Page 184 of Hell and High Water

Damon Alden Michaels

EPILOGUE 2: RACHELLE

“Rachelle. Wake up.” The voice is commanding. Domineering.

It forces me back from the dark, makes me fight off the drugs.

“Get up, you filthy cunt,” another voice shouts.

Rage. Pure rage blooms in my chest.

“Look, she’s coming around.” The sneer in her voice reeks of Spite. Reeks of everything I don’t have.

“Disgusting. She’s got nothing left.”

But I need more. Want more. All of it. My eyes snap open, aching, burning, dry.

“Now, now. Be kind.” The voice is saccharin sweet and mocking. “She’s just delicious when she’s lying there helpless, waiting to be devoured.”

Hunger. Such hunger.

My head is swimming. The hospital room spins for a few moments as I gaze around at the old, green walls. It’s dim. Dark. Nightshift.

“V-Val?” I whisper, my voice cracking. Wavering black lines vibrate around everything in sight.

Warbled shadows.

Figures standing around my bed, watching me. Taunting me. Shadows.

“Valina!” No answer. She must not be nearby.

Tossing my legs over the side of the bed takes most of the energy I have, but I manage to sit up. The wound in my belly is still tender. More so, the muscles around it are weak.

Atrophied.

Fucking sniper.

“Rachelle.”

I ignore the whispered word, like I ignored the others. They’ve been there since I woke up from the actual coma several days ago. Haunting me. Feeding on me.

Maybe I never woke up at all. Maybe I’m dead.

It wasn’t supposed to go that way.

Fortunately, Valina found me, the nurse I hired to handle this very situation. A long time friend. A long time disciple of our cause.

She’s kept me under, drugging me every time those damned cretins have come to check on me. Tyler. Gavin Rorshak. All to keep them in the dark.

Pity them their sense of responsibility, the fools.

As long as they kept her safe. My niece. I still need Hellena.

“We do, indeed. Now get the fuck up!” That dominant command makes me flinch, finally turning to acknowledge the hollow eyes of the specter looming over my shoulder.

“Leave me be, Hubris!” I whimper, shying away.

“Oh, you poor dear.” Spite purrs, making my skin crawl. Every word is a knife across my skin.

---