I waited by Angel’s bedside for the rest of that day and night, not able to sleep, just watching for any kind of movement or twitch that might signal recovery – not that I expected any, for I was still sure that the reason Angel hadn’t woken up yet was because of Chris.
Still, I sat there dozing, waking myself every half-hour or so to check that the monitor displays hadn’t changed while I napped.
The tedium began to get to me a little, and I saw why Jesse had seemed so drained – the appearance of Mrs. James or other nurses when they came to check on her started to become a welcome relief from the time-keeping monitor beeps.
By dawn, I had just fallen into a doze with my eyes open, vivid dreams of Chris returning to the hospital, interspersed with stretches of reality, so indistinct that I jumped in fright when the door burst open just after seven o’clock.
When I finally focussed on who had actually entered the room, my heart sank again, for the look of alarm on Mrs. James’ face told me before she spoke that something was terribly wrong.
“What is it?” I asked flatly, not daring to speculate on what could have happened that was bad enough to shatter the usually composed woman’s demeanour.
“It’s Jesse,” she whispered, wringing her hands like a storybook damsel in distress, “Chris just called me, he says he and some others have got her, and…” she trailed off, almost breaking down from sheer terror for her only daughter, but forced herself to continue.
“He says that if I don’t call off the case, they’ll kill her.”
I just stared silently at the wall behind her head for a moment, processing the terrible news and hoping, in an unrealistic part of my mind, that this was maybe all just another really vivid dream – but I knew it was not.
“What are you going to do?” I whispered eventually, my voice seeming to have left me as the blood drained for my face. “Call the case off?”
“No,” Mrs. James shook her head vehemently, and started pacing the tiny length of the room. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t now, the police are doing an independent investigation.”
“So what, then? We have to be able to do something,” I found myself talking with a calm voice, though I could feel my fingernails biting into my palms inside shaking fists.
Mrs. James didn’t answer at first, turning where she paced the room before making a tiny strangled noise of desperation.
“I don’t know, I really don’t know – I’ve called the police, but I have no idea what they can do…” she trailed off, the first tears I had seen so far creeping unbidden down her cheeks.
