Page 12 of Give Me Peace

I’m running before my brain has a chance to catch up, my body somehow knowing it’s her and desperate to fix what’s wrong. My assumption is confirmed when people start scrambling. Nurses, deputies, the doctor. The door beside Saylor’s is thrown open and Roan comes barreling out, his eyes wild and panicked. It feels like the longest forty feet in existence, but I finally push my way into the room, Denvers hot on my heels and panting like he ran a marathon.

“What the fuck is going in?” I whisper, the words getting lost in the mayhem taking place in front of me. It’s chaos. Complete and utter chaos. There’s at least ten people crowding the small space, leaving me no clear shot of Saylor. A choked sob cuts through all the shouting and I swear it makes me fucking feral. Ro must have the same response because he fists the front of a deputy’s shirt, one of the two who’d been posted outside just a few minutes ago, and heaves him out of the way. The moment a path opens up, I push forward, my gaze connecting with those beautiful blue eyes I haven’t seen nearly enough of. Her lip’s part on a gasp as her head swings to the side. I track the movement, finding a nurse pushing meds through her IV line. Seconds later, Saylor’s body goes slack, once again lost to unconsciousness.

“What the hell did you just give her?” Roan storms across room, his anger so palpable the nurse backs away with her hands raised.

“It…It’s a sedative,” she stammers, her response not helping in the least.

“The fuck does she need to be sedated for? The goal is for her to wake up!” Denvers wraps his hand around Ro’s bicep, attempting to calm him down.

“Sir,” the doctor cuts in. “Ms. Radley was panicked. It would’ve been dangerous to leave her in that state.”

“Can someone please explain how this happened?” Denvers demands.

“It was him.” The nurse who sedated Saylor points behind me. Slowly, I turn to see who she’s referring to. There, against the back wall, is the same asshole deputy we dealt with at Price’s house. His glare is prominent and unabashed. “He told her that her mother’s dead.”

Anticipating my next move, Denvers steps between us, preventing me from assaulting as officer of the law.

Chapter Seven

Saylor

A slow, steady beep wakes me, making my nose scrunch in confusion. Slowly, I peel one eye open. It’s bright. So bright it can’t possibly be coming from the lone light in my room. For a brief moment, I think I’ve died, and this must be whatever awaits us in the afterlife. I’m not even sad about it; it’d be preferrable to my current existence. And then I blink through bleariness, noting the crisp white walls and lack of overall grime. The air isn’t stale. It smells clinical, like antiseptic. Lastly, I see the cords attached to my chest. The IV in the bend of my arm. The pulse oximeter on my finger.

I’m in a hospital.

The thought hits so hard it causes me to bolt upright, a movement I regret damn near instantly when my entire body throbs in protest. The pain in my side is so sharp it steals the breath from my lungs. I apply pressure to the area in hopes of lessening the ache and find a brace covering my wrist in the process. The pounding in my head matches the cadence of my heart, and only gets worse when I try to make sense of what happened and how I got here. Struggling to get my bearings, I search the room nervously, but I’m all alone. My brain is fuzzy, and I have no recollection of anything really. But, oh my God…I’m in a hospital. Tears flood my cheeks as a sob lodges itself in my throat. I’m so scared I’m going to wake up and this will all be a dream.

The door swings open, making me flinch. When the privacy curtain is pulled back, revealing a cop, fear encompasses me from head to toe. I want to run, but I doubt my feet would even cooperate. I fist the hospital bedding, my eyes tracking every step he takes, each one bringing him closer and closer. He’s big and has a hard look on his face, and all I can think is that I want him to go away.

“Ms. Radley.” He stops at the foot of my bed, his arms crossed over his chest as he glares down at me. “We need your statement.” It’s a demand, not a question. He’s not asking if I’m ready to talk, he’s telling me I’m going to. I swallow thickly, my eyes pinging around the otherwise empty room. My mouth is so dry speaking feels impossible. Not that I want to, and especially not to him. On the wall behind him, something catches my attention. I squint, recognizing the logo printed above the whiteboard.

I’m at Laiken Regional.

“Is my mom here? May I see her, please?” I blurt, my wariness getting pushed aside. Surely, she’s here; this is where she’s always worked. My voice is scratchy from disuse, so when he doesn’t answer I think it’s because he didn’t hear me. I open my mouth to try again, but he interrupts before I get the chance.

“Eliza Radley is dead.”

A nurse gasps from the doorway, but I say nothing. My mind simply blanks. He delivered those four words as if they hold no meaning. Just some jumbled letters that state a fact. Like the sky is blue, or rain is wet. When, in reality, they’re the catalyst that splinters the last bit of sanity I have left. The world tips and sways, my vision dimming. A scream claws its way up my throat, anger and grief demanding an outlet. Followed by another. And another. Pain radiates from every inch of my body, but it pales in comparison to the damage being done to my insides. It feels like I can’t breathe. There’s yelling and people moving all around me, but I’m all alone. Noise is accosting me from every direction. It’s too much, too soon. Too loud.

Across the room, honey-colored eyes meet mine. And then…nothing.

I’m suspended somewhere between awake but not, and for a few precious seconds, I’ve forgotten all about the reality I’ve been thrust back into. My finger slides across the soft material beneath me, the feeling foreign but delicious. That simple motion seems to trigger an avalanche of memories. They hit hard and fast, making my pulse race.

Mom.

I press my lips together, choking back tears. Maybe he was wrong or confused. But if that were the case, she’d be here. I tried so hard to convince myself that she would’ve moved on by now, along with everyone else. I couldn’t let myself believe that anyone was still looking, because then I would’ve had hope that someone might find me. But it was bullshit, a lie I told myself to get through every day that came and went with no one breaking down the door and taking me home. I couldn’t be disappointed if I never expected it in the first place.

I did, though. In the farthest corner of my mind, a little part of me hoped and prayed for this day, and it looked nothing like this. Mom would’ve been here, her arms wrapped around me tightly as we both cried. She’d still smell like the floral perfume she loved so much, and it might’ve taken some time, but eventually, things would have gone back to normal. We would’ve picked up where we left off. I nearly scoff at the ridiculousness of my naivety.

Even if she was here, nothing will ever be the same.

I used to dream about what I’d do if I ever made it out of there. At first, it was all simple things: eat an entire pizza by myself, get an extra-large chocolate milkshake from Lettie’s Diner—brain freeze be damned—and even a promise to finally stand up to my playground nemesis, Havok McKade, whose parents must have had a sixth sense when naming him.

Eventually, those thoughts shifted to things more meaningful. Like, tell Mom how much I loved that she made me breakfast every morning before school, even though she’d been up all night from working her shift at the hospital. I wanted to visit my Grandaddy’s grave, who’d only passed a few months before I was taken, so I could finally apologize for stealing his stash of Reese’s cups and never fessing up. At some point, the ‘ifI escape’ game seemed so improbable, all I really longed for was to feel the sun again. To press my toes in the sand at our favorite beach. I wanted the option of sound, laughter and voices. Anything but the silence I’d grown so accustomed to.

Now, I just want my mom.

The door creaks behind me, and I instinctively steady my breathing. I learned a long time ago that feigning sleep is an excellent survival tool. I’ve yet to open my eyes, too afraid to face the world, but now I want to know who’s in the room with me. Just the idea that the cop from earlier might be back makes goosebumps spread across my skin. Carefully, I lift my eyelids while keeping the rest of my body perfectly still.