Chaos Theory Read Online Free Page B

run away like any sane person should.
    Something in his voice twists my gut as he says, “It’s not what you think. Don’t say anything.” He wipes blood off his face, smearing it everywhere. The sheets are coated with it. “Kami, I’m not a drug dealer. A police detective’s coming. He’ll explain.”
    Police detective? Then the orderly is back. “You’ll have to wait in the lobby while we take Daniel to X-ray. When he’s finished, we’ll come get you.”
    No, you won’t. My duty is done. I’m out of here.
    Nabbing my hand, Daniel yanks me down until his breath rustles against my ear. “Please wait. That’s all you have to do. Wait until he gets here. He’ll explain.”
    Mundane stuff sucks me in. The nurse looks at me like I should know and says, “Does he have an insurance card?”
    Daniel says, “In my wallet. Jeans.”
    The nurse opens the cabinet and searches the black plastic bag where they’ve put his stuff. It reminds me of my locker yesterday morning. Ages ago. When she finds the wallet, she hands it to me.
    Mundane stuff—keep drug deals held at bay. Mundane stuff—insurance cards. Mundane stuff—I can do insurance cards. I must be in shock. I’m on repeat. Drug deals, assault, ER rooms—it’s all too much.
    They wheel Daniel to X-ray. In my pocket that drug baggie burns. The orderly leads me back through the ER doors, sitting me down at the front desk. Flipping through the wallet, I find the Blue Cross card and hand it over. The twenty-four-hour news babbles behind me on the waiting room TV. I should run out the front doors, get in EB, and disappear from Drug Dealer Daniel’s life.
    My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Sandy, actually tons of texts from Sandy. Her most recent true-worry post says, Text me or I’m calling the cops!!! Three exclamation marks. O r your folks. WTF? Swiping back, the first time-dated text is an innocuous, where the hell are you??? Three questions marks.
    What to say? There’s snark option: D elayed. Drug deal. Or maybe the factual: Hospital. Nah, neither works. She’ll leave the game and come here. I don’t want Sandy tied up to this mess. That left deceit; I punch a reply. Sick. C u Monday . Guilt from lying to my BFF rolls over my skin like slime.
    â€œAll done, Kami.” Out of my fog world, Nancy Cabot’s mom, the ER reception lady, sits at the desk holding Daniel’s insurance card out to me. She’s explaining the HIPAA privacy law brochure to me. She was my Brownie scout leader in grade school.
    Had she forgiven me for dumping John Deere green paint on her carpet? We’d been making signs for a Fareway Grocery cookie sale. It wasn’t on purpose, but I had been steamed at Nancy.
    Mrs. Cabot looks up over my shoulder, jerks her chin toward the double doors, and pushes the door release at her desk. A deep gravelly voice from behind me says, “Thank you.” Twisting around, I see a broad, tall back disappear through the double stainless-steel doors. His neck is thick and his hands red. It’s the comic book villain from the MA parking lot.
    I stuff Daniel’s insurance card in his wallet and put it in my backpack. Mrs. Cabot leans forward. “Kami, what are you doing with him?”
    Freaking zombie ate my logic brain. Only explanation.
    She says, “This isn’t like you—hanging around a drug dealer? What will everyone think?” She’s right. No matter what she says about privacy laws, this will get out.
    I stand, but it takes a lot of effort. I’m disoriented, and in my head, squishy thud sounds of boots drilling into Daniel recycle over and over. Luckily, my less-empathetic hungry stomach growls to interrupt the horror show. It’s loud enough for the whole waiting room to hear. Concentrate on Mundane Stuff. Eat. The vending machines are down the hall and around a corner.