With blue lights flashing, I speed through downtown to the Richmond City Hospital, screeching to a halt alongside the line of squad cars barricading the emergency room entrance. I spot Captain Winnie with a group of officers gathered beside a police van. I get out of the car and join them. “What’s the latest update?”
“We’re hearing reports of casualties,” the captain says. “It’s unclear whether they’re patients or staff or both. The shooter is apparently strung out on drugs. We’re waiting on a SWAT team.”
I glance around the parking lot and back at my watch. “What’s taking them so long?”
“I don’t know,” Winnie says in a tone of disgust.
I click on Jason’s number. My call goes directly to voice mail. I try several times with the same results. I text him, but the text doesn’t show delivered. “Damn it,” I mutter under my breath.
Winnie’s brow shoots up. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’ll be back in a minute.” I head toward my car, and Winnie calls after me. “Where’re you going, Jolie?”
“To check on something,” I say over my shoulder.
Driving around to the parking deck on the back side of the hospital, I careen up four levels to the top where there are always available parking spaces. I know this hospital well. Not just because my brother works here. During my years as a patrol cop, I often had to follow up with suspects and victims who, after an incident, were brought in by ambulance for medical attention.
A member of the hospital’s security team is stationed at the fourth-floor entrance. I flash him my badge as I barge past. The hospital executes periodic lockdown drills. The staff is well trained for catastrophic events, including natural disasters and acts of terrorism. This floor is reserved for post-surgical patients. The hall is quiet. There’s not a doctor or nurse in sight. Are the patients aware of impending danger? Are they afraid?
Ducking into a stairwell, I take the stairs two at a time on the way down to the ground floor. The reception area, usually teeming with staff and visitors, is deserted. Unholstering my gun, I proceed with caution, passing through the empty food court where Jason and I often meet for lunch. I’m nearing the emergency room when I hear loud arguing. One voice belongs to my brother.
A shot rings out, and I burst through the double doors into the emergency room waiting area. A deranged man with stringy blond hair and tatted up arms is pointing a handgun at my brother, who is lying on the ground with blood seeping through his blue scrubs. My sudden appearance startles the shooter, and he trains his gun on me. I aim my weapon and fire. The bullet hits him in the middle of the forehead, and he crumples to the ground.
Stacy appears at my side from wherever she was hiding. “Thank God you’re here. We need to get Jason into surgery, stat.”
Medical personnel surround Jason, working on him as they transfer him to a gurney. When they wheel him off, I follow alongside the gurney. “Are there any casualties?” I ask a nurse.
He gives me a grave nod and holds up two fingers.
Removing my phone from my pocket, I click on Captain Winnie’s number. “All clear inside, Captain. The shooter is dead. There are two casualties. Jason has been shot. They’re taking him into surgery now.”
“What the heck, Jolie? How did you get inside?”
I end the call and power off my phone. I may lose my job for this, but I don’t care. Jason is the only thing that matters right now.
I squeeze into the elevator with the gurney and staff. When we reach the third floor, Stacy directs me down the hall to the family waiting room. “I’ll meet you there as soon as I know more.”
Fear and anger rage through me as I pace the floor of the empty waiting room. I sit. I stand. I sit again, crossing and uncrossing my legs. I stand at the window, looking out at the tall buildings of downtown. I check my watch repeatedly. Minutes drag on. Five. Ten. Twenty. Around the thirty-minute mark, Stacy returns with fear etched in her face.
“He’s in bad shape, Jolie. The bullet did a lot of damage. But he has the best possible team working on him. We need to pray.”
Pulling me down beside her on a love seat, she lowers her head and begins reciting scripture. Jason and I have never been very religious, were never made to go to church as children, but I find the words comforting as I close my eyes and listen.
When she’s finished, she raises her head and falls back against the love seat. “I don’t understand. Why would he have risked his life like that?”
“To save you. I tried to warn him. I told him to let us do our jobs.”
Her green eyes widen. “You talked to him? When?”
“I called him when I found out about the shooter. I told him to sit tight, that I was on my way.”
“Where’d he get the gun?” Stacy asks.
“He bought it years ago. He has a concealed carry permit. He keeps it in his locker.”
“I didn’t know that. I don’t approve of guns.”
“Which is probably why he never told you,” I say, wondering what else my brother is keeping from this woman he’s planning to marry. “Jason is an excellent shot. I’m surprised he missed. Did he even fire off a round?”
Stacy shakes her head. “It happened so fast. He didn’t have a chance.”
“Because he’s not trained. He should’ve waited.” My brother’s lack of experience may have cost him his life.
We fall into a deafening silence. Stacy and I are virtual strangers. Comforting each other would be awkward.
I’m acutely aware of the sounds in the hallway. There’s a chorus of laughter coming from the nurses’ station. How can anything be funny after what just transpired in the emergency room? Don’t they know my brother is fighting for his life on an operating table?
I jump every time I hear the squish of approaching rubber soles on tile floor. A few of Stacy’s colleagues stop in to check on her, but none provide updates about my brother’s condition.
I stare at the wall clock. At six thirty on the dot, a sense of cold dread settles over me. Because of our troubled youth, Jason and I are closer than most twins. He’s my other half. My intuitions about him are powerful. I instinctively know when all is not right in his world. And at this moment, I sense his presence leave this earth.
I brace myself for what’s coming. For Stacy’s sake, I need to keep my shit together. Moments later, the doctor arrives. His forlorn expression gives him away. When he delivers the news, Stacy lets out a blood-curdling scream and crumples to the floor. Taking her phone from her, I leave the room and go out into the hallway. I click on the top contact in her Favorites list, a female by the same last name whom I assume is her mother.
Marjorie Quinn answers the call, expecting to hear her daughter’s voice. “Stacy! I’ve been worried out of my mind. Are you okay?”
“This isn’t Stacy, Mrs. Quinn. I’m Jolene Hogan, Jason’s sister. Stacy is fine. Jason is not. She needs you. She’s at the hospital, in the family waiting room on the third floor.”
I end the call and hand the phone to a nurse heading into the waiting room. “Give this to Stacy, please.”
The walls close in on me as I flee the hospital. Exiting the parking lot, I burst into uncontrollable sobs. I can’t face my empty apartment. And I’m too upset to be behind the wheel of a car. I drive over to Jason’s condo and let myself in with my key. I go to his room and fling myself on his bed, burying my face in his pillow and breathing in the scent of his Old Spice body wash.
I howl into the pillow, pounding my fists against the mattress. A searing pain rips across my chest as my heart shatters into a million pieces. How did this happen? Only hours ago, he was seated across from me, with his little boy grin, informing me he was getting married. And now he’s gone. I’ll never see him again. Never hear his voice, that reassuring tone that made patients trust him.
I shed a torrent of tears until the pillow is sopping wet. How am I supposed to go on without Jason? I think of all the things he taught me over the years. To tie my shoes. To take up for myself, to fight back against those who tried to hurt me. To keep my chin up no matter how bad things got.
“Damn you, Jason!” I scream into the pillow. “You never taught me how to live without you.”
Darkness has fallen over the room by the time I raise my head. Throwing my feet over the side of the bed, I make a dash for the bathroom and puke up my guts. I curl up on the cool tile floor and sob my heart out. I need something for the pain, the ache of a five-ton elephant stomping on my chest. Grabbing hold of the sink counter, I pull myself up and open the medicine cabinet. Advil is the strongest Jason has. I swallow three tablets without water. I consider consuming the entire bottle. But Advil won’t do the job.
I stumble back to Jason’s bed. I shouldn’t be alone right now. I power on my phone. I have many missed calls and texts from Captain Winnie and Mel. Even Detective Ingram messaged me. And Drew. I forgot all about our date. I thumb through his string of texts. He knows about Jason from the news. I should go to him, let him comfort me. But Drew is not who I need right now. I need Jason right now. I need my brother to walk in the door and tell me his death was all a big mistake.
I turn the phone off and plod on bare feet down the hall to the living area. Removing a bottle of tequila from Jason’s liquor cabinet, I pour two fingers into a glass. I sniff it and set it down on the counter. Tequila is not what I need either.
Someone pounds on the door. When I open it, I’m shocked to see Ingram standing in the hallway.
“I’ve been looking for you, Jolie. I went to your apartment. When you weren’t there, I figured you might be here.”
He extends his arms, and bursting into tears, I fall into them. Closing the door behind us, he walks me backward to the sofa. I cry with my face pressed against his chest until his shirt is soaked through.
The intense emotions pulsing through me reach a manic level. I tug Ingram’s shirt over his head and unbutton his jeans. I strip off my clothes, push him down on the sofa, and straddle him. He enters me, and for a few brief moments, as I ride him hard, I feel something other than pain. I climax and collapse on top of him. After a minute, I roll off of him onto my back. “I’m so sorry, Ingram. I’m not myself right now.”
“No need to apologize. But you took me by surprise. I didn’t use protection.”
“I’m on the pill.” I think about all the women in the department he’s been with. “Are you clean?”
“As far as I know. I’m usually diligent about using a condom.”
I expect Ingram to leave like last time. Instead, he yanks the throw blanket off the back of the sofa and drapes it over us. He holds me close, stroking my hair. “I understand what you’re going through, Jolie. My sister died in a car accident when we were in college. A drunk driver killed her. We weren’t twins. But we were Irish twins, twelve months apart.”
I push myself up so I can see him. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. What was her name?”
“Alyssa. I wish I could say I’m over it, but I’m not. It’s been ten years, and I still miss her every single day.” His golden eyes shine with unshed tears.
“No one ever told me.”
“No one knows. I don’t talk about her. It’s too painful. But I remember the day she died like it happened yesterday. I thought you might need a friend. Have you called your family?”
I shake my head. “Jason was my only family.” My throat hitches, and more tears spill from my eyes. “We never knew our father. And our mother took off when we were kids. We were raised in the foster care system. Somehow, we stayed together.”
“You can’t do this alone, Jolie. For the next few days, I’m your family. But you have to stop calling me Ingram. I have a first name.”
I press my lips into a smile. “Calvin. I have no clue what I’m supposed to do. How does one go about planning a funeral?”
“I’ll help you.” Calvin sits up and gathers his clothes. “Jason was much loved by his friends and coworkers at the hospital. The media is calling him a hero. There’s already a memorial of flowers and balloons and cards at the emergency room entrance.”
This brings on a torrent of tears. “When will this crying stop?”
Calvin hands me a box of tissues. “Not anytime soon.” He gets dressed and goes over to the kitchen. “You need to eat.” He opens the refrigerator door. “How about an omelet?”
I scramble to put on my pants. “I can’t think about eating right now.” Not when Jason will never take another bite of his favorite foods.
He closes the refrigerator door. “You’ll get sick if you don’t eat. These next few days and weeks will be about surviving.” He eyes the tequila bottle. “You can’t wallow in self-pity, Jolie. Don’t let the grief get a hold of you. I tried to drown my sorrows, and it nearly killed me. My parents’ marriage didn’t survive. My mother is doing better now. She’s a strong woman. But my father is drinking himself to an early grave.”
I move to the island, watching as Calvin steeps two cups of chamomile tea. He doesn’t strike me as the tea type. He’s full of surprises tonight.
Seated together at the island, we make a long and detailed list of things I need to tend to in the coming days.
Planting my elbows on the bar, I bury my face in my hands. “There’s so much to do. It’s overwhelming.”
“Going through the process of burying your brother will distract you from your grief. You’ll get to spend time with his friends, which you’ll find comforting.” Calvin slides off his barstool and pulls me to my feet. “You need some sleep. Let’s get you in bed.”
I doubt I’ll be able to sleep, but I let him lead me down the hall to the bedroom, anyway. He rummages through Jason’s drawers for a T-shirt and tosses it to me. “Here. Change into this.”
I go into the bathroom and close the door. I strip off my clothes and pull the T-shirt over my head. It smells like Jason’s fresh-linen laundry detergent, and I stand there with my nose pressed against the fabric, looking at my haunted reflection in the mirror. I finger-brush my teeth, and pee, and when I exit the bathroom, Calvin has pulled back the covers and is standing beside the bed.
I climb in and he tucks the covers around me. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”
I look up at him. “You’re staying?”
“I’m certainly not leaving you alone. Not tonight.” Turning out the bedside table lamp, he leaves the door cracked on his way out of the room.
I toss and turn for over an hour before finally dozing off. A nightmare startles me out of a deep sleep sometime later. I sit bolt upright as the dream comes back. I’m in the emergency room. I’m aiming my gun at the shooter, only the shooter is Jason. I pull the trigger, and my brother drops to the floor.
Throwing back the covers, I hurry down the hall to the living room. Calvin is sitting on the sofa, staring out the window into the dark night while holding a glass of golden liquid, which I assume is bourbon.
He doesn’t hear me, and when I say his name, he startles. “Jolie. I thought you were asleep.”
I sit down close to him. “I had the worst nightmare.”
He drapes an arm around my shoulders. “Wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I never want to think about it again.”
“Better get used to it. There will be many more to come.” A faraway expression settles over Calvin’s face. “But you’ll have pleasant dreams too. Ones that bring Jason back to you, leaving you all warm and fuzzy inside.”
I cut him a sideways glance. “Warm and fuzzy? Who are you, and where did Detective Calvin Ingram go?”
He chuckles. “I’m not the hard-ass you think I am. I have a soft side.” He drops his smile. “I just don’t let people get too close.”
“Because of Alyssa?”
“Yep.” He reclaims his arm. “You’re a better person than me. A more loving person than me. Don’t close off your heart like I did.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Do as I say, not as I do?”
He grunts. “Something like that.”
We talk for a while about where people go when they die and how hard it is for those left behind to move on with their lives. We fall asleep with our heads resting against the back of the sofa. When I wake in the morning, Calvin is gone. But I find a note from him beside the coffeemaker. Gone home to shower and change. You should do the same. Get started on your list. I’ll check in with you soon.
I eye the tequila bottle on the counter. I can start planning my brother’s funeral, or I can drink myself into a stupor. I pick stupor. I can’t stand this agony. But as I’m uncorking the cap, my brother’s image flashes before me. His golden hair and sparkling blue eyes. His charming smile that won over everyone he ever met. Calvin’s words come back to me. Jason was much loved by his friends and coworkers at the hospital. The media are calling him a hero. There’s already a memorial of flowers and balloons and cards at the emergency room entrance. I’ll give him a proper burial first. Then, I’ll fall apart.
While I drink my coffee, I contact the funeral home and make arrangements to have Jason’s body cremated, which is the one thing I’m certain Jason would want. The funeral director assured me he could help prepare for the memorial service. When I hang up, I give myself a pat on the back for making it through the first call without breaking down.
Draining the rest of my coffee, I change into yesterday’s clothes and drag myself out the door. Jason’s presence is strong in his condo. Leaving here is like losing him all over again.
Back at my apartment, I take a long hot shower and flip through the clothes in my closet. In defiance of the traditional black mourning attire, I choose white jeans and a pale blue sleeveless top. My clothes are not about my loss. Jason knows my heart is heavy. My outfit is a message to him. I want him to know he was the light in my life.
Filling two suitcases with clothes, toiletries, and electronics, I toss them into the trunk of my unmarked car and drive to the hospital. Jason’s memorial occupies the length of sidewalk in front of the emergency room. I pause for a few minutes to read the cards and messages his friends, patients, and coworkers have left. More tears are just beneath the surface, but somehow, I keep them at bay.
I find Frankie Collins, the hospital chaplain and a friend of Jason’s, in his office. We pray together, and then talk for a minute about what a great guy my brother was. He agrees to preside over the memorial service and suggests I hold off until Saturday when more hospital staff and administration can attend.
With the help of a security guard, I clear out Jason’s locker before leaving the hospital. I’m on the way to Hollywood Cemetery when Calvin calls. “How’re you holding up?”
“Hanging in there. I’m tackling my list,” I say as I exit the downtown expressway onto Belvidere Street. “You were right. The distraction helps.”
“Where are you now?”
“I just left the hospital headed for Hollywood Cemetery.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Calvin says and ends the call before I can argue.
At the cemetery, I only have to wait a few minutes before Calvin arrives. My meeting with the cemetery staff member doesn’t take long. I know exactly what I want—a granite niche to house Jason’s cremated remains. She provides the options for location, and I pick one offering a sweeping view of the James River. Jason won’t see it. But I will when I visit him. And I plan to spend a lot of time here.
My eyes go wide when she tells me the price, which is more money than I have in my savings account. But I’ll worry about how to pay for the burial expenses later. I’ll go into debt if need be. I want the best for my brother.
Calvin walks me to my car afterward. “The captain wants to see you sometime today. She understands you need time off, but she has to file your official statement about yesterday’s events.”
Yesterday’s events. I’m not ready to rehash the shooting. But I won’t be able to put Captain Winnie off. I’m surprised she’s given me this long. I click the doors unlocked. “I need to return this unmarked car, anyway. Tell her I’ll stop by in a while. I have to take care of something first.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” His features are soft, his expression concerned. Calvin Ingram is not the man I thought he was.
“No. But thanks. This is something I have to do alone.” I slide behind the wheel and speed off, leaving Calvin standing in the parking lot.
As I expected, Stacy’s parents live in a stately home on Cary Street Road. A uniformed housekeeper greets me at the door and motions me to the backyard where Stacy is lounging in the shade of a pink crape myrtle tree. Despite the heat, she’s wearing a pink terrycloth robe and dark sunglasses that covers much of her face. She appears to be asleep with her mouth ajar, but when I approach, she straightens her chair to an upright position.
“This sucks,” she says. “I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. I keep having panic attacks, even though I’ve taken enough Xanax to bar out a giant. And I’m only the girlfriend. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
“You were more than his girlfriend, Stacy. Jason would want you to have this.” I place the ring box in her lap.
She looks at the box and back up at me.
I ease down to the lounge chair beside her. “Jason and I met for coffee yesterday morning. He was a kid in a candy store when he showed me that. He’d already spoken with your father, and he was planning to propose this weekend.”
Stacy opens the box and gasps. A tear slides down her cheek from under her sunglasses. “I can’t accept this, Jolie. Take it back to the jeweler. Use the money for his funeral.”
“I’m not worried about the funeral expenses,” I lie. “Jason bought the ring for you. You should keep it to remember him by.”
“As if I could ever forget him.” She removes a wadded tissue from her pocket and wipes the tears that are now streaming down her face. “Jason adored you. I’m sorry we never got to be sisters.”
We talk for a few minutes about what might have been, and by the time I stand to leave, we are both bawling like babies. She walks me to the door. “At some point, I need to get my things from his condo.”
“Just let me know when. I’ll make a point of not being there, so you can have some time alone.”
Stacy’s words rush back to me as I head back downtown. I’m sorry we never got to be sisters. I’m sorry about so many things that will never happen. I’ll never get to see Jason and Stacy walk down the aisle. I’ll never get to meet my niece or nephew, the children Jason so desperately wanted. Since I won’t be having children of my own, I’m the end of the line for my family now. There is no one else. Only me. Jason left me to face the world alone.