So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   After fighting for her life against a crazed Missy, she comes to in a hospital room.

 

 

 

                  ***************

 

I can hear voices, floating through the darkness that envelopes me.  Am I dead?  Is this how souls transition, in a warm cocoon of blessed darkness.

 

"... and I didn't think it was going to even go down, so I flushed again, but the water was rising," one voice says.

 

"Dang, you need to stop eating so much junk food,"  another voice says.

 

"Probably.  But I kept thinking that if my turd clogs the toilet and it floods the school, I'm done for.  Dragon Lady would call Miranda into the office.  That time your knife was in my backpack, geez.  Miranda almost had a nervous breakdown in the car."

 

I try to speak, but my mouth is so dry.  All I can do is raise my hand a little and I try again.  This pathetic noise comes out.  "This better not be heaven," I say.

 

"Miranda!  You're awake."  It's Aaron.  

 

"Man, you should see your face."  That voice can only belong to Waylon.

 

"Shh,"  Aaron says.  "He didn't mean nothing by that."

 

As soon as I hear Waylon, and process his statement, the pain hits.  It feels like someone drove a semi up my nostrils and parked it right under the bridge of my nose.

 

"You want me to call the nurse?  Your face is getting red."  

 

"Call the driver of the truck that's parked in my nose, and ask him to please move it." My words are slurring, so I'm guessing I've already been given pain meds.  I realize that it's pressure and not pain I'm feeling.  My mind tries to figure out why my nose hurts and why both Aaron and Waylon are in my room talking about clogging the school toilet.  Fragments come through.  Tyler's leg bleeding.  Mitch was there, his arms holding on to me.  That should have been nice but I was scared.  

 

Like a lightening bolt I spring upright.  That was a mistake because a pain, so ungodly, sends me back down flat on the bed.  "Missy.  Where is she?  She shot him.  She was trying to kill me."

 

Aaron reaches over and brushes my hair out of my face.  "You got her, Miranda.  You got her good."

 

"I, I got her?  She was shooting at me.  She hit me.  That's why my fucking nose hurts so bad."

 

"You cracked three of her ribs.  You're a beast,"  Waylon says.  There is pride in his voice.  I can hear it. 

 

Later, I'll tell him violence isn't always the answer, but for now I'll just enjoy knowing he's proud of me. 

 

"Is my momma alright?"

 

"She's on her way here.  She was here all last night.  I think you woke up once but your mom said you were saying some crazy stuff.  Anyway, we came up to give her a little break so she could go home to shower and rest."

 

My vision is blurry, be it from the meds or swollen eyes.  I look from side to side, slowly so my face doesn't hurt this time.  "Is Mitch here?"

 

"He had to take Missy in.  He said to tell you he'd be here as soon as he could."

 

I close my eyes.  My tongue darts out over my dry lips.  "Can you get me some water?"

 

"You bet," Waylon says.  I hear the squeak of his tennis shoes as he darts out of the hospital room.

 

"Aaron, is he gone?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Has anyone heard from Dougie?"

 

"Not that I know of."

 

I feel that thing in the pit of my stomach.  When there are too many questions and too many heinous scenarios to trust things are good.

 

"You think she did something to him?"  Aaron asks.  

 

"I hope not.  But she is crazier than a bed bug."

 

"Did you know that Aaron painted your trailer?" Waylon says, breathless from his trek to get me some water.  

 

Aaron reaches over and gently squeezes my arm.  "Dang it, Waylon, it was supposed to be a surprise."

 

"Oh.  You could have told me that," Waylon mutters.

 

I smile as best I can.  "Well, thank you, Aaron.  That was very nice of you."  Thankfully, Waylon didn't see the filth scrawled across my trailer.  Aaron spared him and my mother that shock.

 

"Knock, knock," Mitch says.  "I hear the hero is awake now."

 

"Hero?  Not hardly.  I was only trying to save my own ass."

 

"You may well have solved the Ed Preston murder case, and the Jason Toblerone missing person case."

 

"So, like, Waylon and I are going to go on down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.  We'll be back later."

 

Mitch perches on the edge of the bed, then leans down to kiss my forehead.  "You had me worried ... again."

 

"Sorry.  But I didn't go looking for trouble this time.  Trouble came looking for me.  Hey, hows Tyler?"

 

"Lucky for him, the bullet went through the fleshy part of his upper leg.  He's going to be out of commission for several weeks, but we have to check out his story anyway."

 

"Mitch, he had no idea what she was capable of.  He was just a young guy who got manipulated.  There isn't a mean bone in that kid's body."

 

Mitch lifts my hand and brings it to his lips.  "Do you think you're ever gonna trust me enough to let me take care of you?"

 

"I do trust you.  I really do.  But I've always had to rely on myself.  Farley never looked after me.  And Dougie, shit, he can't look after his own self."

 

"You do realize I'm nothing like those other two?  I'm crazy about you.  If you were uncertain before, I'm clarifying it now.  I like you. A lot.  No, actually, more than a lot."

 

"I like you, too."

 

He barely touches my lips with his.  "Did I hurt you?"

 

"No.  How bad is my face?"

 

"Did you ever see Raging Bull?"

 

I groan.

 

"But I still want to take you to dinner."

 

I sigh.  Despite the pressure in my nose, the horror of last night, I feel good.  Probably better than I have a right to.

 

"Oh, we checked on the dryer.  There were body parts in there.  Sealed in plastic but stuck inside.  Forensics has them but pretty sure it's Jason.  You were right."

 

"Right usually feels better than this," I say.  I think of his parents.  Holding onto some sort of hope all this time.  Now, if it is Jason, they start to grieve.

 

 

To be continued ...