Page 13 of Silent Dust
A different sensation – a cold cloth on her forehead. A needle prick. Then, nothing.
Silent Dust. The name echoed, not as a word, but as a feeling – cold, insidious, terrifying. A flash of the lab, the sharp scent of formaldehyde, and now, inexplicably, the faint, comforting aroma of Amelia’s favorite cookies baking in the oven – an impossible juxtaposition. The body on the table, its secrets still locked away. The autopsy… something went wrong. What had she done? Rhys – the image of him at the table, clear as day – now, fading, distorted. Bear. So far away. The weight of it, the crushing responsibility, threatened to suffocate her. Then, blackness once more.
At some point, a sliver of awareness pierced the darkness. Flora woke – or rather, surfaced – to a world of harsh white and unrelenting sound. Thebeep… beep… beepof machines, a relentless, mechanical pulse, seemed to drill into her skull. It resonated, almost like a physical blow. A metronome, forcing her from home into an unwanted reality, pulling her from somewhere deep inside her own mind.
It took an eternity to force her eyes open, the effort exhausting. The sterile light, amplified by the stark white walls, felt like a physical assault. She blinked, trying to clear the fog, to make sense of the world that swam before her.Where…?
The bed was vast, too cold, the sheets scratchy against her skin, amplifying the feeling of separation. Her body felt out ofsync, disconnected, as if it belonged to someone else. Invisible chains, heavy and unyielding, held her down. She struggled to remember… how she got here, what had happened. Panic flared, a hot, suffocating wave, but the drugs still lingered, a dampening blanket on her fear. She forced herself to breathe, each breath shallow, ragged, a monumental effort.
Suddenly, a flash: the harsh grip on her wrist, the shouts, the shoving. A shadowy figure looming in the dimly lit alley, her heart hammering as she tried to pull away. The sharp jangle of keys dropped, footsteps pounding behind her, the cold press of a knife—then darkness.
She tried to move her arms, but they felt distant, unresponsive, almost foreign. Glancing down, she saw the plastic tangle of IV lines snaking into her hand, a clear fluid dripping steadily into her veins. What were they giving her? The realization hit her like a physical blow – she was in a hospital. And that meant… something terrible had happened.
The muffled voices grew louder, more insistent, but she couldn’t quite grasp the words, as if they were speaking a foreign language. “…stable…monitor…respiratory…complications…” The clinical jargon washed over her, meaningless noise. She strained to focus, to piece together the fragments of memory that flickered like dying embers.
Flashes of images assaulted her – faces in hazmat suits, a body on a table, a suffocating wave of fear.Silent Dust. The name was a phantom taste on her tongue, acrid and bitter. She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember, to understand. But the details slipped away, elusive as smoke.Something more… sabotage.
She forced her eyes open again, the effort leaving her trembling with fatigue. The beeping of the machines intensified, a frantic counterpoint to the sluggish rhythm of her heart. Footsteps approached, a steady, measured cadence. A momentlater, a figure appeared at her bedside, a nurse in calming blue. Her face was kind but impersonal, her expression a blend of concern and professional detachment.Would anyone tell her the truth?
“Flora?” The nurse’s soft voice probed through the fog. “Can you hear me?”
She tried to respond, to speak, but her throat felt tight, swollen, unused. All she managed was a slow, clumsy nod.Did she see it?
“Good.” The nurse’s smile was fleeting, professional. “You’re in the ICU. You had a severe reaction to an opioid. But you’re stable now. We’re taking good care of you.”
The nurse’s words, simple and reassuring, barely penetrated. Relief – a faint, fragile flicker – was quickly overwhelmed by confusion and fear.Opioid…? Reaction…? What happened? How long?Her thoughts were jumbled, disconnected, pieces of a broken puzzle she couldn’t fit together. “Wh… what happened?” The question scraped its way out of her throat, a hoarse, broken sound that barely registered as speech. The effort left her gasping for breath.
“You were exposed to an opioid,” the nurse explained. “You experienced respiratory distress. We had to administer Narcan to reverse the effects. You’re recovering, but we’ll need to keep you here for observation.”
The nurse’s explanation was a string of words, meaningless and detached. Opioid… Narcan… Observation… None of it made sense. Her mind felt thick, sluggish, like trying to wade through mud. She struggled to grasp the simplest concepts, to make sense of her surroundings. “How… how long?” The question trembled in the air, barely audible. The sedative fog was not helping her to grasp reality.
“Just over thirty-five hours,” the nurse replied, glancing at the monitors before returning her gaze to Flora. “You’re doingbetter now, but we’ll continue to monitor your progress. Do you have any pain or discomfort?”
Thirty-five hours. A blank space in her memory, a terrifying void. Still… pain was distant, dulled. “Just… tired,” she admitted, her voice a hoarse whisper. Each word felt like dragging a stone up a steep hill. The weight of exhaustion settled, heavy and unyielding, in her bones.
“That’s understandable,” the nurse said, offering a perfunctory smile. “You’ve been through a lot. Rest is important for your recovery. If you need anything, just press the call button.”
The nurse left, and the silence descended again, punctuated only by the incessant beeping of the machines.
Later - hours? Minutes? Time had lost all meaning - a flicker of warmth broke through the sterile chill. Lindsey sat in the chair beside the bed, her face etched with concern. The sight of her, a familiar anchor in this alien world, brought a wave of relief.
Flora managed a weak smile, a pathetic twitch of her lips. The kids. Where were they? Panic, sharp and cold, stabbed through the drug-induced haze. She struggled to sit up, the effort a monumental feat of will. The monitors erupted in a chaotic symphony of beeps, their frantic rhythm mirroring her racing heart.
“Flora, it’s okay,” Lindsey said quickly, reaching for her hand, knowing instinctively that Flora’s first thoughts would be her children. Her grip was firm, reassuring. “Greg is with them. They’re safe.”
Safe. Were they really? “Are… they… okay?” The words cracked, barely audible. Utterly exhausted. She could feel the muscles in her face trembling with the effort to speak. She struggled to breathe, each inhale a battle.
The gnawing anxiety, the lingering effects of the drug, the onset of withdrawal - it was a brutal assault on her senses. Her skin was clammy, alternating between hot flashes and bone-deep chills. Nausea churned in her stomach, a constant, roiling threat. Her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, like lead weights. Muscles twitched and spasmed, a silent testament to the chemical storm raging within her. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own body, utterly helpless.
“Flora, take a deep breath,” Lindsey instructed gently, her eyes filled with concern. Flora tried, but her breaths were shallow, ragged, a desperate struggle. The monitors beeped faster, a relentless, mechanical pulse. Panic clawed at her, a cold fist squeezing her chest.
“ So… tired,” Flora whispered, her voice barely audible. The thought of facing what lay ahead, of fighting this unknown enemy, felt overwhelming. “I can’t… do… this.”
Lindsey squeezed her hand tighter, her expression unwavering. “You’re stronger than you think. Just breathe. You’re safe here. We’ll get through this together.”
But the reality of her situation loomed, a dark cloud threatening to engulf her. The withdrawal intensified, an unyielding assault on her body and mind. She wanted to curl up, to disappear, to escape the agony. The thought of her kids, of Bear, of what she had brought upon them… it was unbearable. Were they safe? Did they know what was happening?
Over the course of several hours, Flora drifted in and out of a fitful, restless sleep. Lindsey remained by her side, a silent guardian. Her presence was a small comfort, but the weight of her worries over Stephan and her children pressed down, heavy and unyielding. Each time she slipped back into a restless doze, a new worry jolted her awake. Was Stephan safe? Were the kids trying to understand what was happening and feeling abandoned?
