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Hannah
My throat burns. My vision is blurred, and I can’t focus on my surroundings. I hear sounds, but they’re unfamiliar. I work harder to blink away the confusion, a bright light peeking through the fog.
“Oh shit. Go figure you’d wake up and have to see me first. Be right back.” The shadow in my vision disappears. My heart beats fast, and a buzzing starts to rattle in my brain. Where am I? Panic sets in, and I raise my hands, grabbing at the intrusion in my mouth.
Another shadow blocks my light. “Relax, Hannah. I’m Doctor Wilson. You have a tube in to help you breathe.” A tube? Why do I have a tube in to breathe? Beeping sounds pulsate my eardrums, and I fight once more to remove the barrier. “Shhh…all right. Relax, and we can get it out.”
I continue to blink as colors and shapes become more prominent. A man in a white lab coat stands over me. “Wh—?”
I attempt to speak, but can’t. Tears burn my eyes in frustration. Where am I?
“Hannah, do you know where you are?” I shake my head furiously, wincing at the pain coming from my head and side. “Take it easy. You’re in Crete General Hospital. You were involved in an accident.” Accident? Oh my god. Is everyone okay? I’m still fighting through the heavy slumber, trying to search for recollection. Everything is slow moving. I become agitated at the detachment of my memory. “It’s understandable. In situations of major trauma, the mind tends to protect the psyche.”
Trauma? My mind carousels in circles, but I can’t seem to grasp anything. Does anyone know I’m here? A loud boom in the distance has the doctor unnerved. He leaves my bedside to see what the commotion is about. When he returns, his face is drained of color. He shuts the door, hitting a button. Lights begin to flare. A warning light? Emergency light? I stare back at him, silently begging him to tell me what’s happening.
“Everything is going to be fine. No one will get into this room, okay?”
My monitors are going berserk. He rushes over to check my stats and presses a few buttons, thankfully getting them to stop. “I hate to do this, but I can’t have you in distress.” He takes a needle to my IV bag and injects something. My eyes widen in despair, once again staring at him for answers, but before I can hear his response, I fall into the abyss of blackness.
“And did she say anything? Does she remember anything?” My eyes begin to flicker at the sound of my mom’s voice. I hope it’s not a dream. I miss my mom. I can’t remember the last time I saw her.
“And how was he allowed access to this floor? We were told there was surveillance.” Dad! His voice sounds angry. Am I in trouble?
“No one knows at this point. Just that he was able to get on the floor with an employee keycard. The officer couldn’t give me much detail, but from what I gather, he came in through the employee cafeteria dressed in nurse scrubs. No one suspected a thing.”
I want to know who they’re talking about. I blink rapidly, opening and closing my eyes, allowing the streaks of bright light to penetrate my sensitive sight. “Mom?” I croak, my voice hoarse.
My mother’s eyes whip to mine, a gasp leaving her sullen lips. She comes to my side, her warm hands embracing mine. “Oh, baby, you’re awake.” Tears rush down her face as she spreads motherly kisses over my cheeks and forehead. When she pulls back, my dad takes her place. “Hey there, kiddo. Welcome back.”
“Dad,” I cry, my emotions getting the best of me. Swallowing hard, I try to work my vocal chords. “Why am I here?”
My mother’s sudden cry has my eyes wide, needing my dad to tell me.
“Kiddo, do you remember anything?”
My heart starts up again, racing in a frantic search for answers. “No, please. Tell me. You’re all scaring me.”
Dad grabs my hand and sits next to me. “Honey. You were taken…” He stalls, swallowing hard. “Braydon Connor kidnapped you.”
My eyes open to their fullest. Dad’s mouth remains in a grim line as he goes on. “He…held you captive at Clara Hill’s home. We’re unsure what happened, but you were injured. You have a stab wound in your side—thirty-seven stitches—a pretty bad gash in your head, and a concussion. You suffered some smoke damage from the fire—”
“What? Fire—what fire?”
Mom starts to sob quietly in the corner. “Hannah…Braydon set the house on fire. With you and Clara in it.”
Clara.
Flowered dress.
Lifeless.
Clara.
Just as easily as I forgot, all too soon the scenery before me changes. I’m back in Clara Hill’s house. The pain. The smoke. Braydon. “Braydon.” His name falls off my tongue, wrapping around my neck as if the word alone is suffocating me. I clutch at my chest, struggling to breathe, the panic inside me closing off my airways.
