Dying To Remember. Sara K. Parker
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closed on a small desk near the window. He picked it up and slipped it into a nearby case, then circled back to the living room still in search of the dog. He hoped Isaac hadn’t gotten out during all the commotion tonight.
He looked under the couch and the mystery was solved. The old dog cowered as far back beneath the couch as possible, wide, startled eyes looking back at Roman’s flashlight.
“There you are,” he said, reaching under the couch.
Isaac growled a warning.
Roman figured Isaac’s bite couldn’t do much damage, but he assumed the poor guy felt threatened and trapped, so he lifted the end of the couch a few inches, pulling it away from the wall. The dog growled again but he didn’t try to run.
Roman bent close to the little fluff ball, who really couldn’t be called “little” at all. What did they feed this guy?
“It’s okay, buddy,” he said in a quiet voice, moving his hand to let the dog sniff. Then he scooped the roly-poly, still growling dog into his arms.
“Hey there, Isaac,” he said. “Let’s see what’s going on with you.” He sat on the couch and turned the dog in his lap, seeing the problem immediately—a shard of glass between two of Isaac’s toes. The drying blood blended with the black pads of his paw but stained the dog’s white fur.
“Poor guy,” Roman said, cradling the dog in his arms and standing. His mind raced. Isaac needed a vet, and Roman needed the police involved at the Camden residence. It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Ella had spent the better part of the past hour waffling between considering an escape plan and digging for memories she may have forgotten from the attack.
Since she pictured burly psych-ward security men chasing her down and wrestling her into a straitjacket, the escape plan didn’t appeal. She would have to be patient and hope that the doctor tomorrow would deem her stable enough to go home.
But that left her with a lot of time on her hands.
Time to review what had happened tonight. And what had happened last month. She didn’t have many clues to go by. But one thing was certain: back in Colorado, she’d been living a peaceful existence, and since her arrival in Maryland, she’d nearly died twice. And despite popular belief, the attempts on her life were not self-inflicted. Who was after her and why?
She’d done only two things regularly since her arrival: visited her mom at the hospital and worked at Graceway to try to bring the organization back to order. Her mom had fought breast cancer for almost fourteen months before being declared cancer-free in June. She’d muscled through treatments and surgeries, determined to fight hard and not miss a step at Graceway. Every time Ella had considered moving back home to help, her mother had vetoed the idea. Ella should have seen right through the act and come anyway.
While poking around her mom’s office that first day back in October, it had become clear very quickly to Ella that her mother had practically been drowning under the pressure of keeping the nonprofit going.
The organization was short-staffed and underfunded. Not to mention, the finances were a mess—and an untimely computer virus had made the situation nearly impossible to sort through. Ella was itching to start looking though the files TechSavvy had recovered.
Restless, she pushed the covers off her lap and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She needed to stretch. But just as her toes grazed the cold tile, a tap sounded outside her room and the door cracked open.
A nurse Ella recognized from earlier walked in. Her short auburn hair was clipped back with several barrettes, salt-and-pepper roots belying an age she seemed determined to hide. Her name badge read Minnie, and sported a photo that must have been taken at least a decade earlier.
“How’re you feeling, sweetie?” she asked, hooking up a new bag of fluids.
“Better, thanks.” In truth, her head was pounding and every movement made her feel like throwing up, but she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone and risk being detained longer than necessary.
“Glad to hear it,” the nurse said. “Can I get you anything?”
“Water would be great.”
“Of course.”
“Ms. Camden?” A young woman poked her head into the room as Minnie left to fill a pitcher.
“Yes?”
The girl entered the room. She wore a long gray sweater with black leggings and heeled boots. Her straight dark hair was pulled into a neat ponytail. Who was she? And why was she in Ella’s hospital room?
“I’m Triss Everett,” she said pleasantly enough, but she didn’t smile. “I work with Shield. Roman asked me to cover for him for the next couple of hours.”
A teenager in leggings was not exactly who Ella had envisioned when Roman told her he’d set up her protection detail.
“I just came from a night class at college,” Triss explained, as if reading Ella’s misgivings. Then she cocked her head to the side. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“No,” Ella said then shrugged. “Well, maybe,” she admitted, trying to drum up energy for a conversation. “How long have you been with Shield?”
“Nearly a year,” Triss said, quirking a small grin as if she knew exactly what Ella was thinking. “I may look harmless, but I’m well trained and armed. Anyway, I didn’t want to disturb you if you were resting, but I peeked around Minnie when she came in, and saw you were awake.”
Triss moved further into the room and perched on the edge of a nearby chair. Ella levered herself back up in bed and stuffed a pillow behind her back, the IV line pinching as she moved.
“You doing okay?” Triss asked. “Can I get you anything?”
“Unless you can get me out of here, I don’t think so.”
Triss looked at her seriously. “Roman would fire me on the spot.”
Ella sighed, consciously slowing her breathing to try to get a wave of dizziness under control. She’d moved too fast. “I was joking.”
“Maybe,” Triss said, watching her observantly. “But I sense truth to it.”
“I’m sure you’ve been filled in on the situation.”
“Everyone thinks you tried to kill yourself, but you say someone is setting it up to make your death look like a suicide.”
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
“And you want to leave the hospital because...”
“Because no one believes me, and I’m not going to find any answers trapped in this hospital bed.”
Triss nodded but didn’t look all that sympathetic.
“Well, I can’t help you get out of here, but if you think of anything else, I’ll be just outside.” She pushed up from the chair and walked to the door. “Just shout if you need me. I’ll check back in a bit.”
“Thank you,” Ella said belatedly as Triss closed the door, throwing the room into silence once again. Her gaze darted around the sterile space, her mind racing.
If she let her eyes close, she knew she’d see a gloved hand snaking around her face, glass shattering at her feet. For weeks now she’d been fitfully waking to the feel of the barrel of a gun at her temple or the echoing blast of a gunshot. Were they actually memories or was her mind simply filling in the blank spots? It was impossible to differentiate, especially because other memories had found their way into those nighttime terrors, too—memories she’d spent years mastering how to escape.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the images flashing through her mind. Memories of devastating loss and the unrelenting guilt that had been tormenting her for the past six years. An Ambien would