Page 56 of His Gift
A tight smile graces her lips, and then she's gone.
I sit up on the single bed. It's the only furniture in this room. There's not even a window.
I look at my hand. It's trembling, but it's clean. Contrary to my clothes. I'm covered in Conrad's blood.
I'll go crazy if I stay here, so I follow Irene's steps.
Two agents, still in tactical gear, are pacing another bare room. There's a couch, a TV, and two doors. That's it.
"Can I stay here?"
They both nod and I sit on the couch.
"Are you hungry? We can procure you something to eat."
I shake my head and they resume their pacing. They look on edge, pissed off. Maybe the guy who died, Flinn, was their friend. The image of the deadbodies flashes before my eyes. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget them.
"I'm sorry for your colleague."
They smile and mutter a thank you.
"He shouldn't have been alone. Vance screwed up!" the taller guy spits out.
"Smith!"
"Don't 'Smith' me! You know I'm right."
"Not the time or place." The calmer one looks at me.
"She knows. Her man is in the hospital for the same reason Flinn's dead. Who knows what's happening to him? He looked bad." I whimper.
"Smith, take a walk!" Calmer guy is not calm anymore. Smith grunts, but he obeys, leaving us alone.
"I'm sorry. We're all on edge. I'm sure everything will be okay and we'll get news soon. In situations like this, communication delays can happen. I promise it won't last long."
"Can I go to the bathroom?"
"Yes, of course." I stand up and enter the door Smith didn't take, closing myself inside and starting into sobs.
I've calmed down and I'm sitting on the floor with my back to the door when I hear an unfamiliar voice.
"Where is she?"
"In the bathroom, sir."
I scramble to get out. It must be Irene's boss and he must have news about Conrad.
forty-four
Conrad
I've tried to stay awake out of sheer will, but I've gone under in a cacophony of loud sounds and medical jargon.
The harsh, stinging smell of antiseptic is what finally wakes me up. So many bad memories claw at me. Being with Harper must have ripped open something, because what I used to brush off as unpleasant now triggers a constricting weight on my chest.
I peel my eyes open, throw off the sheets, and check myself. I have bandages on my shoulder and right side, but the old scar at the center of my chest is untouched. Thank fuck the instinct to protect this part of my body has kicked in at the right moment. There's not much left to damage and if it happens… I don't want to think about it.
Reassured I will not depend on a feeding tube for the rest of my life, I can now assess my situation. Plastic tubes, blood draining from a bag overhead. Another bag almost empty. They're pumping it in fast, a machine whirring beside the bed. That means… I lost a lot. Wires are plastered to my chest, numbers blinking on a screen. Saturation's decent. Heart’s beating steadily. Good. I have to get out of here. Blindly, I push myself up, a groan escaping my lips. A wave of dizziness makes me erupt in a cold sweat, and my side hurts like hell, which at least helps me focus. Startling me, a shrill, insistent beeping erupts from the monitor, and a red light flashes above the door. Fuck.
