Big Data: A Startup Thriller Novel

Chapter 77

         

Chelsea Moore desperately regretted her decision to go directly home from the hospital. She'd arrived at home the night before, and by the afternoon, she'd already run out of prescription pain pills. She shook the bottle just in case there was one hiding. On a scale of one to ten, her pain was a nine. It hurt. A lot. The discharge nurse had told her she should pick up her medication on the way home, but she'd been so tired and only wanted to get home and go to sleep. What a stupid decision. What painful consequences.

It took almost all of her energy just to stay upright at the kitchen counter. To think about what to do. She could call a cab, but she couldn't afford to pay for a cab and the pills. The fun dilemmas of being poor. Sure, she'd just started her dream job, but she hadn't even gotten her first paycheck yet. And now some substitute was spending time with her children. Build that intimate bond of those first days. She was missing everything.

At this rate, she would be missing even more days. And such formative days too—the students must be so anxious and uneasy about the new year. They needed her warm smile; they needed to know everything would be okay. The kind words needed to be given at just the right time. And the bully—there was always a class bully. And Chelsea needed to be there to undermine that bully's authority from day one. Chelsea needed to be there.

But if she was ever going to get back to her classroom, she needed to survive the next few days. Which was not going to happen without those pills. She had already maxed out the Tylenol she was supposed to take, and then some. It didn't help. She felt like two oversized nails were being driven into her temples. Even the dim lights burned her eyes. She would rather die than keep feeling this pain. She had no choice. She would have to drive.

Chelsea groped at the wall to keep herself steady as she made her way to the front door. She pushed it open and the afternoon sun burst through. Now the pain was a ten out of ten. Maybe an eleven. Why did the sun have to be so damn bright? She considered giving up right then, turning around, covering herself with a sheet, and letting herself die in this miserable agony.

But the kids. They needed her. She tried to think straight. Where was the nearest Walgreens? Was it on El Camino Real? Or the one on Middlefield? Maybe there was a drug store closer. She couldn't remember if Kmart had a drug store.

She made it to her car, but then she couldn't find her keys. Where had she left them? She checked her purse again. She dumped everything out onto the passenger seat and riffled through it all. Some stuff fell to the floor. All this stuff. She needed to keep her purse cleaner. How often did she need any of this anyway?

Now that she thought about it, she wondered how her car had even gotten there. She'd had the heart attack at school. Her car had been parked at the school. How did the car get all the way here? Damn, her head hurt. It was definitely an eleven now.

Someone must have towed it here. Why didn't they tell her that? They should have told her who towed it, so she could get the keys. The keys. Wait. If they'd towed it, they wouldn't have taken the keys. She would still have them in her purse if they had towed the car.

So someone had taken her keys and driven her car back here for her. But who could have done that? Who had her keys? Maybe that person could drive and get the pills for her. It was Sunday afternoon. If it was another teacher or Mr. Carbahol, maybe they could help her.

Or maybe they just left the keys in the car. She pulled down the visors. Nothing. She wished her head was clear. That she could think straight. She opened the—oh God, what was it called?—glove department? There they were. The keys.

She'd been driving this piece of shit green Kia for ten years now. It had recently reached two hundred thousand miles. Both bumpers were hanging on by threads. But the engine turned like clockwork. Those Koreans made good cars.

She put the car into gear, and then paused, muttering, "Fuck."

She put the car back into park again. She shuffled through the crap on the passenger seat. She'd forgotten the prescriptions. Now she had to go all the way back to the house. Maybe she should just give up. This was ridiculous. Then, finally, she caught a break.

There, on the floor, were the prescriptions. She hadn't forgotten them after all. She was good to go. She put the car back into gear and pulled slowly away from the curb.