River of Bones by Dan Padavona (psychology books to read .TXT) 📗

the snot out of some kid for pulling a gun on him? That’ll go well for me.”

Raven cast a worried glance at the door.

“What if they come here?”

LeVar leaned over and touched the mouse on Scout’s computer. The views from the security cameras appeared on the screen. He tapped his finger against the monitor.

“I’ll see them. But my guess is they already have.”

“The break-in.”

“Right. Now that I have eyes on the guest house, ain’t nobody sneaking up on me again.”

Raven eyed the knife.

“I don’t want you fighting. If you kill somebody, even in self-defense, you’ll go to prison. And if they kill you…I can’t live without my brother.”

She rested her head on his broad shoulder. He stroked her hair.

“Nothing gonna happen to me. I’ll take care of it. Like I always have.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. At least tell Thomas. This is his property. He deserves to know what’s going on.”

LeVar enlarged the security camera views, zooming around the yard.

“I’ll tell Thomas.” LeVar raised his eyes to Raven’s. “But if Rev shows his face, it won’t end well for him.”

* * *

Sharp pain spread down Chelsey’s arms and legs. Her body tingled.

A nurse wearing too much aftershave removed the oxygen mask from her mouth. She grabbed his hand, her lungs struggling for air.

“I…can’t…breathe.”

The golden-haired doctor glared down her nose at Chelsey.

“Yes, you can, Ms. Byrd. You’re hyperventilating. The more you depend on the mask, the longer it will take for the gases in your blood to return to normal.”

The nurse wheeled a machine forward as Chelsey sat on an uncomfortable cot in the emergency room.

“What’s that for?”

“We’ll run an echocardiogram and check your heart,” the doctor said, motioning for the nurse to prepare for the examination.

“Don’t you give people shots or something when they’re having a heart attack or stroke?”

It felt as if a million tiny hands squeezed Chelsey from the inside. Cutting off the blood flow in her veins. Clutching her heart.

“You’re not having a stroke.”

“But my left side. It’s numb.”

“Give me your leg,” the doctor said, tapping her left knee. Chelsey raised her leg as the doctor held her foot. “Push against me. Good. Now your arm.”

Chelsey bent her arm at the elbow and resisted as the woman pulled.

“Good thing for me we aren’t arm wrestling,” the doctor said. “Because you would have already won. You’re not having a stroke. I can run a CT and an MRI. But the signs of a stroke or heart attack aren’t there.” The doctor held Chelsey’s eyes. “You’re already relaxing, Ms. Byrd. All you needed was to hear you aren’t dying, and the blood returned to your face. How’s your heartbeat?”

“It’s still really fast.”

The doctor took Chelsey’s wrist and checked her pulse.

“About a hundred beats per minute. Elevated, but not dangerous. You hit a hundred beats per minute every time you walk uphill. Even someone in good physical condition will push one-hundred-twenty or higher climbing stairs. But you think nothing of it because you expect your heart rate to rise.”

“I’m sitting down. My heart rate shouldn’t be a hundred.”

“Stress will make your heart beat faster. When I was in medical school, we studied people watching tense scenes in action and horror movies. We measured heart rates of ninety to one-hundred, even though they were seated.”

Chelsey lowered her eyes. Had she done this to herself?

“We’ll give you an echocardiogram and run a few more tests, just to be sure. But I’m ninety-nine percent certain you aren’t having a heart attack or stroke.”

“Ninety-nine isn’t one-hundred.”

The doctor patted Chelsey’s arm as if she were an inconsolable child. She had Chelsey remove her shirt while the nurse turned his back. Then Chelsey held out her arms so the doctor could slip a pale blue hospital gown over her.

“All right, Ms. Byrd. I’ll have you lie on your back to start.”

With a pillow beneath her head, Chelsey stared at the ceiling as the doctor pushed the cold transducer probe around her chest. Then she lay on her side, facing away from the monitor while the doctor repeated the procedure. Her lips quivered from cold and sadness. What had become of her life?

After the doctor finished, she told Chelsey to sit up.

“You’re not having a stroke, and your heart is healthy.”

“So what’s happening to me?”

“Have you experienced a lot of stress lately, Ms. Byrd?”

Chelsey glanced away.

“There are things going on in my life.”

“My guess is stress caused your attack. We’ll keep you a while longer and monitor your condition. But you need to relax. You aren’t dying.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Saturday, August 14th

9:30 p.m.

 

Scout felt summer slipping away. The sun set a few minutes earlier every night, and the darkness was complete by the time she set her phone on the nightstand and pulled herself from the wheelchair to the bed. Crickets sang through the cracked open window. Usually, she stayed awake until midnight during the summer. After spending the day scouring forums, tracking Webb-WLHS, Paige Sutton, and Justine Adkins, she couldn’t force her eyes to stay open. She’d outlasted her mother, who turned in a half-hour ago, complaining of a headache. Now Scout dragged her atrophied legs across the bedsheets, hauled the covers to her chest, and lay back with her arms propped behind her head.

To her side, the phone hummed with an Instagram notification. She ignored it. Yesterday, she’d overheard her mother on the phone with her father. Her chest tightened. It had been months since she last saw her father. Scout had almost forgotten what he looked like. She twiddled her thumbs over her stomach as she considered calling him. How would he react? Enraged that she interrupted his sleep, or thrilled to hear her voice? What sort of father abandoned his daughter after a crippling automobile accident?

She picked up the phone and scrolled to his number. He woke up early, even on Sundays. During the week, he began work at six in the morning, and he maintained an early schedule through the weekend. The green call icon beckoned. She set the phone