosion.” I hoped it was enough. It was all I had. Or so I thought, until he opened his mouth again.

“I’m calling your mother, and letting her know what happened to you, Marie.”

Oh. That was bad. Very, very bad.

“I don’t think so.” I scrabbled around, trying to sit up. I managed to claw my way to upright in spite of the pain. “Leave my mother out of this.”

Farley wandered in from somewhere, appearing brighter than he had in a long while. I ignored him and crossed my arms over my chest, though it hurt like heck to do so, and shook my head. James had to be dealt with, immediately.

“Do not call my mother, James. Do not.”

“She should know—”

“Give him hell,” Farley suggested. I glared briefly at him before turning back to James.

“My mother does not need to be worried. Not when I’m going to be fine. I’ll call her and tell her what happened when they let me out.”

“But—”

“No buts. Leave it alone. She doesn’t need this kind of stress. You know that.”

“Yeah.” He sat down with a small thump on a chair crammed next to my bed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“And you don’t have to stay with me, you know.” He’d really pissed me off, suggesting he call my mom. “They’ll let me out soon, I’m sure of it. I’ll go to Jasmine’s or something.”

“Oh, come on Marie, don’t get that way.” He acted absolutely crestfallen. “I thought—”

“No. You didn’t think. If you had, you wouldn’t have suggested calling her.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ll sit here quietly, and when they let you out, I’ll take you to your friend’s place, or wherever you want. All right?”

I stared at him, trying to decide whether he was telling the truth. “All right,” I whispered, but then I was at the end of my strength, and flopped back down on the pillow. “Could you find me some water?”

He dove through the curtains as though he wanted to get away before I changed my mind and made him leave the hospital.

“How can you stand it?” Farley asked.

I put my hands up to my face to block the overhead light, which was suddenly hurting my eyes. “How
am
I going to tell my mother what happened?”

My throat constricted painfully, and I could feel the tears trembling at the edges of my lashes. When I took in a quick breath, the tears cascaded down my bruises to the pillow.

“Ah, come on, don’t cry.” Farley sounded like he wanted to give me a hug or something, and that threw me over the edge. I was supposed to be comforting him, dammit! “Gloss it over. Maybe don’t tell her about Macho Don. Tell her the building blew up and you got a bit hurt, but not bad.”

His suggestion sounded lame, but it helped. My throat suddenly didn’t feel so tight and my tears stopped.

“I guess I could. I have to tell her something, after all, the building blowing up will make it on the news for sure, but I don’t need to tell her everything. That might work. Thanks, Farley.”

“Glad to help.”

I tried a smile. It must have worked, because he smiled back.

We were finished talking though, because James came in with water and a couple of glasses. Then a nurse came in with news that they’d decided to keep me overnight for observation. That’s when I started to cry again, because I’d convinced myself that a case of attempted murder, plus getting caught in an explosion, wasn’t actually going to interfere with my life—or what was left of it—much at all.

As I tried to get myself under control, I could hear James flailing around until the nurse turned on him, all patience gone.

“Go wait out there,” she ordered, pointing through the curtain. “When we have her settled in a room, you can see her. If she wants.” The last she said to me. I was still trying to get myself under control, and not admit that wave after wave of exhaustion was finishing me.

James put the water down and left the room with a few backward glances at me. Farley followed him out. I was glad. I wanted to be left alone, so I could cry in peace.

I was stuck in Emergency for a couple more hours, until they found me a room. I had my eyes closed, enjoying the quiet of that room—a private room, lucky me—when I felt more than heard the door sigh open. It was James, with Farley on his heels.

I tried to sit up, and realized I couldn’t move.

“Help me with these stupid blankets,” I growled. “They’ve got them too tight.”

“Maybe you should stay still,” James said hesitantly. I realized he was speaking that way because he thought everything he said upset me. That upset me.

“I don’t want to stay still.” I glowered at him until he untucked the blankets, freeing my arms, then loosening my legs.

“Thank you.” I pulled my hands up and ran them through my incredibly filthy hair. “That feels better.” Then I glanced at him. “Hear any news on the TV? About the explosion?” I was concerned that my mother had already seen something. James had been right. Someone did need to call my mom, even if only to tell her half the truth.

“No. I was watching the news, but it was CNN. Why?”

I struggled to sit up so I could look him in the eyes. It was harder than I thought, because it felt like every muscle had seized up on me. Finally, I made it.

“I want you to do something for me, James, and you have to promise—promise on the eyes of your own mother, that you will do as I ask. Nothing more. Okay?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“No. Swear, first.”

“Okay, I swear.”

“On your mother’s eyes.”

“Good grief, Marie . . . “

“I’m not kidding. The eyes of your sainted mother.”

“You’re getting melodramatic.”

“Don’t care. Swear.”

“Fine. I swear. On—what you said.” I stared into his eyes, then, after a brief, uncomfortable moment for James, nodded and leaned back. I believed him.

“I want you to call my Mom, and let her know what happened. But only about the explosion, and that I’m okay.”

“All right.”

“That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing about Mr. Latterson, or any of the other stuff.”

“Okay.”

“You understand?”

“Marie, I get it.” James spoke sharply, and when I glanced at him, I realized the other James was back. I was glad. I was feeling weak and wanted someone to take care of me. The other, sharp-eyed James could do that.

“Well, that gives me hope that the boy has a pair,” Farley snorted. I ignored him and touched James’ hand.

“Thank you.”

“I’m happy to do it, Marie. And don’t worry. I won’t say anything you don’t want your mom to know about.”

“Thanks.” I automatically reached for my purse, which was not with me, then looked around the room for a pen. “I need to give you the number.”

James found a pen and wrote my mom’s number on his hand.

“I’ll go downstairs and give her a call and then—”

“And then nothing.” It was the nurse. She was really quiet when she wanted to be. “It’s time for you to go. There are tests to be run, and this young woman needs her rest.”

James opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. He could tell he was done.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Marie.”

“Okay—and James?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for—you know, everything.”

“I’m glad I was there.” He smiled.

“So am I.” There was so much more I could have said, but all I could do was wave at him like some kind of teenager in love as the door sighed shut behind him.

“What tests do you have to run?” I asked the nurse, hoping they wouldn’t hurt much. I didn’t think I could stand much more.

“Oh, there are no tests, but I didn’t think the young man would go too far if I didn’t tell him something like that,” the nurse said, and smiled. “However, you need some quiet. Don’t you?”

“Yes.” I closed my eyes, enjoying the darkness. “I think quiet would be a very good thing.”

“Does that mean me too?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I’d forgotten Farley was there. I held up one hand like a stop sign and glanced at the nurse. He nodded and leaned against the wall, and we both waited for her to leave. After she re-tucked the stupid blankets, she did just that.

I kicked my feet to loosen them again, then patted the edge of the bed. Farley glanced at me, then sat down. I couldn’t read his face.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know.” He stared down at his hands, then out the window, which overlooked a parking lot. “I’m glad to be out of the Palais.”

“But?” There was a but. I could see it on his face—and didn’t need to hear what it was, because I was asking the same thing.

“Why didn’t I move on?”

“I don’t know.”

He walked to the window, and stared out. “I figured out everything, I thought.” He shuddered. “It wasn’t Henderson who killed me. Or Latterson, even though that son of a bitch got somebody to blow up the Palais. I killed myself.” He shook his head as though he still couldn’t quite believe was he was saying. “I killed myself,” he said again. “I know why I died. So, what the hell is keeping me here?”

“I’m not sure,” I said.

“I can’t tell you how tired I am of hearing that.” He sounded lost, nothing like the Farley I knew, and my throat tightened.

“I’m sorry,” I said, then willed myself to quiet. I was not crying again, even though I wanted to. There had been far too much of that, lately. “There is one thing I could do. It might help.”

“What’s that?” He didn’t turn his head. I figured he’d probably decided that most of my ideas were crap, and he wasn’t going to get too worked up about this one, either.

“Well, I could get hold of your daughter, Rose. Maybe meet with her.”

“What?” He swung around and stared at me. I definitely had his attention.

“I could get hold of your—”

“I heard you,” he said, anger in his voice. I’d definitely touched a nerve. “Why would you do that?”

“Because maybe you have something to clear up with her. Maybe she’s the reason you’re still here. A meeting might be—”

“No. You’re not doing that.” He turned back to the window. “I don’t need to see her again. She’s knows I’m an asshole. There’s nothing more to say.”

“There might be more
she
wants to say to you, Farley.” I tried to speak softly, to mimic that tone my mother used, but all I did was get Farley flustered. He whirled around and stared at me, shaking his head frantically.

“I told you! I don’t want to see her. Don’t want to hear those words out of her mouth again. You got me?”

“What words?”

“What an asshole I am! Jesus, don’t you listen? She let me know exactly how she felt about me.” He clapped his hands together angrily, and walked toward the door, then whirled back toward me again. “Leave her alone! I’m not kidding.”

He freaked me out a bit, and I cowered back in the bed. I guess being almost killed and then caught in an explosion had frayed my nerves, but seeing him so worked up really got to me. I hadn’t realized how big the daughter button was.

“Fine. Fine! I won’t call her, yet. But Farley, I think you’re going to have to examine this part of—”

“NO! I told you!” he bellowed. “Leave her alone! Leave me alone!” He walked through the door, ecto ooze flicking away from him in long green strands, like a spider’s web.