Page 9 of Passerby: A Psychological Thriller
Finally, I spot Johnny near the food stands chatting up a group of Rotary Club members, men twice his age. That’s Johnny for you. He always has his hand in some sort of pot, and he’s always stirring. He gives me a look, which is to say he hasn’t found Davis, as though it isn’t obvious, so I text Cole.
Johnny didn’t find Davis. Can you check the Holts’ place?
He replies within seconds. Already did.
I ask myself why Davis would have gone there, but it’s a pointless question, one I already know the answer to. My little brother has to play the hero. He always has.
I just hope I’m wrong.
My phone vibrates in my hand. I pray it’s Davis but Cole’s name lights up the screen. Don’t worry. I’ll find him.
I scan the crowd, and my eyes land on Johnny, who hasn’t moved. He flashes an irritated look in my direction, the kind that makes me wish Davis would get his shit together. That way the rest of us wouldn’t have to be out here propping the world up with our own two hands.
Chapter Six
Ruth
Cole didn’t find Davis at the Holts’ place because he’d already been there and gone. He wasn’t at the parade, and he wasn’t at home, because he was in the emergency room. It sounds bad, and it is, but not for the reasons you think. Davis is pretty lucky that he isn’t in jail or worse—dead.
Cole calls the ER and then me when he finds him, and even though I’m stone-cold sober, I ask Johnny to drive me to the hospital. Because if there’s one thing Davis is going to need, aside from medical attention, it’s the protection of his big brother.
I don’t know what he was thinking. It’s a sentiment I’ve held where he is concerned far too frequently lately. Davis should have known better. Everyone knows you do not mess with a Holt and get away with it. The same way you don’t mess with a Channing. The difference is the Holts will kill you in broad daylight and not think twice about it, whereas we Channings like to go about things in a slightly more civilized manner.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I say the second the emergency room attendant opens the door to the small exam room. It smells like antiseptic and bad decisions, and the combination fills me with rage. “And you drove yourself here? In this condition?”
The attendant looks from me to my little brother, wearing a blank stare and a sly smirk. It’s obvious that not only does she see a lot in her occupation, but she enjoys it.
“What are you looking at?” I step forward, straightening my spine. She doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t bat an eye—not until Johnny steps in, anyway.
He offers his signature grin, dimples and all. That grin has an effect on women that I’ll never understand. Most women in this town say it’s the dark hair and the even darker eyes, that or the tan skin and broad shoulders. But probably it’s the grin. Either way, it’s disgusting. Although, it did earn me a number of friends in high school and college that I wouldn’t have otherwise had.
“You’ll have to forgive my sister.” He motions with his hands as though he’s knocking a few drinks back. “She has a hard time understanding her limit.”
The girl is putty in his hands. All smiles and head tilts. She nods at Davis lying on the gurney. “Looks like it runs in the family.”
Johnny towers over her. He leans in like a Cheshire cat, eyeing its prey. I scan the room for the vomit bin. He clears his throat and then lowers his voice. “You have no idea.”
Thankfully, there’s a knock at the door which saves us all from me losing my lunch, both physically and metaphorically. “Well, well,” a booming voice says, stepping into the small room. “What have we here?”
I’d know that voice anywhere. “Ruth?”
I smile at Dr. Erichs, Jester Fall’s oldest veterinarian, as he pushes the curtain back.
“I guess I should ask the same,” Davis coughs out. It’s clear he’s in pain and not simply because there’s a gash in his forehead or blood all over his shirt. It’s not just the black eye or the ice pack covering his right hand. It’s in his voice. My little brother’s voice gives everything away, always. It’s his biggest tell.
“Well, my boy, this is what happens when you live in a small town and the only other doctor on emergency call is dealing with a kid with a concussion and another waiting with a broken arm. You get me.”
Davis shifts. “Is that even legal?”
“The Good Samaritan Law, look it up,” Dr. Erichs says. “Unless, of course, you’d rather wait around all night…”
“No,” Davis answers with a wince. “I just hope you brought the good drugs.”
“I take it you were feeling a bit tougher a few hours ago,” Dr. Erichs remarks. It makes me think of the two summers I spent interning with him, back when I thought I’d trade the hospitality business for the animal one, back before I realized they’re all the same beast.
It was a hard lesson to learn, but not the hardest. If only I’d known at the time, I’m sure I would have spent less time feeling miserable about it. Daddy had been furious at me over the situation. It was one of the few things I ever heard him and Mama truly argue about. You have to let her learn, Mama had said. She’ll come to her senses.
Mama was right.