STATE OF BETRAYAL: A Virgil Jones Mystery (Detective Virgil Jones Mystery Series Book 2) Read Free Page B

that did not seem to want to leave him alone no
matter how many aspirin he took. He began to feel worse with each passing day
until finally on the fifth morning Virgil’s girlfriend, Sandy Small, found him
unconscious on their bedroom floor. During the surgical procedure to fix his leg,
Virgil  had picked up a staph infection. The infection grew in his body
where it eventually worked its way into his blood stream, a condition known as
Staphylococcal Sepsis. He’d been taking the Vancomycin twice a day for the last
six weeks in an effort to kill the infection. This would be his last dose.
    It had been a rough couple of
months. During his previous investigation—right after his release from
the hospital—the wife of one of the main suspects in his case killed
Virgil’s father, Mason. She was trying to shoot Virgil, but his father took the
bullet instead.
    The buzzing in Virgil’s head was
with him constantly. It had nothing to do with childhood memories and simpler
times, nor did it have anything to do with the Heparin or the Vancomycin. It was
because of the other drugs he was still taking. Oxycodone was one. He took two
of the blue-colored thirty milligram tablets three times a day. Between doses,
he’d toss back two or three Vicodin…both for the pain in his leg.
    At least that’s what he kept
telling himself.
    When he thought about the men who
kidnapped and tried to kill him, Virgil thought they might yet succeed.
     
    __________
     
     
    Virgil broke two of
the Vicodinin
half and swallowed them with a couple of sips of Dew. A few minutes later he
felt the chemical rush hit his system the same way a shot of whiskey will burn
the throat and warm the blood. He closed his eyes and let the feeling flow
through his body and for a few minutes he felt confident and strong and happy
and free. But he also knew the feeling wouldn’t last, that soon the reality of
his situation would once again wrap itself around him like a second skin, one in
which he could not seem to find the edge. He thought if he could he’d peel it
away until there was nothing left at all.
    After twenty minutes or so, the
Vancomycin container was empty, so Virgil unscrewed the connector and capped it
off tight. He had an appointment later in the day to have the tube removed and a
blood test to ensure the infection was gone.
    When he pulled his fishing line
from the pond he noticed that not only was the worm missing from the hook at
the end of the line, but so too was his desire to fish. The late morning air
was warm and still and when Virgil let his gaze settle on the bowed limbs of
the willow tree planted next to the edge of the pond water he saw his father
standing there, leaning against the trunk of the tree, his face partially
hidden by the leafy, feather-veined fronds. He was shirtless under his
bib-style bar apron tied off at his waist and he had a towel thrown over his
left shoulder. Virgil could see the scar from the bullet wound at the bottom of
his father’s chest, the skin around the edges gnarled and puckered, yet somehow
pink and fresh like that of a newborn baby.
    They stared at each other for a
long time, then Mason moved sideways just a bit. “I’m worried about you, Son,”
he said. When he spoke, the buzzing inside Virgil’s head went quiet and the
absence of the incessant sound was more of a surprise than the vision of his
dead father. “You’re hitting the meds pretty hard, don’t you think?”
    “Better living through chemistry,”
Virgil said, but regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. The
sarcasm didn’t seem to bother Mason though; the look of both love and concern
on his face remaining steady. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
    “It’s alright, Bud. I remember you
told me that day in the truck how the pills were making you cranky.”
    “That’s not what I meant. Why do I
think you know that?”
    “It wasn’t your fault.”
    “Wasn’t it?”
    “Of course not.” Mason looked away for
a moment and wrapped