River of Bones

his clipboard. “How are you feeling now?”
“A little better.”
“Heartbeat normal?”
“It speeds up sometimes.”
“Chest pains.”
“No.”
He clasped his hands at his waist.
“Tell me how it feels when your heart speeds up.”
Chelsey fiddled with the gown and moved her eyes around the room.
“My skin turns clammy, and it’s hard to concentrate.”
“Nausea?”
“Yes, and chills.”
“I see. You could have a touch of the flu. There’s a summer strain running through the community this year. That would explain the nausea and chills.”
“But not the rapid heart rate.”
He removed the stethoscope from around his neck and placed it against her heart.
“Breathe normally,” he said, sliding the chest piece across her flesh. “Everything sounds normal.” He moved the chest piece to her back. “Take a deep breath and let it out. Excellent.”
He slipped the stethoscope around his neck and scanned her results.
“So you’re not having a heart attack. The electrocardiogram showed a normal heart rhythm. No murmurs, nothing to be concerned about.”
“But my pulse rate had to be over 150 when I collapsed.”
“According to your notes, you’re a private investigator.”
“That’s right.”
“And you had a run in with a…suspect of some sort.”
“The person I was investigating, yes.”
“Were you injured?”
“No.”
“Moments of extreme stress can cause your heart to race. You work in a stressful profession. If I had to guess, anxiety caused your episode.”
“How can you be sure?”
“The ECG shows your heart is functioning well. Blood pressure is a tad high compared to your last exam. But that’s because of your stressful morning. Has anything like this happened before?”
Chelsey rubbed her eyes.
“No.”
“Any history of depression.” Cold rippled through her body. “Ms. Byrd?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“How long ago?”
“When I was eighteen.”
The doctor’s eyes flashed concern.
“Did you take medication for your depression?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time a doctor prescribed you antidepressants?”
Shrugging, Chelsey glanced at the clock. With Raven taking a vacation day, no one been at the office since morning.
“Twelve, thirteen years ago.”
He prompted her for past medications and scribbled notes.
“I’d like to start you on a low dose of an antidepressant.”
“No.”
“I believe an antidepressant would benefit you.”
“I’m not depressed.” She said it loud enough for the words to reverberate inside the office. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice. But my episode wasn’t anything like depression. I couldn’t slow my heart.”
The doctor paused in thought.
“I’m willing to outfit you with a monitor. You’ll wear it for twenty-four hours, and the monitor will record your heart rhythm. Should you have another episode, we’ll see what’s happening.”
“Is it uncomfortable?”
“It’s cumbersome. But peace of mind is important.”
She picked at her nails.
“Okay.”
“All right. You can get dressed. I’ll have someone bring your paperwork, and we’ll set you up with a monitor.”
The door closed, and the sudden quiet shocked her. Somewhere down the hall, voices murmured. Another door opened and closed, and a female doctor greeted a patient.
As Chelsey pulled her clothes on, she was tempted to run from the clinic. Forget the stupid heart monitor. These doctors were incompetent. Maybe she needed a cardiologist, someone who knew what a heart attack looked like. Before she could decide, the physician’s assistant entered the room with her papers.
Chelsey chewed her lip. She couldn’t face depression again.

CHAPTER FIVE
“You went through a traumatic experience, Thomas. Give yourself time to heal.”
The temperature feels ten degrees too cold inside Dr. Mandal’s office today. As if she turned the air conditioning down to freezing. He rubs the chill off his arms and glares at the clock. Still twenty minutes to go before the appointment ends. The doctor folds her hands in her lap. Her affable demeanor usually relaxes Thomas. It isn’t working today. Thomas is a rat pacing a cage.
“Tell me what you see when you close your eyes,” Mandal says.
Thomas chews his thumbnail.
“It’s dark, and I’m inside my parents’ bedroom.”
“Are you alone?”
“No, my partner is with me. Deputy Aguilar.”
“You speak of her often.”
“She’s the finest officer I’ve ever worked with.”
“What do you see inside the bedroom?”
Thomas clenches his eyes shut. In the quiet office, his imagination draws him in. And he’s there, the drapes an azure tone from the moonlight, the shadows long and razor-edged.
“Deputy Aguilar has her gun out. There’s a noise inside the closet, a moaning sound.”
“Good, Thomas. What else?”
His mind’s eye swings around the room. Stops on the two lumps beneath the blankets. The closest is his father. The person beside him should be his mother. But he knows better.
“My father opens his eyes. He’s surprised and angry. Why am I in his bedroom?”
“How do you respond?” Mandal asks.
Nothing can thaw the chill running through his blood.
“I reason with Father. He won’t listen.”
“Because he’s angry you broke into his home.”
“Yes. He’s trying to wake my mother. The person beside him doesn’t respond when he calls my mother’s name.”
The nightmare shifts as he remembers what happened on that horrific night. It’s as if a demon raises its bloody claw and snatches reality, twisting it into a grotesque pulp. The gun shakes at the end of his outstretched arms. His father yells at him to get out, cries for his mother to wake up.
The covers move. Slowly peel back to reveal the devil beneath the sheets.
Thomas aims the gun. The sheet stretches and takes a human form…expanding as though it will burst at any second. In the background, Dr. Mandal’s voice calls to him. He can’t answer. She’s drifting away.
“Get off the bed, Father!”
He won’t listen.
“Run!”
Thomas grabs his father’s forearm. The brittle bones snap in his grip. The elderly, cancer-stricken man screams out as blood slithers down his arm. Thomas wants to yank his father from the bed and cover him before the evil strikes. He’s frozen to the floor, unable to move as the sheet grows toward the ceiling.
The fabric tears.
Thomas opens fire before the monster reveals itself. The gunshots slam the beast into the headboard, splashing blood against the walls. But when the sheet falls away, he doesn’t see a mutated version of Thea Barlow.
He sees himself with the knife.
 
 
 
Tuesday, August 10th
9:55 a.m.
 
Aguilar sat at a table near the