“It’s okay.” He sat up. Grumpy gave an unhappy groan and burrowed further under the blankets.
“The exchange called. I think Janelle is having a panic attack.”
“Crap.” He sighed. “That poor kid.”
I moved to the bed and leaned over to kiss him. He responded, although it was obvious he was still half out of it. Once the kiss ended, I said, “I need to hurry. I’ll see you at lunch, okay? We can iron out the details later.”
“Okay.” He squeezed my hand. “Be safe.”
“Of course.” I quickly left the room and let myself out of the house. I was eternally grateful to Royce for buying me a car. In the past, I’d have had to call a taxi, but now I could just drive myself.
It was so early in the morning, the shops were dark and the streets eerily empty. The drive to the Raidens’ home was short, one benefit of living in a small town. When I arrived at the address I’d been given, I found tall iron gates blocking my way. On the driver’s side, there was a post with a speaker. I pressed the button on the call box, and a female voice squawked through the device, asking me to identify myself.
“It’s Dr. Thornton.”
The person disconnected, and I scowled, but then the big gates began to creak open. I waited for them to open all the way, and I slowly drove through them. The driveway was long and winding. It cut through oak trees and barrel cactus, finally ending in a circular driveway with a fountain in the middle. Even in the dark, with just my headlights illuminating the front of the home, it was obviously a very large and opulent home.
I parked near the front steps and hurried around to the back of my car. I tugged out my medical bag and moved up the stairs that led to a double door. Security lights illuminated the area as I reached the entrance. I wasn’t sure if someone had flicked them on or if they were motion activated. Either way, the area was bathed in harsh white light.
I rang the bell, and a few moments later, the door opened, and Angela stood there in her dressing gown and fluffy pink slippers. “Dr. Thornton, I thought you’d never get here.” She stepped aside. “Come in. Janelle is upstairs in her room.”
“Can you be sure the front gates stay open? I called an ambulance.” As I spoke, I rushed toward the winding staircase that would lead up to the next level. The home was unlike anything I’d seen since being in Rainy Dale. Mosaic tile floor, Corinthian columns, and crystal chandeliers set it apart from the typical home in this small town. There wasn’t a wagon wheel or a stuffed animal’s head in sight.
Angela followed me up the stairs, breathing hard. “I made her some chamomile tea, hoping it might help her relax. She wouldn’t drink it.”
“Did something happen?”
“You mean other than Archie dying? Wasn’t that enough?”
I grimaced. “I meant did somethingelsehappen? Something that set her off?”
“I don’t know.” She sounded exasperated. “She keeps saying all sorts of crazy things. I ignore most of what she says lately. But then she started having chest pains and insisted I call you.”
We reached the landing that split off in two directions. Angela brushed past me, heading to the right. “This way, Doctor.” After traveling about twelve feet, she stopped at one of the doors. “This is Janelle’s room.” She flung the door open and stood aside for me to enter first.
I moved into the room, expecting Janelle to be in the large four-poster bed. She wasn’t. When I scanned the room, I spotted Janelle sitting on the floor near an open window. She was clutching her throat and gasping for air.
When she saw me, she whimpered, “Help me, Dr. Thornton.”
I strode to her, kneeling down. While she was struggling for air, her cheeks were pink, and there were no telltale signs of a heart attack, such as blue around the lips. I took her slender wrist between my fingers, not surprised to find her pulse speeding.
“You’re having chest pains, Janelle?” I asked calmly.
She nodded, looking panicked.
“What does the pain in your chest feel like?” Anxiety attacks and heart attacks were often confused with each other. The difference was an anxiety attack usually produced sharp stabbing pains, whereas an actual heart attack often felt like a rhinoceros was standing on your chest.
Janelle wailed, “I don’t know. It’s just pain, and I… I can’t breathe.”
“Any aching or burning?” I opened my bag as I spoke.
“No.” Her face was sweaty and her eyes wide.
“Have you had any alcohol?”
She shook her head.
“Have you taken any drugs or medications?” I asked.
