Page 2 of Safe
"Calm down, Danielle. You're in pretty bad shape." He was on the verge of tears, his usual stoicism shattered. I’d seen him cry once at our parents’ funeral, but never before or after that I could recall. I needed to reassure him, but also needed to gauge how much he knew.
"It can't be anywhere near as bad as that beard you're growing," I said, forcing a chuckle.
A small smile cracked his composure.
"I see your sarcastic sense of humor hasn't gone anywhere. Listen, let me get the doctor, okay? She'll want to know you're awake and explain what happened."
He left, and the panic that returned was cold and sharp. How much did he know? It couldn't be much; he was being so gentle, so caring. If he knew the truth, his reaction would be far different, far angrier. The minutes stretched into an eternity before Alex returned with the doctor, a tall, olive-skinned woman with long, wavy dark brown hair, not much older than Alex himself. She honestly looked shocked to see me alive.
"Danielle, I'm so happy to see you awake. It was touch-and-go there last week," the doctor said, easing my anxiety in an instant. "I'm Dr. Matthews."
"Nice to meet you…but can you explain what's happened?"
"You sustained some of the most severe injuries I've seen in my time here. To be frank, your survival was questionable. Why don't I sit down, and we can discuss your injuries? Alex, would you mind giving us a moment?”
"Of course," Alex replied, rising to his feet. "I need to call the precinct anyway." He offered me a reassuring smile before leaving, pulling out his phone.
"I know this may be difficult, but I'm going to be direct about your injuries. Please stop me if it becomes too much," Her expression was concerning, yet compassionate enough that I felt at ease.
"Okay." This was it. The moment of truth. Maybe now, at last, I could begin to understand what had happened.
"I'll just go from head to toe. Like I said, stop me if this is too much. You suffered severe blunt force trauma to the back of your head—likely from a baseball bat, or something similar. You'll need to be careful moving your head; there are twenty-seven stitches back there, to be removed in a few days. We had to do some pretty extensive surgery to stop a brain bleed. You also have two black eyes, with a left ocular fracture. I've been icing it, and it should heal well. Three broken ribs. Two on the left, one on the right. The right one punctured your lung, requiring surgery. You'll be fine with the rest, but expect about five more weeks of recovery. Your left wrist is broken, requiring a cast for seven weeks. Your left femur and right tibia are also broken, both in casts for quite some time. Full healing will take four to six months, and rehabilitation will be necessary. Beyond that, just some bruises and cuts that will heal without issue. Any questions?"
It took a moment to process the sheer volume of damage. How had I survived?
"The blow to the head… is that why I can't remember what happened?"
"More than likely, yes. Sometimes those memories return, other times the brain blocks them to protect you from the trauma."
"Does anyone know anything about what happened tome?" A fresh lump of panic rose into my throat at the thought of never knowing, with an accompanying relief over the possibility that Alex might never learn the truth. Footsteps sounded at the doorway.
"With all due respect, Doctor, I think that's a conversation I should be having with her," Alex said in a firm, yet timid, voice.
I looked up, unable to decipher the complex emotions swirling in his eyes. Anger? Hurt? Embarrassment? Perhaps all three. It was an expression I'd never seen on him before.
"Danielle, we need to talk."
2. LANDON
I stared down at the mess I'd made, and a cold dread began settling in. I had to get out of here fast. I'd really fucked up this time. Danielle deserved what she got, but she certainly wasn't worth prison time. It was only a matter of time before she missed her monthly dinner with Alex, and he'd start snooping. That overbearing prick was always too involved, always checking in on her, always up her ass. He wasn't much of a detective if he hadn't noticed anything over the years.
"I need to wash this goddamn blood off my hands," I muttered, staring at the blood stains on my hands and shirt. I dug into the stain, the rag twisting in my fist as I worked in frantic circles to remove the evidence. There was more blood than usual, far more. Even the stupid exfoliating soap Danielle always bought was useless; the stain was already setting into my skin.
I gave up trying to get clean and yanked open a drawer, shoving clothes into a bag without folding, without thinking, just moving, grabbing anything I could get my hands on in a matter of minutes. I emptied the safe, even taking a moment to smash the photo of Danielle and me on the nightstand. Maybe that would throw the cops off the scent, make them think it was a robbery gone bad, buy myself a few more precious minutes to escape.
"Fuck it. I'm running out of time," I yanked my phone from my pocket, fumbling my fingers across the screen as I tried to dial Liam’s number. It took forever for that worthless asshole to answer.
"Hello?"
"What took you so long? Forget it. I need your car. Now. I need to get out of here."
"Don't you have a car?"
"I can't use mine, idiot! They'll be looking for it. They won't be looking for yours."
"Jesus Christ, Landon. What the hell did you do now?" My asshole brother's sarcastic tone grated on my nerves. Mr. Goody Two-Shoes, with his perfect house, job, and family. He always acted like a saint, forgetting his own past.
"I went too far, Liam. Too fucking far. But that bitch… she just pushed me over the edge."
