Monday, January 6, 2020

The last thing I need is his alarm over a missed hit

I bet Michael is biting his nails as he awaits my arrival. 
On my way to him, I call 911 to report the shooting. I ask them, while trying to overcome the slight tremble in my voice, to send paramedics. I hope the victim can still be revived. I wonder about her, wonder if she has any rivals, any enemies, anyone with ill wishes, because to me she seemed like a meek, ordinary woman, with little drama in her life—but then again, who knows? 
I feel dizzy. My head is spinning because of what has just happened—but despite the late hour and the chill in my bones, I get out of the Uber car at the corner of Cliff Drive and walk home the rest of the way. Why? Because I don’t want my boyfriend to spot the spill of blood outside the passenger window, or the glass fractures in the rear one, all around that bullet hole. 
You may tell me to get my head examined—which I already did—but the last thing I need is his alarm over a missed hit. The important word here is missed, right? So, no need to lose sleep over it. After all, I’m safe and sound. 
Well, safe. Not quite sure about the sound part.

Months after recovering from coma, Ash discovers that the man who performed her brain surgery has a questionable medical experience and a dark past. Should she expose him, at the risk of becoming vulnerable to his revenge? 

"Danger lurked around every corner when she came close to figuring things out. I tried to guess the ending, thank goodness I was wrong." 
- Jan Romes, Author

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