From The Dead by John Herrick Page B

his
hand into his pocket, which must have come across to Dale as a
nervous gesture. Dale’s expression straightened. “Have you
experienced symptoms?”
    “Oh … it’s nothing major, just … you know, common
things.”
    “Like what?”
    Why did I tell this to a stranger? Now Jesse
felt ridiculous to have brought up the issue. “I get exhausted for
no reason at all …” He paused.
    “Is that all? It could be stress. I wouldn’t worry
about it.”
    “No, there’s more,” Jesse said. “Nosebleeds—they come
for no reason. And it’s hard to get them to stop.”
    “It can take ten minutes sometimes.”
    “Five, ten minutes. Often it’s more like a half hour,
even longer.”
    “And Jada’s never noticed this?”
“Given our mixed schedules, we’re not around each other much. A
couple of evenings a week, tops. She’s seen one nosebleed
happen.”
    Dale nodded. “What else?”
    “If I nick myself, like my finger, it can take that
long for the bleeding to stop. Bruises in a couple of odd places,
but I could’ve bumped against something. Once, my heart started to
race, but it returned to normal after around twenty seconds—that
was scary, but again, it only happened once. That could be stress
too, right?”
    “It could depend on the activity you were engaged in
at the moment.”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “How long have these symptoms occurred?”
    “A few months. I never had a problem with them
before.”
    Dale turned away. He stroked his chin and paced, back
and forth, across the patio. When he returned to Jesse, he shook
his head. “The out-of-the-blue appearance of your symptoms
intrigues me; it may or may not be a coincidence. Have you seen a
doctor about this? Just to rule out any possibilities?”
    Jesse snorted, crossed his arms. “No, I haven’t.”
Impatient with himself for his concerns—and because he’d drawn
someone else into the matter—Jesse shrugged it off. “It’s nothing.
Those symptoms happen to everyone at one point or another. I’m sure
it’s stress from trying to pay the bills and jumpstart a career.
I’ve never been an addict, but I’ve fooled around with pot here and
there,” he said. “I’m tired and have finally managed to get myself
fucked up, that’s all.”
    Dale’s eyes penetrated Jesse’s, a concentrated look
that seemed to search for nonverbal clues. Jesse recognized the
gesture—his father owned one himself.
    “Look,” Jesse continued, “never mind. I’m heading
back inside. Don’t mention this to Jada, all right?”
    “Your call.”
    “Thanks for your help.”
    Jesse opened the glass doors and returned inside,
where the music had started to sound like confusion.
     
     
    CHAPTER 12

     
    Jada couldn’t sit still. The whole drive home, her
foot tapped. She seemed stressed out, although the reason eluded
Jesse.
    When they walked through the front door, Jada tossed
her purse and keys on the counter and made a beeline for the
bathroom, where she opened the medicine cabinet. Curious, Jesse
followed her in and caught her as she reached for the painkillers.
Several years ago, Jada had her wisdom teeth removed and got a
prescription for the ache. As it turned out, a bottle of ibuprofen
had suited her fine. But rather than discard the unused
painkillers, she saved them for special occasions—one pill to help
her mellow out when she grew nervous, which was rare. The bottle
remained half full.
    Jesse knew better than to mention the pills. Maybe
she had found that evening’s jazz fusion as annoying as he had.
    “Well, that was fun,” she said, her voice rigid as a
copper pipe.
    Jesse turned his head and pretended not to notice as
she returned the bottle to the cabinet. “I take it you enjoyed
yourself?”
    One pat to his butt, and she flipped off the light.
“Sure.”
    Jada sauntered over to the sofa, where she fell into
it, kicked off her shoes, and curled her legs underneath her. It
looked like the painkiller buzz had started take