Page 79 of His Pet

I want to protest, to defend Cameron, but my mouth won’t open again, and neither will my eyes. A little nap. I’ll take a little nap, then I’ll keep fighting.

***

I wake up in a soft bed, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic. There’s no beeping, but I feel the pressure of a clip on my index finger. My limbs are still heavy, but my head is surprisingly clear. Clear enough for me to realize what happened.

I’m in a hospital. The people who came to Cameron’s house were the police, which means…

Fuck.

Did they arrest Cameron? My stomach drops. There were so many guns and shouting, but I don’t remember shots being fired, so he must be okay. In custody, probably, but unharmed.

He has to be okay.

I draw in a deep breath, the sharp hospital smell making me bristle. It brings bad memories.

A helpless little boy on a big hospital bed, crying for his mom and coughing so hard he struggles to breathe.

A slightly older boy, not crying anymore, just staring numbly at the wall.

Needles. So many fucking needles.

No. I need to focus. I might have been sick and helpless as a kid, but I’m not a child anymore. Cameron’s in trouble, and I need to help him.

“Hello?” The word tastes like gravel poured down my throat. Light spears through my head the moment I try opening my eyes.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” someone says softly. A straw touches my lips and I drink greedily, washing down the painful dryness in my throat.

I manage to open my eyes, even if they burn. Through the tears, I see the blurred figure of an older nurse. She’s giving me a motherly smile. “Don’t strain yourself too much. You must be exhausted.”

I am, but that doesn’t mean I get to rest just yet. “What happened?”

“You’re at the hospital. You’re safe.”

Again with this bullshit. I want to scream, but this lovely old lady doesn’t deserve that. I’ll save it for the cops. “Where’s Cameron?”

Her expression shifts to something guarded. “The police are handling that. You focus on getting better now.” She checks on the machines by my bed and writes something down in a chart. “There’s a detective here who’s asking to speak with you. You’re not obligated to talk to him right now, okay? We can tell him to come back later.”

“Absolutely not. I want to speak to him now.” I bet it’s the asshole who framed Cameron.

The nurse frowns. “Are you sure? You should rest first. The detective can wait.”

“I’m fine. Just… help me sit up, please?” If there’s a confrontation coming, I don’t want to be at a disadvantage from lying down while the cops loom over me.

The nurse shows me how to use the bed controls. Once I’m sitting comfortably, sipping water from a fresh cup, she opens the door. “He needs to rest,” she tells the man waiting outside. “So be quick and don’t upset him.”

“Of course.” The man bares his teeth in a completely fake smile. “Thank you.”

As soon as she leaves, the detective approaches me, still wearing that creepy smile. I can tell it’s supposed to be comforting, but even without Cameron telling me about him, something about the detective would set my teeth on edge.

“Mr. Palmer,” he says, “I’m detective Small. Thank you for agreeing to speak to me. I understand you must be shaken after everything that’s happened, and I assure you that you’re safe now. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

“Shaken.” I scoff. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Yes, what you went through was very traumatizing.”

I know he’s alluding to Cameron holding me captive. If I confirm it, he’ll use my testimony to lock Cameron away. If I don’t, I’ll be lying to the police. Is that a crime? I bet it is. Cameron is technically a criminal, and if I cover for him, it’ll make me his accomplice. Can I be put on trial for covering up my own kidnapping? It sounds ridiculous, but with our justice system, it wouldn’t surprise me.

It doesn’t matter. I’m not speaking against Cameron.