Page 195 of Into These Eyes
I’m in a stark white room. A television hangs suspended from the ceiling, and beeping comes from beside me. Carefully turning my head toward the sound, I discover I’m tethered to various machines. A cannula’s taped to the back of my hand, a pulse monitor clamped to my index finger.
An uncomfortable looking padded chair rests close to the bed, but it’s empty.
Jamie.
Memories flood my mind. Finding Reid in the kitchen. Being shot. Twice. The struggle, the fight to stay conscious, the drive to protect Jamie. Spiralling into unconsciousness.
The gunshot.
Fuck.Fuck!
Jamie.
Where is she? Where—
Searing pain abruptly stops my effort to get out of bed. Slumping back, darkness bites at the edges of my vision as the heartrate monitor’s beeps increase.
Where the hell’re the nurses? The doctors?
Sliding a hand off my thigh, I touch what feels like a remote control. I jab randomly at the buttons, hoping it’ll summon a nurse.
Instead, the TV bursts to life, instantly drawing my attention. I can’t hear anything, but I don’t need to.
A female reporter stands on the footpath in front of Jamie’s house, police tape all over the fucking place. My heart jackhammers, and before I can fumble with the remote to turn up the volume, words scroll across the bottom of the screen.
Female lawyer murdered. Police calling on public for help.
I want to float again. I want nothingness. Darkness. I want to cease to exist, to go to a place where nothing matters, where nothing’s real, where nothing hurts.
I close my eyes, shutting out the world, the words on the screen, the sight of Jamie’s house surrounded with police tape. It’s all meaningless, because it’s just a dream. A stupid nightmare reflecting everything I fear deep down in my subconscious. That’s all this is. I’m in bed beside the love of my life and I’m having a nightmare. A nightmare I desperately need. Because I’ve let down my guard. I’ve let love overtake me and blind me to the reason I’m in her house. That’s what this is. A wake-up call. When Idowake up, I’ll touch the curve of her hip and wrap myself around her warmth. And I’ll remember that I need to stay vigilant, that I’m here to protect her.
When I draw in a sharp breath, pain snaps my eyes open. I’m still in this empty hospital room, the beep of the monitor faster, images moving on the TV, the reporter in front of Jamie’s house replaced by a newsreader in a studio.
Onto the next story.
Like the previous one meant nothing.
Likeshemeant nothing.
Desperate, I raise the remote, find the volume and turn it up. Then I change channels, over and over until I find what I don’t want to find.
A male reporter faces the camera this time, a slightly different angle of Jamie’s house behind him.
“—was shot and killed in her home in this quiet suburb last night. Currently, there are no leads as to the identity of the shooter. Police are canvassing the neighbourhood, hoping someone saw something that will give them the lead they need to track down the offender. Over to you, Ron.”
There’s a new sound in the room, a keening that hadn’t been there moments ago. I turn my head toward the closed door, but no one’s there.
And then I realise I can’t breathe. My throat’s closing up tight, the air barely entering my windpipe. It’s me. The sound’s coming from me.
I can’t … I can’t … fucking breathe.
It’s not real.
But I still can’t draw a breath. And I told her just last night,when you stop breathing, so will I.
No. She can’t be gone. No, no, no, no, no, no.
As my useless body tries to suck in air, my mind races.
