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Something cool and wet presses on my forehead. Calloused fingers caress my neck. Refreshing drops dribble down my chest and roll over my stomach. I’m a starfish on the surface of the sea. I’m five years old, laughing while Dad teaches me to float on my back in the pool. The sounds of sobs reach my ears. Why am I crying?
I sink again. The hands that catch me are different. They’re not Dad’s. Angelo’s face flickers through my memory. I recognize those hands, the only hands that touched me with pleasure. I give in to those hands, letting them carry me.
Sharp light infiltratesmy closed eyelids. Someone lifts my eyelids.
The light hurts. I open my eyes and blink a few times. The faces of the people around the bed come into focus. Ryan, Mattie, and Jared.
A woman I don’t know switches off the penlight in her hand and removes nasal prongs from my nose. “There you go, sweetheart. Take it easy. I’m Dr. Stein, your anesthesiologist.” She looks at Ryan. “Everything looks fine. Take a moment to get her settled.” She pats my hand. “Your doctor will be here shortly.”
Nothing makes sense.
Ryan takes my hand when she leaves. “Hey.” He smiles. “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty.”
Mattie catches a tear under her eye with a finger and hands me a cup with a straw. The water tastes like honey. I’ve never sipped anything sweeter.
I look around, taking in the white walls and strange bed and starched linen. I have an IV tube in the back of my hand and a heart rate monitor clipped onto my finger.
My voice is croaky. It’s difficult to speak. “Where am I?”
“In hospital,” Mattie says, brushing the hair from my forehead.
I frown. “What happened to me?”
She looks at Ryan, bites her trembling bottom lip, and turns away.
Jared puts his arm around her shoulders.
Ryan is the steadfast one, the person who answers. “Your memory will come back slowly. The doctor says that’s perfectly normal.”
The note of caution in his voice scares me. What I should remember frightens me the most. I’m in the dark, even now in consciousness, and it’s a scary place to be. I don’t want to be there any longer.
A memory flashes through my mind, a picture of my dad lying in a pool of blood on the floor in his office.
It’s horrible. Terrifying.
I blink it away.
The picture that replaces that dreadful image is one of Angelo sitting on the bed and holding me in his arms. Another flash of him giving me a sponge bath rushes to me from nowhere.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
The same image reappears, but this time, Angelo is kissing my forehead. I hear his voice.
Easy. I’ve got you.
And then he kneels over the body of my dad with a gun in his gloved hand, his black gaze blazing with a cold fire as he looks at me.
My eyes fly open. Bile pushes up in my throat. I gag. Ryan grabs something from the nightstand and pushes it in my hands. A metal bowl. Convulsions fold me double. My stomach is empty except for the few sips of water. Like the storm trapped inside me, nothing comes out.
Dragging in ragged breaths, I try to calm the heaving.
Ryan rubs my back. “Feeling sick is a normal side-effect of the drugs they gave you. It’ll pass in a bit.”
My eyes burn from dryness and memories. “I remember.”
His face takes on a regretful expression.
