Chapter 2 - What the Marks Said
At Marion County General, Dr. Carter lowered my father’s hospital gown and examined his back beneath the harsh ceiling lights.
The bruises were round, nearly identical in size, and spaced several inches apart.
“These weren’t caused by a fall,” she said.
Priscilla jerked against the officer standing behind her. “Lock him up before he hurts someone!”
Dad flinched at her voice.
I stepped between her and the bed and placed one hand on his shoulder.
“Take your hands off my father.”
Officer Miller tightened his grip on Priscilla’s arm. Evan struggled beside her until the second officer pushed him back against the cabinets.
“You don’t know what he did,” Evan snapped.
Dr. Carter pressed beside one of the bruises. Dad sucked in a broken breath.
I had seen impact injuries before. The rounded marks could have come from the knob of a bat driven repeatedly into soft tissue. They were too deliberate to have happened during a brief fight.
Dad reached behind him and caught my wrist.
Evan stopped struggling.
Priscilla looked at Evan instead of Dad.
That small exchange bothered me more than the shouting.
Dad lifted his head. “Your brother held me down.”
The second officer’s hands shifted higher on Evan’s shoulders.
Dr. Carter raised Dad’s forearm. A fresh hand-shaped mark wrapped around the skin above his wrist.
Evan looked toward the hallway. Priscilla tried to stand.
“Sit down,” Miller ordered.
Dr. Carter drew blood and asked Dad what medications he took. He named a blood-pressure pill, a cholesterol medication, and half a tablet for sleep on bad nights.
An hour later, she pulled me aside.
“He has a heavy dose of an over-the-counter sedating antihistamine in his system,” she said. “Enough to cause confusion and instability in someone his age.”
“He doesn’t take that.”
“Someone gave it to him.”
I returned to the bed.
Dad stared at the floor when I asked who filled his weekly pill organizer.
May you like
“Priscilla,” he said.
Then he added, almost apologetically, “But Evan bought the pills.”
