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“Nurse,” I call out, my voice level again.
“Let me go!”
“Don’t push me, Helena. Not now.”
“Now’s not a good time for you?”
She struggles, and I have to be careful not to hurt her.
“You need to rest. Get better. Then we’ll talk.”
“I’m finished talking. I want out.”
“You can’t have out.”
“Please!”
“Don’t make me tie you down.”
“You’re good at that, aren’t you?”
“There are things you don’t understand. You have to trust me—”
“Trust you?” she laughs, stops her fighting. “I don’t trust you. I’ll never trust you again.”
The nurse steps into the room and picks up a needle from the medical tray on the dresser.
Helena looks at her, watches her prepare the injection.
She turns to me. “I just want to go home,” she says to me, her voice softer, pleading, tears filling her eyes.
I sit on the edge of the bed and pull her onto my lap, cradling her tight to me.
She begins to cry, to sob.
“I’m sorry, Helena. I’m sorry this happened to you.”
The nurse steps toward us.
“I don’t want that,” Helena says, looking at the syringe. “I don’t want anything.”
She’s squirming on my lap, trying to free herself. My arms lock her to me, keep her close.
Helena’s eyes are wide and she’s shaking her head frantically as I nod to the nurse.
“I don’t want anything. Please!”
“Be still now. It’s just to help you sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
But it’s too late. I keep her arm still as the nurse pushes the needle in, and it works fast, the medicine. Helena’s already going limp before the barrel of the syringe is fully empty.
“I don’t want to sleep,” she tries again.
I stand, lift her up and lay her down, tuck her in. The nurse leaves, closing the door behind her.
“You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
“I won’t.”
“You will. It’s just for a little while longer,” I say, brushing the hair from her face as she struggles to keep her eyes open. “Just a little while.”
I walk to the door.
“Sebastian?” she calls out, stopping me.
I turn, my hand on the doorknob.
“Am I still the Willow Girl?” she’s on her side, her eyes half-open.
“What else would you be?”4HelenaMy mouth feels like cotton. It’s too warm and I push the blankets off me and turn my face but when I do, I smell him. I smell Sebastian on the pillow. On the sheets.
And I remember.
I open my eyes and it’s dark. Not like in that room underground, but nighttime.
And I’m not alone.
Moonlight shines in through the window, illuminating the form leaning against the wall, watching me.
It takes me a few minutes to fully open my eyes, to focus. I pull up to a seat, but it takes effort. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion when I look to the nightstand, to the cup there.
Water. I need water.
But I’m having trouble making my arm work the way it should, and I manage to knock the glass over, spilling the contents. I watch it roll off the nightstand, drop to the carpet soundlessly.
He moves, the shadow.
He peels himself from the wall.
I look up at him and as he comes nearer, I cringe back. When he’s close enough, and his face is illuminated, I see it’s Gregory.
He picks up the glass, goes into the bathroom and returns a moment later with it full. He sits on the edge of the bed and puts it to my lips and I drink, and I never take my eyes off him.
When the glass is empty, he sets it on the nightstand but remains looking at me.
“Was it you?” I ask.
“Was what me?”
“On the boat. Was it you?”
I think he narrows his eyes, but I can’t be sure because it’s too dark.
“You think I had some part in this?”
“Did you?”
He snorts, gets up off the bed and leans against the wall again. “If I wanted to kidnap you, you’d still be kidnapped.”
I don’t know if I believe him. He’s so casual, so relaxed. Like he’s part of this whole thing, but not. Like he’s watching from the sidelines. Waiting.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Not really sure, honestly.”
“Where’s Sebastian?”
He puts a hand on his jaw, rubs the hard line of it.
“Want me to get him for you?”
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic, but I shake my head no.
“Hm.” He walks toward me, and I pull the blankets up. “I don’t know what you said to him but take my advice and don’t say it again.”
“Why would I take your advice?”
“Because things are changing, Willow Girl.”
I swallow, and I think he hears my anxiety at his warning.
“You, me and Sebastian, it’s just us now. And things are changing.”
I shudder at his words. At the thinly veiled threat. “I don’t understand.”
“Were you paying attention in the mausoleum?”
“What are you talking about?”
He snorts, smirks.
“You have a short memory.” He pushes off from the wall and walks to the door. “Good night, Willow Girl. Sleep tight.”
