Chapter 13

DAN

I park next to my partner’s car and see him eyeballing the distance from the road to the tree.

“Look, there’s no way the car traveled from that driveway to this tree,” my partner says, flipping open a file and pulling out a set of pictures of the wrecked car. “The distance just doesn’t add up to the damage.”

I take the pictures from him. There are several shots of the accident. I focus on the one he’s pointing out.

“Looks like the car blew up on impact,” I say.

“Worst part is, it’s a Toyota Camry. Front-wheel drive, four-cylinder, tops out at maybe a hundred and ten miles per hour. If he’d been wearing his seat belt, he might have had a headache, but that’s it,” my partner says.

I wander toward the road and spot the mailbox.

“Maybe he wanted to end it all. Maybe he took a left off the driveway, drove a couple of miles down the road, turned around and rammed that tree at top speed. That would make more sense,” he suggests.

“No, I believe the girlfriend. She said he wouldn’t do that,” I counter.

“Yeah, and people don’t drink and drive. Look, there are no skid marks. If he was trying to stop, he would have left skid marks before hitting that tree. It was a suicide attempt. Case closed.”

“This tree has been hit four times, and every time, the driver died with no witnesses. This Brian kid is still alive. If he wakes up from his coma and can talk to us, then we’ll know,” I say.

“He should be dead,” he says, pointing at the pictures. “Then maybe we’d work on this case, but he isn’t. We’re homicide detectives, not suicide detectives.”

“Hand me the file. I’ll work on this in my spare time,” I say, holding out my hand.

My partner gives me everything from the state police file. He brushes his hands together, then raises them in the air like he’s surrendering. “I’m not telling the captain you’re doing this. You are,” he says.

“Thanks.”

I head back to the precinct and make my way to my office. Almost immediately, I hear my name.

“Adams! My office now!” Captain Parson bellows.

“Shit.” I leave my desk and head to the captain’s office.

“Close the door,” he orders. “Why do I have a case here that the state police want closed but you’re keeping open?”

“I have a theory,” I say. “It’s about Brian Wynn, the one who hit the tree, sir.”

“Why are you working on this case? The state wants it closed because they say it was a suicide attempt,” he says, pointing at the case file. “And to make matters worse, you told them that I wanted more proof and that I approved this nonsense.”

“Sir, I can explain.”

“Did this kid, Brian, die?”

“No.”

“Will he pull through?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I do. Because he’s still alive, and you’re a homicide detective. If they aren’t dead, we don’t touch them. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, looking down.

“Listen. I’ve known your father for a long time. He helped me climb the ranks to captain. He worked on that case forever, and it got him nowhere back in ’75.

“Now it seems like he’s got you working on the same tree with a different outcome.”

“Sir, but I can…”

He raises his hand. “You’ve got some time off coming. I want you to take a couple of weeks and go take care of your father.”

“My father’s being taken care of,” I mutter. “I pay for a private nurse to look after him while I work.”

“The open cases will be handled by your partner and Ebanez.”

I just stare at the captain.

“Why are you still here? Two weeks. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, leaving his office and heading back to mine. I grab the case file and anything else related to it and head out.

CHELSEA

I wake up early the next day and decide to visit Brian at the hospital. I get dressed, head to the kitchen, and find a fresh pot of coffee.

I fill up my travel mug and head to my car. Once I reach the hospital, I sit in my car, staring at the emergency room doors. After a few moments, I gather myself, walk in, and head straight to the nurses’ station. I recognize the nurse from yesterday.

“How’s he doing?” I ask.

“Still the same, no changes,” she tells me. “He has a visitor with him now.”

“Who?” I ask. She just shrugs. I walk away, heading toward Brian’s ICU room. “If that’s Bunny in there, I swear I’ll knock her teeth down her throat,” I whisper to myself.

The sliding door is open, and I walk in to see Brian’s mother sitting next to him, holding his hand. I start crying uncontrollably as she begins to cry too.

She stands up, and I walk into her arms. She hugs me tightly as the tears flow freely.

“It’s going to be okay. The police said he was trying to kill himself,” she says, sobbing.

“I know, they told me the same thing, and I told them it was bullshit.”

“What happened?” she asks.

“All I can say is he broke my heart, and it hurt like hell.”

“What happened?” she questions, her hand covering her mouth in shock.

“Not here,” I respond.

“Let’s head to the cafeteria. I could use a coffee,” she suggests.

She guides me out of the room, our hands intertwined. We navigate the maze of hallways until we reach the cafeteria. She purchases a coffee, and we find a secluded spot in the back, away from prying eyes.

“Talk to me. Your mom may be out of town, but I’m here. I’ll always be your second mom,” she assures me, her voice steady and comforting.

Her gaze never wavers from mine, and I feel a tear welling up in the corner of my eye. She reaches across the table, taking both my hands in hers.

“Talk to me.”

I recount the entire story, starting from that morning in the shower, the news about the house, the excitement of sharing the good news, the shock of finding him with Bunny, the detective, everything.

But I leave out Christopher. That secret is mine to keep.

“The sad part is, I know that girl’s mother. Her real name is Meredith, not Bunny,” she reveals.

I grab a handful of napkins from the tin holder on the table and blow my nose.

“I didn’t raise my son to be a fool. When his father passed, I had to step up and play both roles. It wasn’t easy, but I thought I did a good job.”

“You did, Mom. You raised him to be the perfect man for me. He still is. Something just...happened. I never imagined he could do something like this,” I confess, tears streaming down my face again.

Now, she’s crying too, and we both reach for napkins to wipe our tears.

“We won’t know the whole truth until he wakes up,” I say.

“He will wake up. I just know it.”