Page 37 of Shadowed Witness

“You got it.” They’d get takeout from Zhan’s. Filling. Satisfying. And there might even be leftovers for later.

16

Allye barely made it inside her house.As soon as the front door closed behind her, she let her bags slide to the floor and considered joining them. She was absolutely exhausted, and her mind was reeling. Dion had been camping out on Spicebush Trail. And while she was so very grateful they’d found him safe, she’d had an awful realization. He’d been the one on the trail with her attacker Friday afternoon. The voice was the same, and so were his shoes.

What was he mixed up in?

She probably should have told Eric—correction, she knew she should have. But she was so tired of not being believed. And Dion had never been comfortably out of earshot on their return to the parking lot. Besides that, she’d had to focus on actually getting back. She’d been pushing herself well before they started the second loop around the trail. It was embarrassing how difficult that hike had been for her.

And things were just going to get worse.

“You don’t know that,” she muttered to herself, but the melancholy of the thought latched on, adding another weight to her weary body as she leaned against the door. The symptoms she’d noted over the last several weeks—no, months now—paradedin bold print through her mind. Recent unverifiable incidents aside, the conglomeration added up to a diagnosis she was quite familiar with.

She’d been eight when her aunt was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, but she remembered her mom’s reaction when she heard the news. Remembered independent, fun-loving Aunt Jo slowly losing her ability to play with them or even care for herself. Remembered when she was hospitalized repeatedly over the years for the pneumonia that eventually took her life.

Tears threatened, and she pressed her fists against her eyes. MS might not be fatal in itself, and from what she’d researched, it was more treatable today than in the past. Still, anyone who tried to say it wasn’t scary needed a reality check.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was just losing it and none of the physical symptoms were real. She snorted. Like that was any better.

But it could be something else. Something more manageable, even curable. Or something worse.

She groaned and pushed off the door. She hated the negative thoughts. They weren’t productive, weren’t helping her or anyone else. But they were there just the same.

More slowly than she would have thought possible at the beginning of the year, she trudged to her room and collapsed onto her unmade bed. Despite her fatigue, her thoughts continued to spiral with the frightening possibilities of what her life might look like in the coming months and years. Fears for herself tumbled over one another and collided with worries of how best to alert Eric to Dion’s possible involvement with her attacker. The sun set, then twilight faded, leaving her in total darkness.

Her phone, still in her pocket, buzzed. With an effort, she tugged it out and read the text from Hailey.

Praying for you.

That started the tears flowing for real. This time she let them. They’d probably result in a massive headache, if not a migraine, but she’d deal with that later.

Between sobs, she gasped out a prayer of her own. “God, I really, really need your help. I know you’re in control of whatever is going on in my life and my body, and I trust you. I do.” She sucked in a breath. “But this is also really, really hard.”

The tears continued, but her words were spent. Even as she soaked her pillow, she took comfort in knowing God understood her situation and what she would say if she could. He knew.

Eventually the flow subsided, leaving a raging headache in its wake as she’d feared. But she didn’t regret the tears. They’d helped. A little.

But the longer she lay in bed, the worse her head hurt, and the drier her throat became. Her face felt stiff and itchy from her cry. She reached toward her nightstand, feeling for a water bottle or glass with anything in it, but she’d cleared them all off when she did dishes earlier.

She procrastinated moving for another couple of minutes before working herself into a sitting position. The immediate nausea and dizziness almost pushed her right back down. She lowered her head into her hands and prayed for it to pass.

When the worst of it dulled, she gathered her courage and stood. She swayed and bumped the nightstand. Something clattered to the floor and rolled, but no way was she about to bend down for anything.

With a hand on the wall for support, she made her way to the bathroom for some pain relievers. She swallowed them with water from the sink, wishing she had a glass to fill for her room but not wanting to brave the walk to the kitchen. She needed to start keeping a case of water bottles in her room. One more thing to add to the “later” list.

She splashed her face with cool water and drank a couple more handfuls, all the while avoiding her reflection. No doubt her facewas as red as her hair and puffy to boot. She could pass on that image.

Once back in bed, she started making a mental checklist for tomorrow. She didn’t think she had any appointments, but she’d confirm that in the morning. Unless she’d forgotten something, editing Jayden’s photos would be priority—assuming the memory card hadn’t suffered damage during its time in the woods. She should have checked that as soon as she arrived home. Too late now. She wasn’t getting back up.

After editing, she’d move on to her festival products. Wool Fest was this weekend, and she had a booth reserved for all three days. She’d been collecting photos and knitting whimsical gifts and accessories all year, but her stockpile still seemed much smaller than usual. Maybe some of the photos she’d taken on her phone today would be high enough quality for postcard prints. Those tended to sell well, since they were an inexpensive option, and people loved looking through them.

Somewhere in there, she’d need to contact Eric about Dion. And she couldn’t forget dinner with Mom again. Or was that supposed to be Tuesday? Gah. She’d have to text her and confirm. Should have put it in her phone as soon as they discussed it.

Tuesday would be a whopper of a day regardless. MRI day. She both dreaded and looked forward to it. The not knowing was killing her. But once she knew, there would be no going back. If the MRI showed what she feared, she’d have to prepare to accept the diagnosis—even if more tests were required before it was official. She’d have to tell her family. Her mom.

She wasn’t ready for that.

17

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