Chapter 11
DAY 2
Jamie stood at the entrance of the hospital, her hands trembling as she clutched the straps of her bag. She had been receiving treatment here for months, but today was different. Last night's breakdown had left her restless, her mind racing with questions she couldn't ignore. It couldn't be what she thought it was. Or could it? The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she needed answers. She leaned against the wall, her head throbbing, and banged it lightly against the cool surface, trying to shake the thoughts consuming her.
A sleek black car pulled up in front of the hospital, and Lucy Quist stepped out, her sharp eyes immediately locking onto Jamie. Lucy paused, removing her glasses to study the girl standing before her. Jamie rushed forward, but Lucy intercepted her, grabbing her arm firmly and steering her toward the office.
"Clear all my appointments until I'm done," Lucy instructed her assistant before ushering Jamie into her office and closing the door behind them.
Lucy stood with her back to Jamie for a moment, collecting her thoughts. When she turned, her expression was calm, her smile practiced and reassuring. "Take a seat," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.
Jamie sat down, her hands fidgeting in her lap. She looked lost, not just in thought but in life itself. Lucy had seen this before countless times, in fact. They'd had numerous sessions where she'd tried to coax Jamie out of her shell. Slowly, Jamie had begun to open up, sharing details about her life, her family, and her stepfather, David. Jamie hated David. He was always in her business, disrupting the fragile harmony of their home. Jamie had wanted him gone, and Lucy had helped her. But now, as Lucy studied the girl sitting across from her, she knew this wasn't a visit of gratitude.
"David's dead," Jamie said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She stared at her hands, tears welling in her eyes.
Lucy leaned forward, her expression one of feigned concern. "How does that make you feel?" she asked, expecting a response tinged with relief or even satisfaction.
"I didn't want him to die," Jamie choked out, tears streaming down her face. "But he's gone, and I don't know what to do."
Lucy's patience began to wear thin. She crossed her arms, her tone sharpening. "But you wanted him gone. You said it yourself, multiple times. You even mentioned wanting him to die. So I took care of it for you. What's with this reaction?"
Jamie looked up, her eyes wide with confusion and fear. "What do you mean, you took care of it? Someone killed David. How am I supposed to react?"
Lucy stood, pacing the room, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Ungrateful brat," she muttered under her breath. How could someone not appreciate having their deepest desires fulfilled? She stopped abruptly, turning to face Jamie.
"So I killed someone for nothing? You made it clear you hated him and wanted him gone. I'm getting the impression you're regretting your decision, and I can't be blamed for that."
Jamie froze, her breath catching in her throat. "What do you mean, *you killed him? You… you killed David?"
Her voice rose, trembling with disbelief and panic. "I didn't mean for him to die! You killed someone! You killed David!"
Jamie's hysteria filled the room, her screams echoing off the walls. Lucy remained calm, her mind racing. Good thing no one's here, she thought, glancing at the closed door.
"What do you mean, I killed someone?" Lucy snapped, her voice cutting through Jamie's cries. She grabbed Jamie by the arms, her grip firm and unyielding.
"You must have forgotten, I helped you solve this problem. You got what you wanted. David's gone. You can't blame me, and you certainly can't go to the police. You killed your stepfather, Jamie. That's on you."
Jamie's face turned pale, her world crumbling around her. She killed David. She killed him. What would her mom say? What would Stacy think? She was going to prison.
Lucy's voice softened, but her grip remained tight. "You won't go to prison," she said, her tone almost soothing. "As long as you don't tell anyone. Promise me. Your aunt doesn't have to know."
She leaned in closer, her eyes locking onto Jamie's. "Look at me."
"Good. Now, let's calm down and talk about school," Lucy said, her voice smooth and reassuring as she settled into her chair.
She crossed her legs, her posture relaxed, as if the earlier confrontation had never happened. Jamie sat down across from her, her hands clenched in her lap, her mind still racing.
She knew she had to listen to Lucy. She didn't have a choice. Telling anyone about what had happened wasn't an option. Not if she wanted to protect herself.
Lucy watched Jamie carefully, her sharp eyes missing nothing. The girl was fragile, her emotions raw and unpredictable. Lucy knew she had to keep a close eye on her. Jamie was the kind of person who might crack under pressure, and if she did, everything Lucy had worked for could come crashing down. Ungrateful brat, Lucy thought, though her face remained calm and composed. She'll blabber if she's cornered. I can't let that happen.
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At The Shop
The old man entered the store, his movements hesitant and his eyes darting around nervously. The cashier behind the counter watched him with a mixture of amusement and mild irritation. The old man's panic was almost comical as he ducked behind a display of chips, his breathing audible even from across the room. The cashier sighed, leaning back in his chair and turning to the security monitor. The grainy black-and-white footage showed the old man crouched behind the shelves, his face pale and his hands trembling.
"I see you behind the chips section, all curled up," the cashier said, his voice playful but edged with a hint of menace. "Why do you keep coming here? You're cute, but this is getting annoying."
He paused, his tone shifting to one of caution. "I don't want to hurt you, but you're pushing me."
The old man didn't respond, his silence only amplifying the tension in the air.
The cashier sighed again, louder this time. "Please leave," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
Finally, the old man emerged from his hiding spot, his eyes wide with fear but also a flicker of defiance. "You haven't changed yet," he said, his voice shaking. "There's still time to have you arrested, and your doctor too."
The cashier smirked, leaning casually on the counter. "And how's that going for you?" he asked mockingly. "You've been running to the police for a year now, and no one believes you. So why bother?"
The old man's face fell, his bravado crumbling under the weight of the cashier's words. He opened his mouth to respond but found no words. Instead, he turned and bolted for the door, his footsteps echoing through the empty store. As he rushed out, he collided with an incoming customer, sending her sprawling to the ground. The old man didn't stop, his screams fading into the distance as he fled toward the police station across the street.
The cashier let out a low laugh, shaking his head.
"Crazy people these days," he said to the woman, offering her a hand to help her up. She accepted it warily, her eyes darting between him and the direction the old man had gone.
After attending to the customer, the cashier returned to his seat, his gaze lingering on the door. The police station was conveniently located just across the street, and officers often came in for coffee or snacks. Yet, they never paid him any attention. He was just another face behind the counter, invisible and unremarkable.
Turning to the small mirror behind him, he studied his reflection. His eyes traced the scar that ran diagonally across his face, a jagged reminder of a past he tried to forget. His fingers brushed against it lightly, the memory of how he got it stirring a familiar anger within him. But before the emotion could fully take hold, a ping from his phone snapped him back to the present. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting as he read the message.