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Tommy Nightmare(88)

By:J. L. Bryan


“You’re gonna be okay, Dad.” Jenny’s voice broke when she said “Dad,” and she looked down at the floor to hide the renewed rush of tears behind her long black hair.

Jenny raised the cell phone to her face again.

“You ain’t supposed to use those in here!” the front desk nurse shouted. “Take it outside.”

“Okay, sorry.” Jenny walked to the double doors.

“Can afford a nice, fancy cell phone, can’t be bothered to buy insurance,” the nurse muttered. The clear Plexiglas doors closed behind Jenny.

Jenny didn’t know how her dad’s boxy, paint-stained old phone could be considered “nice” or “fancy,” but she had much more important things to do than argue with some stupid nurse.

She tried Seth again, and then Darcy. Nobody answered.

Jenny found June’s number in her dad’s phone and called her instead. June had been dating her dad for a few months now, and she was the only person Jenny knew to call for help.

“Hi, sugar!” June said. In the background, someone shouted an order for two scrambled eggs and raisin toast.

“It’s me, Jenny.”

“Well, hello, sweet potato.”

“Do you know if my dad has any, like, health insurance?”

“Oh, good Lord, what’s happened?”

“He’s had some kind of…I’m at the hospital, and—”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s just had some kind of…nervous breakdown thing.”

“Are you at Eldritch County Hospital?”

“Yes.”

“My shift’s almost over. I’ll be there in ten, fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“Wow, thanks,” Jenny said. “Actually, I have a whole other emergency with Seth, and I have to go find him. So I might not be here.”

“What’s happening with Seth?”

“That’s a long story.”

“Well, honey, they ain’t gonna let me in to see him. Only kin.”

“Shit. Tell them you’re engaged. And I’ll tell them you’re engaged, too. Maybe that will work.”

“I guess I do have my ring from my first marriage,” June said. “I’ll put that on and give it a try. I’ll be there in ten, fifteen, twenty—”

“Thanks, June.”

Jenny tried calling Seth and Darcy again. She paced in front of the hospital for half a minute, then tried another time. Nobody was answering. She ran back inside to the front desk nurse, who was opening a little jar of fingernail polish.

“Any news on my dad?”

The nurse sighed. “We’ll tell you when there’s something to tell you.”

“Okay, well, I have to go. My dad’s fiancé is coming to check on him.”

“Whatever.”

“I’ll try to find if there’s any insurance stuff, too.”

“Sure you will.” The nurse began painting her fingernails.

Jenny ran out to her car and cranked it up, but then she sat for a minute. She didn’t like the idea of leaving town when her dad was like this, before she even knew whether the hospital would really be able to help. Maybe they could sedate him, but he would probably still have nightmares.

It was also obvious that Ashleigh’s opposite was setting a trap for her. Jenny’s dad was just a warning—he was threatening to kill Seth. She felt stupid walking right into it, but the guy did seem like a person capable of murder. And Seth had no idea he was coming—unless the guy had already gotten to Seth.

She took a deep breath and put the car in reverse. She would have to drive all the way to Charleston, and she couldn’t even remember the name of the hotel where they were staying. She hoped somebody was answering their phone by the time she got there.

Jenny sped past a Palmetto Bug gas station, towards Highway 63 and the Atlantic Ocean. She felt like the ground had opened beneath her and she was falling fast, and there was nobody left to catch her.





Chapter Forty


“Dude, at the Sig Alph house last weekend, they had sixty pounds of crayfish, six kegs of Heiney, and we ate all that shit,” Wooly said. “It was off the chain, gang.”

“This is pretty good,” Ashleigh said. They were sitting on the sidewalk curb—Ashleigh, Seth, Wooly and the other two Grayson boys, Steven Hunter and Adam Branderford (“Skunker” and “Aces,” as far as Wooly was concerned). Everyone had a Styrofoam bowl of Frogmore stew, which they’d bought from an old lady at a wooden festival booth.

“This ain’t shit,” Wooly said. “My uncle makes a mean lowcountry boil. Fat shrimp he catches himself on his boat, hot sausage, corn, potatoes, Old Bay, splash in some Tabasco—bam. That’s eating like a motherfucking king, S-dog.”