The Dying Room

The

DYING

Room

A Faces of Evil Novel

Debra Webb

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 Debra Webb, Pink House Press

Edited by Marijane Diodati

Cover Design by Vicki Hinze

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

PINK HOUSE PRESS

WebbWorks, Huntsville, Alabama

First Edition March 2015

Jackson Street, Birmingham, Alabama

Sunday, March 29, 2:00 p.m.

“It won’t be long now.” Wilson Hilliard was dying a slow, agonizing death. If God had any mercy, he would have ended his wretched existence long before now. But then, he and God had never been on very good terms. Between the stroke that had paralyzed him six years ago and the cancer eating away at his insides, he was most certainly paying for his every sin and he wasn’t even dead yet.

His friend tucked the covers around him. “Now, now, Mr. Hilliard, none of us knows when our hour will come.”

Wilson managed the strength to laugh. “True. True.” He patted the man’s hand. “You’ve been a loyal friend, Bernard. I wish I could compensate you properly.”

Bernard smiled down at him. “It’s a privilege, sir. You rest now. You’ve had enough excitement for today.”

“Show me the photo once more and tell me again what he said.” Wilson felt almost giddy even though he’d heard the story twice already.

Bernard’s smile stretched into a grin as he leaned close to whisper. “First, he pleaded and cried like a small child.” He held his cell phone where the photo he had taken could be seen. “Then, when he understood his pleas were falling on deaf ears, he said:
God have mercy on my soul
.”

Despite the agony tearing at his body that the pain medications couldn’t touch, Wilson laughed until he lost his breath. When he could breathe again he sputtered, “The very idea. God has no mercy for men like us. Apparently, our old associate wasn’t listening all those Sundays he sat in church with his lovely wife and perfect son.”

“I think not,” Bernard agreed.

“They deserted me.” Anger stung Wilson’s eyes. He was old, his mind feeble or he would never allow even a moment of weakness. “I gave them everything, and when I needed them most they turned their backs on me.”

Bernard nodded, his face somber.

“It’s very much as your Mr. Durham said,” Wilson concluded, as much to himself as to his friend. “I’ve been left to this...” He looked around the room, his sight failing him, too. He could scarcely see the drab wallpaper, torn and peeling, or the faded, tattered curtains. “
Dying
room.”

“We’re making the best of the situation, sir.”

Bernie’s optimism lifted his spirits like a ray of sunshine after an endless winter rain. His promises made these final days bearable. “I want them to know what it is to feel this agony... this
emptiness
. I want each one of them to recognize their fate as they draw a final breath in their own dying rooms.”

“I will see to it, sir.”

“You have the list?” Wilson wished he could be there in person to watch.

Bernard patted the breast pocket of his light wool jacket. “I do.”

Wilson nodded. “Good. I’ll hang on then for as long as I can. I refuse to go to hell until I know they’re all there waiting for me.”

“All is in order, sir,” Bernard assured him. “The work will be quick. I will not fail.”

Wilson closed his eyes with complete confidence that all was as it should be. For the first time, he looked forward to dying.

2402 Old Leeds Lane, Mountain Brook, Alabama, 5:30 p.m.

Sylvia Baron picked up the small silver baby spoon. She traced the name engraved there.
Burnett
. Her best friend’s baby was due in only three weeks. Sylvia felt a smile tug at her lips. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d claimed anyone as a best friend. Maybe in her undergraduate days.
Before
.

Before her life had changed.

“Do people really use those?”

Sylvia blinked away the memories and looked up as Jess Harris Burnett, Birmingham’s deputy chief of Major Crimes, joined her at the gift table. “I can’t say for sure,” Sylvia teased, “but there are those who accuse me of being born with one in my mouth.” Sylvia held the silver spoon next to her face. “What do you think?”

Jess laughed. “I’m afraid this child,” she rubbed her round belly, “may be accused of the same if Katherine has anything to do with it.” She surveyed the gorgeous flowers, colorful balloons, and silk streamers adorning her mother-in-law’s family room. “The decorations alone for this party must have cost a small fortune.”

Sylvia returned the spoon to its satin lined box. “This is her first grandchild. They say parents and grandparents always go a little overboard with the first one.”

Her eyebrows merging together in concern, Jess touched Sylvia’s arm. “You look distracted. Is something going on with Nina?”

Sylvia shook her head. “Nina’s doing great.” Since moving to the clinic in New York last October and participating in that incredible new drug trial, her sister had made a complete turnaround. It was amazing and Sylvia could not be happier. “If she continues on her present course, she’ll be released to the care of her psychiatrist here next month. She’ll be living at home again for the first time in more than ten years.”

“I’m so happy for your family.”

Sylvia nodded. “Thank you. Mother and Daddy are ecstatic.” Nina’s recovery was nothing short of a miracle.

“You two look as if you could use some more punch.” Gina Coleman, the person who probably knew Sylvia better than anyone, joined them. In each hand, Gina carried an elegant crystal cup filled with Katherine’s secret punch recipe.

Sylvia lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s after five o’clock. You’re an award-winning investigative television journalist, and you couldn’t find anything stronger than punch.”

Gina grinned and extended a cup toward her. “Don’t I always take care of you?”

Sylvia accepted the cup and tasted the refreshment. “Hmm.” She sent her friend a pointed look. “If Katherine finds out you—”

“She won’t.” Gina passed the remaining cup to Jess. “The virgin recipe for the mother-to-be.”

“Thank you.” Jess cradled the cup in both hands.

Gina moved in closer. “So, what’s up?”

Jess shrugged. “Sylvia hasn’t spilled yet.”

Sylvia made a face. “Nothing is
up
. I was lost in thought, that’s all.” She glanced at the klatches of women gathered around the room. A dozen little huddles, all discussing the hottest gossip or newest recipe or maybe the latest white sale at Belk’s. The wives of doctors and lawyers and daughters of old money families, women Sylvia had known her entire life. Few had the first idea how cold and brutal real life could be.

Enough with the pity party, Sylvia
.

“There she goes again,” Jess said, drawing Sylvia’s errant attention back to their intimate huddle. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Sylvia downed her spiked punch. “I think I’ve had a little too much baby today.”

Gina patted Jess’s belly. “She doesn’t mean it, little one. We’re going to spoil you rotten.”

Sylvia scowled. “If you have to know, today is kind of a sad day for me. I lost someone special on this day back... when I was in Paris.”

“I remember when you were away.” Gina nodded slowly as if she were searching her memory. “You took a semester off before starting med school. I was so pissed that my parents wouldn’t let me go with you.”

“You fell in love in Paris?” Jess set her punch aside and planted her hands on her hips, emphasizing the swell of her belly. “Do tell.”

She should have kept her mouth shut. Sylvia heaved a big breath. “Not a boyfriend. Just a special...
friend
.”

Gina squeezed Sylvia’s shoulders in a quick hug. “I’m sorry. You never said anything.”

And she never would.

“What am I missing?” Lori Wells joined the huddle. She looked from Jess to Sylvia and then to Gina. “Who died?”

Despite herself, Sylvia laughed. Jess and Gina joined the outburst.

Lori looked confused. “You three cannot be drinking the same punch I am.”

“I can change that for you, Detective,” Gina said. “I know where Katherine keeps her elixir.”

“Actually.” Lori smiled widely. “I can’t have alcohol.”

Jess gasped. “Are you serious?”

Lori nodded. “I took a pregnancy test this morning.” She literally shook with excitement. “It was positive! Chet is over the moon!”

“Wow.” Sylvia tried to sound excited but the word came out a little flatter than she’d intended. “That’s great.” She turned to Gina. “If you get pregnant, I’m looking for new friends.”

The ladies laughed again. Sylvia was very happy for Jess and Lori. She really was. It was just tough, particularly today. Damn Katherine Burnett for picking this day to have Jess’s shower.

“No matter how certain you are that you don’t want children, when you fall in love with the right man,” Jess glanced at Gina, “or woman, you may change your mind. When I started my career, I didn’t see myself having a child
ever
. And look at me, I’m huge!”

“You look wonderful.” Gina hugged her.

Gina was right, Sylvia admitted. Jess glowed. Her long blond hair lay in soft curls around her shoulders. The elegant blue dress molded to her baby bump in a bold, modern fashion. The low-heeled pumps left something to be desired, but Sylvia understood the choice. She watched as Gina and Lori reassured Jess. The two looked equally gorgeous in their figure flattering sheath style dresses. Both had those dark, exotic looks gained only through good genes. Sylvia considered herself the plain Jane of the group. Though she’d added red highlights to her brown hair, it was still just brown. Her brown eyes were ordinary. She’d spent most of her life trying to make up for her average appearance with attitude and intellect.

She scanned the room again, noting all the women her age. All were married or had been at least once and were rearing offspring. Sylvia was forty-four years old and divorced. The failed marriage hadn’t resulted in any children. She had used the excuse that she was too busy for children. The truth was she had pushed aside anything that might have gotten in her way of building a respected career—her daddy’s greatest wish for his daughters. Senator Robert Baron had preached strength, ambition, and independence from the time Nina and Sylvia were born. Her marital status, however, wasn’t her daddy’s fault. The senator had never made any extraordinary demands on his daughters. Somehow Sylvia had taken on that burden herself. Perhaps, it had happened after Nina was diagnosed with such a horrific and challenging illness. Maybe Sylvia had decided she needed to make their daddy proud enough for both of them.

She dismissed the absurd line of thinking. There was no one else to blame for the choices she had made. There was no taking back one choice in particular and no changing the result. What was done was done. Now, she lived with the consequences. Pretending it never happened had been so much easier until recently.

“Excuse me, ladies.”

Sylvia and her friends turned to the young woman who was a member of the staff catering the elaborate baby shower.

“Mrs. Burnett said I should tell you that your cell phones are ringing nonstop in the guest room.”

Punch cups were set aside and thank-you’s tossed over shoulders as the four hurried from the room, down the hall, and to the last door on the right. As Katherine had said, at least four cell phones were making noise, each with its own unique ring tone.

Sylvia’s call went to voicemail before she could catch it.

“Yes, Sergeant,” Jess was saying to her caller. She listened a moment, her face shifting to a troubling expression, “I’ll be right there.” She ended the call and looked from Lori to Sylvia. “We have a murder.”

As much as Sylvia hated to hear of anyone’s death—especially by homicide—she was grateful for the excuse to leave the festivities. As Jefferson County’s associate coroner, she had learned a long time ago that relating to the dead was far less complicated than interacting with the living.

Not once in her career had Sylvia let down the dead, which was more than she could say for the living.