Page 65 of Killer's Obsession
“Can we see him?” I ask, my voice cracking.
“He’s in the ICU. One visitor at a time, five minutes only for now,” the doctor says. “He’s heavily sedated and won’t be conscious, but...”
“She goes first,” Chief says, nodding toward me.
No one argues.
I follow the doctor through a maze of corridors, my heart pounding harder with each step. When we reach the ICU, he pauses outside a glass-walled room.
“Remember, just five minutes,” he reminds me gently.
I nod, unable to speak as I look through the glass.
Killer lies on the hospital bed, tubes and wires connecting him to a half dozen machines. His usually dark skin looks ashen, and a ventilator is breathing for him. His massive frame, always so imposing, looks vulnerable beneath the thin hospital sheets.
I step into the room, moving to his bedside. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor is both terrifying and reassuring. Each beep means he’s still here. Still fighting.
Carefully, mindful of the IV, I take his hand in mine. It’s warm, thank God, but limp. None of the strength I’m used to feeling when he touches me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face. “I shouldn’t have left. I was just so hurt and angry.” I squeeze his hand. “But none of that matters now. All that matters is yougetting better. Do you hear me? You have to fight. You have to come back to me.”
I lean down, pressing my lips to his forehead. “I love you, Killer. I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.”
The heart monitor continues its steady rhythm, neither slowing nor speeding up at my words. He can’t hear me. But I need to say it anyway.
“I forgive you,” I continue, stroking his hair gently. “For not telling me about my father, about Nikolai. I understand why you did it. You were trying to protect me. I see that now.”
A nurse appears at the door, tapping her watch sympathetically. My five minutes are already up.
“I have to go now,” I tell him, my voice breaking. “But I’ll be right outside. And I’ll be back as soon as they let me.” I press one more kiss to his forehead.
As I turn to leave, I send up a prayer to the gods.
Please let him live. Please.
I’d trade anything—everything—just to see those blue eyes open again.
Chapter Sixteen
Killer
A searing pain tears through my chest, and I’m thrust into consciousness with a violent jerk. My eyes shoot open, and—oh fuck me! My chest feels like someone was stabbing me with a hot poker. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Fuck,” I croak, my voice is unrecognizable. It sounds like I’ve been gargling broken glass.
What the fuck is going on? I blink my eyes back open. White tiles line the ceiling, and the smell of antiseptic hits my nose. The unmistakable beeping of a medical monitor tells me I’m in the hospital.
Groaning, I shift slightly. The movement sends another blast of pain through me, and I lift my hand to my chest and press gently.
Son of a bitch, that hurts.
Slowly, so as not to jolt my body too much, I tilt my head to the left. Sitting there in a chair pushed against the wall is Dread. He’s kicked back with his head aimed at the TV mounted on the wall.
Following his gaze with my eyes, I see a familiar kid with a wicked-looking baseball bat, facing down a monster.
Stranger Things.
Memphis just binge-watched that shit.
