Black Ice by Leah Giarratano Page B

Frances.
     
'Well, she needs some sort of bloody treatment,' said Robert.
     
'What I mean is that we get to take her home,' said Frances.
     
'I'm not sure that she should be at home at all,' Robert stated. 'We're going to have to try to find her some sort of rehab clinic.'
     
'Do you really think that's necessary?' Frances asked.
     
'Are you bloody serious?' Robert's voice carried, and Jill winced. 'They pumped her stomach, and she was having some sort of psychotic episode when she got in here. Naked. I can tell that nurse is not convinced she wasn't trying to kill herself.'
     
'Of course she wasn't!' said Francis.
     
'She had enough drugs in her system to kill her easily. You just heard the shrink say that, Frances! I think this is the bloody problem,' he said. 'You've mollycoddled her all along. You make excuses for her all the time.'
     
Frances leaned over Cassie. From where she stood, Jill saw that her mother was trying to hide her tears. Still trying to protect them all.
     
'I can get you some numbers,' Jill said. 'Places she can go. There are two types,' she added. 'Pretty cheap, with huge waiting lists – if you can get on a list – or God-awful expensive.'
     
'We'll get her the best, if she wants to go,' said Frances.
     
'Oh, of course we will,' said Robert. 'We're made of bloody money, after all. Even though we're retired now, and on a fixed income, but if Cassandra needs to go to some special resort for junkies . . .'
     
' Robert! '
     
'Mum. He's right.' Jill's voice was as cold as the stainless steel splashback behind the bed. 'Cassie earns plenty of money, and she got herself into this mess.'
     
Jill's mouth tasted sour. She couldn't believe that her sister, who had every opportunity life could afford a woman, was lying in the emergency department simply because she could deny herself nothing she wanted, even if what she wanted could kill her. The words: pathetic, degenerate drug addict ran through Jill's mind as she stared at the bed. What the hell did Cassie have to run from? A jetsetting life travelling the world, photo shoots that often netted her Jill's yearly salary, a face and figure that had made people stop and stare since she was fifteen years old.
     
The ferocity of her thoughts caught Jill by surprise. She gazed down at the sad, beautiful face of her little sister; watched their mother bending over her, appearing older than she ever had in her life, and her eyes brimmed with tears. She was ashamed of her thoughts, and lifted her hand to reach over to the bed. At that moment Cassie's eyes opened and she stared straight into Jill's.
     
'So compassionate, big sister,' said Cassie. 'I can hear you, you know. I'm not in a bloody coma. And no one asked you to be here. I got myself into this mess, after all.' She parroted Jill's last sentence in a singsong snarl.
     
Jill's tears dried instantly. She opened her mouth to retort, to comfort, to scream at her sister. As usual, at times like this, nothing came out.
     
Frances clutched Cassie's hand, but Robert's face turned to the floor, his spine ramrod straight. Cassie stared Jill down, her eyes spitting venom.
     
And then Scotty walked through the door.
     
Scott Hutchinson. Jill hadn't seen him for three months, since the day she'd started this assignment. The doctor had told them Scotty identified Cassie last night, but Jill hadn't thought he'd show up again this morning. She wasn't ready to see him – not now, not here.
     
Scottie wore a big smile that animated only the lower half of his face; she recognised his worried eyes. Carrying an enormous bunch of pink oriental lilies, he walked right into the middle of the tension that seemed to further chill the frigid air of the hospital room. His stride faltered and the smile dropped with the outstretched flowers.
     
'Jacksons,' he said.
     
Frances burst into tears.
     
Jill scrabbled for something to say. Got nothing. Bolted from the room.
     

15
Tuesday 2 April, 1 pm
     
'This place