Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Ambrose put his hands in his pockets and waited for his ride. He’d come full circle. This was the beginning of his story, and in a way, it was its end, even though he intended to go on to live a full life. He’d been destroyed here, and he’d come back to stand before it and claim victory. But it wasn’t a singular moment of victory. It was a victory that had to be earned, a day at a time. And he intended to do just that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The call came in bright and early. But this time, Lennon was already home from her run, had showered, and was drinking a cup of coffee as she stared at the wall, trying to sort through all her mixed and confused emotions from the last few days. She’d tumbled into bed the night before and, miraculously, fallen into a heavy sleep. The run had helped clear her mind enough that she felt she had the wherewithal to deal with the information Ambrose had given her, and the choice that lay in front of her.
But apparently, that choice would have to wait, as another “BB” multiple homicide had occurred the night before and was similar to the last—the items used to murder each other were all accounted for at the scene. But . . . there was a survivor.
Lieutenant Byrd called to let her know, and when he did, she didn’t ask—she told him she was heading to the hospital to find out the victim’s status, and attempt to interview her if possible. “I don’t need my gun for that,” she’d said. “And if they ask for my badge, I’ll tell them I left it at home and to call you.”
Lieutenant Byrd had paused, as if considering denying her. But in the end, he’d simply said, “Don’t push it, Lennon. They moved her from the ICU to the psych ward, because physically she’s fine. It’s her mental condition that they’re worried about. If her doctor says she’s unfit to be interviewed, listen. And you’re still not allowed to come in to the station until Friday.”
“Fine. And I won’t push it, I promise.” She’d accused Ambrose of enjoying bending the rules the night before. But the truth was, she’d done plenty of rule bending herself, and perhaps she needed to check herself before casting judgment on anyone else.
It took her fifty minutes in rush hour traffic to make it to Zuckerberg San Francisco General, where she parked and took the elevator to the psychiatric ward. She’d been there many times over the years, and it seemed to get more and more overcrowded. There were patients in the hallways, most of them vacant eyed and drooling, but others crying or even wailing. She walked by a young man sitting on a bench, knees drawn up as he visibly shook, face contorted in pain. Her footsteps slowed, her instinct to stop and help. To ask him what was wrong and what she could do. But, of course, there was nothing she could do. He was where he needed to be, in a treatment facility. So why didn’t it feel that way? And if he was in the right place, then why was he sitting alone, obviously still suffering? It felt like walking into an emergency room and seeing a man on the lobby floor dying of a heart attack.
These people, Lennon, they’re dying on the streets right in front of us. They’re scratching and screaming for help, and we walk right by. They’re begging for mercy, even though they have no earthly idea what mercy is.
She couldn’t bear to hear Ambrose’s voice in her head right now, though. She couldn’t. And so she shut him out, forcing a polite smile to her face as she stopped at the nurses’ station, introduced herself, and asked to see the doctor of the woman who had recently been brought in by the SFPD.
She stood in the waiting room, growing more and more agitated by the sounds of screaming and crying and random crashes from patient rooms. It smelled like the smell of the streets, only not as potent, the underlying stench covered by bleach and pine antiseptic. And something about that almost made it worse. Good God, this place made her feel like jumping out of her skin. This was no environment for someone who was traumatized. It made her heart ache to think about being thrown in here during the darkest days when she’d been lost in grief. It was unthinkable.
She turned and gazed, unseeing, out the window, conjuring the picture of those first few days in the private hospital room after Tanner had died and she’d been pulled from that convenience store. Her mother had climbed into the hospital bed with her and refused to budge. And Lennon knew an entire army couldn’t have dragged that woman away from her side. She’d needed that strength. She’d needed someone to hold on to. She’d needed the warmth of love pressed directly against her.