With My Last Breath(Rewriting)

Chapter 11

      "What happened? Is she okay? Is she hurt?" I asked frantically hoping he would answer before I went crazy.

" Miss, it is something that we need to discuss in person. Please come as soon as you can."

Setting my phone on the desk, I realized I didn't have time for a shower. I grabbed a pair of shorts, an old t-shirt and threw my hair into a ponytail. Brushing my teeth, my mind was buzzing with questions, that would hopefully be answered. I slipped into a pair of flip flops, grabbed my phone and car keys and was out the door.

    It was only a 15 minute drive, but it felt like an eternity. Pulling up to the hopsital, my stomach went into knots. I haven't seen my mother for eight years. What would I say to her? Would she even remember me? Would she hate me for putting her here? Many questions ran through my mind, while I put the car in park and turned off the engine. Staring out the windshield, I knew that it was time. Time to face what I had been avoiding for eight years. Taking a deep breath, I got out of the car. My feet felt as if I had lead weights attached to them, slowing me down as I got closer and closer to the front doors. The knots in my stomach tightened, as I put my hand on the door handle. This was it, no turning back. Opening the door, the aroma of roses, filled my lungs. Stepping inside, my muslces tensed up. Walking up to the front desk, I noticed how eerily quiet it was. You could have heard a pin drop. A lady wearing scrubs, her dark brown hair with a few grays pulled back into a bun, probably mid fifties looked up from her paperwork." Can I help you?" she asked.

" Yes, A man named Dylan called about my mother Tereasa Jenkins. He told me to come as soon as possible."

" Okay and what is your name?" she asked calmy.

" Andrea Jenkins."

" Okay. Let me page him. You can take a seat right over there."

" Thanks." Instead of sitting down I walked around looking at the artwork covering the wall. Most of the drawings or paintings weren't done by da vinci or Monet. They were done by the patients. Some were actually quite beautiful. It made me wonder why they were here if there artwork was this beautiful. " Miss Jenkins." I turned around to see a man with spikey blone hair, his eyes were care worn and he was very well built. " Hi, I'm Dylan. We spoke on the phone earlier."

"Hello Dylan. What's going on with my mother?"

" We should talk about this in my office." I followed him to his office. Once inside he closed the door." Please take a seat." Sitting down I noticed he had lots of diplomas and degrees on the walls. His desk was very neat and organized. Before I could say anything he said," Okay, what I'm about to tell you is very graphic. Are you okay with that?" he asked staring intently into my eyes.

" Yes, I can handle it," I said telling myself that I could, but deep down knowing that I probably couldn't.

" Okay. Yesterday your mother was eating lunch with everyone like normal. She was sitting with Becky. They were talking about the old days and Becky had said something about your father. Your mother got a little upset. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a knife. She lunged at Becky, knocking her to the ground. She was asking her to take back what she said. My staff seen there was a ruckus. Right before they got to your mother, she slit Becky's throat and then stabbed her in the chest."

My eyes widened as fear clutched my chest. My mother, my best friend when I was a kid. The one that tucked me in and kissed me before bedtime. I just stared at him in disbelief. " Where is she right now?" I asked meekly.

" We have her in a padded cell by herself. She won't talk to anybody she keeps calling for you Andrea."

My heart stopped and my mouth became dry."Me?" I managed to squeak out.

" Yes. We have tried everything else to get her to talk, but she won't. I think if she sees you she will talk. Do you think you would be up for that?"

" If it will make her talk. What will happen if she does talk?" I asked concern covering my face.

" She will be put in solitary confinement, and still be taken care of daily. We think that when she was supposed to take her medicine, she hide it under her tongue and then spit it out when the nurse left."

I sat there pondering whether or not to go see her. She was still meantally disturbed. What about my safety. What if she tried to kill again? I felt sick to my stomach. Taking in slow dep breaths I thought it over. I had made my desicion. Looking to the doctor I said," Doctor I...."

Ring! Ring! I jumped a little when the phone rang." Excuse me Andrea, hold that thought I need to take this."