by Bella Street
When she plugged in the wire, she caught her breath. A row of white Christmas tree lights stretched along the attic ceiling as far as she could see. Moisture built behind her eyelids, and it took a moment for her to gain control of her emotions. Swallowing hard, she replaced the ceiling tile and followed the path of lights to the space they called the Light Room. Not getting lost shortened her trip considerably.
It was incredible he'd ever found the space in the first place. But Trent's skulking in dark passages and attics had yielded an oasis where there was access to natural light and fresh air in a windowless, cement block structure.
As she neared the space, she heard a sound. Seffy froze. Was Trent up here already? With Brenda? Did she dare look? What if they were—? Trepidation filled her as she silently peeked around some ductwork. But the room, filled with cushions and pillows, was empty. She could see Trent had neatened it up. The notion eased a portion of her tension. Okay, so he hadn't brought that female here for a little tryst. Things were looking up. Maybe she should've left a note asking him to join her when he returned from wherever.
Except that she didn't want his company. Much.
Hunched over from the low ceiling clearance, Seffy made her way to the middle of the room over the blanket padding and straightened to pop the latch in the skylight. Sunlight—even if it was a freakish pink color—and fresh air. How she missed it. She took a deep breath of the crisp air—but that was as far as she got. Ice cold hands closed around her throat from behind, cutting off her scream.
Chapter Five
Trent walked into his room and kicked the door shut with his foot. He hated not knowing where Seffy was. Her disappearances usually meant something bad. He'd been icily informed by Addison that she'd come and gone from Gareth's room. Lani was crying about something and couldn't answer when he asked her, and Sef wasn't in her own room.
Trent figured she'd be somehow affected by her visit with Gareth. He scowled, remembering the way she'd forgotten about him the second that cretin's name had been mentioned. He was sick of being second fiddle to a metro-sexual with some mysterious hold over Seffy.
Trent shook his head. After an emotional reunion with her ex, where would she go? He glanced up at the ceiling. Would she dare sully their special place when she was having Gareth-thoughts?
It was at least worth checking out.
Trent clambered up into the crawl space and saw the glowing lights. Bingo. A smile played on his lips at the thought joining her in the Light Room. He hoped she liked the lights he put in. Less worry and more potential for private interludes when she knew where she was going. As he made his way toward the area, he called her name. No answer, but he heard a soft thud. Probably asleep. Well, I can deal with nap time with Seffy—even if she is pining for Mr. Not-That-Perfect.
He found her sprawled out on the blankets. As he neared, his anticipatory smile faded. She couldn't possibly be comfortable in that awkward position. Trent crawled to her side and stared down at her, his heart suddenly thumping heavily in his chest. Black makeup rimmed her eyes, with some of it smeared on her cheeks. Had she been crying? What was with the new look? The zipper of her tracksuit was open below her sternum—not exactly her usual style, Mary Ann moments notwithstanding.
Okay, what am I looking at here? Something's not right. Her stillness—the makeup—God, she looks dead. He gently shook her shoulder, calling her name. Her head lolled to one side. That's when he saw the red and purple marks on her throat. He stared harder, trying to make sense of what it meant.
Trent grabbed her shoulder and shook her hard. “Seffy!” With trembling hands, he tried to feel for a pulse, but his own pounding heartbeat made it impossible to discern. Her skin was warm to his touch—that had to mean something. He stared at her chest and after several agonizing moments, couldn't detect movement, nor could he sense air against his cheek when he tried to feel for her breath.
She's dead.
And this time I'm too late.
He tipped her head back and frantically started CPR. Tears dropped onto her skin and ran in rivulets down her collarbones as he breathed into her mouth and compressed her ribcage. His arms began to ache, he lost track of time. A furious sob tore from his throat. Oh God, please.
Seffy suddenly coughed, then gasped. Her eyes fluttered. Hoping it wasn't wishful thinking, Trent rolled her onto her side, speaking her name in an agonized whisper.
Her eyes slowly opened and she looked around until she saw him, her gaze brimming with despair. “Is it over?” she said in a rough voice. “Can I go home now?” Then she began to cough and cry, her shoulders shaking weakly.
Trent laid down next to her and gathered her into his arms, hushing her from trying to speak. As he cradled her head against his shoulder, he pressed his face into her hair and focused his grief into anger. Somehow, some way, he was going to stop these attempts on her life. But every time he'd come up with a plan, something bizarre happened to knock him sideways.
As he grappled with his own emotions, it was a while before he realized Seffy's weeping had subsided. Easing back a little, he looked down at her. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her breathing ragged.
Trent used his knuckles to wipe some of the makeup smudges away. She slowly opened her eyes. “I dreamed I died.”
Her raspy voice nearly undid him. “I think you did.” He swallowed, struggling to control himself. “You weren't breathing when I found you.”
She stared at him, the makeup somehow making her seem ancient and childlike at the same time. “I think maybe I do believe in fate after all,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Next time, just let me stay dead. I'm tired of fighting the inevitable.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “No way.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Who did this to me?”
“You didn't see anyone?”
She gave a small shake of her head. “I came up here to think.” Seffy tipped her head up and looked at him. “Thank you for the lights.” She began to cough, then fresh tears came again.
“Don't try to talk.”
Trent looked around the room, trying to assess his options. He needed to get Seffy someplace safe, then find the perp. For all he knew, the attacker could still be in the attic. But he couldn't drag her all the way back through the crawl space. Trent had to try one of the nearby rooms and hope to God it was empty—or at least inhabited by residents who wouldn't sell them out the first chance they got.
Like last time.
Trent eased his arm out from under her and checked the room. There weren't any places to hide in the immediate area. He remembered the sound he'd heard before discovering Seffy. It must've been the guy...and he'd exited a different way. He could be in one of the lower rooms right now. Trent looked at Seffy where she lay curled up in a ball. Adrenaline surged in his system. Someone had to pay for this.
He went to the closest place where a room might be located under the tiles. Keeping one eye on Seffy, he gently eased the ceiling tile aside, bracing for any movement below. The room was quiet and obviously not used by a resident, but the attacker could be waiting. Trent paused, listening hard, then grabbed a stray piece of wood, lobbing it into the area he couldn't see. Nothing.
“Sef,” he whispered. “I need to check this room. I won't go far, okay?”
She gave a small nod.
Trent decided jumping into the middle of the room would be better than sticking his head down for a look. When he landed onto the floor below and saw that it was clear, he quickly checked the closet and bathroom as well. Empty. Trent scrambled back up into the attic.
“Okay, sweetheart, I'm going to help you down into the room, and from there I'll be able to carry you.”
“I can walk,” she said.
In the end, it took what was left of her strength to get down into the room. She collapsed onto the bed while he replaced the tile. Trent let her rest for a few minutes and checked the phone. When he heard a dial tone, he called Olga and asked her to meet him at his room,
bringing medical supplies along. She didn't ask what it was for. He figured she could guess.
After checking the hall and getting his bearings, he went back, scooped Seffy up, and hurried to his room. Trent opened the door and peered inside. He brought her in, placed her on his bed, and made a quick search. Once he decided the space was secure, he released an exhausted breath. The exertion of getting her here took an edge off his thirst for revenge, but he'd revisit it once he made sure Seffy was okay.
A muffled knock on his door sent a fresh shot of adrenaline through his system. Olga was on the other side. As he quietly filled her in on the details, her kind face paled.
“Poor, poor, lamb,” she murmured as she approached the bed.
Seffy lifted a listless hand. “Hey. It's me again.”
Trent watched at the nurse checked her vitals, noting the deepening frown when she examined the marks on Seffy's neck.
Olga turned. “She needs to be X-rayed so make sure there's no damage to her windpipe.”
“Can you do that?”
“She needs a doctor, Trent. I've already presumed too much here.”
“No doctors. She just needs you. Can you get her an X-ray?”
The nurse glanced back at Seffy, her mouth tight. She gave a quick nod.
As they all made their way to the imaging area, Trent could tell Olga was preoccupied with something. She knew something—something bad. He had a sudden urge to put his fist through a wall.
Olga produced a key and opened a door. The room was dark. She turned on only the necessary lighting which revealed a clinical setting, and began starting up the equipment.
“So, you've done this before?” he asked her, adjusting his arm around Seffy.
“The staff here at the compound isn't that big, so we all end up doing more than just our specialties. I was here last week, helping X-ray a boy who'd broken his leg.”
“How come we hardly ever see any of the residents?” Seffy asked suddenly.
Olga looked away before answering. “People are still nervous over your presence—all of you. They consider you contagious outsiders. So the residents mostly keep to their rooms or go outside. Plus, there are groupings of residences that share common leisure areas that are accessed by different routes without using the hallways.”
“Oh.” Seffy looked at Olga with tired eyes. “Did my blood work results ever come back? Am I still...poisonous?”
“No results yet, dear.” She looked at Trent. “Okay, the machine is ready. Let's get her on the table.”
Seffy climbed onto the table and closed her eyes as Olga placed a lead blanket over her form. She was so unnaturally still and washed out from the bright light that Trent had to look away for a moment.
The nurse took a couple of images, then set up the processor. As they waited, Seffy appeared to go to sleep. Trent pulled up a waiting room chair and took her hand. Her skin felt so cold. He dropped his head in his other hand as the events of the last hour washed over him. Grief, fury, despair, helplessness all swirled together in a noxious mix that choked him. When would it end?
Some time later, Olga put the image on the light screen. Trent looked up, his anxiety deepening when he saw the nurse frowning. She turned to him and waved him over. Trent glanced at Seffy, saw she was resting peacefully, and eased his hand from hers.
Olga regarded him before pointing to the image. “The good news is that there's only slight bruising on her wind pipe. I'll make sure she has some ibuprofen for swelling, but otherwise, there's no serious injury.”
Trent pulled in a breath. “I feel a 'bad news' coming.”
The nurse nodded and lowered her voice. “From what you told me, there's no doubt that you saved Seffy's life, but strangulation did not kill her.”
“What?” he hissed. “You saw the marks on her neck!”
“The bruising is on the sides. Her windpipe is relatively unharmed. The force required to strangle someone to death would've crushed it. She wouldn't be able to talk. She wouldn't be able to be resuscitated. The marks indicate she was forced into unconsciousness, but not death.”
Trent pawed his hand through his hair. “So what are you saying? How did she die? Because she wasn't breathing when I found her.”
“I don't know...but—”
Here it comes.
“I'm not a forensic scientist by any stretch, but it's possible that the marks were...self-inflicted.”
Trent stared at her. “You're saying Seffy killed herself?”
Olga sighed. “Not really. I mean, I believe she somehow could've knocked herself out, but stopping her own heart after unconsciousness is obviously not possible...unless...”
The glow from the imaging light made the nurse appear almost villainous. Trent mentally braced himself.
“Now, you know I'm fond of Seffy, I really am. And when you came to me with concerns for her mental state a while back, I didn't think it was that serious. But now—” She glanced over at Seffy on the table. “I know she's been miserable...”
“Are you saying she somehow willed herself to die?”
Olga leaned forward slightly. “I've been thinking and doing some reading. We know her brain has soaked in a psychotropic bath compliments of the compound. We know that she locked herself in a hole and went missing for three days—”
“She didn't lock herself in, she was hiding. And they found her in an area that had been bolted shut.”
“She's had psychotic episodes—”
“Define that.”
“You told me she's carried on conversations with dead people, she's had terrifying visions and dreams involving aliens, blood, mutilated animals—”
“Okay, I get it.”
“And, she's constantly getting injured when there's no one around.” Olga shook her head. “I don't want to believe it myself, but it must be considered as a possibility. There could be brain damage, chemical imbalances, adverse drug side effects...not to mention the tremendous emotional trauma she's endured that probably goes deeper than anything we know of. When you add it all up, isn't it within the realm of possibility that she had an episode where she tried to choke herself and somehow the weight of despair killed her?” She touched Trent's arm. “People can die of a broken heart.”
He looked away, struggling to form a rebuttal, but nothing came to mind. Trent remembered Seffy telling him she was broken. Was it enough to kill her?
Olga turned off the image light and took down the X-ray film. “She's refused a psychiatrist before. I honestly don't know how to help her, and I'm no longer sure love and support will be enough.”
As the nurse began putting things away, Trent walked to the table and looked down at Seffy. He brushed away a lock of hair from her face. It wasn't that long ago that she'd had it cut, and yet it was growing faster than normal. He couldn't deny that there was some kind of weird alchemy going on inside her body. Was it affecting her mind and feelings as well?
His touch woke her and she looked up at him with a solemn expression. Trent helped her up and put his arm around her, his heart swelling with inarticulate emotion. Olga followed them out into the hall and locked the door. She handed Seffy a generic bottle of pain pills and told her to take three every four hours. The nurse touched her arm and sent a kind expression before leaving.
Trent walked Seffy back to his room in silence. He kept alert for anything untoward lurking in the halls, and it was a good excuse to avoid conversation. Once they arrived, he checked his room again before relaxing. Seffy sat on the couch and rested her head on the arm, watching him. He sank onto the edge of his bed and returned her steady regard, wondering what to say.
“I heard what you and Olga were talking about.”
Oh crap. “Sef—”
“I probably am messed up beyond repair from everything that's happened, and I admit I've given more than a passing thought to offing myself, but Trent, I didn't choke my own throat. That's not only stupid, but painful.” She sighed. “And I don't like pain.”
He
took a deep breath. “Tell me what you remember.”
She rubbed her cheek against the arm of the couch. “When I was heading up to the Light Room, I thought I heard a noise. I thought you might be up there with Brenda.”
“Gee, thanks,” he growled.
“But no one was there. I had just opened the latch when someone grabbed my neck from behind. They had cold hands.”
Trent tried not to let relief show on his already strained features. A bad guy was something he could handle. “And that's all you remember?”
“Except the part where I was dead.”
“You remember that?”
“I dreamed...or experienced...well, hell, I guess.”
“Don't say that.”
“It was dark and cold...and I was eating something red. It was tart, pulpy with seeds, but when I looked down, I saw that it wasn't fruit but a human heart—”
Trent joined her on the couch, pulling her against him. “Don't,” he said, pressing his forehead to her temple.
Seffy shifted toward him, fitting her head into the hollow of his shoulder. She toyed with the collar of his shirt. “Thank you for getting me out of there. I didn't like it so much.”
He nudged up her chin. Her look of wary resignation tore at his heart. Trent lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, reveling in their warmth and pliancy. Had he been just a few minutes later in the Light Room...
He crushed her to to himself, kissing her with all his pent-up fear and fervency, fueled along by the unbearable sweetness of Seffy's trusting response. It took several moments for him to remember she was injured and probably still terrified. He lifted his lips and looked down at her, expecting to see her upset or afraid. Instead she put her arms around his neck and tugged his head back down to hers.