Free You Can Run... by Carlene Thompson

You’re terribly anxious to go to the hospital and see Willow. You’ve been fidgeting with your hair and your watch for the last ten minutes. Please go. I’ll be fine.”
    Diana had been sitting in a small boudoir chair and she almost jumped up, saying, “I
do
need to see Willow, and you need to get some rest. Promise me not to look at yourself in the mirror once you’ve donned that lovely gown. If you do, you really
won’t
be able to sleep!”
4
    Diana left Clarice’s room and discovered Simon had abandoned the library. Maybe he’d gone to look for the walker. Or he may have decided to search for the walker tomorrow morning and simply retreated to his own bedroom, she thought. He had exhausted himself trying to keep Clarice from dwelling on Penny, but Diana knew that his own mind had not wandered far from the young woman. For the three of them, the chatter, the liquor, the comforting ambience of the library had merely formed a thin veneer under whichlay the shattering knowledge that Penny had suffered unspeakable injuries and probably would not live.
    Diana had washed her hands and soot-smudged face when she arrived home, but she did so again and changed her blouse before going to the hospital. She pulled her long wavy hair—smelling of smoke—into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, swiped gloss on her dry lips, and put some drops in her eyes—bloodshot from smoke.
    As Diana left the house and got behind the wheel of her car, she felt oppression descend on her. She wished she could cry, which might be a release—poor, at best, but at least a slight release. She couldn’t do it, though. Her tears had spilled at the site of the explosion and now her emotional landscape felt arid and bleak, like some of the vast deserts in Egypt she’d seen years ago.
    Traffic was light at this time of night—or rather, morning—giving Diana a better chance to think. The gun. Ever since Simon had revealed he’d seen a loaded gun sitting by Penny’s chair, Diana hadn’t really been able to concentrate on anything else. She was certain Penny would not have left the gun out if Willow had been home, but Willow had been in the hospital. Diana imagined Penny sitting in the old recliner at night, tensed, all the lights on, the gun beside her, waiting for . . . For
what
?
    Penny never seemed to be afraid of living without a man in the house. Diana hadn’t asked her if she owned a gun, but Penny had known Simon owned a collection of guns and kept a gun in his room, insisting that Diana keep one, also. He believed in defending one’s home—not depending on a security company or the police.
    Diana deftly maneuvered the narrow, hilly roads of Huntington’s large recreational and residential Ritter Park. In record time, she pulled into the well-lit hospital parking lot. She ran toward the glass-front emergency room and dashed through the doors, her mind filling with dread at the condition she might find Willow in. She nearly hurled herself against the reception desk.
    “Willow Conley,” Diana burst out. “I’m here about Willow Conley.”
    A nurse with brown hair nodded absently and continued to read the scrawled handwriting on a chart. She put the chart in a rack and slowly looked up at Diana, her blue eyes set in a long face showing fatigue. “Sorry, but I didn’t want to break my concentration. How can I help you?”
    “Willow Conley.” Diana leaned on the counter and casually held two fingers over her mouth. She didn’t want to take a chance of blowing the smell of liquor into the nurse’s face. “She’s a little girl, five years old, who witnessed a house explosion and saw her mother on fire. The mother is Penny Conley. They’re both here. Or were.” Diana watched the nurse’s eyebrows rise. Diana knew she was talking at a rapid-fire rate, as she always did when she was upset, and tried uselessly to slow down.
    “I’m sure Penny has already been taken to the burn ward, but Willow was hiding in the woods so thank