Page 46 of Script Swap
Down below, the tenor of the voices had changed.Tense.Subdued.Footsteps hammered up the stairs.
I leaned closer, searching for a pulse as I brought my ear to Terrence’s mouth.His skin was clammy, but his heart was beating, and he was breathing.
“Sheriff’s office,” Bobby said from the doorway and slapped the lights.
White.
Bright.
“Dash, what—”
The blood was everywhere, and it caught the light and shone.Even against the shredded black of Terrence’s shirt, it glistened.The wounds were deep.Vicious.And there were so many of them.
“Somebody stabbed him,” I said.“He needs an ambulance.”
Chapter 11
The sheriff was at The Foxworthy, watching the show.She’d brought her aunt to see it.
The paramedics came.
Bobby took me to a small, dusty room that was full of old furniture.He sat there with me until the sheriff came.It felt like a long time.That initial, shocked numbness slowly fell apart.I started to shake.I wanted to grab my knees, hold on to something, but my hands were still covered with blood.The blood made my skin tight as it dried on my hands and arms, and when I opened and closed my fingers, little rust-colored specks flaked away and floated down.I tried to wipe them away.
Bobby took my wrists.“They have to document everything first.”
Which was a deputy’s way of saying: you might have done this.
I couldn’t stop shaking.
But Deputy Dahlberg came not long after that.She took photos of my hands and clothes, and she patted my arm and told me everything was going to be okay.
“Okay,” Bobby said.“We can wash up now.”
The theater was empty.The lobby abandoned.The popcorn had burned, and a theater program lay on the floor, and a bottle of water stood on the concession counter, abandoned and beaded with condensation.
The sheriff found us while I was still scrubbing around my fingernails.She leaned past Bobby, who was standing watch in the doorway, considered me, and asked, “How are you doing?”
I gave a soapy thumbs-up.
Her smile looked sad.“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Dash.I know how upsetting it is.”
“Upsetting is one word for it.Should I stop washing my hands?Am I contaminating evidence?”
“Dash, it’s protocol,” Bobby said.“And that kind of evidence can be exculpatory.That’s the reason half of police work is going back to the same materials again and again to figure out what happened.”
But the sheriff waved away Bobby’s explanation.“I’m sorry about that, Dash.”
And what was I supposed to say to that?For the first time, I took in the sheriff: no khaki uniform with the Ridge County seal, no sensible ponytail with a ball cap.Not even a gun.Instead, her hair was loose and tumbling to her shoulders in fine curls, and she wore a red top with jeans and pumps.It was her night off.She’d been trying to have a good night too.
“I thought you’d like to know,” the sheriff said, “that Terrence is in surgery.”
“Is he okay?”
“You know doctors.They say if he makes it through tonight, his chances are better, but I don’t know how much that’s actually saying.”
I nodded.
“I also wanted you to know—and this stays here, understand—that I arrested Milton Cook tonight.”
