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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LILLITH
My alarm, not a nightmare, wakes me for the first time all week. A groan tumbles from my throat, and I rub my sleep-crusted eyes as I sit up in bed. The early morning light streams through my open window, casting an orange hue over the freshly waxed floorboards. A pang emanates from my lower back, and I groan as I stretch out the muscles, stiff from hours of tireless scrubbing last night.
As exhausted as I am this morning, I’m proud I went the whole night without thinking about—nope, not going there.
I throw my legs over the bed and pad to the window, my brows narrowing at my sill devoid of my feathered friend. I suppose I slept through his tapping this morning.
My chest pangs with guilt, and I make a mental note to leave out a handful of seed tonight before I go to sleep on the off chance that I get a full night’s rest.
With only an hour before I need to leave for work, I quickly remove my locket and step into the bathroom, hastening through my usual morning routine. I step out of the shower ten minutes later, sufficiently waterlogged and ready to face the day ahead.
I wrap my sopping-wet hair in a towel and turn to leave when a slamming door makes its way to my ears. I frown, pausing mid-step as a dry female voice blares through my TV speakers. That’s fucking odd. I didn’t turn the news on before I took my shower, did I?
I shake off the paranoia creeping up the back of my neck. I was half asleep when I went into the bathroom. I must have turned it on and forgotten about it. And also imagined the slam of my front door…
Not at all convinced with my paper-thin reasoning, I walk into the bedroom and stand in front of the TV, listening as the pretty blond woman prattles off the morning news report.
Madeline’s parents inform us that she was last seen Monday night. Police have asked that anyone who has information on her whereabouts contact the…
I turn from the TV with a sigh, letting the newscaster’s voice fade to the background as I search the mattress for my locket. I rummage through the sheets, my heart beating faster the longer I go without the sensation of the cool metal between my fingertips. Where the hell is it? Lockets can’t just grow legs and run off, so why isn’t it here? I’m in the middle of ripping the sheet from the bed when the voice from the TV stops me in my tracks.
Police found the head nurse this morning, dead from an X overdose…
A thick sweat breaks out across my skin as I slowly turn to face the screen. The image flips to a picture of a young Sandra, the same mousy curls framing her smiling face as she stands arm in arm with a man in matching blue scrubs. His face has been blurred to protect his identity, but even so, I recognize it to be the stature of one of the surgeons I’ve worked with at the hospital.
Sandra Payne worked at Moriton Memorial Hospital for nearly twenty-five years as an esteemed caretaker, loved by patients and co-workers alike. The hospital’s director has given a statement. “No one suspected Sandra of her addiction, and it comes as a shock to all.”
My stomach flips, threatening to expel its meager contents. The ringing in my ears ceases just long enough for me to tune back into the TV, though it appears Sandra’s demise is already old news.
Now, we take you to our next story—Puppies! Do they really lower your risk of cancer? We have canine expert, John Launder, here to talk to us about it…
The missing locket is the farthest thing from my mind as I straighten from the bed in a trance. I turn the TV off, then step into the bathroom, determined not to let this news ruin my morning.
I never would have thought Sandra was a drug user. It doesn’t seem right. A heroin addiction isn’t easy to hide, and she never once gave signs of having one. The voice in the back of my mind screams that it was him who did this—him who took her life and made it seem like an overdose—though I haven’t a clue as to why. My mind reeling, I pull on a baggy pair of sweats and one of my old band tees, trying to focus on getting dressed so my mind doesn’t break. It’s all too much to think about.
Shoving my feet into my worn-out clogs, I rush out the door, my thoughts a conglomeration of fuckedupness. I shake my head as I stomp down the stairs, trying to push them from my mind. I just have to keep my shit together for a few hours. It shouldn’t be that tough, right?
My heart stops as I take in the group of police officers standing in a semicircle at the far end of the hospital lobby. A terrified-looking older woman in scrubs stands at the center, wringing her hands nervously as one of the men scribbles furiously on his notepad. Her mouth is moving with words I can’t make out over the ringing in my ears, but I suspect it has something to do with Sandra. They’ll want to know if she was getting her supply from the hospital. It would make the most sense. Why get it off the street if you work someplace with the purest stuff?
I stand frozen in the middle of the room, suddenly overcome with the inexplicable aura of being watched. The hair on the back of my neck pricks, alerting me to some great unobservable threat. I whip my head around the space, trying to find the source of my unease. My paranoia has only become stronger since the news of Sandra’s demise, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shake the gut feeling that I’m in danger.
“Lilly! What’s wrong?”
My eyes shoot toward Drew’s frame, sprinting full tilt at me. His messy brown locks whirl around his face with the speed of his movements, adding another layer of innocence to his boyish features.
“Drew,” I whisper, giving him a tiny smile despite the storm brewing in my mind. I’ve never been more grateful to see his kind expression, even if I don’t know what he’s doing on the recovery floor. Or why he always seems to appear at the worst possible moments.
“You don’t look so good, Lilly,” he mutters, crouching in front of me as he takes in my face carefully. “Do you feel faint?”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, too weak to pull my wrist away as he moves to check my pulse. “I just got a little dizzy. No big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” he grumbles, shooting me an irritated look. “Do you want to pass out again? I’m taking you back down to the infirmary.”
“No, please—” A yelp tears from my throat as Drew grips my arm, hauling me roughly to my feet. “You’re overreacting. Let go of me!” I order, stumbling after him as he hauls me in the direction of the elevator. “Drew, you’re hurting me!”
He stops short, causing me to stumble face-first into his muscular back. Before I have time to balance, he whips around, taking my shoulders in a firm grip.
