CHAPTER TWO
Madison
The last thing I remembered was being hit over the head. I felt a sharp, ringing pain and a moment after that, my whole world went black. After that, everything in my head was scrambled. But, I distinctly remembered taking a shot to the back of the head. I recalled the feeling of heat on my skin and the smell of smoke – that was what woke me up. And when I opened my eyes and saw the flames erupting all around me, I started screaming.
I screamed until my voice was hoarse and my throat was raw. I sobbed, knowing that it was futile, that nobody was going to hear me. Nobody was going to save me. I couldn't get up and run. Couldn't even move. My hands and feet were bound and I'd been left in the middle of a burning building – in the middle of a raging inferno – in the middle of the night.
I screamed again – mostly out of frustration and anger, rather than out of a belief that it would help. Who would hear me? I didn't think anyone would, but I kept screaming until my voice gave out.
Tears rolled down my face as I realized this was how I was going to die. It felt like the smoke and fire were searing my lungs and I was having a hard time breathing. The sinking realization that this was it had settled over me and I'd just about given up when the firefighter found me. As soon as I was in his arms, it was like my body said, “It's time to let go,” and I blacked out again. This time, from lack of oxygen, rather than a blow to the head.
The next thing I knew, my eyes were open and I was staring up at him. The last thought that crossed my mind before I found myself strapped down and wheeled into an ambulance was, “He looks familiar.”
It was all a blur though. I was so in and out of it that I couldn't recall much of what happened. And it wasn't until the next morning, when I awoke to the sounds of beeps and buzzing from the hospital, that the weight of everything that happened fully hit me. Hit me like a runaway train and left me breathless and scared.
I'd almost died. Scratch that, no, not died. I'd almost been murdered.
The weight of those words – I'd almost been murdered – pressed down on me like a ten thousand pound millstone. Knowing somebody wanted to kill me, to see me dead – the sense of dread it inspired in me was as deep as it was dark.
I cleared my still sore throat and looked around at my surroundings. I knew I was in a hospital because everything was so white and pristine. Sterile, really. The sounds echoing softly in the room around me were almost comforting, in a way. Mostly because at least I knew that since I was hearing them, I was alive and I was safe. A cop was sitting in the chair next to me, staring up at the television, a blank expression on his face.
“Excuse me?” My throat burned when I spoke, and I ended up coughing more than talking, but it got his attention.
The officer jumped, clearly surprised that I was awake. He was an older man with almost no hair, and the soft fringe he did have was snow white. I assumed he was there to protect me, but from the rounded gut and his age, I wasn't sure he'd be doing much in the way of protecting. Other than calling somebody for help.
I glanced toward the door and saw that another man was sitting in a chair just outside. I could only see his back, though, but I assumed he was another cop.
“Do you need a nurse?” the officer asked.
His shirt said his name was Officer Fellows. What a friendly name, I thought, hazily.
“I – I don't know,” I replied.
My head felt fuzzy and my vision wavered when I sat up. I winced as the IV pulled at my arm. My mouth was dry and my throat felt parched and cracked. So, maybe I did need a nurse? I had no idea what I needed.
Fellows pressed the call button anyway, signaling for a nurse to come and check on me.
“Miss Haywood, we have some questions for you,” he said, his voice softening. “As soon as you're feeling up to it, I'll need to ask about what happened last night.”
I nodded. “I'll help as much as I can,” I said. “But I can't promise I can give you anything useful. I can't remember what happened or why I was there in the first place.”
“You don't remember anything at all?”
He raised an eyebrow as he looked at me sympathetically, but also with some skepticism in his eyes. I just shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts and failing to do so. My brain was so scattered that it was like trying to catch puffs of a dandelion on a breeze.
“Unfortunately, no,” I replied, my voice quiet.
I furrowed my brow as I tried to recall anything about the night before. What I'd been doing before I'd been hit in the back of the head. I came up empty. I had to admit that walking into a warehouse in the middle of an abandoned area, at two in the morning, was stupid. And well out of character for me. I wasn't a paranoid girl, but times being what they were, I was certainly a cautious and smart girl.
Which begged the question – why had I done it?
“Do you think it might be an obsessed fan of yours?” Fellows pressed.
I shrugged. “I honestly don't know,” I said. “I'm trying to think of something, anything, and I'm just drawing a blank.”
The nurse stepped through the door, a pleasant look on her face – at least until she noticed the cop sitting there grilling me. She shot Fellows a dark look and then moved quickly to my bedside, tending to me and checking my stats before getting me a small cup of water.
“Ms. Haywood needs some rest,” the nurse said, giving the cop a definite side-eye.
“It's okay,” I said. “I want to help. It's just – I can't remember anything but bits and pieces of what happened last night anyway.”
“That isn't surprising, given that you sustained massive trauma to the head,” the nurse said with a sympathetic smile. “But hopefully, everything will come back in time.”
“Hopefully?”
I felt a tingle of worry in my stomach. Hopefully didn't sound good. Not good at all.
“The doctor will be in later to discuss all the details with you,” she said, her voice bright and reassuring.
She turned and walked to the door, leaving me with Officer Fellows who watched her go before turning back to me.
“You're lucky to be alive,” he said.
I remembered the firefighter who'd somehow managed to claw his way through the smoke and flames and had found me there on the floor. Luck had nothing to do with it. I felt like I had a guardian angel.
“Could you give me the name of the fireman who saved me?” I asked.
“Sure, I think I have that info right here actually,” he said.
He pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and flipped through the pages until he found a scrap of paper. He plucked it out of the notebook and held it out to me. Taking it in a trembling hand, I looked at the name that had been scribbled on the small page. It was a name I recognized.
Oliver Miller.
“Figured you might want to thank him once you feel better,” the cop said.
I nodded. “I'm going to get some rest,” I said. “Do you mind giving me a little privacy?”
“I'll wait out in the hall with Officer Lewis,” he said.
He stepped out of the room, leaving me alone. And even though I was tired, I couldn't stop thinking about the man who'd saved me. There was a reason his face looked familiar. And now that I had a name to go along with the face, the memories started flooding back to me.
Memories of how I'd hurt him all those years ago.
What were the chances he'd be the one who saved my life?