Page 26 of The Wedding Party

“How can I not be?” She holds out her arms, oblivious to her state of undress, at least at the moment, seemingly and convincingly truly baffled. “Look at the blood. Look at the blood.” She squats and covers her head with her hands. “What is happening?”

I kneel in front of her again. “Are you hurt? Where is the blood coming from?”

“I don’t know,” she sobs, tears pouring down her cheeks now.

“Do you feel pain?”

“No,” she whispers. “I can’t find any place that hurts.”

Because it’s not her blood, I think, but that isn’t my conclusion to make. It needs to be hers. I need her to tell me this story.

“Agent Castle?” Michaels calls out from the top of the stairs.

“I’m going to get you a blanket,” I tell Carrie. “I need you to just stay put until I can have the EMS team look at you. Okay?”

“Yes,” she agrees, her voice cracking. “Yes, okay.”

I stand up and meet Officer Michaels at the stairs, where EMS stands behind him. I grab the blanket in his hand, then whisper, “Make sure no one tells her Oliver is dead. No one tells her anything. She tells us.” Once he gives me his silent agreement, I add, “I’m going to let you communicate that to the team, and cover her up before you send EMS in.”

With that, I turn away from him, my plan in play.

Chapter Twenty-Four

CARRIE

Still trembling, I clutch the blanket the FBI agent wraps around me. Andi. Andi Castle. That’s her name. I don’t know why I had such a hard time recognizing her. I just can’t clear my head. She kneels in front of me again.

“I’m having EMS come up now that you’re covered,” she says, in control in a way that I am not. I need to get a grip on myself.

She starts to move away, and I catch her arm. “Where are we?” I ask, the small room with wooden walls and ceilings like a prison I can’t escape. “And why am I naked and covered in blood?”

“We’re in the hotel attic, and as for how you got here or why you’re covered in blood, you tell me.”

“I don’t know,” I say. I’m not clearheaded enough to read her tone, but I’m defensive enough to jerk my hand back from her arm, and louder now—a shout, in fact—I repeat my words. “I don’t know!”

As if I haven’t just shouted at her, she calmly studies me for a few long, sharp beats, and then she stands up. Just stands up. No words. No answers. No questions. A moment later, there’s a male EMS tech checking my vitals. And then he’s asking me questions. “Where do you hurt?” he asks, followed by at least ten more queries.

“I don’t know!” I yell at him, frustrated, scared. I’m scared, really scared. “I don’t know,” I whisper again. And then: “But I have to be hurt. The blood—and I’m dizzy.” I lower my head, trying to will away the spinning of the tiny room.

The man stands up, and I don’t really even know what he looks like or how old he is. I can’t seem to focus. I can’t focus and I start to panic. I need help. I need help. Now. “Help!” I call out. “Agent Castle! Agent!”

“I’m here,” she says, and I blink her into focus, where she now kneels in front of me again.

“What is happening?” I ask, feeling as if I will never get an answer. I need to know what is happening to me.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” she says. “I have a hotel robe on the way to give you better coverage. Can you walk?”

“Yes. I think so. I just want to go back to my room. I want to take a shower.”

“You don’t remember anything about what happened?” she presses.

“No. Nothing. I swear to you.”

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

I shut my eyes and reach through the darkness, but I can’t seem to latch on to anything, whispering the few things that come to mind: “The party. Dancers. Drinks.” My voice trails off as I try to go further, but it’s blank. I blink and open my eyes, fixing them on her face, letting her see the truth in them. “I’m just blank after that. And I feel weird but not drunk.”

“Which is why we need to go to the hospital.” The EMS tech appears above her and hands her the robe, which she then offers to me. “Put this on,” she instructs, “and then let’s go get this over with so you can rest.”