by Angie Sandro
The emergency call button lies on the bed beside my hand. All I need to do is reach out a finger and push it, but my hand refuses to respond. I’m trapped inside my body, unable to scream for help. The knife falls. I pray it will be quick. I can’t handle any more pain.
Out of the corner of my eye, more shadow than form, the man who licked my wounds in the alley darts toward the bed. He moves like a whirlwind, spinning the man with the knife away with a thrust that sends him flying into the opposite wall, out of my line of sight. I try to turn my head in their direction, but I still can’t move. The fight’s loud. Why doesn’t a nurse respond? Oh yeah. This is a dream. A loud thud echoes throughout the room, followed by footsteps running down the outside hallway. I wait for my rescuer to return, but he doesn’t.
The dream changes.
A dome of air surrounds my body, trapping me inside a bubble with no way to escape. Rage at being confined fills me. I press against the membranous edges, trying to find a weakness in the cage, but it’s solid. Beneath the rage, fear curdles my thoughts. An overwhelming hunger gnaws at my insides until my only thoughts are of food—food and the hunt.
The coppery tang of blood fills the air, and I double over with pain as my stomach clenches. I stalk forward, a cloud of pure instinct. A mindless predator stalking prey. The man still holds the knife in his hand as he runs from me, but I never tire, not while on the hunt. I shadow him through empty corridors, toying with him. He must think he’s escaped when he pushes through the fire exit, slamming the heavy door in my face.
My body melts into vapor. As smoke, I slip through the crack beneath the door and re-form. The man stumbles back. Tripping, he falls and hunkers down against a wall. He slashes at me with the knife, and when it passes harmlessly through my body, he screams. Both hands rise to shield his head as he cries. The terror staining his face is so different from the expression he wore when he tried to kill me. He begs for his life, but I feel no sympathy. He’s not real. He’s nothing but food.
I awake screaming in a puddle of my own sweat. My hands clench the blanket wrapped around my body. The pressure on my chest holds me down. My breaths come in ragged gasps. I kick to untangle myself from the blanket and slide from the bed. My legs buckle, and my knees hit the floor. Ignoring the pain from tearing out my IV, I crawl until I reach the corner of the room.
My mind feels fuzzy and doesn’t cooperate when I try to separate reality from the dream. Or is it a memory? It seemed so real. Like being awake and seeing through someone else’s eyes. This thought alone taps into my core, fueling my horror. ’Cause whomever I’d been connected with is spiraling into insanity. I don’t want to ride the crazy train with him.
A whisper of movement in the dark brings my head up. A feather-light caress touches my cheek, and a familiar scent makes me breathe deep. Hair tickles my cheek, and lips touch mine. I lean into the kiss, chest heaving as I try to drown in my emotional response to him—this man rescued me again. Didn’t he? Or is this also a dream? I don’t know or care. My arms lift to circle his shoulders, but they encounter nothing but air.
CHAPTER 4
Checking Out My Assets
I spend the rest of the night trying to forget the terror from my nightmare, but it never strays far from my thoughts. When I can’t stand being alone for a minute longer, I put on my robe and time my escape for an empty nurses’ station. I sneak by and drift from hallway to hallway, not really paying attention to where I’m going. It’s not surprising to find myself back in the Intensive Care Unit. Or that I’m standing in front of this particular door, feeling guilty for abandoning a man who still holds a very special place in my heart. I should’ve tried harder to find out what happened to him, but I got wrapped up in my own problems. I broke my promise.
I run my fingertips along the door, remembering the night he was brought to the hospital. I spent most of my days after awakening from my coma roaming around the hospital, getting to know the patients and staff. On this particular day, chaos broke out. Doctors and nurses ran toward the emergency room. Something major had happened.
My curiosity often gets my butt in trouble, and you’d think I’d learn from past mistakes. Nope; I hobbled after everyone else. Sirens blared from multiple ambulances as the paramedics began to unload the patients.
Susan caught me huddled in a corner. Her bloodied, plastic green smock smacked her legs, and panic filled her eyes. “Did you hear? A freak earthquake hit under the Dubois estate.”
“What?” I pressed my hand against my chest. My heart raced. “Are all of these patients from Ms. March’s birthday party? Mala and Landry said they were going.”
“I know.” She grabbed my arm when I tried to pull away. “So was just about everyone else we know. It’s a disaster. And we can’t handle all of the injured. Some are being transported to the hospital in Lafayette. The EMTs are triaging them on scene.” Her hand squeezed my elbow, and I braced for the worst. “Dee, there were casualties. I need your help.”
“But—” Mala. I need to find my cousin.
“George Dubois is one of the injured. Dr. Estrada is going into surgery with him as we speak. I need you to monitor his other patient.” Her anguished eyes pleaded with me. “His condition is stable for the moment, and I can’t do anything more for him. Can you sit with the man until Estrada’s available?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding and nodded. “Of course. Just let me know if you hear anything about Mala and Landry.”
Susan led me to Intensive Care. She had me wash up and put on a gown and a mask before entering the sterile room. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you’ll be fine. Just sit with the patient, and if any of the alarms go off, get someone immediately. God, I can’t believe this is happening.”
I gave her a tight hug, then turned to stare at the man in the bed. Bloodstained bandages swathed his head, completely covering his face, except where a tube had been forced down his throat. The shushing of the respirator filled the room. “Was he at the party?”
“No. They found him in the middle of the road. Hit and run.” She makes the sign of the cross across her chest. “We really need Estrada to pull off another miracle.”
I repress my inappropriate snort. Who was I to disabuse Sue, and every other nurse in the hospital, who now called Estrada the Hand of God? After all, I was his patient. And I did come back from the dead.
“Sue, I’ve got this.” I pushed her toward the door. “Get out there—save some lives. Do what you need to do. If anything goes wrong, I’ll come get you, immediately. Promise.”
I sat in a chair next to the bed and listened to the beeping of the machines. The room was freezing. I rocked back and forth on the chair, rubbing my arms as goose bumps rose. Icy fingers trailed down the back of my neck. My head whipped around. A sheath of darkness slithered across the far wall.
Stupid…stop jumping at shadows. I pulled the blanket over the man’s chest and then took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. A low hum filled the room—indistinct, but growing more rhythmic. It mimicked the faltering beat of the heart monitor. My vision blurred. Colorful ribbons flashed across my vision. I’d never seen anything like it before. It was beautiful and terrifying. Unbelievable, yet not.
If anything, I thought the phenomenon a result of my brain injury. I rubbed my eyes, hoping it would go away. The ribbons faded, grayed, and then blackened as if burning over an open flame. The shadow stretched across the room and I panicked. I used my body to shield the patient from the shadow, and it stopped.
But it didn’t go away. It lingered against the wall like a spider. I didn’t know it waited for the man’s soul to leave its battered shell and fly into the darkness’ web. It took two more deaths before I understood what the black ribbon predicted. All I knew was it couldn’t come any closer. I blocked its path. It listened to me. Just like it did yesterday.
The quiet, broken only by the life support machines, had frazzled my nerves. At some point, I began talking to the guy in the bed. Maybe I
also talked to the shadow. I don’t know. Neither answered in words, but every time my voice trailed off, the rhythm of his heartbeat dipped and the shadow crept closer.
I talked until my throat ached. I whispered for him to take another breath. I begged him to hang on until Estrada arrived. I told him not to give up because I’d stay with him as long as he needed me.
I lied. I just didn’t know it at the time.
An hour later, Sue returned to the room. And I left. I thought I’d check on him if he survived the surgery, but I learned later that he’d gotten transferred to a bigger hospital. And a local got his bed. I never learned his name or found out if he survived his injuries.
* * *
I feel more relaxed when I return to my room. Rather than chancing another nightmare, I spend the day watching a Law & Order marathon, just like a typical Sunday at home. Mala calls to let me know she’s relapsed. Turns out she has the stomach flu, not food poisoning, and won’t be able to visit anything but the toilet bowl. When Gabriella bounces into the room that evening, I restrain myself from leaping from the bed to give her a bone-crushing hug. She wears her straight black hair in a bobbing ponytail and has on a frilly, blue, baby doll dress that makes her seem sweet and innocent.
I scowl at her in mock anger. “Don’t you know proper hospital etiquette? Where’s the horror at seeing your best friend wearing a hideous, backless gown?”
She flips her hair over her shoulder and gives her interpretation of a “grin of evil,” which I know for a fact she practiced in front of the mirror to perfect during her modeling phase. “I’m busting you out of here today, sista.”
“Ooh, bad girl Gabby’s back in action? How are you going to do it? The nurses in this place have eyes in the backs of their heads.”
“My diabolical plan involved flirting with Alonso to get him to agree to your release. Turns out he’s recently divorced and has a thing for evil brunettes.”
“Seriously? You really sprang me from this rat hole? A few batted eyelashes at not-so-sexy Dr. Estrada accomplished what hours of my begging couldn’t?”
“Well, I tipped the conversation in my favor by bribing him with a pot of pozole rojo. Turns out my recipe is similar to what his abuela made for him as a child.” She forms her fingers into a heart shape against her chest. “He says my soup is filled with passion.”
Oh, she’s so smug. But in this case, her ego is justified. The woman can cook. My mouth waters just thinking about her pozole. It’s hominy goodness in a bowl.
I jump from beneath the covers. My legs waver as pain flares in my head, and I lean against the bed. “You sure I’m ready to go home? ’Cause I feel like I got my butt kicked yesterday. Oh, wait. I did.”
Gabriella snorts, rushing to my side. She lays a steadying hand on my arm. “Silly Rabbit, tricks are for kids. Get back in bed until I can rustle up a wheelchair.”
I shoo her off. “Really, you out-maneuvered Estrada?”
“Alonzo made me promise to stay with you. I swore that I wouldn’t let you out of my sight and that you would remain in bed for at least two more days—even if I have to tie you to it.”
“Kinky,” I drawl, with a shake of my head that doesn’t hurt too badly. “Sucks I don’t have some fine specimen of hotness to spend my time with.” I let out a wishful sigh, and for some reason, my mind flashes to Licking Guy. “One who knows how to use his tongue.”
“Dena!” Gabriella covers her flushed cheeks.
“I know how to use my tongue,” Detective Anders announces, sauntering into the room like he didn’t accuse me of burning a guy to death the night before. The conceited jerk flashes a wicked grin in my direction. As our eyes meet, a ribbon of heat shoots through my body and pools in my stomach. My heart rate triples, and I get a bit breathless.
What’s up with that? I should still be so pissed about our last encounter that I’d rather be licked by a dog after it licked its own ass. Traitorous hormones. So what if Anders epitomizes hotness and could be my muse if I had a creative bone in my body? The attraction is all physical, and physical turns ugly fast without an emotional connection.
“Ew,” I say with a deliberate shudder. “I didn’t need that visual, Anders. I get that you’re taking my advice and working on your charm, but you’ve gone from creepy to extra-crispy-creepy.”
His skin reddens as his brows draw down into a scowl. His mouth opens as if he has a scathing rejoinder, then thinks better of it. He visibly pulls himself together, schooling his face back into its expressionless mask. A relief to me since I know how to react to the dark side of his personality.
He glances at Gabriella. She has the same dazed eyes and slack-jawed, goofy expression she wore the night before, minus the drool.
“Ms. Gonzalez, do you mind if I speak with Dena alone?” He tilts his head toward the door in arbitrary dismissal.
“Yes, she does mind.” I glare at Gabriella, willing her to agree, but instead of having my back like a proper friend, she heads toward the door like an obedient little pod person. “Gabriella, you don’t have to go. If anyone is leaving this room, it’s Detective Anders.”
Gabriella sends a wide-eyed look over her shoulder. “Oh, no…it’s fine. I’ll fill out the discharge paperwork while you speak with the detective. I’m sure it’s important.”
I slap my palm onto the mattress and yell at her retreating back, “Where’s the loyalty, Gabby?”
She ignores my outburst and flashes Anders her “winsome” smile. The traitorous brat practiced that one, too, for all the impact it has on its intended recipient.
Anders has already focused all his attention, and it’s considerable, on yours truly. “I thought we’d finish our conversation.” He folds his lean body into the chair across from where I sit on the edge of the bed.
He lounges as if he has all the time in the world. His body appears relaxed until I notice the tension in his shoulders. He’s come prepared for trouble, if I decide to make some. Well, bring it on! If he dishes out the bullshit, I’ll shove it in his face this time.
I grimace, staring at my clenched hands. “You thought wrong, Anders. I said everything I intended to say to you last night. Why don’t you go bug someone else?”
“Dena,” he says my name as if struggling to remain calm, “I’m conducting an investigation into the murder of four people. I could really use your cooperation.”
“Anders,” I mimic his tone, “Go somewhere else to investigate. I’m not cooperating any further in your witch hunt; they never end well for the witch.” I stand and turn my back to him in dismissal. “I’m being freed from this overly sanitized prison, and I need to pack. Oh, and by the way, when did I give you permission to call me by my first name?” I spin to face him, and the open flap of my gown brushes against my naked backside. “Oh crap, Anders! You peeked! I can tell by your expression. You saw my…you were looking…aak,” I sputter, folding the gown behind my back so I can lean against the bed.
His strong features are as still as the statue of David, but I know, just like I know he’s a freak of nature, that he checked out my assets.
The blush rises up my chest to heat my face. I must resemble a radish right now. It’ll be even more humiliating if Anders figures out why his seeing my bare butt affects me so strongly. His ego’s big enough already.
“Look, Dena—” Anders pauses when I cross my arms over my not-so-substantial breasts. His eyes widen a bit before he tears them away to focus determinedly on my face. He clears his throat before continuing. “Ms. Acker, I apologize for insulting you last night.” His face puckers as if he’s in pain.
I don’t think Detective Michael Anders—I checked the name on his business card before I threw it in the trash—has much practice giving apologies. His current attempt appears to be making him physically ill. Ironic since the effort gives him a few brownie points. He must really be desperate to get my cooperation with his investigation.
I fold the backless gown around my body and ease onto the bed, pulling
up the blanket to cover my bare legs. “Okay, Anders. I think my prejudice toward you affected my objectivity.” My own face puckers with the discomfort of attempting to explain my actions to him. To be clear, I am not apologizing, just un-muddying the water. “Last night I was overly emotional, and you came across as an unsympathetic jerk. If this were only about you, I’d tell you to go pound sand, but…You said other people had also been killed? Were you serious?”
He nods stiffly, jaw tight as he stares at me.
“So,” I draw out the word, “maybe knowing more about the other cases will trigger my memory. I mean, I pretty much told you everything.” Everything that wouldn’t make me sound like a crazy person.
Anders exhales noisily, repeating, “Pretty much?”
Guilt flares and my face heats—again. “Yeah, so…umm, were there any other witnesses? Was there anything odd about how the people died?”
“Other than spontaneously combusting?”
Boy, he sure isn’t making this easy. All that’s needed is a spotlight shining in my eyes and a box of Kleenex sitting just out of reach, and I’d think I was in a police interrogation room.
I pull a stray thread from the blanket and twirl it around my fingers, debating how much I want to share. I meet his patient gaze, telling myself that if I see any sign of skepticism reflected in the green depths, I’ll keep my big mouth shut. Unfortunately for me, he seems willing to listen.
“It looked like spontaneous combustion,” I mutter, heart racing. “Of course, I was bleeding to death so I was a bit distracted. I’ve never seen anyone catch on fire before, and all the black smoke rolling off the body made it difficult to see clearly.”
“Black smoke?” Anders raises one dark eyebrow. “From the fire.”
“No, the tentacle of smoke touched him, and then he caught on fire. It burned him.”