Page 12 of Things We Hide from the Light
Why couldn’t I remember?
Would I ever?
Would I be oblivious if Hugo came back to finish the job?
Would I see him coming?
Would I care enough to stop him?
“Nobody likes a pathetic, mopey asshole,” I muttered out loud.
On a shaky breath, I took three more steps, bringing me even with what would have been the driver’s door. There’d been blood here. The first time I came back, I hadn’t been able to force myself out of the car. I just sat behind the wheel staring at the rust-stained gravel.
It was gone now. Erased by nature. But I could still picture it there.
I could still hear the echo of a sound. Something between a sizzle and a crunch. It haunted my dreams. I didn’t know what it was, but it felt both important and dire.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.
I jabbed my thumb between my eyebrows and rubbed.
I’d drawn my weapon too late. I didn’t remember the bite of bullets into flesh. Two quick shots. The fall to the ground. Or Duncan Hugo climbing out of the car and looming over me. I didn’t remember what he said to me as he stepped on the wrist of my gun hand. I didn’t remember him aiming his own weapon one last time at my head. I didn’t remember what he said.
All I knew was that I would have died.
Should have died.
If it hadn’t been for those headlights.
Lucky.Nothing but luck had stood between me and that final bullet.
Hugo had peeled off. Twenty seconds later, a nurse late for her shift in the emergency department spotted me and immediately got to work. No hesitation. No panic. Just pure skill. Six more minutes before help arrived. The first responders, men and women I’d known most of my life, followed procedure, doing their jobs with practiced efficiency. They hadn’t forgotten their training. They hadn’t dropped the ball or reacted too late.
All while I lay almost lifeless by the side of the road.
I had no memory of the nurse using my own radio to call for help while she kept pressure on the wound. I didn’t remember Grave kneeling next to me whispering as the EMTs cut my shirt from my body. There was no recollection of being placed on a gurney and hauled off to the hospital.
Part of me had died here on this very spot.
Maybe the rest of me should have.
I kicked at a rock, missed, and jammed my toe into the ground. “Ow. Fuck,” I muttered.
This whole woe-is-me wallowing was really starting to piss me off, but I didn’t know how to climb out. Didn’t know if I could.
I hadn’t saved myself that night.
I hadn’t taken down the bad guy. Or even gotten a piece of him.
It was sheer luck that I was still here. Luck that the nurse’s nephew with autism had experienced a meltdown before bed while his aunt should have been getting ready for work. Luck that she’d helped her sister calm him before leaving.
I closed my eyes and dragged in another breath, fighting against the band of tension. A shiver rolled up my spine as the morning breeze evaporated the cold sweat drenching my body.
“Get a hold of yourself. Think about something else. Any fucking thing that doesn’t make you hate yourself more.”
Lina.
I was surprised where my mind landed. But there she was. Standing on the steps to my apartment, eyes sparkling. Crouched down next to me in that dirty warehouse, her mouth quirked in amusement. All flirtation and confidence. I closed my eyes and held on to the image. That athletic build showcased by body-hugging clothes. All that tan, smooth skin. The brown eyes that missed nothing.
