The Girl in a Coma by John Moss Read Free Book Online

years I’ve done some bad stuff, I suppose. Like pounding what’s-his-face until he cried. But it wasn’t him who shot me. I’d recognize him with my eyes closed.
    Is that a joke? I mean, they won’t open.
    Anyway, he left town. Peterborough wasn’t big enough for the two of us. He moved to Lakefield or Toronto.
    Don’t know, don’t care.
    What else have I done that’s really bad? Bad enough to be killed for? Well, why do people murder people?
    Out of anger. I don’t go around making people mad at me.
    For jealousy. Come on, who’d be jealous of me and Jaimie Retzinger?
    For money, then. Yeah, the big insurance payoff. Jackpot!
    What about mistaken identity? I repeat, what about mistaken identity?
    But no, he drove his blue Chevy close beside me before pulling ahead and stopping. I guess the cops don’t know it was a blue Chevy. I mean, they couldn’t find out from me, could they? There was fresh snow on the ground. It was bright. I was standing under a streetlight. He knew exactly whose head he was shooting at. I heard a shout before he fired. Was the guy in the car trying to stop him? I remember grabbing the bear spray. With the other hand I clutched the silver medallion hanging on a chain around my neck. It’s what they call a talisman, a good-luck charm and family heirloom. It has been in my family for generations. But good luck? Good glory, I was shot in the head.
    And yet, like…wait, good luck for sure: I’m not dead. And I’m dreaming of ancestors as if they were real. Well, they were, of course. My wounded brain is awash in remembering blood.
    What about revenge?
    Good. We’re back to square one. What did I do to deserve to be shot?
    Maybe I’ll do better thinking about Rebecca and Noah Shantz.
    She’s convinced Jacob didn’t take Old Bess. But Old Bess went missing. So where did she go? Jacob doesn’t understand that Rebecca came to warn him about being wanted for murder. But it turns out he’s well hidden in plain sight. He doesn’t even know his father is dead.
    She’s just someone from home who joined the Revolution. Since he turned his back on his Mennonite brethren, it doesn’t surprise him that she could do the same. It seems he’s not the sharpest knife in the box. More like a spoon.
    I feel myself drifting into sleep. I know my midnight stalker is watching. What’s he looking for? Does he know what I did to get myself shot? Does he know why he did it—if it was him? Who else? There could be a conspiracy, a horde of villains determined to eliminate Allison Briscoe. I doubt it, but who knows? Glory, glory, I’m safer asleep. Good night, Allison. Sleep tight.

    Rebecca
    Rebecca lay on her straw mattress, staring up into the rafters. It was still dark outside, but bright enough with the new moon that a few chinks of light shone through the boards in the gables, between the logs and the sloped roof. She refused to sob but she couldn’t hold the tears back. She could feel them burning her cheeks and soaking her pillow.
    Now she understood the kiss, the one beside the church. Jacob was saying goodbye to the world he had grown up in. She had been the best thing in that world, just like his father was the worst thing. It was not because she was extra special. It was because she was pretty and kind and smiled at him whenever their eyes met.
    It was not about romance. Coming to school must have been a relief for Jacob from the horrors of home. Sitting across the aisle from her had been the best part of his day.
    It made her happy to know this, in spite of being sad.
    She felt very old and very young at the same time. She knew that whatever love between a man and a woman was, Jacob had not been in love. Neither had she. They might have got married and had children and lived long lives, but they would never have been in love.
    A warm hand came to rest on her forehead. It was Madge de Vere,