Crystal Lies - Melody Carlson [77]
“Oh, God!” I cried out, falling onto my knees in front of the couch. “I don’t know what to do. I desperately need your help right now. Please, please, help me know what to do. How can I help Jacob? How can I spare him from this—this evil thing that is going to destroy him? Please, please, show me what to do…”
I continued praying like this for some time. Crying and praying. Praying and crying. Until finally it seemed there were no words left to pray. “God, help me,” I said. “Help Jacob. Spare him, God.” And then I crawled onto the couch and fell asleep. I didn’t wake up until early the next morning.
Feeling somewhat better, I got up and made a pot of coffee. I turned on the morning news show and began opening my mail. I was just opening an insurance envelope when something the local newscaster was saying stopped me dead in my tracks. I set down the half-opened envelope and listened.
“…earlier this morning the local young man was admitted to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning,” she was saying. I turned up the volume, heart pounding and ice water rushing through my veins. I knew it was Jacob.
“Sources say friends transported him to the hospital, then left before they could be questioned or identified. According to police reports, the young man’s blood-alcohol level was .43 percent, a lethal amount. The young man, whose name cannot be released until family is notified, died shortly after hospital personnel began treating him. In other news.
I felt my head growing dizzy, and I clung to the breakfast bar to support myself. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” I told myself. “It doesn’t have to be Jacob.” Even so, I could barely breathe, barely make my way to the phone. But who should I call? The police? The hospital? Geoffrey?
I decided to call the hospital. But my hands were shaking so badly I could barely dial directory assistance for the number. And when the operator came on, my voice was so raspy that I had to repeat myself twice. Finally I was connected to information at the hospital.
“I need to know…” I gasped. “I mean I need to find out if… if the young man who died of an…an alcohol overdose has been identified yet. I mean it’s possible that he’s my son, and I…uh…I don’t know.
“The young man has been identified,” said the woman.
“Have you notified the family yet?” I said in a barely audible voice.
“We were able to locate the young man’s father.”
I took in a jagged breath. “Can you…can you tell me the young man’s name, please? You see, my son’s father and I are…are estranged, and I…”
“I can understand your concern,” she said. “But I’m not allowed to give out that information.”
“But I’m afraid it’s my son,” I pleaded.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “You tell me the name of your son, and I’ll confirm whether or not that’s him. After all, I’m a mother too.”
“His name is Jacob Harmon.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. That’s not the young man who was brought in.”
I was flooded with relief, as if blood was pumping through my body again and life was returning. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely, positively certain?”
“Yes. It’s a positive identification. The young man’s father is here, and the mother is on the way.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” I said, practically ecstatic as I hung up. Of course, I felt a sharp twinge of guilt over my relief that someone else’s child, not mine, had perished today. And, as if in penance, I prayed for the grieving family. I prayed for God to comfort them in their time of darkness. I knew they must be hurting badly.