Page 11 of Stray
Ella
“Ella,” a familiar voice called from somewhere far, far away. Ella could barely hear it, but that faint voice was the only thing that seemed to exist in the void she’d fallen into. The pain in her lungs was gone, but there was pressure on her chest.
So much pressure, as if a great mountain was bearing down on her.
The pressure soon became sharp pain as blinding as the light. Something deep within her chest snapped, splitting bone and tearing muscle. The pressure was coming in waves now, relentlessly pounding into her chest, forcing her heart to beat against its will.
She gasped and the pain returned, reverberating through every part of her until itwasher. Until there was no part of her that existed apart from the ache and the agony and the terrible emptiness of those dark, cold fingers that had wrapped around her, crushing out her last breath.
Even now, she felt their imprint.
Ella’s eyes flew open as her body convulsed. She coughed and choked, water pouring from her lungs that burned like acid on its way up. She clutched her throat and doubled over, struggling for breath, but it only came in short gasps that offered no satisfaction, only the barest levels of oxygen required for survival.
The light in the room was dimmer than the all-encompassing one that had consumed her, but it was no less tolerable. All she could make out were the vague shapes around her, and the outline of whomever she was clinging to so desperately.
She was in his arms, strong and firm, her only tether to the waking world she’d never imagined she would see again.
Assuming she was still alive. The only thing that gave her hope was an unwillingness to believe death could be so painful. That hardly seemed fair.
“Easy,” that familiar voice coaxed as its owner’s fingers splayed through her wet hair. “The ambulance is on its way. Just breathe.”
She saw a strip of bone white silk get pushed across her eyes, but as her vision came into focus, all she could think about was the face of the man before her. Angelic. Too beautiful to be real.
If Ella hadn’t met him earlier that night, she would have been absolutely convinced he was an angel come to lead her soul to the next of her nine lives. Hopefully a better one. If this was her last, she had some serious complaints to voice to whomever was listening upstairs.
“Bishop,” she gasped, her voice raw and ragged. She was still clinging to him for dear life, unable to pry her fingers off the dampened cotton of his crisp white shirt.
“You’re alright,” he said, cradling her to his chest so she wouldn’t move. No one had ever held her so gently, but every touch was still pure agony. Even so, his presence brought a comfort and certainty that made the pain well worth it.
In the minutes that followed, Ella drifted in and out of shock. She was vaguely aware of sirens in the distance, and the garbled sounds of the voices around her. Certain ones stood out more than others, but the words were only coming in snippets.
“--has to be a mistake,” Blake protested. Somewhere in the distance, Marissa’s indignant sobs continued.
“I’m going with her,” said Emily. “She’s my ward.”
Ella groaned as the medics lifted her onto a stretcher. It felt as if every bone in her body was broken, but the fact that she was able to raise a hand to her chest, where the pain was at its sharpest, suggested otherwise.
Someone pinned her wrist to the side of the cot, securing it with Velcro straps. She felt a sharp prick as they threaded an IV into the crook of her left arm and the agonizing jostle of the gurney as it was lifted into the ambulance.
“I’m going with you.”
Bishop’s voice was firm and insistent. It was the last thing she fully remembered before she blacked out.
The next sound she heard was the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, and there was a light shining directly into her right eye.
It took a second for Ella to realize someone was holding her eye open and shining the light in. Opening them both seemed to take all the strength she had, and she didn’t have the energy to lift her hand to shield her eyes.
“Ella,” said an unfamiliar man’s voice. He was older, in his late fifties at least, with lines around his eyes and mouth that suggested he had a kind smile on happier occasions. He was looking at her with more concern than Emily ever had as he shone the light in her other eye, then back into the right one. “Can you hear me?”
She nodded, expecting to be punished by her body for the movement. Rather than the pain she was expecting, she could only feel the light pressure of whatever thick material was wrapped around her chest.
Her head swam and made streaks of the pen light, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling. When she saw the clear drip hanging above her bed, she realized the cause of it.
“Guess you get the good stuff when you almost drown,” she mumbled. Her voice sounded far away, as did the doctor’s laugh. She wasn’t fully aware of saying the words, or how she’d ended up in a semi-upright position the next time she blinked.
It was only then she realized she wasn’t alone in the room. Tessa was there, and Bishop and Natalia were standing alongside her, all three of them wearing looks of concern that made her doubt she was truly out of the woods.
“You can talk to her, but go easy,” the doctor said, touching Natalie’s shoulder on his way out the door. “The drugs won’t wear off for a few hours yet.”
