The hell…?
I turn around and see him before my brain can function. There’s a tall guy wearing all black trying to blend into the dark, but his clothes are a tad lighter than the darkness.
“Hey! What are you—?” I begin.
Something sharp crashes into my head before I can finish my sentence, and I collapse to the ground. I gasp for air as my vision swirls, and the person in the dark bends over me, staring into my eyes. His eyes are a…a color…I can’t even…I think…
And then, nothing.
Chapter Fifty
Sharpness. Cold. Black.
Those are the first things that pop into my brain like popcorn as I become conscious. Or at least I think I am. Either that or I am sitting in a pitch-black room of nothing and am able to think like I’m awake. Oh, fuck. I just gave myself the sickest headache. I scrunch up my face as if doing so will relieve the aching pain in my head, but I don’t think anything’s happening.
I hear a sharp beeping, and it clashes in my head like cymbals. I try to groan, but I don’t hear anything. I do smell flutters of chlorine and medicine waft into my nose. I try to wave it away, but instead of feeling which seems to be the annoying trend of the night or day, I feel the drum of fingers against my thighs. I attempt to do it again, but I feel nothing. I make another piercing grunt, and hear more beeping, and then a little drumming.
“I think…up…doctor…” I hear through an ocean of questions, muffled in one ear and too bright in another. I hear more whispers, an intercom, and sniffling.
“Son…me?” I don’t quite catch the sentence, if there’s even one.
I tense up in anxiety when I feel a hand squeeze my hand. I know it’s my mother before she even calls my name in a shaky voice. I freeze up again, but not because I’m nervous, because she sounds like the mother I knew so long ago.
A vivid memory plays in my mind: It’s Fourth of July and my parents have thrown a barbecue in the backyard. My very best friend Liv Westerfield is running away from me, her blue eyes wide, my wicked smile huge. I’m chasing her with the booger on the tip of my index finger when I run into the legs of my mother. She scolds me to be nice to my future wife.
And while I attempt to figure out what the heck that foreign word means, I spot a girl my age with golden blonde hair and a black dress, unlike Liv’s white one, standing in the corner, scowling at everyone who passes by. A boy a few years older dressed in all black stands beside her and, despite their hostile appearance, I find myself running to the girl.
The memory/dream-like scene fades before she could punch me in the heart.
And I feel it.
The sharp tug.
Something’s wrong. Something is definitely wrong, and I need to wake up. Now.
I take a deep breath—or at least I think I do—and reach for the hand that’s slowly trying to draw away from me. But I grab hold like it’s an anchor and wait for it to pull me out of the foggy sea storm.
“He’s waking up! Oh, call the doctor! Call a nurse! Just do something, Robert, for heaven’s sake!” a voice commands, and I instantly know who it is.
“Mother?” I force my mouth to move, shape words.
My hand is gripped, and the beeping I heard earlier comes back full-force.
“Noah, darling,” she sobs, “don’t move a muscle, you hear me?”
“Geez, thanks for the advice,” I say sarcastically, and I think I see her smile. But it could have been her signature grimace, as I am slowly opening my eyes. Large white dots and balls of blurs contort my vision until I blink rapidly and shake my aching head a little.
“…Just woke up,” I hear my father say.
“Noah, my name is Dr. Howard,” a male voice introduces himself.
“Um, hey.” Doctor? Why am I in a doctor’s office? Why are my parents here? Why is there an impossibly bright white light dangerously close to my eyeball?
I cringe as he waves the light back and forth, mumbling as he does. When I look to the side, I see a petite young woman jotting down whatever he says.
Finally, after a while of that, he pulls back. “How are you feeling today?” I briefly study his lab coat and graying hair and assessing blue eyes before thinking of an answer.
“Um.” I steeple my fingertips together, then glance at him. “Fine, I guess. But—” I close an eye and reach to touch my forehead, but instead of skin, I feel a weird texture. A bandage, I think? “My head hurts a bit.”
“How would you rate your pain from one to ten?”
“Am I in a hospital?”
“Yes. Your pain,” he reiterates, studying me.
I flick my gaze to my worried mother and father, then look back at him and shrug. “Seven, maybe six and a half. There’s just this really dull pain in the back of my head.”
“Yes. That’s from the impact of the vase,” he says casually.
Vase? “Vase?” I voice my thoughts, looking to my parents when he doesn’t respond. My mother’s worry simmers into a burning rage. “Vase?” I repeat like a broken record.
“It was that damned girl! That poisonous girl you call Red!” Mother cries.
“Red?” My head feels fuzzy, then my heart sinks and that strange bad feeling comes back full force. “What about…what did…huh?” I can’t even think straight.
“Do you remember what happened to you, Noah?” Dr. Howard asks, squinting his eyes.
I silently shake my head, watching my father take my mother in his arms. I return my gaze to the doctor, trying my best to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.
He pauses, then goes on to say, “You walked in on a robbery at your house a few hours ago. The looters fled the home, but not before one smashed a vase over your head in what the cops think was an attempt to stop your interference with the robbery.”
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
“What…what did they steal?” And why don’t I remember any of…wait. The memories all come screwing back in my head like a huge corkscrew trying to push its way into a too tiny bottle. I remember walking into the empty house and being upstairs. I saw a person in the dark, called out, then…nothing.
“Are you feeling any other pains anywhere else, son?” He makes a move to retrieve his flashlight and shines them in my eyes once again. I wince and he steps back, eyeing me studiously. “You were hit pretty hard and received a concussion.”
No wonder I feel slow as hell.
“What did they steal?” I repeat groggily.
“The watch I got you for your seventeenth birthday,” my father answers, a heavy emotion hanging under his green eyes. “And everything else you had in your safe.”
“But…my safe is locked.” I rub my eyes, hating this feeling of not being able to catch onto what anyone is saying. I feel sluggish, two tiny steps behind in a million mile races.
“Yes…but they seemed to get in with no problem,” the doctor says.
“No, but you don’t get it. No one knows the code. No one but me and…no one but…but me…” I trail off, and my head suddenly feels like it’s walking on a road of lava. “No one but…” The phrase is latched onto the tip of my tongue.
I shake my head, willing the pain and unease to go away.
“Where…where’s my phone?” I ask, shoving my palms over my eyes.
“Why, son?” I hear my father ask.
“I need Red. I need to tell her where I am.” Did she get away? Was she there?
My stomach flips and splits open.
My mother cackles, and I remove my hands to find her shaking her head. “Boy, you have no idea who you let into your life.”
“My phone. Please.” I don’t have time nor the energy for her antics.
“Why? She already knows where you are,” she says.
“No she…so why isn’t she here?” Does she know that I’m here? I feel cold, I want my Red.
She laughs again and sneers, “Because she put you in that bed.”
“No. What are you talking about?” I am so con
fused.
“She ordered those thugs to rob you, or she did it herself. I wouldn’t be surprised either way,” she claims, her eyes growing larger with each accusation that slips out of her bold red lips.
“No, she wouldn’t do that.” It didn’t make sense. “Please, can I have my phone?”
“Yes, here.” My father pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to me.
I smile gratefully at him. “Thank y—”
“What are you doing, Robert? You know she did it! You know!” my mother continues to bark, even as he pulls her out of the room. I feel a surge of appreciation for my father as he asks the doctor and silent nurse to follow behind them.
I sit in silence for a while, unable to move or say anything. What my mother said is absolutely ridiculous. Red would never ever do something like that. How would she even know I have a safe or where I keep it? Even if she did know where it is, there isn’t any way she would betray me like that.
If anyone did rob me, it was either Ian or Tanner. They wouldn’t have known where it was either, but they could have been pissed that Red waited for me after getting arrested, still turning them down, and went over there and ransacked the place, waited for me to come home and take their anger out on me.
It all sounds farfetched, but it’s better than thinking my Red would ever do something like that to me.
Sighing heavily, I dial her number and lean back. I close my eyes and expectantly wait to hear her sweet voice. She’ll be surprised to know where I am and rush down here to see me, to hug me. Just thinking about seeing her after this has my heart thrumming like a drum.
She answers, and I sigh, hearing her soft breathing. I can practically smell her strawberry-scented hair from this hospital bed.
“Red, it’s so great to hear you. You’re just breathing, but still.” I chuckle and pick at the itchy blanket covering my lower half. “Anyway, um, you will not believe where I am—”
“Noah,” she interrupts me. Her voice is chalky, and she sniffles.
I sit up. Something is wrong. “What is it?”
No reply.
“Red, what’s going on?”
A few moments pass before she speaks. “Noah, I…” She sniffles some more, and I feel the heartbreak before she says, “I am so sorry.”
And then, the line goes blank.
Acknowledgements
First, I have to thank Limitless Publishing for continuing to offer support and belief in me and my books that are a little insane at times. Having my stories out in the world has always been my biggest dream, and you’re helping that dream become true. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
My family, you already know how much I appreciate your faith in me. Each of you taught me something I’ll always remember and treasure. Thank you.
Of course, I have to thank Toni for trying her darned hardest to shape these books into intelligible. I know they must be a headache to comb through, but you manage to better each one that lands on your desk. So, thank you so so much!
Last but certainly not least, I want to thank my readers for sticking around for the emotional rollercoaster. I know you must hate me after every cliffhanger and tearjerker scene, but you suck it up and continue on like a damn warrior. Here’s to many more stories about messed-up characters with colors for names!
About the Author
Allison White is a writer spending most of her days creating stories when most people are asleep. She has always been a lover of stories, especially romance. From the very first word she typed, she knew writing was her passion and never stopped. And when she isn’t creating stories that tend to break and mend reader’s hearts, she’s either listening to music or getting way too involved with fictional characters.
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Red: Burning Desire (Spectrum Series Book 7) Page 35