Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe (love story books to read txt) 📕

slow speed, dreading the moment she’d have to step through those revolving doors and inhale the air that reminded her of her mother’s final days, its many odors mixed together and recirculated by the building’s air conditioning. Disinfectant, iodine, laundry detergent, starch, the stale fabric of waiting room chairs and couches, the cracked faux leather of the armchairs in the main lobby, and the plastic mattress protectors in every room warmed up by body heat.

Only yesterday she’d been there, escorting Shelley Harrelson’s ambulance to the hospital, in the hope the doctors could save her life from the latest stroke. She didn’t hold much hope; she’d seen cases like Shelley and was well versed in the prognosis. Whether she was conscious or not, whether she remembered it or not, Kay had made the grieving woman a promise she had every intention to keep. And to keep that promise, she needed a sample of her DNA.

She stopped the SUV at the curb, then flashed her badge at the approaching security guard. “I’ll only need a minute,” she said, and the man’s scowl dissolved.

Walking past him and through the revolving doors, she showed her badge again at reception and got a room number. A moment in the elevator, then she found Shelley’s room.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor greeted Kay as soon as she pulled the sliding door open and entered. By her side, a tall man wearing hospital garb was checking her vitals.

Shelley’s eyes were closed, and she was breathing through a tube connected to a ventilator, her lungs no longer able to draw breath on their own. Her head was wrapped in gauze. They must’ve operated on her to relieve the intracranial pressure generated by the stroke. A gray pallor had touched her skin as if death had already staked its claim over her weak body.

“Are you family?” the man asked in a kind voice. His name tag read, DR. FIELDMORE. He was young, most likely a resident.

“No,” she replied, showing her badge again. “I’m Dr. Sharp, with the sheriff’s office. How is she?”

He looked at Shelley for a brief moment, then checked his clipboard before speaking. “We relieved the intracranial pressure and stopped the bleeding, but she slipped into a coma. She’ll probably never wake up.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “She’s a seven on the Glasgow Coma Scale. She’s not coming back.”

Kay nodded. “I understand. What’s your plan?”

“We’re pulling the plug tomorrow morning.”

For some reason, the thought brought a knot in Kay’s throat. “So soon?”

“Standard protocol for wards of the state. There’s no family, and no hope.”

Kay shoved the evidence pouch she’d been clasping in her sweaty palm back into her pocket. Shelley’s hair was gone; she wasn’t going to be able to get her DNA by taking a couple of hair fibers with the roots still attached. But she wasn’t going to leave empty-handed either; she was sure Shelley wouldn’t’ve liked that.

“May I have a sterile flocked swab in individual wrapping?”

He looked at her inquisitively, but decided not to ask. Hospitals required warrants for collection of DNA from their patients, whether dead or alive or in between. “You can find some in this drawer, over here,” he showed her, leaving the respective drawer slightly open. “Need a minute or two?”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, swallowing with difficulty.

He left the room, sliding the door silently shut.

Grabbing the stool vacated by the doctor, Kay pulled it by the bedside. Memories of her mother’s passing came crashing in, and, for a long, confusing moment, she felt close to Shelley, drawn to her as if it were her own mom lying on that bed, dying all over again.

She took the woman’s cold hand in hers and held it for a while, fighting tears and words that demanded to be spoken.

Then she stopped fighting them, knowing that there was a tiny sliver of a chance Shelley could hear her.

“I promised you I’ll find out what happened to Rose,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “I think I have an idea, but I need your help. I need to be sure.”

She reached into the drawer and extracted the swab, then unsealed the end of it and took the cap off. Gently, she inserted the tip into Shelley’s mouth and swabbed her cheek, sealing the swab in its container. Fishing out the evidence pouch from her pocket, she slid the swab in and zipped the pouch, signing it and marking down the time and date.

Then she took Shelley’s hand in hers again.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice loaded with tears. The thought of how a family’s destiny had been shattered by a single, fateful event choked her, burning her eyes and swelling her chest. It was inexplicable; she was a hardened criminalist with eight years of seeing the most gruesome of crime scenes and catching the sickest, most violent offenders. But there was something heart-wrenching about seeing Shelley on that hospital bed, dying alone.

“I promised you I’ll find whoever did this to you, to all of you. However long it will take me—” she said, then stopped, remembering Shelley’s unusual reaction when she’d had her second stroke.

What was it that she’d said?

Kay closed her eyes, trying to remember word for word. “All this time… my baby…” Shelley had said the day before, before blood had rushed to her head so violently it had ruptured vessels inside her brain, driven by a strong emotional reaction to… What, exactly? To the news of Alyssa’s death? Why did she care? Who was Alyssa to Shelley Harrelson?

“You were trying to tell me something else, weren’t you?” Kay whispered. “I think you were, and I believe I know what that was.”

Squeezing the woman’s hand, Kay set it down gently on the bed, then said goodbye as Dr. Fieldmore returned. She thanked him and left, but then stopped in the doorway to give the woman another long look.

“I’ll find out,” she murmured, then left, rushing to her vehicle. While waiting for the