Page 41 of The Wedding Party

“And what is that reason?”

“I was cut in the belly,” I whisper.

“How?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat. The words seem to be my answer to everything, and that frustrates no one as much as it does me.

“All of that blood wasn’t yours,” she reminds me.

“I know,” I say hoarsely. “Believe me, I know. Being covered in the blood of the man you love is not a pleasant thing.”

“How did you end up naked and in the attic, Carrie?”

My eyes meet hers, and those dreaded words follow. “I don’t know. I’ve tried to remember.”

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

“The attic,” I repeat. “You finding me in the attic.” I can’t offer her more. I don’t know more, and the very act of not knowing is defeating.

“Before that,” she pushes.

“The party.” I swallow hard, my mind returning to the hotel, to the room full of smiling faces, the music, the scent of Oliver’s cologne. “I remember Oliver kissing me before he left for his bachelor party.”

“What else?” she presses.

What else, I think, and I truly try to remember—what else?

There’s a flicker in my mind of me fighting with Bianca, and I seize on that piece of knowledge. “I was angry with Bianca for lining up the male dancers. I didn’t know they were attending the party. Or performing. I felt it was a betrayal of Oliver’s trust.”

“What did Bianca say?”

“I’m not clear on that yet—I think Lana calmed me down. Yes. Lana told me just to let it go and enjoy myself.”

“Did Oliver have dancers at his party?”

“I doubt it,” I say. “I hope not,” I add. “I wouldn’t want to think that the last woman he saw naked was someone other than me.” I press my hands to my face. “God. I can’t believe I even had that thought.” I drop my hands. “He’s dead. God, he’s dead. How can that even be? We were happy. We were getting married. He was everything, everything I ever wanted.” The room spins, and that anger I felt moments before returns hard and fast, seething inside me.

“You,” I hiss. “You were supposed to protect him. Why didn’t you save him, Agent Castle? Why didn’t you save him?!”

A nurse bursts into the room and Andi holds up a hand, speaking to me. “How would I save him?” she replies, now at the end of the bed, staring at me, demanding of me. “I wasn’t there, but you were.”

“I wasn’t there,” I bluster. “I didn’t kill him. I loved him.”

“And yet you were in an attic.”

“Agent Castle!” the doctor demands, entering the room. “Stop.”

“I was hiding!” I scream at her. “I was hiding! I was afraid!”

“Hiding from who?” she demands. “Afraid of what?”

“I don’t know!” I shout. “What part of that do you not understand?! I don’t know.” There’s a piercing sensation in my skull. “Oh God,” I groan, grabbing my head.

“Enough, Agent Castle!” the doctor shouts. “Enough.” He steps between me and her and pushes her toward the door.

“No,” I whisper, wanting to call her back, but the pain turns into a hum in my ears. I can’t fight through the noise, but I want to tell the doctor to let Andi stay. I didn’t mean to shout at her. I need her. I need help. But the noise and the pain. It’s too much.

I scream with the force of it, and a needle is stuck in my arm.