I clamp my eyes shut tightly as I try to calm myself. I can’t panic. Instead of focusing on my injuries, I need to concentrate on Mason. If he’s alive, he could still kill me.
Think, Harper.
Mason.
I need to know where he is.
Now that I have something to focus on other than my pain, my emotions begin to settle. Once more, I look at my surroundings through blurred vision. Thankfully, the car had landed on its wheels, and I carefully wiggle my toes and move my knees. There’s not much room since everything is caved in, but at least I can feel everything—though they hurt, too. Not as bad as my upper body—so that’s good.
Hopefully, I can walk out of here.
Since I don’t have any mobility in my left wrist or hand, I painfully stretch my right arm to try opening my door. This causes me to twist my upper body slightly, and the movement brings extreme pain throughout my chest. I fight back a scream of agony and bite my lip hard enough to draw blood.
Nausea quickly follows on the heels of the pain, and with a half-sob, I give up and sit completely still, drawing in oxygen while pain engulfs my body. I swallow hard and listen intently for sounds from the backseat. I can’t give up, I need to see what happened to Mason.
I crane my head to the left, ignoring the throbbing in my head as I try to look between the car’s doorframe and my seat. Mason’s no longer in the backseat, and the back windshield is gone. He’d either fled, or he was ejected. My guess is the latter.
On a positive note, at least he’s no longer in the car with me.
I focus on my car door, and now I see that it’s so badly dented that I doubt I’d be able to get it open. The window has been completely shattered, and I’m thinking that’s my only option out of here.
I can do this, I tell myself.
First, I need to unbuckle the seat belt. Miraculously, my right arm, wrist, and hand are free of injury, so it’s not too difficult to release the seat belt. Then, I shift my body in the seat, cringing. Something’s wrong with my chest, but I manage to breathe through the pain as I carefully turn to the window.
The next few minutes are the worst I’ve ever experienced, but eventually, I climb out the window and collapse onto the hard, rocky terrain. My vision has darkened as I vomit—but mostly dry heave since I hadn’t eaten breakfast.
When I’m finished, I lie there and try to stop myself from losing consciousness. I’ve gotten this far and survived. I don’t want to pass out when I know help could be a short distance away. The mountain has popular trails, and though the dirt road isn’t typically busy, people do drive it.
I painfully ease onto my back, staring upwards at the sky. When I can see enough of it to distinguish its color, I concentrate on it to avoid passing out.
After a few minutes, it becomes apparent that I’m not going to lose consciousness after all, so I gingerly force myself to sit up. Everything is throbbing with pain, and tears slide down my cheeks.
For the first time, I dare to look down at myself. There’s blood spatters on my burgundy scrubs, and a huge patch of blood across my left side.
Mason had that knife…
A foreboding sense of urgency comes over me, and with my right hand, I carefully lift the material of my shirt. There looks to be an inch-long wound with blood oozing from it.
No…
I need help—and fast.
There’s nothing I can use to stop the bleeding, so I keep my hand pressed against the wound as I struggle to adjust my legs so I can stand. Either I’m becoming accustomed to the pain in my chest, or I’m beginning to grow numb, because I rise to my feet unsteadily without passing out.
I look around, searching for Mason.
All I see is mountain terrain while small particles of dust and dirt linger in the air—probably kicked up from the crash.
My eyes fall on the wreckage, and I’m amazed that I’d survived it. I’m almost entranced by all the twisted metal until I force myself to look away.
“Focus on the road,” I mutter to myself, and the sound of my voice almost startles me. Everything’s been so quiet up until I’d just broken the eerie silence.
After blinking a few times—still wishing my vision was clearer—I think I locate the road. It’s probably at least a couple hundred feet away, and it looks like miles from where I’m standing. The terrain is uneven, and I’ll have to do a little climbing to get to the road.
As much as I want to sit my aching body down and cry with frustration, I refuse to give in. I tell myself that it’s not as far as it seems, and I determinedly put one foot in front of the other.
Slowly, I continue walking, stepping over large rocks and making my way through shrubbery and boulders. Instead of allowing the pain to take over, I focus on the thought of Gabe. I’m desperate to see his face, and all I want is for him to wrap his arms around me and assure me that everything’s going to be okay.
That’s not going to happen if I don’t get help.
I push myself, continuing to walk as I feel blood seeping between my fingers.
I’m going to survive this, I tell myself fiercely. If I die now, Mason wins.
He can’t win.
When I reach the dirt road, I nearly sag with relief, but I force myself to keep my spine straight. To distract myself, I begin to count my footsteps as I painstakingly walk in the direction we’d come.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
I continue onwards, forcing one foot in front of the other.
Twenty.
Fifty.
One hundred.
I’m on two hundred when I hear voices. I anxiously look around, and through my blurred vision, I see two people moving in the distance. Hikers!
“Help!” I cry out, but it comes out hoarse.
They show no signs of hearing me.
“Help!” I call out louder, and it hurts.
At first, I don’t think they’d heard me, but then I hear a feminine voice say, “Oh my God! Alex! Over there!”
I think I see them making their way towards me, but I’m not certain. Blackness is seeping into the edges of my vision, and I’m alarmed that I might pass out after all. I weave on my feet and force myself to call out one more time in case they’d spied a burro or deer. “Help!”
A second later, they’re close enough to me that I stagger towards the guy. He quickly catches me by the shoulders. “Hey, we’ve got you,” he quickly assures.
Relief sweeps through me, and when my legs buckle, he carefully eases me to the ground. “Thank you,” I whisper to them.
“Ker, call nine-one-one,” the guy orders.
“Stabbed. Need pressure,” I manage to say hoarsely as my eyes begin to close. I feel him move my hand aside and ease the fabric away from my skin. He curses, and firm pressure is promptly applied as the blackness envelopes me.
Twenty-two
Gabe
The sound of my cell phone has me dragging myself from sleep as I release a groan. I’m not ready for the day to begin yet. The phone rings again, and when I smell Harper’s distinct perfume lingering in the bed, I curse under my breath and open my eyes. I don’t want my phone to wake her.
I find that her side of the bed is empty, and my bleary eyes focus on the alarm clock. It’s ten after nine. I hadn’t heard her get ready for work. I’m disappointed, and with a frown, I look around for my phone. It’s gone silent, and I realize it’s likely in my jeans—which are discarded in a wrinkled pile on the floor. After pushing away the sheets, I climb out of bed and pick up my jeans, pulling the phone from the back pocket.
With a yawn, I sit on the bed and check to see who’d called. I don’t recognize the number, and whoever it was didn’t leave a voicemail. I shrug off the call and slip on the jeans before heading downstairs to my room.
A shower is necessary, or I’m going to end up back in bed. I leave the phone on my dresser and pick out fresh clothing before wandering down the ha
ll to the bathroom.
When I’m finished with the shower, I toss my towel in the hamper and open the bathroom door, allowing the steam to dissipate. I’m wide awake now and ready for the day. Though I’m not sure what my plan is. Harper’s working, so my entire day is open.
The sound of my cell phone ringing from within my bedroom gains my attention, and my eyebrows pull together as I enter my room. Phone calls in the morning are a rarity for me.
When I pick up the phone, I recognize Bryce’s number. “Hey, got any news?” I ask.
“Do you know where Harper is?” he asks, his tone serious.
“Isn’t she at work?”
“No. Lynn called ten minutes ago stating that she never arrived. She’s not at the house?”
A bad feeling begins to develop in my gut. “No…I don’t think so. I’ll see if her car is out front.” I hurry through the house and open the front door to peer into the driveway. “Her car is gone,” I tell him.
Bryce is silent a moment.
“You’re telling me that she never made it into work?” I ask stiffly, unable to believe what he’s implying.
“Looks that way,” he says grimly.
No. Harper can’t be missing. “Maybe she got a flat?”
“If she had, we both know she would have called the clinic to let them know she was running behind.”
“Tell me he doesn’t have her,” I say grimly.
“I can’t.”
Shit. My chest tightens, and I feel powerless as I stand there.
“Call me if you hear from her,” Bryce orders.
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Stay put.” Click.
Stay put? Not a fucking chance. I quickly call her number and will her to answer. Instead, her voicemail immediately picks up.
I grip the phone tightly in my hand and hurry back to my room for shoes. If Harper’s in trouble, the last place I want to be is here at the house. I want to be in my car, looking for her. Not that I have any clue where to look, but at least I can search for her vehicle.
After slipping on shoes and grabbing my keys and wallet, I debate whether to call Quinn to let her know Harper’s missing. She wouldn’t be able to do anything from her end anyway, and she’d feel just as helpless as I currently do. I’ll call her as soon as I have more information.
I leave the house and climb into my car, still shocked that this is how the morning is unfolding. Son of a bitch. As I drive down the street, I scowl. How could he have gotten to her? She drives straight from the house to the clinic. Except on days that she stops by the drive-thru, but even then, she doesn’t get out of her car.
We’ve taken every precaution possible, so how could this be happening?
I drive around aimlessly as my frustration grows. It still doesn’t feel real yet. Without confirmation that Harper’s been taken, I still have hope that something came up and her phone happens to be dead. It’s a desperate notion considering Harper charges her phone nightly.
I don’t want to consider a life without her.
I can’t.
Self-reproach fills me to the point that it’s hard to breathe. I should’ve been awake this morning to see her. Maybe if I had, she would’ve lingered over breakfast with me, and somehow, this all would have been avoided. She’d be safely at work, and I’d be thinking about dropping by to surprise her with lunch.
A horn blares behind me, and my eyes jerk to the stoplights ahead of me to see that they’ve turned green. I cruise forward through the intersection with a glower.
Damn it.
I just want my phone to ring and Harper to be on the other end. The drive to the animal clinic takes her through the city, so how could nobody witness anything?
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I drive without any destination in mind. If the bastard got to her, where would he take her? I haven’t got a clue. I don’t know where to look, and it frustrates the hell out of me not knowing what’s going on.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still driving when my phone rings. I’d left it sitting in the cup holder between the front seats, and I fumble for it and bring it to my ear. “Harper?”
“It’s me,” Bryce says. “I just learned that a woman was brought into the ER fitting Harper’s description. She had no ID but was wearing burgundy scrubs. I’m just arriving at the hospital to gather more information,” he informs.
My heart leaps in my chest. “How bad is she hurt?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“I don’t know anything at this point. I believe Derek’s working the ER today, so I might be able to get something out of him. Just be prepared to come out here.”
“We both know Harper typically wears burgundy scrubs. I’m on my way,” I tell him before ending the call. I toss the phone in the passenger seat and turn on the blinker, signaling that I’m switching lanes. The hospital is on the other side of the city.
The news that she’s in the ER is bittersweet news. Right now, she’s alive—thank God. Unfortunately, I don’t know how serious she’s hurt, and there’s still a chance that I could lose her.
I curse under my breath and try to concentrate on my driving as I nearly cut off another car. If I don’t pay attention, I’m going to wind up in the ER myself—as a patient.
By the time I reach the hospital and park my car, I’m anxious for any sort of information. The ER lobby is busy as usual, and I hurry to the front desk, waiting impatiently for the person ahead of me to finish their business.
While I wait, I look around, hoping to see Bryce. He’s nowhere to be seen, which means he’s likely in the back.
“Can I help you?”
I look up to see that the person that’d been in front of me is now walking to one of the few seats that are available in the large room. “A woman was brought in a short time ago. She had no ID, but I think she might be my girlfriend.”
Recognition flashes in her gaze. “There’s an officer already here. I’ll notify him that you might be able to identify her.”
“Can you tell me anything about her condition?” I press.
She smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I can’t unless you are next of kin. Since we don’t have a name yet, her information is confidential.”
I nod, trying to hide my frustration. “Right. Thank you.” I walk away and ignore the last few empty chairs. Instead, I linger by the wall near the doorway, waiting for anyone that might enter the waiting area with information about Harper.
It’s impossible to stand still, and I rake my hand through my hair and fidget. Typically, when I’m here at the hospital, I’m calm and very focused as I relay vital information about the patient we’ve brought in. Today though, I’m anxiously awaiting news about someone I deeply care for. Someone that I love.
I just got her back, I can’t lose her now.
After fifteen minutes of waiting, I see Bryce, and he walks over to me. “It’s Harper,” he confirms.
“I figured as much. What happened? Is she okay?” I demand while being sure to keep my voice down so as not to disturb the others waiting in the room.
“She’s awake but pretty out of it. I was able to ID her, and she cleared me to share her medical information with you. They’re still assessing her injuries, and I only had about thirty seconds with her,” he explains.
“How bad is it?” If she’s awake, the injuries are likely non-life threatening, and it eases some of the tension I’d been feeling.
“They’re going to do an MRI because she’s suffered a head injury. I believe she has a broken wrist that requires surgery, broken fingers, possible fractured ribs, and a stab wound. That’s all I got out of Derek before he told me I had to leave the cubicle. We’ll know more in a while, but for now, it’s enough to know she’s stable and will hopefully make a full recovery.”
“What the hell happened, Bryce? He beat and stabbed her?”
“Stabbed, yes. The rest of the injuries resulted from a car accident up in Box Springs. She’s going to be unavail
able for a while, so I need to go check out the scene of the accident. I’ll be back later to get a statement.”
I nod. “Yeah, go. Find out who did this to her.”
“I will. If you get in to see her before I do and she’s awake, call me immediately.”
I nod once more, and he pats me on the shoulder before walking away.
Now that I have enough information to ease my concerns, I draw in a deep breath and slowly exhale. First thing I need to do is give my name to the front desk so that when I’m able to, I can see Harper.
After that’s taken care of, I exit the hospital and step outside. I should call Quinn and contact the others so that they know what’s happening.
There’s a bench out front, and I sit down and call Quinn. Her voicemail picks up, and I leave a quick message for her, making certain to assure her that Harper’s condition is stable. I don’t want her panicking and dropping everything to rush here.
Twenty-three
Harper
After surgery on my wrist, I’m transferred to my own room. The attending physician has decided to keep me overnight because of the concussion, and I’m not going to complain about it. They’ve got me drugged up, so the worst of the pain is nothing more than a dull ache.
I’m aware of the nurse moving around the bed, making certain that my vitals are being monitored. While she hovers over me to make sure I’m comfortable, I doze on and off. I’ve been in and out of it since coming out of the anesthesia, and my brain is mush.
“Hon, are you feeling okay?” the nurse asks me.
“Just tired,” I mumble.
“That’s normal. There was an officer here earlier. Do I have your permission to send him in when he asks to see you?”
“Sure.”
“There’s also a young man here. Gabriel Locke. Would you like to see him?”
I force my eyelids apart, and I blink and gaze up at her. My vision is still kind of blurred, but I was told that would eventually go away. “Gabe’s here? I want to see him,” I tell her, and my voice sounds kind of slurred.
Blackout (Revolving Door Book 2) Page 20