‘Have you seen upstairs?’ announces Hannah, storming into the kitchen, a horrified look on her face. ‘The carpet’s covered in blood. Someone’s stepped in it and trailed it all over the hallway. There’s no way I’m staying here.’ She shakes her head, her eyes wide as saucers, almost hysterical.
‘You can stay with Laurie and Dave,’ I reassure her weakly.
Hannah starts to cry, quietly.
‘Where’s Gene?’ I ask, looking around.
‘He’s in the apartment, clearing up,’ Hannah says with a sniff, seemingly pulling herself together. ‘It’s been trashed too, by the way. Not that you can tell the difference. It was always a shithole. Now it’s just more of a shithole.’
I didn’t know Gene’s place had been robbed too. Did they go in there before they entered the main house?
‘Where’s Gene’s car?’ I ask, glancing out the window and realizing it’s not there.
Hannah shrugs. ‘How should I know?’
‘Oh my God, the hamster.’ My hand suddenly flies to my mouth. ‘We forgot about George.’
‘I’ll sort it out,’ Robert says, putting his arm around me. ‘You get back to the hospital.’
I nod, distracted. Yes, he’s right. I need to get back. We’ve agreed that one of us should be with June at all times. Laurie appears in the kitchen, holding my weekend bag in her hand. ‘I think I’ve got everything,’ she tells me.
‘Thanks,’ I say. I sent her up to my closet to pick out some clean clothes. I didn’t want to have to deal with seeing June’s room, or the blood.
‘Shall we go?’ Laurie asks, smiling at me like I’m some ancient, mentally frail aunt.
I nod and hurry to the front door, snatching the bag from her hand. I’m not that frail.
‘Don’t worry,’ Robert says again, as he follows us. ‘I’ll sort everything out here and I’ll see you back at the hospital later.’ He doesn’t kiss me, just waves me absently off, before hurrying back inside.
‘Don’t forget the hamster,’ I yell after him. June would never forgive us if she woke up and George was dead.
In the car Laurie looks over at me. ‘Do you want to stop for some food?’ she asks.
I shake my head.
‘You need to eat.’
‘I can’t.’ My stomach is so twisted up there’s no way I can force anything down and besides, we need to get back to June. She’s all alone.
‘What did the handsome Sheriff want to talk to you about?’ Laurie asks as she drives.
I glance at her. ‘They found my jewelry.’
‘What?’ Laurie says. ‘Where?’
‘He wouldn’t say.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know.’
Laurie mulls that over then reaches across and pats my leg. ‘They’ll catch them soon. Maybe that means they know who it is.’
Maybe, I think to myself, staring out the window. But maybe the men just chucked the jewelry in a dumpster somewhere or took it to a local pawnshop, and it doesn’t explain my grandmother’s ring.
Laurie has stopped at a red light and my thoughts trail off. Right beside the car is one of those blue newspaper vending machines. The headline of the weekly paper is screaming: LOCAL GIRL IN COMA AFTER BRUTAL ATTACK IN FAMILY HOME.
June’s smiling face shines out at me. They’ve chosen a photograph they must have found in the archive – of the time her basketball team came second in the local tournament – and they’ve obviously zoomed in on her. She’s wearing her basketball shirt and is red in the face from the game she’s just played.
The light turns green and Laurie drives off, leaving me to crane over my shoulder, trying to keep June in sight.
Twenty minutes later we pull into the hospital car park and Laurie swings around to the front to drop me off, but as we get close to the main entrance we see three TV vans festooned with satellite dishes blocking the way. A small crowd of news presenters holding mics mills around.
‘What the . . .?’ Laurie whispers under her breath as she spots them.
The camera crews set up camp here immediately after the attack, peddling stories that they seemed to pull out of thin air, or more like out of their asses. But they drifted away after the first day, bored by the lack of news to report. So why then are they back?
Laurie steps on the gas, meaning to go past them before they can notice us, but too late. They’ve spotted us and are already swinging their cameras in our direction. As we drive by the murder of journalists (is that the right collective noun? If it isn’t, it should be) questions are hollered at me through the windshield, but I can’t make out what anyone is saying. Laurie is sitting on the horn, trying to make them move out the way.
‘What do they want?’ I ask, shrinking in my seat. ‘Why are they here?’
Laurie doesn’t answer. She keeps honking the horn and pushing through the crowd until she’s able to hit the gas and speed out of the parking lot.
‘What’s going on?’ Laurie asks.
The only thing I can think is that something has happened to June and the media have somehow found out before me.
I pull out my phone, my heart hammering wildly. I’m expecting to see a missed call from the hospital but there’s nothing from either the doctors or from Robert, or from Nate either. If they’d caught the guys I’m sure he would have called me. I glance at the radio dial, fighting the urge to tune in to the news. If something has happened, the last thing I want is to find out about it from a stranger on the radio.
Laurie pulls up by a side entrance to the hospital. ‘Get out here,’ she tells me. ‘I’ll throw them off by doing another spin around the parking lot. I’ll see you in there.’
I get out the car and hurry inside, pushing through a set of double doors that bring me into a giant industrial kitchen. I weave my way among the shining metal stations, ignoring the curious glances of catering staff, before I exit through some double doors
