Page 11 of Demon Hunter

Matt

Five days later…

Floatiness isthe first thing I’m aware of. Drifting, drifting… Then the sound of distant voices. Someone calling my name, but they’re so far away, and I’m so comfortable here in the floaty place?—

“Matt, time to wake up,” the polite but firm voice insists, and suddenly it’s not so distant. I’m not floating—not exactly—and the world is noisy and?—

“Owwwwww,” I moan. The sound that comes from my throat is more like a croak, but it yanks me all the way back to consciousness, and I pry my eyes open.

Then squint them shut again. Too bright.

“Let’s turn off the light directly overhead,” the polite voice orders, and then a second later, she says, “Okay, Matt, could you open your eyes again?”

I’m more cautious this time, slitting the right one open first, then, when I’m not immediately blinded, opening them both… but only halfway. The face above me isn’t one I recognize, but the white coat is. So is the steady beeping noise beside me.

I’m in a goddamn hospital.

“Welcome back,” the woman says with a smile. “I’m Dr. Howard. Can you tell me your name?”

I mean,yeah. Even if I did have amnesia, she just freakingsaid it. I’m not stupid. “Matt,” I croak. My mouth feels like an ocean dried up in there, leaving all the inhabitants to slowly die and decompose in an arid wasteland.

Her smile doesn’t falter as she takes a cup from someone outside my field of vision and holds the straw to my lips. “Just a tiny sip,” she cautions, and since I’ve been in this position before and don’t want to hurl, I obey. The water is lukewarm and is the best thing I ever tasted. “Great. Now… what about the rest of your name? Can you tell me that?”

“Coates. Matthias Simon Coates.” Fuck, just moving my mouth is exhausting, but if I want her to answer questions for me, I need to get this over with. “My birthday is May 16, and the year is 2015.”

The hush that falls over the room—not to mention the way the doctor’s face drops—is worth the scolding I’m going to get. “Just kidding.”

“Fuck you,” a familiar voice curses, and I crane my neck—ow—trying to see around the doctor.

“Ian?”

“I hate you.”

“You two can hate each other in a minute,” Dr. Howard says dryly. “Matt, that was very funny.” Her deadpan tone indicates otherwise. “Your mental faculties seem intact, but I need to ask a few more questions. And wearegoing to run some tests later.”

Of fucking course. Though, given the fact that my whole body hurts, I probably want all those tests. “Okay. More water?”

She holds the straw to my lips again, then says something about getting me ice chips. I guess she doesn’t trust me not toguzzle the water the second she’s gone. “Do you know where you are?”

“The hospital,” I answer, then, as she narrows her eyes, I add, “The last place I remember being is Reno on November 9. I travel a lot for work.” If I’m still in Reno and Ian’s here, that means I’ve been unconscious for a while. Long enough for my family and the Collective to find me and get here.

Panic surges. “Ian,” I call urgently, trying to sit up and then subsiding with a cry when pain tears through me.

“Please lie still, Matt,” the doctor urges, reaching to hold me down—gently, but it still fucking hurts. I don’t care, though, because when she moves, my family comes into view—and Dylan is with them.

Thank fuck. He knows. He’s not sitting at home wondering if I’m dead.

He’s just watching me with a pale face and bruise-like shadows under his eyes.

It hurts too much to muster a reassuring smile like I want to, but I meet his gaze and hope he can see how glad I am that he’s here.

“What is it?” Ian asks, moving half a step forward.

Uh. “My car,” I croak. It’s the first halfway decent lie I can think of. “They’ll tow it.”

“The police have your car,” he tells me. “They found it when they found you.”

My gut freezes. Mykit. Did the police?—

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