Tessa was in a “no vent” section, which simply meant that she didn’t need a ventilator—at least not yet. She shared a room with another coma patient, a middle-aged woman who’d been there for several months. Her husband was sitting next to the bed when I entered. He spoke in a low voice with a woman who I figured was either an attorney or a doctor, judging solely by her professional appearance—dressed in a stylish dark-blue suit, brown hair accented with honey-blond highlights coiled up into an elegant twist, and understated yet elegant jewelry.
He looked up and gave me a smile as I entered—the kind of smile that was exchanged between people who shared a difficult circumstance. I returned the smile and then felt guilty. He was there every time I visited, reading to his comatose wife from a wide variety of books. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been to see Tessa.
“Good to see you, Kara,” he said. “This is our lawyer, Rachel Roth.”
The woman turned to me and gave me a neutral but pleasant smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope it won’t disturb your time with your aunt if we talk in here. If so, it’s no trouble at all for us to go down the hall.”
“No, that’s quite all right,” I said, suddenly realizing that this was Brian’s mother. No, his stepmother. I remembered Brian saying something about his birth mother passing away quite some time ago. I hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry for your loss. I worked with Brian.”
She gave a soft sigh. “Thank you. It’s been a hard few days. You’re with the PD?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Kara’s a homicide detective,” Mr. Roommate said. “She’s the one who tracked down the Symbol Man.”
Ms. Roth’s eyebrows lifted as she looked at me with renewed interest. “You must have some fascinating stories.”
“Too many,” I replied with a small shrug. “Excuse me. I’ll leave you two to your conversation. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Roth.” I quickly retreated out of the conversation and over to my aunt’s side of the room. I wasn’t about to tell Ms. Roth that I’d been the one to find Brian’s body or that I was in charge of the investigation.
The two resumed their low conversation, and I caught snatches about negligence, accident, and insurance. I’d gathered that Tessa’s roommate—whose name I kept forgetting—had been involved in some sort of motor vehicle accident. Apparently, Rachel Roth was handling a related lawsuit.
I set my backpack on the floor on the far side of the bed. There was a difference between Tessa and her roommate, though. The other woman was in a coma because of injuries from her accident. Tessa’s body was fine. She was just missing her essence.
I shifted into othersight to take a quick peek at the other woman. Yes, she was there, still in the body, waiting only for her body to heal and recover. I had no way to tell if that would ever happen, but I knew that it could happen. I sighed and switched back to normal sight, then sat in the chair beside Tessa and looked her over with worry. She looked paler, her cheekbones more pronounced. Her breathing seemed shallower as well, and I had to wonder how long it would be before she ended up on a ventilator. Her body was definitely declining. How much time do I have?
I swallowed back the knot of fear in my throat and pulled out a book. I started to read to her softly, trying not to disturb Mr. Roommate’s conversation with his attorney while hoping that they weren’t paying attention to me. I’d grabbed a book at random off the rack in the drugstore, a lurid and intentionally comedic romance about sex-starved vampires that had me stifling giggles by page three.
Finally what I was waiting for happened—the two finished their conversation and Mr. Roommate left to walk Ms. Roth out. I quickly pulled the curtain between the beds. It had seemed rude to do so earlier, but now it would give me time to hide what I was doing in case anyone came into the room.
Because they would definitely freak, I thought grimly as I pulled the syringe out of my backpack. I wasn’t medically qualified by any stretch of the imagination, but I needed some of her blood, and getting it in the traditional method for a summoner—a shallow slice on the forearm—would cause far too many questions. I figured a poke from a needle would go unnoticed, especially with all of the other needle sticks she was getting.
I managed to find a vein on the third try, exceedingly glad that my aunt wasn’t awake to berate me on my total lack of skill. I breathed a sigh of relief as I drew the syringe full of blood, then carefully dropped the whole thing into an evidence tube, capped it, and put it into my backpack. Then I went after her hair and pulled about fifty strands, complete with root. These I dropped into an envelope, folded it, and stashed it in the backpack. I pulled the two cotton swabs out next and quickly swiped inside her cheeks. Just like doing a rape kit, I thought.