Majoring in Murder

Chapter 9

My cell phone rang late in the afternoon on Thursday. I didn't recognize the number on my caller ID. It was my mom and she was frantic.

"Jason, you've got to come home! It's your sister," she said. The panic in her voice was undeniable so I asked her to take a moment to catch her breath.

"What's wrong?"

"Emily's in the hospital." That got my attention as nothing else could. Emily was ten years old, my youngest sibling.

"What's wrong? Is she sick?"

"No. She was riding her bike and a car hit her." My mom paused for a breath.

"How bad is she?" I asked. Excitement found its way into my voice.

"I don't know. The ambulance took her away an hour ago. She was unconscious when they left."

"Where's dad and Lisa?"

"They're here at the hospital with me. We're waiting for the doctors to let us see her or tell us something."

Oh God, my parents didn't even know how bad she was.

"Where's the driver? Were they drunk?"

"The driver didn't stop." Venom rose in her voice. "The son-of-a-bitch didn't stop so the police are out looking for him. Mrs. Buford saw it happen and gave the cops a description: a big brown late-model car."

"It was a hit-and-run?"

My mother's voice broke. Intermingled with her outrage were blubbery sobs. "Yes." She went quiet for a moment.

"I'm leaving right now."

I told her that I loved her and hung up. On the interstate, I had to remind myself to slow down so I didn't get delayed with a speeding ticket, but it seemed like I got behind every slow driver between Athens and Rome.

When I parked at the hospital, it was nearly 8 PM. I went into the emergency room and found my family. They looked haggard. Lisa looked up at me with raccoon eyes. Her mascara had run down her cheeks from crying. My mom hugged me and buried her tear-streaked face into my shoulder.

"Have you heard anything yet?" I asked.

My dad just shook his head and looked at the floor. He appeared to be fighting back tears himself.

I sat in one of the rigid chairs, absently flipping through the pages of an outdated magazine. The selection of reading material sucked but I settled for a six-month-old issue of People and tried to distract myself so the minutes would pass more quickly. It was depressing to glance at my watch and find that the minute hand hadn't progressed as much as I thought. My dad paced from the window to the chair and back, where my mother sat cradling her arms and biting at her thumbnail. I thought it possible that he might wear a path in the linoleum.

We had waited an hour and a half when a doctor in green scrubs finally emerged from the restricted double doors. He approached us. "Mr. and Mrs. Mashburn?" he asked, consulting a clipboard in his hand.

My mom stood and joined my dad's side in front of the doctor. "How is she?" my dad asked.

My mother wringed her hands. "Please tell us she's all right."

"She's gonna be fine. In addition to some scrapes and bruises, she has a broken hip and a concussion. We're gonna perform surgery to put a pin in her hip. She'll be on crutches for a while until the bone mends."

When the doctor said she would be fine, I heard my mother let out the breath she had been holding. I'm sure Lisa was as relieved as I was to hear the news. During the trip to the hospital, I had plenty of time to think the worst after my mom told me Emily was unresponsive when they put her in the ambulance.