Southern Heat

by Natasha Madison

  My head feels like someone is pounding on it with a jackhammer. I take a deep breath, but my side hurts so much. Breathing hurts, so I start to hold my breath and then pant out.

  Maybe trying to get away from everyone and almost falling out of the bed was not my best idea. "I’m going to get Doris,” he says, and I open my eyes. He’s putting down a computer on the window ledge with the screen turned away from me. "She’s the night nurse." He smiles at me. “She likes me better than Shirley." His blue eyes go just a touch lighter when he smiles, just like when the sun hits the blue water, making it almost crystal clear.

  Why is he still here? I ask myself as I close my eyes again.

  He turns to walk out of the room, but all he does is open the door and then whisper-shouts Doris’s name. With his back turned to me, I take a minute to wince from the pain. Closing my eyes, I try to count to ten and then open them back up. My whole body aches from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.

  I have never felt so much pain in my whole life. And God knows I’ve had my fair share of backhands and punches.

  When he turns back around, I put on my poker face. I’ve never been in this much pain before, so I don’t even know what type of poker face I have at the moment. "Do you want some water?" he asks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard.

  "No," I say, not willing to show anyone that I need anything. The minute you show them that you need or want things, they use that as a bargaining tool. I learned that eight years ago. I also learned that you can’t trust anyone, not even your own mother.

  "Your lips are dry," he says. “The water will help."

  I want to tell him to leave, but the sharp pain in my head makes me close my eyes as I try to control it. His face looks like it feels my pain, and he’s about to say something when the nurse comes in. She looks friendlier than the last one, but the last one made sure no one came close to me. Even him.

  She is wearing blue scrub pants, but her scrub top is white with cats all over it. "I was wondering if you would wake up for me." She smiles and comes over to me. “How are we doing?" Her black hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She has white hair around her temples, her stethoscope hangs around her neck, and her glasses sit on the edge of her nose.

  "Fine,” I say, trying to steady my heartbeat because the machine is picking it up. His eyes go from me to the machine and then back to me.

  Her brown eyes look up at me from her glasses. “Is that so?" She tilts her head to the side. “So you don’t feel like you’ve been hit by a truck?"

  I want to laugh because not only does it feel like I got hit by a truck but it feels like a bus and a whole motorcade were after it. "I’ll be fine."

  "Do you want me to up your pain medicine?" she asks, walking over to the hanging IV bag and doing something to it.

  "No," I tell her. “It makes me groggy."

  "It allows your body to heal,” she says.

  "She said she doesn’t want it,” he says, his voice nothing like when he talks to me.

  She looks over at him, and I’m expecting her to tell him to take a seat, but she shakes her head. “I’m going to go and see if I can get you some Jell-O."

  She turns to walk out of the room, leaving me alone with the stranger. I try to sit up, but the sharp pain from my left side makes me stop moving.

  I look over at him, and his eyes have never left mine. He steps forward as he stands beside the bed. “If you are feeling pain, you should tell her.” His voice softens as he sits in the chair beside my bed and puts his hand on mine. The heat of his hand warms me up. “Your body has been through a lot.”

  “I said I’m fine,” I almost hiss out. “Now, before I get sucked under again." I lick my lips, and I wish I did have water. The dryness of my mouth makes my tongue feel thick. “How long have I been here?”

  He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he walks out of the room, and I watch him. I look down at the hand in a cast and then fist the other one. I try to sit up, but the left side pulls again, making me wince.

  "Here,” he says, coming back in with a white Styrofoam cup. “It’s ice water. The coolness will help your throat." I look at him and then the straw and then back at him. “Four days,” he says. “I’ve been by your bedside almost five days. If I wanted to hurt you …" He leans in, bringing the straw closer to my lips. “I would have."

  His words roll around in my head. His hand never moves from in front of my mouth. I open my mouth, placing the straw between my lips, and take a little sip. He was right. The cool water makes my mouth and throat feel amazing. "Thank you."

  He nods at me. “Okay, shall we, then?" I look at him. “Let’s play twenty-one questions. What’s your name?"

  "What’s yours?" I ask back, ignoring the throbbing from my wrist.

  "Quinn,” he says softly. "Now it’s your turn." I look at this man who doesn’t even know my name, yet he sat by my bed for the past four days.

  "My name is Willow,” I say softly and then look down. “Where am I?"

  "Hospital twenty minutes out of Clarkstown,” he says, and I start to think of where that is. The past five months have been a roller-coaster ride, if I’m honest. We didn’t stay in the same spot for more than three days. I spent more than nine straight days sleeping in the car, and then we spent a month in that fucking cabin.

  "The blond woman,” I say, looking at him. “Is she okay?"

  "Her name is Chelsea,” he says. “She’s going to be fine. He shot her in the shoulder." My eyes go big. “Went right through. Her wrist is also broken."

  I put my head back and close my eyes as the relief that she is okay washes through me. "I tried to warn everyone," I say. “I tried to run, but he caught me and …" I stop talking when I look down to see my hands shaking. I don’t even know, but my hand goes to the side of my leg. I’m even afraid to look under and see the damage he left. He always made sure to put the bruises where no one could see. He was good at that.

  I watch his eyes as I ask the next question. "How is …?" I don’t even want to say his name, and my heart speeds as the monitor picks it up. I look around, afraid he might be in this hospital right now. Afraid he’ll pop up when I least expect it. Just like he always did.

  Quinn sees it, too. “He’s dead."

  I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. “Wh—" I start to say. My mouth gets drier and drier as I try to comprehend what he just said to me.

  "He’s dead," he repeats. “Lifted a gun and tried to shoot Mayson, and the sheriff shot him."

  "You were there?" My heart goes around and around at the thought that I’m finally fucking free. He’s dead, and he can’t hurt me. Nothing is holding me back. I’m free.

  The tears sting my eyes, and no matter how much I fight it, a lone tear falls over my bottom eyelid. I lift my hand and wince in the action. I close my eyes, and another tear comes out. "I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, and I open my eyes to look at him.

  “My loss?” I ask, not sure I heard him right. “Are you the police?” I ask him. “Is that why you are here stuck to my bed? Do you need a statement from me?" I snap at him. “Or am I under arrest?" My hands get clammy, and my heart rate goes up even more. The back of my neck gets hot, and my stomach feels a burning sensation in it.

  "How much pain are you in?" I open my eyes and look at him as he stands there with his arms across his chest. His arms look bigger.

  "I’m fine,” I say.

  "Bullshit,” he says, his voice going just a touch louder than before.

  He’s about to say something else when Doris comes back in with a bowl in her hands. “I found one." She holds up her arm.

  "She’s in a lot of pain," Quinn says, and I look at Doris.

  "It’s not that bad,” I say, and I look over at Quinn.

  "Stop being so stubborn and tell her how you really feel." He shakes his head.

  "On a scale of one to ten," Doris says, “how much pain do you feel?”

  “Zero,” I lie to her. Quinn huffs, but
instead of saying anything, he just walks out of the room.

  “Okay, he’s gone now,” Doris says. “Tell me the truth.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, and she looks at me.

  “No one is going to think less of you for feeling pain.”

  I turn my head and watch Quinn from the window as he stands there with the phone to his ear. No doubt calling whoever he needs to call to give them a rundown of our conversation. Just another person in my life who needs something from me.

  “Are the police outside my door?” I ask her, and she looks at me confused. Her eyebrows furrow.

  “The police?” she repeats the question.

  I close my eyes as the pain gets to be too much, and my face grimaces. “I need to get out of here,” I say, and she looks at me.

  “I’m sure eventually you will.” She smiles, and I just look at her.

  Sooner than you think, I say to myself as I sit back and make my escape plan.

  Chapter 7

  Quinn

  I walk out of the room before I snap at her. Reining it in, I watch her through the window. My whole body shakes with anger as I watch Doris with her.

  She looks at Doris and then looks at me, her eyes flying away from mine when she sees me looking at her. I take the phone out of my pocket and call the only person I know who can help me right now.

  "Hey," my father says after half of a ring.

  "Hey," I say back. “Her name is Willow." Her name falls off my lips like I’ve been saying it my whole life.

  "Is she awake?" he asks, and I hear him moving around.

  "She is." I look back at her and see her close her eyes and put her head back on the pillow.

  "Did she give you a last name?" he asks.

  "No, and I didn’t ask her, to be honest." I look around to see if anyone else is in the hallway.

  "What else did she say?" he asks.

  "Not much. She asked if Chelsea was okay." I swallow. “She said she tried to warn her. But …" I swallow down the rage coming right through me. “But he caught her before she could warn us."

  "Fuck," he hisses and says the same thing I was thinking when I heard it. Actually, when I heard her say that, I thought it was a good thing he was dead because I would find him and finish the job.

  "She also didn’t know he was dead,” I say.

  "Do you think they were working together?" he asks, and just the thought makes my skin crawl. "Step out of the bubble for a minute,” he says. “Do you think she was working with him?"

  "No," I answer him honestly, and then I close my eyes and pray I’m not wrong. "Not with the way she is acting. She is too jumpy to be in on it. Besides, her injuries tell us a different story."

  "But did you ask her?" he asks, and I wish I had another answer for him.

  "I didn’t have a chance to." I stop talking as I look at her smile for the first time. Not a whole smile, but a small side smile. Her green eyes light up just a touch. Unlike when she gets into her head, and she’s alone with her thoughts. Then they get so clouded over.

  "What is it?" my father asks, his voice low and calm but also full of worry.

  "She’s in fucking pain,” I say through clenched teeth, my voice as low as it can go. “Fucking pain and she refuses to admit it."

  "Quinn," he says my name, and I’m not sure if it’s a warning or not. "Why don’t I send someone to take your place for a couple of hours? You can go and get some sleep."

  I ignore what he just said. “Dad, she is in so much pain her body shakes, and she doesn’t even notice it." My stomach turns over as I look back into the room and see her eyes are still closed. "She is in so much pain that she holds her breath as she fights through it. She is in a fuck ton of pain, and she is jumpy and scared shitless." I don’t tell him that she looks around every five seconds to make sure she knows where the exits are. I don’t tell him that I have a feeling if she is left alone, she will try to run. I don’t know her, but I feel it in my bones that she isn’t going to stick around.

  "Maybe it’s you,” he says, and I look down at the floor as I listen to him. “Maybe it’s the fact you’re a man, and she isn’t comfortable with men. I could send in Amelia,” he says. “See if she talks to her."

  "No," I say. “Right now, she knows I’m here and not leaving. Sooner or later, she’ll trust me."

  "But what if she doesn’t?” I close my eyes, not willing to think about that. "We don’t know anything about her."

  "We know she tried to get to Chelsea to help her, and we know that he left her for fucking dead." My voice goes lower. “If she was in on it, why would he leave her for dead?" I ask him the same question my head has been asking me. “Why hide her under a fucking bed?"

  "I have no idea," my father huffs. “There are so many questions still unanswered."

  "Well"—I look over at the woman in the bed—“all the answers are there." I look down and then up again, not adding that she just has to give them to us.

  "I’m going to ask her more when she is up to it,” I say. “In the meantime, see if anyone has mentioned her name anywhere."

  "I’ll send it to Derek." My father mentions his second-in-command. “If anyone can find out who she is, he can."

  "I’ll check on my end also,” I say. “I’ll let you know."

  "Quinn," he says. “What is going on here?" he asks me. "You find this girl, and then you stick by her like glue."

  "She has no one," I remind him.

  "This isn’t one of the horses you rescue," he says. “Not all of them can be saved."

  "This isn’t that,” I say, and he laughs.

  "Son, you are talking to someone who has known you your whole life,” he says. “You are the most nurturing soul I know. You see the wounded, and all you want to do is make it better."

  "This isn’t like that,” I say, but even I don’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.

  "I’ll let you know what I find out on my end,” he says, not willing to have this conversation with me right now. “Let me know how things go on your end."

  "I will,” I say, hanging up and looking over to see Mayson standing there talking to the nurse.

  Looking into the room, I see her eyes are still closed, and Doris comes out of the room. “How is she doing?"

  "She’s a fighter,” she says, looking back into the room and seeing her eyes are closed. “I just upped her pain meds."

  "Did she ask for it?" I ask Doris, and she just looks at me.

  "She said she was fine,” she says. “But then you saw her erratic heartbeat every time she felt pain."

  "How long is she going to be out?" I ask Doris.

  "She should be out for about four hours,” she says and walks away from me, going over to the whiteboard and writing numbers on it.

  "Her name is Willow," I tell Doris, and she looks over her shoulder at me. “You can change the Jane Doe." I point at the top of her column. With a smile, she erases Jane Doe and replaces it with Willow.

  "She has a name?" Mayson says from beside me.

  "She does,” I say. “How is Chelsea?"

  "She thinks she is leaving tomorrow." He shakes his head.

  "Do you know her?" I ask him. To be honest, things between Mayson and me have not always been smooth. I didn’t trust him when he first got here, and I still don’t trust him. But, and there is a huge but, Chelsea has chosen him. So I have to respect her and accept him, if for no one else but her.

  "Never seen her in my life,” he says, looking into the room again.

  "When you were held captive"—I look at him to see if his eyes flicker—“do you think she was there?"

  He looks at me, his eyes hard as he folds his arms across his chest. “I was tied to a tree,” he says, his voice tight.

  "Did you see her maybe in the cabin?" I ask.

  "I didn’t see anyone but my father,” he says, “but that isn’t to say she wasn’t there."

  "She said she tried to run away and warn Chelsea," I start to tell him, “and then
he caught her."

  He shakes his head. “Nothing you say will surprise me."

  "There you are." I look to the right and see Chelsea walking toward us very slowly.

  “What are you doing out of bed?" Mayson asks, looking around to see if there is a wheelchair he can grab.

  "I’m tired of lying around doing nothing,” she huffs out. “I’m fine. I can lie in bed at home." She looks at me. “You look like shit."

  "Right back at you,” I say, and she laughs. She comes over to me, and I hug her.

  "Watch her shoulder," Mayson tells me, and I just look at him. Chelsea, Amelia, and I grew up together, almost like triplets. In school, it was always the three of us. They are my best friends; they know me better than I know myself.

  "Did she wake up?" Chelsea asks, looking into the room where Willow sleeps.

  "For a bit," I tell her. “Her name is Willow,” I say, and she looks over at the chart on the wall.

  "Her heartbeat is all over the place. She must be in pain," Chelsea says, her medical training kicking in. "They upped her pain meds but not by much."

  "She says she’s fine,” I say, and she looks at me with her mouth open.

  "They drilled a hole in her head to reduce the swelling. I can confirm with you from other patients that I've had that she is in a fuck ton of pain. That isn’t even counting all her other injuries."

  "Did you see her?" Mayson asks Chelsea. “At the cabin."

  "No." She shakes her head. “I told you, I told Uncle Casey, and I’ve told Uncle Jacob over and over again. He was alone. Drove the car alone. Carried me alone. In the cabin, he was alone. I had no idea she was even there."

  "We should get you into bed," Mayson says, and she tries to pretend she isn’t tired, but the yawn that escapes her tells us otherwise.

  "Go rest. I’ll come and get you tomorrow when she gets up, and we can hear her story,” I say. “Maybe she can answer our questions."

  "Well, the other person is sitting on ice in the morgue,” Mayson says.