BIPOLAR

Chapter Twenty Eight: Boy.

Grace's eyes remained fixed on the photo, a small smile playing on her lips. It was a tiny, tentative smile, but it was a smile nonetheless.

Jamin felt a lump form in his throat as he watched her. He had been worried that Grace might never recover from the loss of her daughter, but now, for the first time in weeks, he felt a glimmer of hope.

As Grace continued to study the photo, Jamin noticed that her eyes seemed to be focusing more clearly. Her gaze was no longer distant and unfocused, but rather intent and concentrated.

Suddenly, Grace looked up from the photo and met Jamin's eyes. For a moment, they just stared at each other, a sense of connection passing between them.

Then, in a voice that was still soft and tentative, but growing stronger by the second, Grace spoke.

"I want to see Sarah," she said, her eyes never leaving Jamin's.

Jamin felt a jolt of surprise at her words. He hadn't expected Grace to ask to see Sarah, not after everything that had happened.

But as he looked into Grace's eyes, he saw something there that gave him pause. He saw a spark of determination, a sense of purpose.

"Okay, Grace," Jamin said slowly, trying to process what was happening. "I'll see what I can do."

Grace's eyes never left Jamin's as she nodded, a small, resolute smile on her face. Jamin could see the wheels turning in her mind, could sense that she was formulating a plan.

As Jamin watched her, he felt a sense of trepidation. What did Grace want to say to Sarah? And what would happen when they finally met?

The questions swirled in Jamin's mind as he stood up, his eyes never leaving Grace's face. "I'll go talk to the doctors," he said. "See if we can arrange a meeting."

Grace nodded, her eyes still fixed on Jamin's. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft but determined.

As Jamin turned to leave, he felt a sense of unease. He had no idea what would happen when Grace and Sarah finally met, but he knew that it wouldn't be easy.

The tension between the two women was palpable, and Jamin couldn't help but wonder what would happen when they finally came face to face.

As he walked out of the room, Jamin couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into a powder keg, one that was just waiting to be ignited.

Meanwhile, Blaine sat on the narrow bunk in his jail cell, his eyes fixed on the wall as he talked to his friend David.

"I'm telling you, David, I didn't do it," Blaine said, his voice low and urgent. "I don't know who set me up, but I need your help to prove my innocence."

David's voice was calm and reassuring. "I believe you, Blaine. But I have to ask, what can I do to help? I'm just a bookstore owner, not a detective."

Blaine's eyes narrowed. "I know, David. But I need someone I can trust, and I know I can trust you. I need you to look into some things for me, ask some questions. See if you can find out anything that might help me clear my name."

David's voice was thoughtful. "Okay, Blaine. I'll do what I can. But you have to be careful. If someone is trying to frame you, they're not going to stop just because I'm asking questions."

Blaine's jaw clenched in frustration. "I know, David. But I have to try. I have to clear my name."

David's voice was firm. "I'll do everything I can to help you, Blaine. Just be careful, okay?"

Blaine's mind was racing as he tried to think of any lead that could help him clear his name. Suddenly, he remembered something.

"David, I need you to find a White Ford truck," Blaine said, his voice urgent.

David's voice was curious. "A White Ford truck? What's so special about it?"

Blaine's eyes narrowed. "Dr. Lee escaped in that truck. If we can find it, we might be able to find some evidence that links him to the crime."

David's voice was thoughtful. "Okay, I can try to find it. But where do I start looking?"

Blaine's brow furrowed in concentration. "I remember seeing the truck in some security camera footage when I was investigating in Kangerlussuaq. But I don't remember where exactly I saw it."

David's voice was encouraging. "That's okay, Blaine. I can start by asking around in Kangerlussuaq. See if anyone remembers seeing the truck."

Blaine's eyes lit up with hope. "Yes, do that. And see if you can find any security camera footage that might show the truck. I'm sure it's out there somewhere."

David's voice was firm. "I'll find it, Blaine. Don't worry."

Blaine nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude towards his friend. "Thanks, David. I owe you one."

David's voice was warm. "You don't owe me anything, Blaine. Just get out of there and come home."

Blaine smiled slightly, feeling a sense of hope for the first time in weeks. "I'll do my best, David. Thanks again."

With that, the conversation came to an end, and Blaine was left alone in his jail cell, his mind racing with thoughts of freedom.

Jamin walked down the hallway of the ward, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. As he turned a corner, he saw a figure standing by the window.

It was Dostoevsky, his eyes fixed intently on Jamin.

"Ah, boy," Dostoevsky said, his voice low and serious. "I see you're back. Did you get the information you needed?"

Jamin shook his head, feeling a sense of frustration. "No, Dostoevsky, I didn't. I'm sorry."

Dostoevsky's face darkened, his eyes flashing with anger. "That was your only chance, boy. You won't get another opportunity like that."

Jamin took a step forward, his hands spread in a placating gesture. "I know, Dostoevsky, I'm sorry. But I couldn't do it. Not yet. Grace needs to heal first, and I need to be there for her."

Dostoevsky's expression softened slightly, but his voice was still firm. "I understand your feeling to help people, boy. But I'm afraid you're running out of time. I don't think I'll be able to arrange another meeting with her."

Jamin's eyes widened in alarm, and he reached out to grab Dostoevsky's arm. "Please, Dostoevsky, you have to try. I'll do anything, just please try."

Dostoevsky's expression was unreadable, but after a moment, he nodded. "I'll try, boy. But you have to be prepared for anything."

Jamin's face lit up with gratitude, and he smiled. "Thank you, Dostoevsky. Thank you so much."

As they walked down the hallway together, Dostoevsky's eyes narrowed. "You're not looking well, boy. You need to take care of yourself."

Jamin waved his hand dismissively. "I'm fine, Dostoevsky. Just a little tired."

But as they continued walking, Jamin's steps began to slow. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, and his vision began to blur.

"Dostoevsky..." he gasped, his voice barely audible.

Dostoevsky's eyes widened in alarm as Jamin stumbled and fell to the ground, clutching at his chest.

"Boy!" Dostoevsky exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Someone, help! We need a doctor, now!"