Page 40 of Twins for the Enemy

“Hospitals are assembly lines of diseases,” I say, my thumb absentmindedly running along her thumb. “It’s statistically likely that you’ll run into someone here with an infectious disease.”

“Ah, so it’s the kryptonite of your constant need for control,” she teases, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “But still, I don’t believe you. If that were the case, you’d be taking control of it by disinfecting every surface. You’d be bathing in hand sanitizer.”

I force a smile at her. She’s right. I skipped the opening of the trauma center, and when I went to see Ellie after the fire, I’d stayed long enough to ensure she was okay and left.

The problem is that Olivia haunts every hospital. Every time I smell that sharp antiseptic, the sound of a curtain being pulled closed around a patient, or the beeping of machines, I’m back to chasing beside her as they wheel her through the hallways.

I’m back to the doctor declaring the time of death, but I could swear I saw her chest move.

“Would you like me to disinfect the whole room?” I ask. For a split second, she squeezes my hand a bit harder.

“No,” she says. “The germs can live for another day.”

I know she is likely healthy. The doctors and nurses will take care of her. I’ve already missed meetings. She would understand if I need to step out until she’s finished.

But looking at her thin fingers pressed over the back of my hand, I don’t feel any desire to leave. Olivia’s ghost is still here, making the air taste like death and shame, but feeling Farah’s skin against mine, it’s an occasional inhale of clean air. It’s moments of seeing a future instead of the past.

There'll be no future for us, but in these four walls, there is only here and now.

And for here and now, I’ll stay.

Chapter thirteen

~FARAH~

The nurse is so petite that when she tries to help me out of the wheelchair and back into my hospital bed, I’m more worried about falling onto her and shattering her bones than falling to the floor.

As I sink onto the lumpy hospital bed, I glance at the nurse’s ID. Kailee. Had she already told me that? The CT scan didn’t show any brain damage, but I’m starting to think I’ve just been too distracted by Kieran’s confusing behavior to register anyone else around me.

“Did Kieran leave?” I ask.

“We tried to convince him to stay in the waiting room,” she says. “But he refused. He’s in the first room we took you to. We’ve had a nurse updating him through your tests. We’re almost finished, and we can bring him back in. I do want to ask you a question before he returns.”

“Okay,” I say. I look down at the ankle brace. Mild sprain. All of this money for an injury that will be fine in a couple of weeks.

“So.” Kailee pulls over a stool, the wheels squeaking against the floor. “Sometimes, women… well, men and women… will tell us stories about their injuries. They tripped on the stairs. They slipped in the shower. They ran into a wall. Sometimes, those stories aren’t quite true. I want to ask you if your story is true.”

I point down to my ankle. “You know I’m not lying. You’re the ones who told me it was sprained.”

“Oh, no, we don’t think you’re faking an injury,” she assures me. “We just want to ask you… if you feel unsafe around your husband.”

“Unsafe?” I ask. “What? I’m—are you asking me if he’s abusing me?”

“We ask to be safe,” she says, so much earnestness on her face that I almost feel bad for lying to her about being Kieran’s wife. It’s almost funny that she thinks I’m lying about my injury when I’m lying about everything except that.

But is it a lie?

I am a captive. This could be my escape. I could get Kieran questioned by the police and slip away. It would give me at least a couple of hours of a head start. I could return to the mansion and steal and sell what I need to survive.

He’d still be able to track me down. I still don’t know how he did it the first time.

But even if he couldn’t, some part of me is still a prisoner to him. Not always in an unpleasant or undesired way.

“No.” I force a laugh out. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s all true. My husband shoveled out a path forme so I could watch this deer that visits our yard. I went racing back to our house, and I slipped. It’s humiliating, but nobody committed a crime.”

Her eyes search my face for a second longer before she smiles and pops off the stool.

“Well, I’m so glad that’s the case,” she says. “You can change back into your clothes. I’ll get your husband.”

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