Page 13 of Jane's Story
I padded upstairs toward the bedrooms and peered inside the one with an open door. It took me a minute to see it, and then I screamed.
Chapter 4
Thebedroomwasdarkexcept for the light slicing across the floor from the adjoining bathroom. Charles knelt on the floor about twenty feet away. Healing golden energy poured from his hands, encircling a man lying on the floor.
I rushed over to Charles and kneeled next to him in the bathroom doorway. I bumped his cellphone, which was on speaker. A voice on the other end spoke, “EMS is on route. They should be there any minute.”
Charles whispered to me, “Sorry… Jane. Been on the phone… with 911.” His anxiety and compassion flooded my senses, to the point I needed to brace myself against the doorframe.
I hesitated. “Would it help if I started CPR?”
“Maybe.” Sweat dripped down Charles’s face, and he moved aside to let me begin compressions. The man on the floor was Armond.
Charles picked up his phone. “He’s not responding. What’s the ETA? Are they almost here? Right, The Grand Lakes Hotel, the seventeenth… very top floor. Charles Bingley’s suite.”
Within minutes, pounding fists sounded on the door, and Charles ran to open it. A flood of emergency responders overtook the room, and I stepped out of the way as one of them took over trying to revive Armond. For a moment, I hoped he had a chance, but as minutes passed, it grew obvious Armond was already gone.
Somewhere in the room or nearby, I picked up on a faint sense of malice. Though barely perceptible, its icy rage chilled my spine. My instincts told me we might need a record of the unfolding scene. So I pulled out my phone and snapped as many photos as possible without getting in the way.
Charles tapped my elbow. "Perhaps we should clear the room."
I nodded and followed him. Amidst the chaos, we staggered down to the sitting room and onto the sofa. Charles sat next to me, chewing his lip and shaking his head.
I spokefirst. “Do you know what happened? Was he ill?”
“No.” Charles shuddered and whispered, “I don’t understand. He was healthy. Yet, my healing powers did nothing for him.”
“I'm so sorry.” I patted his back. Charles’s ability usually worked to heal others. But he couldn’t revive the dead. He pulled me into a hug, and I leaned onto his shoulder.
"I'm glad you're here," Charles whispered under his breath so lightly that I barely caught the words, and we sat in silence for a few minutes. I breathed in the familiar scent of sandalwood and realized how much I’d missed it.
I played the events over in my mind. “What do you think he was doing up in your room, anyway?”
“Maybe dropping something off.” Charles ran his hand down my arm, then leaned back and shrugged. My arm chilled at the absence of his touch. “His room was next to mine. Our suite becomes a makeshift office when we have these conventions.”
An officer descended the stairs and approached us.
“My name is Detective Laurence,” the young black woman in uniform said. "Could you tell us who this man is and your connection to him?”
After clearing his throat, Charles answered, “His name’s Armond Moreau. He works with me at Haven Corp. I’m assuming he didn’t make it?”
Detective Laurence shook her head. “Sorry, no. Do you have any idea why he’d have a fresh injection mark? Diabetes, drug problem?”
Charles’s jaw dropped. “No, we regularly screen employees for drugs, and he’s not diabetic.”
Detective Laurence looked at us. “Well, we’ll have the lab look at it. You didn’t help him inject anything into his neck?”
“No. I found him on the floor, and I yelled for Jane. But she was in the office, which is pretty soundproof, so I doubt she heard me. I called 911 and then I started CPR.” Charles’s arms fell limply to his sides. He didn’t mention he’d also used his healing magic, which was more effective than CPR. Though we discussed magic in Austen Heights, no one in New York seemed to know about it.
“You didn’t hear him?” Officer Laurence looked at me in disbelief.
“It seems dumb now, but I was in the office with glass panels over there. I’d closed the door to check the lightingfrom the corners.” My cheeks burned, and I wanted to kick myself for waiting so long.
It seemed like ages before the paramedics took Armond away on a stretcher with a white sheet draped over his body. But Detective Laurence lingered behind, and a few more police officers showed up.
“Why are there more police here?” I whispered to Charles.
But he didn’t answer, because Detective Laurence approached us once more. “We’re going to need to clear you out of here—but you can grab your personal items first. This is officially a crime scene.”
