Page 36 of The Wedding Party

“Of course,” I say. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

Mendez turns on his heel, intent on walking away, but I call out, “One more question.”

The doctor pauses and turns to face me.

“How personal is the addiction thing to you?”

He bristles. “If you’re asking if I’m a former addict, I am, which allows me the unique ability to root my opinions both on experience and science.”

“But it also could skew your opinions,” I say. “Or at least, that’s what the prosecution would say.”

His expression tightens. “We’re done here.”

He walks away, with long, swift strides. I’ve hit a nerve or maybe ten.

Chapter Thirty-One

CARRIE

I blink awake as a man with dark hair and eyes leans over me.

“Hello?” I whisper, because nothing else comes to me. My mind is foggy, my body heavy.

He smiles. “Hello.”

“Who are you?” I ask.

His dark brows form a thick line. “You don’t remember?”

I can feel my own brow furrow in response, and I’m acutely aware of a stinging sensation in my belly. I moan and shift, only to have the man warn, “Easy. Don’t move too much. You have fresh stitches.”

I blink away the shadows, and a haze that desperately works to consume me. “Stitches?”

“You don’t remember?” he repeats.

“No,” I whisper, not even sure I know what I’m saying no to, but I say it again. “No.”

“Try. What do you remember?”

My lashes lower and lift again, relieved to find an answer in my mind. “You’re a doctor. And I’m in the hospital.”

“Exactly. Good, you’re starting to remember things. What else can you remember?”

Suddenly I’m back in time, naked and cold, in a strange place with wooden walls, staring at the blood on my hands. More memories punch at my mind, but they won’t fully develop. My body begins to tremble with the effort, a warning that whatever lurks in the shadows of my memory will hurt me. “I don’t want to remember,” I whisper, desperate to stop what is forming in my mind. “I don’t want to remember!” I shout, sitting up, my belly burning, but I don’t care. My head hurts even worse. It throbs with the memory of blood all over the bed. I jerk at my arm and I’m trapped. I’m trapped and I have to get away. Suddenly, there is screaming, loud screaming. The doctor is by my side.

“Calm down,” he orders. “You need to calm down. Nurse! Nurse!”

It’s me that’s screaming, I realize, and I can’t stop. “No!” I yell. “No! No! No!” The bloody images in my mind become Oliver. Oliver is covered in blood. Pain rips through me, and I’m screaming again. “Oliverrrrrrrr! Oliverrrrrr! No! No! Oliver!”

A needle is jabbed in my arm, and there is a burn there as well before exhaustion overtakes me. I ease back on the mattress, my lashes heavy, and my eyes lift to the doorway, where I find a familiar face. The FBI agent. I know her. “You,” I whisper. “You.”

She appears by my side and kneels.

The doctor yells at her. “Not now, Agent Castle.”

“Agent Castle,” I whisper, and this time her name stirs something inside me, an emotion I cannot pinpoint.

“Tell me what happened, Carrie,” she orders softly.