Read Online Hand of Fate by Lis Wiehl - Free Book Online
Authors: Lis Wiehl
Tags: Fiction, General, LEGAL, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Crime, Christian, Murder, Investigation, Female friendship, Women lawyers, Radio talk show hosts
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problems to keep the adrenaline flowing.
Even as exhausted as she was, there was no way she was going to be able to sleep tonight. Not without some help. With a sigh, she got up and padded out to her purse. Without turning on the light, she found Jim's bottle of Somulex and shook a tablet into her hand. In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine to wash it down.
"Here's to you, Jim," she whispered, lifting the glass a few inches in the air. "May you rest in peace." And then, with a practiced gesture, she tossed the Somulex into her mouth and swallowed it with a single mouthful of the sharp and oaky red wine.
Cassidy had never been a good sleeper, but events of the past fe w m onths had ramped up her problem to the point where she some-
times went an entire night without sleep. It had started when her ol d b oyfriend, Rick, turned jealous and then abusive. After a while, it hadn't felt safe to sleep beside him. And even when he wasn't with her, she worried that he might jolt her awake with a drunken, threatening phone call, or even come creeping into her condo in the middle of the night. Things only got worse when she, Allison, and Nicole had confronted a murder suspect--a confrontation that had ended with the killer dead on the floor and Nic with a bullet through her shoulder. When Cassidy closed her eyes at night, she still saw the blood.
After the shooting, she turned into an ultramarathon insomniac, awake for as long as forty-five hours at a stretch. Nights became endless. She paced her condo, watched TV, flipped through magazines, listened to talk radio, and surfed the Internet. Whenever she tried to sleep, her thoughts raced. She thought about Rick, about how he had hurt her. About her parents and how they had always found her lacking. She thought about stories she wanted to cover, and hadn't. She also thought about Jenna, who was everything Cassidy had once been. Now Cassidy was ten years older than the station's intern--and she was sure that it showed.
And always, always, Cassidy did the math. If she went to sleep in the next ten minutes, then she would get five hours of sleep. But it wouldn't be long until she had to recalculate. The most she would get would be four hours, or three. Worrying about not sleeping kept her from sleeping. By the time it got down to two hours, she would be whimpering, beating her pillow, begging the universe for relief.
Cassidy tried all the remedies in the women's magazines. Go to bed at the same time each night. People who suggested that obviously didn't work in the 24/7 world of the news business. Try a glass of warm milk. It tasted gross and had no effect. Melatonin, valerian, kava kava, Tylenol PM. She still lay staring at the ceiling. Sometimes a glass o r t wo of wine helped for a short while, but she would wake up after an hour and not be able to get back to sleep.
One evening she complained to Jim over dinner. "I can't sleep anymore. Sometimes I'm awake all night."
"You need to get your doctor to prescribe you some of these." Jim took a bottle from his pants pocket.
"What is it?"
"Somulex." He shook a white, oval pill into her palm. "Here. Take this tonight and see if it helps."
Did it ever.
That night, as soon as Cassidy's head hit the pillow, her breathing slowed and softened. It was a deep, nearly dreamless sleep. She couldn't remember sleeping like that since she was a kid.
And people noticed even after a single night.
"You look different," Jenna said the next day, giving her a long, considering look. "Did you change your hair?"
That afternoon, Cassidy called her doctor and got her own prescription. "I can't sleep," she told him. "I'm very stressed-out after everything that's happened. Please, please can you give me a prescription for Somulex?"
It wasn't any harder than that. Cassidy got twenty pills. The label said they were for "occasional sleeplessness." At first, she broke the pills in half and only took them on Sunday nights, the hardest ones.
But
Even as exhausted as she was, there was no way she was going to be able to sleep tonight. Not without some help. With a sigh, she got up and padded out to her purse. Without turning on the light, she found Jim's bottle of Somulex and shook a tablet into her hand. In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine to wash it down.
"Here's to you, Jim," she whispered, lifting the glass a few inches in the air. "May you rest in peace." And then, with a practiced gesture, she tossed the Somulex into her mouth and swallowed it with a single mouthful of the sharp and oaky red wine.
Cassidy had never been a good sleeper, but events of the past fe w m onths had ramped up her problem to the point where she some-
times went an entire night without sleep. It had started when her ol d b oyfriend, Rick, turned jealous and then abusive. After a while, it hadn't felt safe to sleep beside him. And even when he wasn't with her, she worried that he might jolt her awake with a drunken, threatening phone call, or even come creeping into her condo in the middle of the night. Things only got worse when she, Allison, and Nicole had confronted a murder suspect--a confrontation that had ended with the killer dead on the floor and Nic with a bullet through her shoulder. When Cassidy closed her eyes at night, she still saw the blood.
After the shooting, she turned into an ultramarathon insomniac, awake for as long as forty-five hours at a stretch. Nights became endless. She paced her condo, watched TV, flipped through magazines, listened to talk radio, and surfed the Internet. Whenever she tried to sleep, her thoughts raced. She thought about Rick, about how he had hurt her. About her parents and how they had always found her lacking. She thought about stories she wanted to cover, and hadn't. She also thought about Jenna, who was everything Cassidy had once been. Now Cassidy was ten years older than the station's intern--and she was sure that it showed.
And always, always, Cassidy did the math. If she went to sleep in the next ten minutes, then she would get five hours of sleep. But it wouldn't be long until she had to recalculate. The most she would get would be four hours, or three. Worrying about not sleeping kept her from sleeping. By the time it got down to two hours, she would be whimpering, beating her pillow, begging the universe for relief.
Cassidy tried all the remedies in the women's magazines. Go to bed at the same time each night. People who suggested that obviously didn't work in the 24/7 world of the news business. Try a glass of warm milk. It tasted gross and had no effect. Melatonin, valerian, kava kava, Tylenol PM. She still lay staring at the ceiling. Sometimes a glass o r t wo of wine helped for a short while, but she would wake up after an hour and not be able to get back to sleep.
One evening she complained to Jim over dinner. "I can't sleep anymore. Sometimes I'm awake all night."
"You need to get your doctor to prescribe you some of these." Jim took a bottle from his pants pocket.
"What is it?"
"Somulex." He shook a white, oval pill into her palm. "Here. Take this tonight and see if it helps."
Did it ever.
That night, as soon as Cassidy's head hit the pillow, her breathing slowed and softened. It was a deep, nearly dreamless sleep. She couldn't remember sleeping like that since she was a kid.
And people noticed even after a single night.
"You look different," Jenna said the next day, giving her a long, considering look. "Did you change your hair?"
That afternoon, Cassidy called her doctor and got her own prescription. "I can't sleep," she told him. "I'm very stressed-out after everything that's happened. Please, please can you give me a prescription for Somulex?"
It wasn't any harder than that. Cassidy got twenty pills. The label said they were for "occasional sleeplessness." At first, she broke the pills in half and only took them on Sunday nights, the hardest ones.
But
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