Why She Drowned [1]

the ninth gulp.

• vii. •

IT WAS ONLY TWO WEEKS AFTER being a part of the Montgomery family that she became reacquainted with the sight of officers in uniform. Assimilating into a her uncle's rich society had been gradual and not been made aware yet (and Clair is not objective to the fact that they just wanted to leak out their "family good-will" when releasing their "act of kindness" for taking in their dead brother's daughter like she was some sort of bloody charity act).

"What are you doing here, little girl?" asked the officer gruffly. The dimly lit corridor of the hospital made his face flash with patterns of light.

She stared at him with unseeing eyes. Her head already hurt with memories of blue suits and golden badges.

"She's the patient's granddaughter," muttered the nurse, who looked at her with a mixture of pity and sympathy that made Clair's heart contract uncomfortably. She didn't have a grandfather fourteen years ago. She didn't particularly care, either, considering the fact he'd abandoned his son first.

The officer, too, emulated the nurse's look. "I'm officer Lionel," he said again, nicer, "and I'm sorry to say that your grandfather isn't doing so well."

"I'm well-aware my grandfather had terminal lung cancer because he couldn't stop smoking fags," she said, but without attitude.

Officer Lionel's eyes widened at the frank comment. "Miss, are you sure you're prepared for the news? He's been in the ICU for a while, and as his personal security guard I advise you to know that we might lose him—"

"Clair!" the strong voice of her cousin cut off Officer Lionel.

Her cousin came into view, all red, bouncing curls and messy mascara from the beginning of the hall, camera lights blinking off in the distance. The reporters were only allowed in the front hallway. Clair had taken the back, of course.

"Oh, Officer!" Carol blubbered. "My parents are at a meeting right now and I'll be visiting in their stead. Is our grandfather okay?"

"He's been smoking for seventy years and drinking alcohol for the past sixty," Clair deadpanned, pulling her arm away from Carol's grip. "How do you think he's doing?"

Carol swatted her palm against the upside of Clair's shirt. She could already feel it begin to bruise. "Oh, I apologize Officer Lionel. My cousin seems to be very emotional that she doesn't understand what's right to say in public or not."

"I understand," said the officer, who kept his gaze on her face unlike the others in the room, who'd clearly taken note of Carol's tight red dress. "This is clearly an emotional time."

Carol's sordid response is overpowered by the sudden red lights and alarm blaring overhead. Clair shrinks into herself, only barely having enough self-control to not jam her hands over her ears. The formerly orderly room becomes a flurry of action, nurses and doctors streaming through rooms into the emergency compartment. "Code Red," shrieked one nurse, quickly pulling on her scrubs, "Code Red in Compartment 284!"

"What's happening?" shouted Carol.

Officer Lionel disappeared among the chaos, but his response was grim twenty minutes later, his hat off his head and placed over his heart. "Misses, I regret to inform you that your grandfather has passed away during surgery." He lowered his head solemnly. "I'm very sorry."

Carol burst into tears, falling prettily into the chairs.

Clair muttered a prayer, closing her eyes. Even though she hadn't been close enough to mourn deeply for her grandfather, she had seen enough death in her lifetime to know the pattering inside her heart was grief surfacing—unwillingly, she only conjured up the only memories she remembered.

Over the sobs of her cousin, she could distinctly hear the echo of her grandfather's screams at the back of her mind.

(She choked down the one threatening to rip out of her).

• o •