Page 6 of Little Empty Promises

My mother nodded and bolted from the chair.“It would make me feel better, yes.I’ll grab my shawl and meet you at the car in a jiffy.”

3

There were no lights on inside the library when we arrived, and Cordelia’s car was still parked out front, a fact I found strange.We parked, walked up to the front door, and I reached out, twisting the knob.

I expected it to be locked.

It wasn’t.

Even stranger.

“If I was worried before, I’m even more worried now,” my mother said.

We entered the library, and I pointed at the floor.“Someone’s dropped their keys.”

My mother cupped a hand to the side of her mouth and said, “Yoo-hoo, Cordelia, are you here?”

We were met with silence.

I ran a hand along the wall, stopping when I located the light switch.I flipped it on and looked around.There was no sign of Cordelia at first, but the local library was small.If she was here, it wouldn’t take long to find her.

“Let’s do a quick walkthrough,” I said.

My mother nodded, and we made our way over to the bookshelves, going up and down the aisles, searching for Cordelia.I’d rounded the fourth aisle when I saw someone not too far from me, and I gasped.Hunched over on the floor several feet away was an older woman, turned on her side.

Blood was everywhere.

On her clothes.

On the carpet.

A gun on the floor next to her.

My mother caught up to me, followed my line of sight, and shrieked, racing over to the woman as she dropped to her knees.

She reached out, shaking her.

“Mom,” I said.“I don’t think you should?—”

“Cordelia, it’s Darlene.I’m here.Open your eyes!Please,pleaseopen your eyes!”

I walked over and kneeled next to Cordelia, feeling for a pulse.It seemed like there was one, but if I was right, it was faint.I placed my ear above her mouth, surprised when I felt a tingling sensation of hot air.

“I think … it’s faint, but I believe she’s still breathing,” I said.

“You think she’s still alive?”

“I hope so.”

As my heart pulsated inside my chest, I called for an ambulance.

My mother began sobbing, patting Cordelia’s hand, as she begged her friend to “hang in there,” telling her “help is on the way.”

I gave the 9-1-1 operator details about where we were and what we knew, which wasn’t much and then I ended the call.I was anxious to take a closer look at Cordelia before anyone else arrived.

She’d been shot in the chest, which in my mind meant one of two things:

One, the wound she’d sustained had been self-inflicted.

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