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“You’re bleeding, Dr. Whittaker,” a gentle male voice says. My sluggish brain gropes for a name. Manteen… yes. Manteen, the owner from the deli.
I ignore him as I take stock, sobbing. My Wolford logo tights are ripped to pieces and soaked in blood. And my feet are bare. I touch my face. Wet from weeping, maybe blood, but I don’t feel pain.
“Not too deep?” I mumble, blinking my eyes, trying to clear them with tears. “Am I bleeding to death?”
Manteen wipes blood from my arm. “No. I don’t think so.”
His touch makes me jerk as the numbness turns to agony. I look down, the world blurs and I feel faint. No! I can’t black out. I have to stay conscious.
My skirt is ruined, singed in places, ripped in others. And my feet, a toe poking through the tights. “Where are my shoes?” I ask Manteen in a monotone voice.
A few seconds, maybe minutes, pass and then he pushes one of the bags with my new shoes into my hands. “All I can find.”
Every bone, every muscle in my body screams as I try to stand, then fall as my knees buckle.
A woman cries, “No! Don’t move! The paramedics are on their way.” She has the high strained voice of someone about to faint.
Hands try to force me down and I slap at them.
“Leave me the fuck alone!” I scream. “Everyone, get the fuck away from me!”
My hysteria works. People give me space, a male voice telling someone to get me a blanket. That I’m going into shock.
It doesn’t matter.
I climb to my feet. Sway and grab the air. Almost topple. Then a hand is there, supporting me. “Let me help,” Manteen says as he steadies me.
I blink a few times, then his face swims to view in front of my eyes. My vision’s still blurry, but better.
A young girl is on my other side, her hand gentle on my waist. “Are you okay?”
I gaze at her. The details become sharper. Blue hair and several lip rings. Black lipstick. Terra Moon. I think that’s her name.
“Yes,” I rasp, then clear my throat. “Yes.” My voice is stronger. I take a step away from Manteen and Terra.
“Where’s my purse?” I mumble, trying to turn my head, to look around me. It’s slow. I’m slow. Why can’t I move faster?
“It’s here,” Paul Belmonte, the owner of the bakery two blocks down, says as he hands it to me.
My hands are shaking as I take it. Why are my hands shaking? Why do my eyes hurt? My ears?
Then I remember. The explosion. My clinic. My life.
I stare across the street to the burning pile of debris that used to be Sweet Tidings.
My head swims again and I feel faint as I think of the loss of life if it hadn’t been empty. What if Wendy had been working today? What if my sweethearts were still living there, trapped in their cages? Burned or crushed? Still alive, in pain, dying slowly? What if Lullaby had never been moved?
What if Trigger…? I let loose a sob at the sickening thought, then another, covering my mouth with a bloodied hand. I hardly spare a thought for myself as the nausea in my stomach coils into something darker.
Rage.
Someone destroyed everything I’ve worked for since I was eighteen. All my dreams are in ruins.
I curl my fists and pound them against my temples. “Fuck!” I scream. “Fuck!”
Even my car is ruined, a side window blown out, scratches, dents. I stare around at the rest of the buildings. Glass shattered, the building next to my clinic crumpled. Lawyer’s office. Wolverstien, Wolverstien, and…. I shake my head.
“Where are the lawyers?” I ask as cold seeps into my bones.
