Page 22 of The Immortal's One
A girl can hope.
I wince as I push the blanket off me, every movement deliberate and slow to avoid aggravating my ribs. Biting my cheek to suppress my cry, I sit up and gingerly swing my legs over the side of the bed.
My shoulders roll forward, and I grit my teeth and breathe through my nose as I wait for the worst of the pain to pass.
You can do this, Darcie. Get up.
With a deep breath, I brace and slide off the mattress.
The moment my feet touch the floor, the world tilts, my ribs ache, and fiery pain claws through my body.
I clutch the nearest bedpost like a lifeline and squeeze my eyes shut. Stars flash behind my eyelids, keeping pace with my pulse. Another stab of pain accompanies each one while I force myself to breathe, praying I won’t pass out again.
I tighten my grip on the post and hiss. My palms sting, raw and scratched. The skin on my face pulls taut when I grimace, another reminder of how my attacker shoved me into the sharp gravel.
I shudder, the memory like ice working down my spine until I shove it aside. I can’t think about what happened in that parking lot right now. I need to focus and figure out where I am.
I pry my eyelids open, ignoring the pain, and steady myself. I keep hold of the bedpost, willing the room to stop spinning while my heart hammers in my chest.
Then I lower my gaze and stiffen. I’m wearing a nightgown; the silky, almost weightless fabric is cool against my skin.
Someone dressed me while I was unconscious…
My stomach churns.
With a moan, I reach over to grab the knitted blanket folded at the foot of the bed and drape it over my shoulders.
Looking back around the room, I frown. There are no answers here.
I don’t see any of my belongings—no clothes, no phone. I can’t call Dad or Kayla, and I can’t look up my location with GPS.
I shuffle toward the window, gripping the ends of the blanket tight in front of me, and look outside.
I suck in a breath.
What the?—
Acres of manicured lawn stretch far beyond the window, ending in a dense forest. Hedges are trimmed into bizarre shapes, and scattered stone statues serve as silent sentinels across the grounds. A pond in the distance glints in the light, and a fountain sprays water into the air, its soundmingling with the chirping birds drifting in through the window.
But… it's December. The trees should be weighed down by snow, and the ground should be buried under a blanket of white…
I scan the lawn again, searching for anything to give me a clue as to where I am. But there’s nothing. No landmarks. No familiar sights.
I swallow.
I’m not in Brunswick.
I don’t even think I’m in Maine.
I turn away from the window. Besides the patio doors, there are two other doors in the room. One rests slightly ajar. Through the opening, I spot a vanity and a sink. The other door is closed.
That’s where I need to go.
Each step tugs my ribs, making it hard to breathe. I push through. I have to. Staying in here isn’t an option.
My hand trembles as I reach for the bronze doorknob. I half-expect it to be locked right before I twist the metal.
Click.
