Page 4 of The Wishing Game

Please swallow me. Please take me away from the meaninglessness of it all.

It doesn't.

It's simply there, torturing me, beckoning me, tricking me.

And I can do nothing but let it on the off chance that tomorrow might come and I won't open my eyes again—that I'll meet him again.

But that never happens.

It's at the end of the week when the nurses take the bandage off my head that I'm informed the police want to speak with me and take my statement.

For the first time since learning that the love of my life is no longer in this world, I feel a light jolt of awareness. He might be dead, but the person responsible for all of this is still out there, and according to Noelle, he's still alive.

"Officer," I nod at two men who enter my room.

"Mrs. Archibald. Thank you for agreeing to speak with us. I understand you're going to make a full recovery?"

"That is correct," I answer blankly. "I'd like to know what you're going to charge the man who crashed into us with," I say, cutting straight to the chase.

Both men frown.

"We're not going to charge him with anything."

"What do you mean?" My eyes widen as I shuffle into a sitting position.

"Ma'am, they didn't tell you?"

"What?" I frown.

"Your husband was the one who caused the accident."

"What?" I burst out in surprise. "No, that's not true. The truck was coming toward us and my husband tried to veer to the side to avoid it, but it still crashed into us."

"Ma'am." The policeman clears his throat. "Your husband's toxicological report came back positive for opioids. We know he was on drugs at the time of the accident. You don't have to hide it from us."

I stare at them, utterly befuddled.

"No." I shake my head. "Absolutely not. My husband only took anxiety medication. Nothing else. I'm sure of it. He's never done drugs in his life. Even when he got shot in the leg, he never took any opioids for the pain."

The two policemen share a look.

"We've checked with his therapist, and his toxicological report didn't match with the pills he was prescribed," one of them says. "He must have obtained the drugs illegally and disguised them as anxiety medication."

My face falls at what they're implying. My mouth hangs open in shock as I cannot find the words to refute their accusation—how could I when it's simply outrageous? Nikki would haveneverbought illegal drugs, nor would he have lied to me.

The other looks contrite as he adds, "I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you, Mrs. Archibald, but your husband had a very high percentage of opioids in his blood. If he was already taking other medication, he could have easily hidden the opioids from you."

The memory of Nikki taking that medicine right before the accident flashes in my head, but I dismiss it.

"No. You're wrong. He would have never done that, Officer. He would have never taken a risk with my life," I tell them staunchly.

If there's anything that I'm sure of, it's that Nikki would haveneverdone anything that could result in me being harmed. To hear that he had taken drugs while driving? With me by his side? Preposterous.

"The lab results don't lie, Mrs. Archibald. I know it's hard to believe, but it's the truth."

"So that's it? You're just going to make him the one guilty for the accident? Just like that? The other driver crashed intous."

"We've checked everything thoroughly, ma'am, and there's nothing to confirm your story. If anything, it's the reverse. The other truck has marks that show your RV crashed into it."

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