Page 97 of Cruel Riches

“Any fever or chills, swelling around the wound, foul smells coming from it, or pus draining from it are a negative sign. If you experience any of that, you’ll need to come straight back in,” he said, placing the list of instructions on the bedside table along with the bag of medications that had been prescribed to me.

“Right. How long will it take to get better?”

“It should be healed in ten days, but you’ll start to feel better long before then, provided there’s no infection and you manage to keep the stitches from breaking open. I’d like you to come and see me for a follow-up appointment as well.” He paused and smiled. “I’d hate to send a Lockwood to anyone else. Not that our doctors are anything short of world-class, but—”

“I get it,” I muttered. By virtue of my birth, I was entitled to nothing but the very best care. “Can I go now?”

Edward shifted in his spot and rubbed his jaw. “No, not yet,” he replied. “Sorry, Nate. I know how eager you must be to get home and rest in your own bed, but you need to speak to the police first.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure if you recall this, but when you arrived at the hospital, you told one of the doctors that you were mugged and stabbed at Blackthorne,” he said. “It’s hospital policy for us to contact the authorities when a crime is brought to our attention.”

“I see.” Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You aren’t in any trouble, of course. The police just need to take a statement from you. After that, you’re free to leave.” Edward paused and cleared his throat. “I’d really prefer it if you stayed longer, but I can’t stop you from going home if that’s what you want.”

“Right. Are the cops here already?”

“Yes. They’ve been waiting for a while. Should I get them now?”

I lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. “Sure,” I muttered. “Might as well get it over with.”

He nodded and left the room. While I waited for the police to arrive, I went over my story in my head. I barely remembered what I told the hospital staff when I dragged myself here. All I knew for sure was what Edward told me—that I said someone mugged me.

The cops had the knife as evidence, but they couldn’t do anything with that. Most of the prints on it were mine, and it was doubtful that Alexis had ever been in the system, so even if they managed to lift her prints off it, they wouldn’t have anything to match them with.

I just had to make up a feasible-sounding story and keep it straight. Hopefully, that would be enough to avoid arousing any suspicions about how I really obtained the injury.

A few minutes later, two detectives stepped into my hospital room and flashed me tight smiles. “Good morning, Mr. Lockwood,” one of them said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was stabbed by a junkie.” I tried to stretch my lips into a sarcastic smile, but I had a feeling it looked more like a snarl.

“That’s why we’re here. I’m Detective Belson, and this is my colleague, Detective Fernandez.”

“Right. Nice to meet you,” I muttered.

“We need to ask you some questions about what happened to you yesterday afternoon. Are you up for that?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Let’s get started.” Belson nodded to his colleague, and they sat down on plastic chairs near my bed. “So, Nate, what can you tell us about what happened to you?”

I scratched my head. “I was going for a walk around the campus. It’s always nice in the afternoon. Quiet and peaceful.” I hesitated and went on. “Anyway, some guy came up to me. At first I thought he was lost and wanted directions, or wanted to know the time. I couldn’t really understand most of what he was saying because he was talking really fast and slurring some of his words.”

“What happened then?”

“I tried to say something like, ‘Sorry man, I can’t understand you’. I think he thought I was saying no to whatever he’d asked for, because he started shouting right in my face. Then he pulled out a knife.”

Belson nodded slowly. “And then?”

“By then I realized what was happening. He was trying to mug me.” I paused and stared into space with a strained look on my face to make it look like I was actually trying to recall the event. “I don’t really remember what I said or did then, but I must’ve pissed him off, because the next thing I knew, he shoved the knife in me.” I paused again, wincing at the thought of the agony I felt when the blade slipped between my ribs. “After that… I don’t know. I don’t even remember getting to the hospital.”

“Do you remember what happened to your attacker? Where he went afterwards?”

I rubbed my chin. “Uh, yeah, sort of. I think he freaked out when he saw how deep the knife had gone in. He was probably just trying to scare me, but he slipped. He looked at me for a second with a totally panicked look on his face, and then he ran away.”

“Did you see where he went?”

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