and opened his door. The house was silent. Bren's bedroom door was opened just a crack, as always. He tiptoed close and peeked in. Bren was sleeping on her side, facing the door, that little stuffed dog she'd had since she was a baby tucked beneath her chin.
His mother's bedroom door was open. When he looked in, the bed was made, the comforter rumpled from where she'd napped earlier. The door to the master bath was open. It was dark.
She'd been such a freakin' mess today. He'd been embarrassed for her at the funeral; he didn't like Jason seeing her like that.
Had it bothered
her
that he had?
Oh God, had she done something...?
Bryce dashed to the master bath and flipped on the light.
It took him a moment to realize the image he'd re-created in his mind didn't exist--not this time. The bathroom was empty.
Still quivering inside from his adrenaline rush, he went downstairs. The lights were all on, but the living room was empty. So was the kitchen. He checked all of his mother's old hiding places and was relieved not to find a single vodka bottle.
Where the hell was she? It was too damn cold to be outside.
He checked the garage. Her car was gone.
Shit. This was not good.
It was nearly eight a.m. when Abby finally had her release papers from the Emergency room in hand. It had been a grueling night, made worse by the doubt in Deputy Trowbridge's eyes every time she answered his questions with, "I can't remember."
It was the truth. And she wasn't about to start speculating aloud to the police until she'd had some time to see if her memory would return. Was sleep driving even possible?
As the ambulance had driven away from the accident scene, it had taken two sharp ninety-degree turns back to back and Abby had finally figured out where she'd had her accident. Suicide Road. That was what people called it anyway; Abby had never known it by any other name. It was little used except for those who sought the thrill of high-speed turns, since its main purpose was to link a couple of boat launches on the river.
And it wasn't far from Abby's house; in fact, she and her sister used to ride their bikes on it when they'd been kids.
That proximity to home made her even more suspicious that she'd somehow been driving while asleep. How would she ever know for certain?
She couldn't remember anything after leaving Jason in Jeter's parking lot. Where had she been in the hours between nine p.m. and shortly before three a.m.? She
was
wearing the same clothes--but she'd gotten dressed while sleepwalking more than once in the past.
The hospital had drawn blood for a full drug screen. Abby didn't take drugs. If something showed up, that might answer her questions; but not in a way that was any less disturbing than sleepwalking. The only thing she'd consumed had been at Jeter's, sitting beside Jason Coble--a man with a prescription pad.
No. There was no way. She would have seen him put something in her drink. And she'd felt fine as she'd walked to the van.
Sleepwalking was the most likely answer. Perhaps when she got home she'd find proof she'd been there after Jeter's. Until then, she was keeping her speculation to herself.
The ER doctor had assured her that it wasn't uncommon for an accident victim not to recall the time prior to an accident. And, he'd said, she might never remember more than she did at the moment.
She'd killed someone and couldn't recall a scrap of it. God! Even if the accident investigation didn't lay blame at her feet, how could she live with that?
So far the police wouldn't even tell her who the man was.
The glimpse she'd gotten of that lifeless body had branded itself on her brain. It was there with every blink of her eyes, with every breath she took.
Fatigue buzzed wasp-like in her head. Her thoughts were like puzzle pieces shaken in a box.
"Do you have someone to pick you up?" The nurse's voice startled Abby out of her thoughts. She realized she'd been standing in the middle of the ER hallway with her
His mother's bedroom door was open. When he looked in, the bed was made, the comforter rumpled from where she'd napped earlier. The door to the master bath was open. It was dark.
She'd been such a freakin' mess today. He'd been embarrassed for her at the funeral; he didn't like Jason seeing her like that.
Had it bothered
her
that he had?
Oh God, had she done something...?
Bryce dashed to the master bath and flipped on the light.
It took him a moment to realize the image he'd re-created in his mind didn't exist--not this time. The bathroom was empty.
Still quivering inside from his adrenaline rush, he went downstairs. The lights were all on, but the living room was empty. So was the kitchen. He checked all of his mother's old hiding places and was relieved not to find a single vodka bottle.
Where the hell was she? It was too damn cold to be outside.
He checked the garage. Her car was gone.
Shit. This was not good.
It was nearly eight a.m. when Abby finally had her release papers from the Emergency room in hand. It had been a grueling night, made worse by the doubt in Deputy Trowbridge's eyes every time she answered his questions with, "I can't remember."
It was the truth. And she wasn't about to start speculating aloud to the police until she'd had some time to see if her memory would return. Was sleep driving even possible?
As the ambulance had driven away from the accident scene, it had taken two sharp ninety-degree turns back to back and Abby had finally figured out where she'd had her accident. Suicide Road. That was what people called it anyway; Abby had never known it by any other name. It was little used except for those who sought the thrill of high-speed turns, since its main purpose was to link a couple of boat launches on the river.
And it wasn't far from Abby's house; in fact, she and her sister used to ride their bikes on it when they'd been kids.
That proximity to home made her even more suspicious that she'd somehow been driving while asleep. How would she ever know for certain?
She couldn't remember anything after leaving Jason in Jeter's parking lot. Where had she been in the hours between nine p.m. and shortly before three a.m.? She
was
wearing the same clothes--but she'd gotten dressed while sleepwalking more than once in the past.
The hospital had drawn blood for a full drug screen. Abby didn't take drugs. If something showed up, that might answer her questions; but not in a way that was any less disturbing than sleepwalking. The only thing she'd consumed had been at Jeter's, sitting beside Jason Coble--a man with a prescription pad.
No. There was no way. She would have seen him put something in her drink. And she'd felt fine as she'd walked to the van.
Sleepwalking was the most likely answer. Perhaps when she got home she'd find proof she'd been there after Jeter's. Until then, she was keeping her speculation to herself.
The ER doctor had assured her that it wasn't uncommon for an accident victim not to recall the time prior to an accident. And, he'd said, she might never remember more than she did at the moment.
She'd killed someone and couldn't recall a scrap of it. God! Even if the accident investigation didn't lay blame at her feet, how could she live with that?
So far the police wouldn't even tell her who the man was.
The glimpse she'd gotten of that lifeless body had branded itself on her brain. It was there with every blink of her eyes, with every breath she took.
Fatigue buzzed wasp-like in her head. Her thoughts were like puzzle pieces shaken in a box.
"Do you have someone to pick you up?" The nurse's voice startled Abby out of her thoughts. She realized she'd been standing in the middle of the ER hallway with her
Similar Books
