Page 10 of The Devil's Demise

The room spins as I stare at the bright lights appearing above. I’m fuzzy, like I’m shaking, yet I’m still, on a bed, in the hospital. I don’t know how long I’ve been awake, but I haven’t told a soul. I fear my world is about to crumble, and I want to stay on the side where it’s still safe.

The water is everywhere, climbing up my nose. My lungs ache as I scream, drowning in the bright crimson, yet no sound comes out. I try to fight it, needing someone to get me out, to save my baby. But everything turns dark, and then I wake up here.

Maybe I’m not actually here. Maybe this is all some kind of messed-up dream. The baby is okay. I’m okay. Everything is okay.

I ball my shaky hand into a fist, and my nails sink into my palm until pain registers.

I have to be alive. Dead people don’t feel pain. Right?

“You’re awake!” Raquel’s voice rips through my thoughts, and suddenly she’s there with a gentle hand against my shoulder. “Are you in pain? Do you need more meds?”

I shake my head with vigor, attempting to sit up. So Iamalive. But does that mean my baby is ...

“Hey, don’t ... Just lie down. You just had surgery.”

“Su-surgery?” My mouth is parched, but I fight it. “What happened?”

I push myself up, ignoring the dizziness.

But you know what happened. You were shot.

“Is our baby . . .” I can’t seem to finish the thought, a throb building behind my eyes.

Because I know. The baby ... she’s not here anymore. Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them away, biting down, fighting the treachery of my emotions.

No. You won’t do this. You won’t give up. She’s still alive. She has to be.

Raquel’s gaze widens for a mere second before she tightens her lips. “Let me get the doctor and call Dom. He just went to get us something to eat.”

“Raq—”

But she’s out the door before I finish.

No.

My chest rattles as breath after breath shoots out of me in a panic, tears starting to overshadow the hope I was trying so badly to hold on to.

The baby is dead, but I can’t seem to cry. There’s anger there too. It vibrates through me like a plague of my own damnation.

My father, he did this.

He killed my mother and my child. They’re gone.

Because of him.

“Ahhh!” I scream, a fist slamming into the tray that sits directly over my bed.

The cup filled with water flips onto the blanket, ice-cold liquid hitting my thigh, but I don’t even jump.

My ability to control my labored breathing is useless. My chest is closing in, and the room is somehow squeezing into me, caging me in.

I’m drowning. Again. My lungs burn. I claw at my throat, my breathing growing harsh.

No. I’m suffocating. The room spins, my gasping inhales fighting inside my lungs.

“Ms. Bianchi,” the doctor calls, stepping inside.

I turn sharply to find Dom beside her.

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