CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - ISSY
Some people have out-of-body experiences when they’re hanging on to life by a thread.
I’m not one of those hippy fuckers. I didn’t see a bright light. There was no tunnel to walk through. And there sure as fuck was no sense of peace and wellbeing.
I am in pain.
That’s all I think about. The impact of the bullet. The hot blood that splattered across my face as I was thrown backward. Someone slapped me and asked me if I knew my name.
I tried to tell them to go fuck themselves too, but I don’t remember actually getting those words out, so… no fun.
Waking up with ceiling lights passing by above in a rush was not what I’d call a welcome interlude, either. Doctors, nurses, all kinds of faces hovering over me.
But one was missing.
Finn.
I’m pretty sure I got that word out, because one nurse, the one holding an IV bag as she jogged alongside the gurney, looked me in the eyes and started to say something, but right now I can’t remember any of it.
It could be noon or it could be midnight. I’m not sure. I just know that when I open my eyes, Suzanne is slumped down in a chair at the side of my bed.
There’s a lot of beeping machines and lots of plastic tubes. I can’t move my right arm because it’s secured to my body somehow, and I’m dying of thirst.
“Suzanne,” I croak out past cracked lips. But it’s barely a whisper and she doesn’t wake up. I try again, but breathing hurts right now, and I don’t seem to have any extra air to make sounds.
The next time I wake up, she’s staring down at me, eyes wide, mouth open as she says my name.
My eyelids flutter. They don’t want to stay open, but dropping back into the darkness seems like a bad idea, so I raise my eyebrows as I blink rapidly, hoping that my eyelids will follow the same trajectory, and succeed for about two seconds.
“She’s awake!” Suzanne yells.
Which is not quite true, but I think she can tell I’m going the extra mile on that empty highway and optimism is in order.
Then there’s nurses—lots of nurses. Lots of questions. A doctor who talks mostly to the nurses, and then everything calms down and they all just look at me.
“Water,” I say. Which is probably bad manners because these people did just save my life. But I’m thirsty.
They don’t let me drink. There’s just a whole lot of medical talk and then I’m pronounced “stable”.
Suzanne sighs out a long breath of relief. She holds my hand, the one that’s not all bound up in some kind of sling or bandage and won’t move, no matter how hard I try.
I’m not in pain and I don’t think this is normal, but when I ask, Suzanne points to a bag of liquid attached to a pump, that’s feeding me morphine in little drips.
And then exhaustion from looking around the room and trying to make sense of what is actually happening takes over and I fade away, wondering what the hell happened to Finn Murphy.
The next time I wake up I’m in a different room. There’s only a few tubes running through my body now, a few beeping noises coming from the machines, and I’m still thirsty.
I’m also alone. Which you wouldn’t think would be the one thing I’d fixate on after being shot in the—I look down at my body—upper right chest, but it is.
I think it’s night now. The room is dark, my door is open, and there’s not much noise in the hallway.
I feel the urge to move, or sit up, or something, and immediately regret my slight position change because the pain… holy fucking shit, the pain is overwhelming. I think I might actually pass out for a little bit because when I open my eyes again, there’s a nurse in the room with me.
“Good morning,” she says brightly. “Are you hungry?”
“Water,” I croak.
She holds a cup with one of those bendy straws in it. The straw is yellow and the cup is pink, and I’m thinking this is a nice combination, and that’s when I realize I’m fuckin’ high as a kite.
But the pain’s gone, so I just sip my water and be happy.
“You’re not on the TV,” the nurse says. Like I should know what this means. She must read the expression on my face as confusion, because once she sets the water down on the little table beside my bed, she clicks a remote and the flatscreen on the wall lights up. “We’ve all been checking. Mr. Wells asked us to keep an eye on it and so far, so good.”
I don’t know what that means either. But I don’t really care. “Finn?” I ask, my voice stronger now that I’ve had some water.
She frowns at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, my God. Is he dead?”
“No,” she says quickly. “No. But the news is saying he was arrested. And now no one is talking about him at all. Well, except for the newscasters.”
“Arrested,” I repeat. “But what about—”
“Just rest,” the nurse says, cutting me off. “There’s time to figure everything out later. We’re holding all your visitors until you’re ready.”
“Even Suzanne?”
“Is she the pushy one who keeps telling me about Go Fuck Yourself classes?”
Gotta love Suzanne. “That would be her.”
“She stepped out for lunch, but she should be back soon. Would you like to try to use the bathroom?”
I would, so I do. She helps me and then turns her back while I pee with the door open because I might fall over and knock myself out on the sink.
After that I shuffle myself and the IV pole the ten steps back to the bed and decide… I’m not really in the mood to go that extra mile today. But I do need to know what the fuck is happening.
“What happened to me?” I ask.
“You were shot in the chest. Bullet passed right through your upper right quadrant, luckily. There was a lot of blood loss, but the internal damage, while bad, could’ve been a lot worse. You got really, really lucky, Miss Grey.”
I sigh and sink back into the pillows, wincing at the pain leaking past the drugs. “Do I still have a phone?”
“Sorry,” she says. “Everything you came in with has already been confiscated as evidence. The FBI is still here. They’ve been waiting for you to be well enough to talk to them.” She eyes me for a moment. “Do you want to talk to them?”
“Do I have a choice?” I ask.
“I can probably buy you another few hours, but after the shift change everyone will know you’re awake and they have a court order, so…” She shrugs.
I don’t like the sound of this. But I’ve spent a lot of years hiding from my past and all I want now is the truth. No matter what it is.
So I say, “Yes. Send them in.”
There’s more to Finn Murphy than he let on. That second phone just confirms the nagging thought in the back of my head the whole time we were together.
The throes of chaos might bring two people closer—the pleasure of panic is real when you’re forced to live through something life-altering with a stranger.
But that doesn’t mean you know each other.