Page 143 of Until Joy

No. Not again.

I kept my eyes shut. The cabin. I was back in the cabin. Glenda had drugged me again, and now I was waking up to another round of her twisted games. The beeping grew faster, matching the frantic rhythm of my pulse. What was that beeping?!

I couldn't move my arm. She'd restrained me even more this time. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped bands around my ribs. The smell hit me next. Antiseptic. Clean. Different from the pine scents of the cabin.

“Joy.” The voice was male, deep and familiar, but my brain couldn't process it through the panic. “Baby, I know you’re awake.”

It was a trick. It sounded like Graham. But it couldn’t be. Glenda was trying to trick me.

“Joy, you're safe. You're in the hospital.”

Hospital. What? The beeping was screaming now, alarms joining the chorus. My breathing came in short, sharp gasps that burned my throat.

“Joy, listen to my voice. You're safe. You're at Vanderbilt Medical Center in Nashville. Glenda is dead. She can't hurt you anymore.”

Graham. That was Graham's voice. But Graham couldn't be here. Graham was the one in the hospital, not me.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. Let me see those baby blues.”

The tenderness in his voice broke through the terror. Graham never used that tone with anyone else. Just me. My eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I forced them open.

Hospital room. White ceiling with fluorescent lights that made me squint. Machines surrounded my bed, their screens glowing with numbers and wavy lines. And there, sitting in a chair pulled close to my bedside, was Graham.

He looked terrible. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his left arm hung in a sling, and I could see the edge of bandages peeking out from under his shirt collar.

But he was real. He was alive.

“There you are.” Relief flooded his features as our eyes met. “How are you feeling?”

I tried to speak, but my throat felt raw and scratchy. Like I'd been screaming. Maybe I had been.

“Water,” I croaked.

Graham was already reaching for a plastic cup with a bendable straw. He held it steady while I sipped, the cool liquid soothing the burning in my throat.

“Better?”

I nodded, still staring at him like he might disappear if I blinked.

“Graham?” My voice came out as a whisper. “Are you real?”

His face crumpled for just a second before he caught himself. He reached out with his good hand and cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away tears I didn't realize had started falling.

“I'm real. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise.”

The warmth of his palm against my skin convinced me more than his words. Glenda's tricks were elaborate, but she couldn't fake this. The slight tremor in his fingers. The way his breath hitched when I leaned into his touch.

“What happened?” I searched his face, looking for answers. “How did I get here? How did you get here?”

“What do you remember?”

I closed my eyes and tried to piece together the fragments floating in my head. Running through the woods. The sound of gunshots behind me. Graham's voice shouting my name.

“I remember escaping. The woods. Glenda coming after me.” The memories felt fuzzy around the edges, like looking through dirty glass. “There was shooting. Lots of shooting. And then…”

I concentrated harder, pushing through the fog. More gunshots. The metallic taste of fear in my mouth.

And blood. So much blood.