Page 9 of The Bad Man
When I enter the library, I smile at the lady at the front desk before finding a computer toward the back. The place is fairly empty, so finding a private desk isn’t difficult. I pull out the slip of paper from my bag with Jamison’s full name and date of birth, along with his father’s name.
The first thing I do is enter his father’s name, and I’m shocked at the results. The first thing to pop up are images of Harvey Coy. There’s no missing the resemblance between him and Jamison. I click through a few of the images and see that the first one is several years old. As I keep clicking, I notice time hasn’t been kind to Harvey.
“Oh god,” I whisper to myself when I see why Harvey Coy is such a searchable name. He’s a lawyer, although he doesn’t practice anymore. His firm is huge, and I scan through articles hoping to find something about Jamison.
My heart sinks when I find an article about Jamison’s mother. The picture at the top shows a younger Jamison, maybe in his teens, standing next to his father at her funeral.
The news article says she was a nurse before becoming a stay-at-home mom with her only child, Jamison. I pause when I read that her death was caused by sudden adult death syndrome, better known as SADS. Medical examiners hate putting that as the cause of death, but sometimes there are no other options.
I scroll back to the top to see the picture of Jamison at her funeral. He looks so damn sad, and it breaks my heart for him. What's strange is the space between him and his father. At a time when they should be comforting each other, he looks all alone in this world.
I’m about to close the article when I look at the picture one last time, and a familiar face catches my attention. I was so focused on Jamison that I didn’t notice the person standing on the other side of Harvey Coy.
“What the hell?” I say to myself, and the alert on my phone goes off. It’s a reminder that I need to head to work now so that I’m not late.
I grab my things but manage to save the picture and email it to myself before I log out. The whole way to work I’ve got an eerie feeling I can’t shake. I need to know more.
When I get to work, I go straight to the locker room and put my bag away. Before I close it, I take out the book I ordered and thumb through it. When I find my favorite passage, I pull the ribbon from my hair and use it as a bookmark.
Before I go to the nurses’ station, I sneak into Jamison’s room and place the book on his pillow. He’s always in the group room at this time, but just in case, I don’t linger.
It’s a little while after Oliva has gone over her notes at shift change that I have a second to think about what I saw at the library. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but the back of my neck is still tingling from seeing Dr. Crane at the funeral with his hand on Harvey Coy’s shoulder.
Chapter Eight
JAMISON
When Mia comes into the group room, I close the book in front of me and watch her. She does her usual greeting with the patients that are still awake this time of night before coming over and taking the seat beside me.
“Good evening, Mia,” I say as I take my time looking her over. It’s been two days since she left the book on my pillow, but I haven’t been able to get her alone.
“Good evening, Jamison.” She smiles shyly before she nods to the book. “Have you read it?”
“Oh yes.” I grin and then lean closer. “Several times.” She licks her lips, and I ache to taste them too. “Especially the part where you left your ribbon.”
“And where’s my ribbon now?” Her eyes dart to my lap before she looks away.
“I keep them all close to me.” Reaching out, I stroke a finger on the underside of her chin. “Would you like to be alone with me tonight?”
She looks shocked by the question and then glances around the room like someone could overhear us. “How?” she finally asks.
“There are parts of this hospital that aren’t easily seen by cameras.” I nod to the one in the corner just above where we’re sitting.
“Wait, can someone see us sitting here? What about when I…” She trails off, but we both know what she’s referring to.
“This particular area of the table is in a blind spot. That's why I sit here every night.”
“Oh.” She thinks for a second and then checks her watch. “People are always watching me. I don’t know if I could get away for very long.”
“Technically you’re supposed to go on your lunch break right now. Correct?” I realize a lunch hour at midnight is odd, but that’s what happens on the night shift. She nods, and I take her wrist. “Go tell the night manager you’re going to chart in the locker room. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the stairs.”
“What about Alton?” she asks.
“I’ll take care of him. Just get your bag and meet me down there.”
“Okay.” She looks at my mouth like she wants to kiss me goodbye, but it’s too dangerous to risk in front of the other patients.
“Now,” I tell her, and she hurries out of the room.