BY THE TIME EDWARD had arrived at the hospital, both Charlotte and John were in the operating room. Another three hours passed before he learned that Charlotte’s operation had gone well and that she was in post-operative care. Unfortunately, there was no word about John, and none expected for a few hours. Since he would not be allowed to visit Charlotte for several hours, he decided to return home. It made things easier when Natasha told him she would call him once she knew.
The crime scene techs had finished and were clearing out when Edward arrived home. Before he exited the cruiser, he thanked the constable for his support. Surprised and relieved, he was pleased to discover that his front door had been more or less fixed. He knew that the world he thought he once knew and understood had transitioned to an emotional oasis filled with doubt and confusion. Slowly, he closed the front door behind him. The only feeling that felt good and right for him later that night was when he slipped between the sheets of his bed and felt its fresh coolness against his body.
His sleep was restless. Finally, he turned on the table lamp beside his bed. It was 3:20 a.m. Throwing off the covers, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rested his head in the cups of his hands. Wearing only boxers, he enjoyed the invigorating coolness of the early morning air. He picked up a novel by Stieg Larsson, “The Girl Who Played with Fire,” and headed to the living room. But he soon gave up trying to read. Entering the kitchen, he made himself a pot of coffee. His eyes drifted to the bloodstains on the floor. It had been a couple of days since the raid on the Greens’ farm. All information about it had been closed down tighter than a pickle jar. There was not so much as a peep in the newspaper, radio, TV or any of the social networks. He poured his coffee and sat at the kitchen table. There's nothing like the smell of coffee, he thought. An involuntary shiver alerted him to how little he had on. He peered at the clock in the kitchen. It was 4:30 a.m. The blood stain on the floor brought a rush of smells and sounds from the previous evening. It ignited the terror he had felt. His mind flooded with thoughts of Charlotte and his fear that he could still lose her like he had lost Karen. There was no respite from the guilt he felt; he had put both in harm’s way. He left his coffee unfinished and went for a shower.
When he exited the bedroom, it was 4:50 a.m. He wore a lightweight blue short-sleeve shirt, faded jeans with a rope belt and sandals. He checked his cellphone. But there were no messages. Opening the front door, he poked his head out. “Have you heard anything from the hospital yet?” The policeman assigned to him shook his head. Disheartened, Edward shut the door. The rain had stopped hours before, but the winds remained blustery. Retrieving a bottle of bleach and a scrub brush from under the sink in the kitchen, he began to scrub vigorously at the bloodstains where Charlotte had lain. A mindless effort, it helped to keep the demons lodged in his head at bay.
At 5:30 a.m., both his cell-phone and farm phone rang simultaneously. He rose so quickly from the floor that he neither noticed nor cared that he had knocked over the bleach bottle. “Edward, it’s time,” he heard Natasha say. Immediately, he headed out of the kitchen, grabbing his spring jacket off the coat tree beside the front door. “I’m on my way.”
The police SUV cruiser had barely come to a stop when Edward bolted out of the passenger side, leaving the door wide open. Inside the emergency entrance of the Owen Sound General Hospital, Natasha and James Brant accosted him.
“Where is she? How is she?” Edward asked. He felt frantic as he rushed to the Inquiry desk.
“Slow down, Edward. Catch your breath,” James said, grabbing him by the arm and stepping in front of him.
Edward grasped James’s shirt with both hands. “Get the hell out of my way.” But James didn’t budge.
Natasha softly touched Edward’s forearm to get his attention. “Edward, we have to take you to her. You can’t get onto the floor otherwise.”
Edward released his grip on James and took in a deep breath. “Is she okay?”
“She’s heavily sedated but she’s okay.” Putting her arms around his shoulders, she hugged him. “Honestly, she's alright.”
“And John?” he asked. Natasha stepped away. “That glance you gave each other can’t be good news.”
“He didn’t make it.” James said, looking away.
“I've known him…at least I thought I knew him…It’s been a long time.” Natasha gently nudged in the direction of the elevators. “John and I met at university. But after last night, I wouldn’t say I knew him. No, I really didn’t know him at all.” Edward was surprised with the amount of police presence in the area, and he was about to ask about it when he decided against it. “Where is she?”
“She’s in Intensive Care, but as I just told you, she’s doing just fine.” Natasha pushed the button beside the elevator.
“Her mother is with her at present,” James said.
“Her mother?” Edward answered.
“Yes. And what an irascible, cantankerous old lady she is! My condolences go out to Charlotte.”
James held the elevator door open until Edward and Natasha stepped inside before following. “Now don’t you breathe a word of what I just said about her mother, Edward. Do you hear me?” he asked, pushing the button for the second floor. “You seemed surprised.”
“I am, because her mother has been dead for quite a while.”