The Mourning Mail (FINAL)

Chapter 39

It was almost ten by the time I got back to my room. I left a message with Dr. Merriman's answering service that I'd been in a severe accident and needed to see her as soon as possible the next day.

The bed was calling out to me. I lay down, intending to take a brief nap before showering and changing. But the sound of the maid vacuuming the hall carpet awoke me at nine-thirty the following morning.

Even with the extra sleep, when I opened my eyes, I could barely raise my head—every bone and muscle in my body seemed sore, and every movement painful.

Slowly, I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the shower. Though not a cure-all, the warm water undoubtedly helped. I stayed under the soothing spray for as long as possible without becoming a head-to-toe raisin.

The doctor's office called back and offered me an appointment at one o'clock. I filled the time by working on a project from Doug Stein's list. But I found it frustrating. I had to push the words to the page because they weren't flowing naturally. Still, I'd imposed a deadline on myself to keep me from falling into bad habits and to ensure the work got done.

The buzzing of my cell phone alarm was a welcome interruption, notifying me it was time to call Cathy for the drive to Dr. Merriman's office.

Cathy had the car radio on, and we were about halfway to the medical complex when the newscaster announced the death of the Uber driver involved in the hit-and-run yesterday. The anchor's description matched what I knew of Antara—a married father of four children driving for Uber as his second job.

"Oh, no...," I groaned, my shoulders sagging as I clasped my hands to my face, the tears welling up. It took a moment for the news to hit home fully. "That poor man! Antara was so friendly. They killed him just because I was in his car; there could be no other reason."

Tears were running down my cheeks, and all I could do was sob, unable to find suitable words.

Cathy reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she said softly and slowly. "It's horrifically sad, a terrible waste of a good man's being. Nothing anyone can say is ever going to be enough. But he has loved ones to mourn him and appreciate his life and what he was trying to do for them."

"My God, his family; he has a lovely family," I said, falling apart as everything suddenly seemed to come down on me at once. I wasn't used to feeling so helpless. "He didn't do anything to hurt anyone. Jesus, Cathy, what have I done?"

"I know it feels like it's on you," Cathy replied, her tone comforting, "but it wasn't your fault. Other people did this to him. The best thing you can do, maybe the only thing, is to finish what you started and bring this man and his family justice. That's what we do, Debra Ann. We speak for people. You can speak for him. It's something both you and his family need."

The tears slowly subsided, and the emotional pain eased a bit—I was grateful that Cathy was with me in the car when we heard the bad news. We rode the rest of the way in silence. Once we arrived at the medical facility, she exited her Prius as I did. She came to my side of the car, and we hugged for a while before saying our goodbyes. Then I headed to the ground floor restroom to fix my makeup and rode the elevator up to Dr. Merriman's office.

#

"Debra Ann, it's nice to see you again," Dr. Merriman said, "but I understand you were in quite an accident. So sorry to hear it."

"Yes, Doctor, but it could have been much worse," I replied. "I heard on the car radio coming here that the driver of the Uber I was in didn't make it. The people who did this may have been after me. I feel so horrible about putting him in that position. I'm sure this is because of a story I'm writing," I said as I felt the tears coming again.

"Are you saying this wasn't an accident, that this was intentional? Have you talked to the police?" Dr. Merriman asked as she offered me a tissue. "It's such a high-risk thing those drivers do."

I was glad for the chance to identify and call out Antara's murderers, even if just to one person. He should be remembered.

After a moment of reflection, out of respect for my feelings, I'm sure, and to give me a chance to compose myself, Dr. Merriman moved on. She pulled a tiny flashlight out of her breast pocket and quickly flashed it across my pupils. "Well, let's see what we need to do to get you fixed up," she said.

Once Dr. Merriman had examined me and determined what I needed, the radiologist took the X-rays, and I underwent a spinal tap to test for any bleeding in the brain. After her staff analyzed the X-rays and I'd rested for an hour Dr. Merriman came to see me again.

"I know you are in a lot of pain, but so far, everything looks pretty good," she said. "I'd file most of the damage under 'very lucky.' It's amazing to me you aren't more badly injured. You really should have gone to the hospital. The dangers to the human body inherent to a traffic accident where airbags deploy are unimaginable."

"I understand—I hope I never have to apply the lessons learned from this, but if I do, I'll go to the hospital," I promised. And I hope I won't be carrying a gun without a permit, I thought to myself.

"Concussions and the onset of shock don't lead to good decision-making," the doctor said. "And you have suffered a concussion, though not as severe as it could have been, given what happened to you. The good news is you seemed to have survived without obvious permanent injuries, although it is a little too soon to say for certain. I'll know more after you undergo a CT scan or an MRI.

"Besides the concussion, you have a couple of badly bruised ribs, a sprained left wrist, several cuts on your scalp, and a deep thigh bruise. I'll fit you with a wrist brace and apply stitches to the lacerations in your head. Then we'll get you a thigh sleeve to use when walking or otherwise active, along with instructions for icing the bruising on your thigh and ribs."

"How long will the pain last?" I asked.

"The ribs and thigh bruise will cause you the most pain in the longer term, and you'll be in some discomfort for a month to six weeks. There isn't much I can do to help you with either problem.

"We'll give you some antibiotics to deal with any infection. I will also give you a prescription and some samples of Tylenol 3. I must warn you that Tylenol 3 contains codeine."

"Is codeine addictive?" I asked. "I can't remember."

"Yes, and you must take them sparingly and only as necessary because they are. That said, you'll find the prescription effectively fights the pain. Take it easy over the coming week. No physical work and stay away from anything that causes stress."

"I understand—no pickleball for a while," I said with a smile. But I knew this setback wouldn't stop me from answering to the resolve growing within me.

I will chase down Antara's killer come hell or high water.