Page 4 of Lost and Bound

I instinctively throw my hands up and take a step back. Who wouldn’t? The mouse is rat-sized. I jump backward, landing on the uneven stair, my arms windmilling as I try to keep my balance. It’s touch and go for a second until the moment I put my weight fully on the single tread and it tips. I’m thrust forward, I try to grab hold of anything as I spin. But it doesn’t work, and I end up face-planting into the corner of the staircase.

White pain explodes.

And then there’s only darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

SEEING THE PROOF FOR MYSELF

The pain is excruciating. It steals my breath and brings golden light streaking through the darkness, sending me spiraling away from consciousness.

A sound reaches through the murky depths.

“Maya!”

It’s Mr. Kenney. I’d know his voice anywhere.

He calls my name again, and it stops me from drifting further way. Despite being pitch-black, the space I’m in now is surprisingly calm.

A part of me knows it would be easy to stay where I am, yet a bigger part knows I need to wake up. I swim through the void back to him. He keeps encouraging me, calling my name softly. I open my eyes, but weird shards of gold, like spiderwebs, blur my vision, and my face twists in pain.

It takes a few rounds of slow breathing until I see him properly. He looks as worried as he sounds.

Automatically, I reach for the source of what is hurting like hell. “Shit,” I whisper as my fingers dust over my face. It’s enough to make me yelp, and the back of my head is the same. A decent bump is forming. It’s wet and gooey.

“Oh, no…” The room tilts and my mouth goes dry.

“Don’t look, sweetheart.” Mr. Kenney artfully drops a cloth over my fingers, then presses something cool to the back of my head.

The tang of iron circles around me like a noose, tightening and making it hard to draw air in. I can’t help fixating on it, like my mind knows what it is. My thoughts lock onto the iron and I gag.

A shuffle of movement behind me scares the crap out of me and temporarily distracts me from the fact I’m leaking red fluid.

“She’s not great with… you know,” Mr. Kenney says to Williem, our community doctor, his voice falling away. And even though I don’t hear him say the word, I still hear it, which is stupid. But just try telling my brain he didn’t scream blood at the top of his lungs.

The word is a trigger. So is the smell, seeing it and feeling it too. Everything is a damn trigger when it comes to blood. But I’ve been through this screaming fear and panic enough times to know what is going on, and no matter how hard I try, my brain wins the tug-of-war between logic and terror every time.

I dip my head down between my knees in an attempt not to faint, which is good for my continuing consciousness but bad for face and head injuries. The pressure as I dip down is astronomical and makes me reach out again to stop the throbbing.

“Maya, it’s Williem. How about I give you a dose of something?”

Mr. Kenney answers for me. “No, she won’t like that. But if one of the ladies stops gawking and does something to help, like get me a cup of ice, she will be better in no time.”

The way Mr. Kenney talks tells me we have an audience, but his grandfatherly support and the way he gently scolds our crowd is what I need. I sit up and watch him as he exaggerates slowly breathing and waves his hand in time, like he’s a conductor of calmness.

I stay like that on the floor with him crouching in front of me until a cup of ice appears in my hands. Then everyone stays quiet while I stop breathing like a woman in labor and start eating the ice. It’s calming, and once I’m finished, I look up. “I’m okay, I think.”

The worst has passed, but terror can rise and grip me hard again if I catch a glimpse of crimson or the faintest coppery scent passes my senses.

“Do you think we can try walking to my office?” Williem suggests quietly.

I twist my head to where he’s squatting, right next to Mr. Kenney, and while the movement is small, it radiates pain. I squint my good eye and swallow the groan until I can answer him. “Sure.”

They both help me stand, and I’m surprised to find we’re in the hallway and not in the basement.

I must pull a confused face because Mr. Kenney gives me a rundown of what happened as we shuffle slowly toward Williem’s clinic. There are lots of stars and spots in my vision. I know I’m not dying, but shit, everything hurts.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get on the examination table, but as soon as I’m still, the world stops spinning.