Treating Murder by Gabrielle Black

Author:Gabrielle Black
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Big Ben Books
Published: 2013-03-23T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

At home, I walked from room to room as though I had been gone a thousand years, and was amazed to find everything still the same. The mail was spilling over, and several newspapers were at the door. There could be nothing good contained in those papers. I knew that I was featured in most, and I never wanted to read them. I carried them all into the kitchen to place in the recycle bin.

The ivy on the kitchen counter was badly in need of water. I got out the pitcher of plant food, and poured some in.

Curiosity overcame me, and I retrieved the top paper and spread it on the counter. The oldest one had the picture of me in the police station. Today’s again had me on the front page, but showed a file photo which I recognized as being from a feature on new doctors that ran when I started practice.

The headline read ‘Accused doctor to make bail’. I read the first line, “Alleged murderer Dr. Veronica Lane to be granted bail today after being held over the weekend. Sources say that she is potentially dangerous, and concerned citizens question whether release is appropriate.”

I covered my mouth in horror as I backed away from the counter. It was worse than I thought, I felt sick. I wadded up the papers and buried them deep in the bin, then stumbled to the couch in the other room to lie down. I stared at the ceiling unblinking. Half an hour passed. Maybe if I was exonerated, and I was not convinced anymore that I would be, I could join a new practice in another state, maybe another country. I would never practice here again.

Finally, the horror receded and I gathered enough strength to climb up to my bedroom, undress, and toss my clothes at the hamper. As I stepped into the shower, I felt days’ worth of tension ease under the hot water. I scrubbed myself thoroughly, and it was the best I’d felt since the arrest. Still I didn't feel fully clean, so I sat down on the shower bench and leaned against the wall letting the water run over me until it started to get cold. Then, I toweled off and put on a bathrobe.

Down in the kitchen, I poured a glass of orange juice, made a sandwich, and took them to my studio. A flat table to my left, covered in a soft cloth, held all of my tiny instruments: forceps, wire cutters, loupes. On the shelf underneath, my supplies of gold and silver plate waited. Over on the right lay a small, clear, plastic box divided into sections where I kept my stones, small diamonds, garnets, pearls, topaz, citrine, larimar, and amethyst. Mostly the stones were semi-precious, but I felt that the white of the diamonds and pearls was sometimes just the right touch. I usually spent hours here after work. Sitting at my bench cleared my head and reminded me of beautiful things. Sometimes the tragedies in the hospital got to be too much.

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