“No, ma’am,” the figure at her bedside replied. “You’ll be fast asleep, and you won’t feel a thing. I’ll let your son know as soon as it happens.”
Being competitive and petty were two of her character defects and they kicked in as if recovery had never happened.
The man, tall and plump with short brown hair combed forward to mask his receding hairline, stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Veronica froze in place, worried that he might interrupt and spoil her obvious superiority in killing a patient.
She listened to the familiar beeps and blips of the monitor. The woman’s heart rate slowed along with her respiration. She was on the pharmaceutical expressway to meet her maker. Veronica stepped out of her hiding place and padded towards the bed. The woman’s eyes were closed, and it looked as if her body had been swallowed beneath a layer of blankets. Crouched on the side of the bed, she lifted the woman’s slender wrist to her mouth. In addition to hunger, she was also feeding her feelings. She didn’t care if she left a mark or made a bloody mess. The woman didn’t stir as she drained the remaining life from her failing body.
As the monitor flat lined, the burly nurse announced his on-the-dot presence with a flick of the light switch. Startled, Veronica wiped her mouth with the sheet and stood.
“What are you doing to my patient?” He rubbed his eyes, as if he could wipe this image and what it implied from his vision.
“I was simply finishing what you started.” Veronica threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. Honesty felt good.
“Excuse me?” He folded his pale, fleshy arms across his chest.
She strode past him, placing her hand on the door handle and turned. “I collected a blood sample from her and you should be hearing from your superior very, very soon, young man.”
“Where do you think you’re going? You were drinking her blood. I saw you.”
“Really? Well I heard you agree to kill her about ten minutes ago. Which story do you think the administration of this fine institution is going to believe?” She opened the door.
“I can’t believe this. You’re sick.”
“I was simply taking a blood sample, and it was delicious.” She pulled the woman’s chart and wrote the time of death. “3:23. We both got the desired end—we just used different means to get there. You ever heard of bloodletting, there, Johnathan? It’s old. It’s very old. Way before your time.”
“You’re crazy. I’m calling security.” He reached for the call button.
Veronica stepped back into the room. “Listen. I’ve done exactly what you just did hundreds of times. Your angel-of-death secret is safe with me.” Smiling, she could smell his fear.
“What are you implying?” He bit his thumb nail.
“Johnathan, I’ve been there, and I’ve done that. In fact, my t-shirt’s older than you. Maybe you used a large dose of morphine to slow her respiration? Or perhaps you injected her with insulin?”
“Who are you?” He looked as if he were on the verge of crying, which was perfect for her self-confidence.
“I’m either your worst nightmare or your best friend, depending on how you want to play this next hand.” She smiled, revealing her menacing teeth.
“We’re really short staffed right now and I’ve got three other patients I need to check on. Are you going to kill me too?” He pulled the blanket over his patient’s face.
She was losing him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Would you like some help?” She moved to help him with the blanket.
He crossed his fingers at her approach. “I think you’ve done enough. Be gone, demon.”
“Oh, please. Johnathan, I’m a nurse. Worked ER at General in Detroit until two days ago. I’m sure my boss would send over glowing reviews of my work ethic.”
He dropped his arms and squeezed past her. As he reached for the door handle, she placed her hand on his. “If you don’t help me, I’ll make your life a living hell. I have a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t your first time at the Grim Reaper rodeo. Am I right?”
He looked back at the bed and lowered his voice. “She wanted to die. What exactly do you want from me?”
“She can’t hear you, by the way. I want a job. I’m a good worker, I’ve never been late or called out sick and I never take breaks. I’m a work horse, Johnathan, and I’ve got the references to back that up. If you hire me, I’ll give St. John’s the best fifteen years of my life.”
“I don’t make hiring decisions. You’ll have to apply and speak to Dean Williams in the morning.”
“I’m afraid that is not a possibility. I don’t do daytime. I work nights and I suggest you do whatever it takes to make it happen. And another thing, Johnathan—”
“It’s JA,” he interrupted.
“Okay, JA. I’ve been around hospitals a long time and litigation in matters such as these are a nightmare. They’ll dig and they’ll dig until they find exactly what they need to put you away. I’m afraid you’re a little too, how do I say this nicely?” She rubbed her chin. “You’re a little too soft to survive in prison. Despite what you may think, what you just did to Ms. Shelton is okay with me, but there are those who will be deeply—and I’m talking to the depths of their soul—offended. I hate to break it to you, JA, but there is a god and you’re not him.” She smiled, and her fangs were gone. “So, are you going to work with me or not?”
He stared at her with a mixture of hate and awe and nodded slightly in the affirmative. Veronica tailed his every move till 5 a.m., promising to return later that night. With a sweaty, suspicious handshake, their strange partnership was forged. Their foundation was built on a secret but solidified with an unappetizing truth.
40
Present
Veronica’s eyes felt as if they’d been glued shut. When she opened them, the car was parked at a dilapidated strip mall. Jenny was in the driver’s seat, busying herself with the complexities of her new phone.
“Where are we? I feel like I fell asleep, but that’s not possible.”
“Well, your eyes were closed for like an hour. It sure looked like sleeping to me.”
“Are we in Lincoln?” Her voice dripped dread.
“Yep, but look.” Jenny pointed excitedly at the window in front of them. Two rough-looking men smoked short cigarettes on a wooden bench. Each held a Styrofoam cup, while flicking their ashes in a Folger’s can. Printed in blue on the glass above their heads was “The Last Stop.”
“Do you know them?”
“No, dude. It’s an AA meeting. Didn’t you say you wanted to go to a meeting when we got to Lincoln? Well here we are. It’s almost time to let go and let God!” Jenny sounded as hyped up as a kid who’d just eaten two bowls of sugar cereal.
“Why are you so happy?” Veronica unbelted herself and lugged her purse up from the floor.
“I called the number on the back of my new debit card and, according to Bev at the Wells Fargo, I’ve got fifteen grand with a three-thousand-dollar daily spending limit. For once, my cheap-ass dad totally hooked me up.”
“I have a feeling he is going to regret that.” Veronica rolled her eyes and stepped out of the car. She wanted to get as far away from Jenny’s mirth as she could. Even though their immediate money worries were over, she was pretty sure that Jenny was high and holding. “Are you coming?”
The two men rose from the bench as Veronica stepped up from the curb. The older of the two, a man with yellow teeth and a road-mapped face, rushed to open the door for her.
“Right on time. You our speaker tonight?” he asked.
“No, sir.” Veronica smiled. “But thank you. I’m Veronica.” She held out her hand, raising her eyebrows.
“Bill.” He met her hand and shook it vigorously.
“Nice to meet you.” She stepped into a room as well-traveled as Bill’s face. Scratched folding chairs lined the scuffed walls and a yellowed Twelve Step banner hung for dear life behind the podium.
“Is she?”
Veronica glanced back towards Jenny,
who hoisted her overstuffed backpack over her shoulder and slammed the car door. “Am I what?” Jenny shouted.
The younger man, pock-marked and tattooed, held out a crumpled piece of paper. “Will you sign this for me?”
Jenny waved it off. “Nice try, dude, but you have to sit through the meeting first.”
“Where are you all visiting from?” Bill asked and took a seat near the coffee maker.
All eyes followed Veronica and Jenny as they settled into two empty seats near the front.
“California,” Veronica lied. She wanted to kick herself for using her real name, even though half of this room would nod in silent understanding if they knew the shit she and Jenny were in.
Bill looked towards the clock. “Well, doesn’t look like our speaker is going to show, so we better get started.”
“I’ll speak,” Jenny raised her arm and bolted from the chair.
“Well, let’s start with our opening and then you can have the floor after that, young lady.”
Veronica planted her feet firmly on the dirty, industrial-grade carpet, bracing herself for the verbal vomit that would surely spew from Jenny’s mouth. The pock-marked kid took the seat closest to the door and slouched back in his chair. The ‘nudge from the judge’ attendees rarely got anything from these rooms. They had to want recovery more than that next drink, but most of them were simply on their first DWI and hadn’t hit bottom yet. She looked up at Bill, whose face had softened as he read the introduction and the steps. Gratitude radiated from his oversized pores, and Veronica was pre-emptively pissed that Jenny was going to ruin it.
“All right young lady, is this your first time telling your story?”
“No, sir. And it’s Jenny.” She looked out at the crowd and took a deep breath. “Hi, my name is Jenny P and I’m an alcoholic.”
In unison, the twenty or so attendees said, “Hi, Jenny.”
She placed her quivering hands on the podium to steady them. That was Veronica’s first surprise. Was Jenny about to get real?
“I’m also an addict,” Jenny continued, “but I’ll leave the drug talk for NA. So, um, I grew up in Texas. I had a pretty regular childhood. Neither of my parents had a drinking problem, or at least not one that I was aware of. We went to church, my mom was in the PTA, although I think she belonged to the PNA, or Parent Nazi Association. She hovered over me and my brother and sister twenty-four-seven. She was crazy like that. Maybe untreated Al-Anon, I don’t know, but she was kind of a control freak.” Jenny paused and looked at Veronica’s familiar face. Veronica smiled and nodded her encouragement.
“Anyway, so from the time I was like six years old, I knew I was different. I think my parents suspected as much and sent me off to one of those crazy camps where you are supposed to pray away the gay. At camp, two things happened. One, I met my first girlfriend, which was awesome, but I don’t think we prayed hard enough or something because we made out every chance we got.”
Several members in the group laughed, and Jenny laughed along with them. “Okay. And the second thing, which was even bigger and better than kissing a girl, was that I had my first drink. Those counselors were so worried about our sinful thoughts that they didn’t notice that one of the kids had smuggled in this giant bottle of cheap vodka. We mixed it with our morning orange juice. I loved it. I loved the taste. I loved how it made me feel, different and confident. Needless to say, vodka made conversion camp a hell of a lot more tolerable.”
Veronica couldn’t believe her sincerity. It was both refreshing and disconcerting to hear this side of her.
A flash of headlights from the window caught Veronica’s attention—and then froze her thoughts. A police car was pulling up behind their car.
Her mind raced, Jenny’s voice drowned out by the blood whooshing and whirring in her ears. She turned her face from the window. They were probably running the California plates, which would lead them to Desmond, who was now a missing person. They would also be looking for a middle-aged woman with long dark hair accompanied by a foul-mouthed, gun-toting girl with hair the color of a fire hydrant. She coughed loudly and rose to use the bathroom.
“I spent my sixteenth birthday in rehab. It was awesome. Not.” Jenny laughed.
Veronica quietly slipped into the bathroom and flipped on the light. Beads of sweat collected on her upper lip and a steady stream dribbled down the back of her neck. She lifted her thick hair and dabbed the sweat with a paper towel. Was there a back exit for this place? Too late to look now.
Unsure of what to do, she braided her hair, applied a thick coat of red lipstick and brushed several coats of Ingrid’s mascara onto her lashes. In the tiny mirror’s reflection, an overgrown toddler with Pippy Longstocking hair greeted her. Jenny will need a hat. Hopefully there’s one in that damn backpack of hers. As she placed her hand on the door knob, she whispered “God, help me,” and opened the door.
“I’ll be honest with you,” Jenny continued. “I have really yet to master this recovery, but I keep trying. My sponsor right there, she helps. Man, can she be a bitch, but I think I need that from someone. Plus, she understands about having to hide parts of herself from the world.”
The officers walked in. Veronica froze, trapped. The female officer glanced at Jenny. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I need to have a word with Dylan Przybylski.”
The pock-marked kid rose from the jump seat and left the room, still clutching his crumpled piece of paper.
“Bummer, dude. Well, that’s about all I got for now. Thanks for letting me share my story.” Jenny bowed and plopped back in her chair as the room filled with applause.
“Who wants to follow that?” Bill said.
Veronica felt as if her heart was going to shoot out of her throat. She didn’t know if she could take much more of this. She hugged Jenny and whispered in her ear. “Are you high?”
“No, just happy,” she whispered back.
After the meeting, Veronica jumped back in the driver’s seat. “Do you have a hat or a bandana that you can cover your hair with?”
“No, why?” Jenny touched her red hair.
“We’re too noticeable and it’s making me nervous. After what you pulled, I’m afraid the police are looking for us. The last thing either of us need is to go to jail. With your mouth, you’ll get killed and once they figure out who I am, I’ll be shipped back to Texas for killing Bobby Lee Garrett.”
“The serial killer? Dude, that’s huge.” Jenny bounced in her seat.
“He was my patient. Anyway, I want to go to JA’s house tonight so we can get out of here as soon as possible. In the meantime, we either need to get a new car or new plates. Would you rather spend your daddy’s money or commit a felony?”
After purchasing black hair dye and a matching bandana to cover her tresses, Jenny opted for option two, removing the front and rear plates from an ’84 Olds Cutlass in a darkened church parking lot. Veronica had learned a valuable lesson tonight: Jenny Pearson was a dangerous pain in the ass, but Jenny P just might be the “lower power” she needed to get through her final two amends.
41
As the GPS announced that they’d reached their destination, Veronica rechecked the address she’d been given for JA. The address brought them to a strip club. “Two-dollar beers till 8 and Topless Dancers” flashed across the building’s sign. She removed Seamus’s card from her wallet and dialed his number in the new phone, saving it as a contact.
“Yes, dear?” Seamus’s voice dripped condescension as if her call was an expected annoyance.
“I must have the wrong address, unless JA has given up nursing and taken up bartending.” Veronica clicked her pen, ready to write the new address on Jenny’s receipt.
“You’re in the right place. Give the doorman JA’s name. They’ll escort you to his VIP room.” Seamus spoke above the faint sound of pulsing music.
She turned off the ignition and grabbed her purse. Something was up, and she didn’t like it. “Apparently he’s inside in
one of the VIP rooms. I’d tell you to wait here, but I think I’d feel safer if you were with me.”
Jenny opened the glove box to retrieve the gun.
“No. That stays here. They’ll probably check your bag. Just stick close to me and keep your mouth shut. Can I trust you to do that?” Veronica placed her hand on Jenny’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
“Yes, you can trust me. You got any dollar bills?”
“That’s funny.”
They trudged through the packed parking lot to the entrance. A burly bouncer with a black t-shirt clinging to his heavily muscled frame greeted them. In his right hand, he wielded a large chrome flash light.
“Good evening ladies. I just need to see some ID.” He shone the light on their faces.
Veronica rolled her eyes and dug out her wallet. “Is this really necessary? I’m fifty-one.” She handed over her wallet without removing the driver’s license.
“According to your license, ma’am, you’re sixty-five.” He flashed his light back to her face. “Most people with a fake ID want to be a little older than they really are. No one wants to be retirement age.” He handed her back the flowered wallet. “What about you, pipsqueak?”
Jenny reached into her overstuffed backpack and pulled out her ID. She held it next to her face.
The bouncer leaned in and shook his head. “Got to be twenty-one to enter, sweetheart.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. What if I told you I wanted to apply for a job as a dancer. How old would I have to be?”
“Eighteen.” He eyed her up and down.
“That doesn’t make sense. Come on, dude, let me in. I need a job like yesterday.”
“You’re the right shade of spray tan, but unless you’ve got a pair of magic inflatable tits under that t-shirt, you ain’t gonna get one here.”
“Listen, I’m her mother. We’re just going to meet someone really quick. JA? Perhaps you know him. He’s in the VIP room.”
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