Part 26 (1/2)
I blinked a few times. The wound still looked less open. Probably because I needed to open it more.
”Scalpel, please.”
I planned to make an incision, clean the wound thoroughly, perhaps insert a drain for the infection, inject antibiotics. My hands had other ideas.
I cut deeper. A whole lot of nasty flowed out. Joaquin handed me some of the gauze he'd retrieved and I blotted, swiped, then touched her flank again. Something s.h.i.+fted beneath the skin as though alive.
”What's wrong?” Joaquin leaned in close.
Probably just her muscles fluttering. But I'd learned to follow my instincts. They'd never steered me wrong.
The police station wasn't far from Becca's office. Nevertheless, Owen got into his pickup and drove there.
Reggie wasn't a service dog, and could therefore not waltz into any building that he wanted to. Owen would have to leave him in the truck, and he'd prefer to keep the truck, and Reggie, nearby.
Inside the Three Harbors police station a phone was ringing, ringing, ringing. He waited for someone to answer it, except he didn't see anyone in the room to answer it.
The chief's office was empty, as was the bullpen and the dispatcher's desk. Owen stood on tiptoe and checked the floor behind the reception area. n.o.body.
He settled back on his heels as the phone stopped ringing. He listened for distant talk and laughter. Maybe it was doughnut day and they were all in the break room.
Or maybe his mom had slipped her leash and- ”h.e.l.lo?” he shouted.
”Yeah!”
All the pent-up air in Owen's lungs rushed out. At least one person was left alive.
Candy Tarley shot out of a doorway and hustled in his direction. She was of an age with his mother, though she appeared fifteen years younger, perhaps because she possessed hair the shade of cherry Kool-Aid. Or perhaps because she hadn't touched anything harder than Kool-Aid all her life.
”You waiting long?”
”No, I just-” What? Been worried that his mom had gone Walking Dead on the entire police force?
”Owen!” Candy's polite expression went positively cheery, or maybe that was cherry. She came around the reception desk and took his hand, but instead of shaking it she sandwiched it between hers and squeezed. ”Thank you so much.”
”For?” He tried to pull back, but she held on and patted him a few times for good measure.
”For all you've done.”
He racked his brain, came up with nothing. He hadn't been in Three Harbors for ten years, so he hadn't done anything. Maybe that was what she was thanking him for. When he'd been in town, he'd done plenty. A lot of it was probably recorded around here somewhere.
Candy released him with a final pat. ”Your service, Owen. Thank you for your service.”
”Oh-uh-yeah.”
He still hadn't gotten accustomed to people not only thanking him with words but with deeds. In the airport someone had paid for his Starbucks. On the flight someone had bought him a beer. When he'd rented the pickup, a woman in line behind him had insisted he use her Triple A discount, and the woman at the counter had let him.
What he was accustomed to was being cursed at, shot at, blown up. Being fawned over was a new and not altogether pleasant experience. He felt like an imposter because the true hero was Reggie not Owen. But whenever he tried to explain that, folks just laughed and bought him something else.
”Your mom got off just fine.” Candy returned to the chair behind the reception desk.
”She what?”
”She's on her way to the mental health facility.”
”I was supposed to meet her caseworker here.”
”Your mom was ... agitated.”
”Still banging her head?” Owen asked.
Candy lifted a shoulder, which was answer enough. ”Peggy wanted to get her back to the environment she's used to. She said you could come out there, or give her a call in a few hours.” Candy patted his arm again. ”You okay with that?”
He wasn't sure why he was disappointed that he hadn't gotten to say good-bye. He doubted his mom would remember him any better here than she had at the house.
The phone started ringing again. This time Candy answered right away. ”Three Harbors Police Department.”
Owen started for the door.
”What was that?” The cheery in her voice fled, leaving something behind that made Owen turn. ”All right. Someone's on the way.” She disconnected. ”It's your mom.”
”What happened?”
Candy lifted one finger as she used the radio. ”George, we've got 417A on Route GG.”
”Roger that. I'm on the other side of the lake but I'm on my way.”
”What's a 417A?” Owen asked.
”That was Peggy who called.” Candy used the radio again. ”Need an ambulance to Route GG. a.s.sault with a knife.”
Static nattered through the mike. Since Candy let go of the transmit b.u.t.ton, he figured the ambulance was on the way.
”Is my mom-”
”Gone.”
His heart gave such a lurch that he grabbed the edge of the reception desk.
”Sorry! Not dead gone, but actually gone, as in run off again.”
The joy that Owen felt that his mom wasn't dead and gone fled as he came to the conclusion that she'd been the one doing the a.s.saulting, rather than the a.s.saultee.
Only one thing surprised him about that.
How in h.e.l.l had she gotten a knife?