Page 24 of Rest In Peace

"Wait, what's this?" A new tab caught her eye, a glimmer of a different perspective. "An experimental trial?" Her pulse quickened; they weren’t ready for that.

"Back to square one." She slumped forward, forehead resting against the cool surface of the desk. "I need answers, not riddles."

Steven came in with a deep sigh. “She’s asleep now. I have the camera set up so we can keep an eye on her.” He exhaled and rubbed his forehead. “That was a rough one. They seem to be getting worse.”

“I can’t find anything about seizures and chemo,” Sarah said. “Are you sure it’s not something else causing this?”

Steven grunted. “Look who’s the expert now. I spoke to the doctor at the hospital when she had her first seizure, remember? The next day, when you had to go to work. I was in his office and talked to him. He said it was a side effect. I don’t understand why you’re suddenly questioning this?”

Sarah looked at her fingers. The comment about her going to work the next day hit her hard. She had to go in for the important meeting. Steven had even encouraged her to do so and told her he had this and that Victoria was in good hands. One of them had to make money, especially with the medical bills piling up.

“It’s just… there are a lot of parents writing about this stuff, and no one is mentioning seizures, and if you Google it, then….”

“Different patients have different reactions to chemo; it’s hard to generalize. There are always a few people who have very unusual reactions to any drug. Besides, I remember seeing it before when I was still working at the hospital. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. Didn’t you have a meeting to prepare for? Some presentation?”

Sarah looked at him, then nodded. “Y-yeah. I guess I better get on that.”

Chapter 32

The door creaked on its hinges as I stepped into the dimly lit Ellie Mae’s bar, a place that seemed frozen in time with its worn leather stools and the soft hum of a neon sign flickering above the liquor shelf. The scent of stale beer lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of cigarette smoke from days long past when the laws were looser and the nights longer. It was the kind of place where secrets huddled in the corners and whispered across the polished wooden counter.

"Evening," I murmured, my eyes adjusting to the ambient glow cast by the lamps along the walls.

"First time?" The voice belonged to the bartender, a grizzled middle-aged man with hands that told stories of countless bottles opened and wiped down surfaces. His name tag read “Frank,” and his eyes held the fatigue of one who'd seen too much yet never enough to dull the curiosity.

"Sort of," I replied, taking a seat at the bar. "I'm looking for someone who used to come here. Her name is Sarah. Sarah Chapman."

Frank's expression remained unreadable, but a twitch in his jaw suggested recognition. He continued to dry a glass with a cloth that had seen better days. "Sarah, huh? You a friend of hers?"

"Something like that," I said, leaning in slightly. "I heard she would come here after her husband kicked her out?"

"Ah, Sarah," Frank let out a breath, setting the glass down with more care than necessary. "She came here for a while. What do you want to know?"

"Looking to understand her better," I ventured cautiously, "I get the sense her relationship with her husband wasn't all sunshine and rainbows."

Frank snorted softly, the sound almost lost in a low note from the jukebox starting up in the corner.

"You could say that."

“Did she tell you about it?”

“She would say stuff. Sometimes.”

He poured a drink, pushing it across the bar without being asked. "Passion's a funny thing. Burns hot until there's nothing left."

"Seems like it burned out for good this time," I mused, swirling the drink before taking a sip. Whiskey wasn’t my thing, but I did it just to be polite.

"Was it just passion, or was something else mixed in there?"

"Who's to say?" Frank shrugged, his gaze drifting over my shoulder, perhaps to a memory only he could see. "People are complicated. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin in a marriage like theirs. Having a sick kid like they did isn’t easy."

"Did she ever tell you anything… any details about their relationship?" I pressed, watching for any telltale shift in his demeanor. “Anything out of the ordinary?”

"Out of the ordinary is a relative term around here," he replied cryptically. "Why don't you tell me what you think 'ordinary' is, and I might be able to answer your question better?"

"Fair enough," I conceded, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite the gravity of my inquiry. "Let's just say I'm interested in finding out what makes an ordinary couple turn extraordinary—for better or worse. They split up. He kicked her out. Did she tell you why? What happened?”

Frank exhaled a dry chuckle, his hands working on autopilot, wiping down glasses.

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