Page 31 of Kylie

The voice was female. Kind of thick and raspy, not to mention brusque. It didn’t match the gentle touch.

“Relax.”

“You relax,” I bit out, but the words only sounded in my head. My voice wasn’t working.

Click-hum-hiss.

Beep … beep … beep…

Click-hum-hiss.

Beep beep … beep beep … beep beep…

Another click sounded, this one different, followed by the same terse woman’s voice. “Yes. Tell him she’s awake.”

Tell who?

Another click followed, and the touch was on my arm again. “It’ll be best if we keep you under.”

Keep me under? Under what? Water? The bed? What the hell was she talking about?

“At least until he can get here,” she added.

“Who?” I asked, but again, no sound came out.

The touch was gone, but the beeping was growing faster once more. It was definitely beeping in time with my heartbeat. My panic increased once again as I fought to get my bearings, unable to move, unable to see. The only thing I could do was hear. But the only sounds were the beeps, the clicks and hisses, the shuffling of shoes.

“You’ll be fine,” the woman said.

A few seconds later, the darkness consumed me, and the beeping finally receded.

When I broke the surface the second time, I was still unaware of where I was or who was around me, but at least the panic wasn’t taking over. I was numb. The medicated kind that wrapped your brain in a fog and made thinking nearly impossible.

I listened again.

Click-hum-hiss.

Beep … beep … beep…

Odd that the sounds were now familiar, although I couldn’t place them. The beeping was close by, so I focused on it, trying to identify what was causing it. I’d heard it before. Like in a hospital, maybe.

Was that where I was? A hospital?

Why? What happened?

“She’s awake again,” a voice sounded, but it wasn’t the same as before. This time it was deeper, though still female. At least I thought it was.

“Good,” a man said. “Get Dr. Weaver in here. He wants him to sign off.”

A tiny piece of the puzzle clicked into place. If they were calling a doctor, then was it safe to assume I was in the hospital? But Dr. Weaver? Who was he? Did I know him?

“He’s not answering my calls,” the woman told him in a matter-of-fact tone that held a hint of … frustration? Irritation? I wasn’t sure.

I waited for someone to respond, but a pause settled into the room. A moment later, something was ringing.

“What?” a man barked, his voice sounding through a speaker.

“She said Dr. Weaver’s not answerin’ her calls,” the first man said.