Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
My head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. The throbbing pain pulsed behind my eyes in perfect rhythm with my heartbeat, each beat sending fresh waves of agony through my skull. I tried to open my eyes, but the world swam in and out of focus like I was looking through water.
Where was I?
The question floated through my foggy brain as I fought to make sense of my surroundings. This wasn't the hospital. This wasn't Graham's house. The air smelled different. Pine and dust and something else I couldn't identify.
I was lying on something soft. A couch, maybe. Something warm and scratchy covered me. An afghan. The kind Little Grandma used to make.
I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. The world tilted sideways, and my stomach lurched in protest. But worse than the nausea was the realization that something was wrong with my hands. They wouldn't move properly.
I tried moving them, and I couldn’t pry them apart.
Aw, shit.
My wrists were tied.
The memory crashed back like a slap to the face: Glenda. The parking garage. The syringe. The trunk.
Panic shot through me, cutting through the drug-induced haze like a knife. I jerked against whatever was binding my hands, and fresh pain exploded through my head. My ankles were tied too. The rope wasn't tight enough to cut off circulation, but it was secure enough that I couldn't slip free.
“Oh, thank goodness you're awake.”
Glenda's voice came from somewhere behind me. I turned my head, fighting another wave of dizziness, and found her sitting in a wooden chair about ten feet away. She was still in that silly, ruffly, flowery apron, but her hair was mussed and her eyes were rimmed red.
“I was getting so worried.” She stood up, wringing her hands. “You've been out for hours. Much longer than the first time.”
The first time. Right. She'd drugged me twice now. No wonder I felt like death warmed over.
“My head,” I managed to croak. My voice sounded like I'd been gargling with gravel.
“I know, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I think I gave you too much this time.” Glenda moved closer, her face creased with genuine concern. But that didn’t matter. She still had me trussed up like a turkey and would probably want to wear me like a skin suit before it was all over.
I shuddered. I was really scared. More scared than I had been in London.
I looked at her apron again. It was falling off her right shoulder.
I thought about that poor woman in Dublin and what she must have gone through. Certainly not being forced to bake pineapple upside-down cake with a demented Betty Crocker, so I needed to quit my whining.
A low moan escaped my throat as another wave of pain crashed through my skull.
I moaned.
“Oh, you poor baby.”
I winced. This wasn't acting. Whatever she'd given me had hit me hard this time. But maybe I could use that to my advantage.
I remembered what Graham had told me about staying strong.
About how I was tougher than I thought I was.
About how I'd survived London and I could survive anything.
I thought about Little Grandma's fierce love, the way she'd believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself. The warmth of their faith settled me.
I could do this. I had to do this. Play victim. Get free. Take down the crazy bitch.
“Glenda,” I whispered, letting my voice shake. “I feel really sick.”
“Oh no.” She rushed over to me, her hands fluttering around my face. “What kind of sick? Nauseous? Dizzy?”
Before I could answer, my stomach betrayed me for real. The bile rose in my throat with no warning, and I turned my head just in time to avoid puking all over myself. The vomit hit the hardwood floor with a wet splat, and the gross smell made my stomach heave again.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Glenda's voice went high and panicked. “This is bad. This is really bad. I'm so sorry, Joy. I'm so, so sorry.”
Tears streamed down her face as she ran to what looked like a kitchen and came back with a handful of paper towels. She knelt beside the couch and started cleaning up the mess, her hands shaking.
“I should have been more careful with the dosage.” She was talking more to herself than to me now. “I looked it up online, but I must have read it wrong. Oh God, what if I gave you too much? What if I permanently hurt you?”
I let my head fall back against the pillow, playing up my weakness. But inside, a small spark of hope flared to life. She was scared. Scared that she'd hurt me, scared that she'd done permanent damage. I could work with this.
“Water,” I croaked. “Please.”
“Yes, of course. Anything you need.” Glenda dropped the soiled towels and hurried back to the kitchen.
I used the few seconds she was gone to take stock of my situation again.
I remembered everything now. We were at a lake house.
I’d been able to see the lake from the kitchen table.
Now all I could see through the windows were trees.
We were isolated, which was bad for me but probably exactly what Glenda had planned.
I needed something to cut through my bindings. But first, I had to get Glenda to leave me alone long enough to find a knife.
She came back with a glass of water and a worried expression.
“Here, let me help you sit up a little.” She slipped her arm behind my shoulders and lifted me gently. The movement sent fresh waves of nausea through me, and I didn't have to fake the groan that escaped my lips.
“I don't think I can keep anything down.” I let the weakness in my voice sound real. “My stomach feels like it's trying to turn inside out.”
“Maybe if you just take tiny sips?” Glenda held the glass to my lips.
I took a small mouthful and immediately forced myself to retch it back up. The water splashed onto my shirt and the couch, and Glenda jumped back with a cry of alarm.
“It's not working.” I closed my eyes and let my head loll to the side. “Everything just comes right back up.”
“This is all my fault.” Glenda was pacing now, her voice getting higher and more frantic with each word. “I should have stuck with the original dose. I should have been more careful. What if you're having an allergic reaction? What if your brain swells? What if—”
“Glenda.” I forced myself to look at her, to make my voice as gentle as possible despite the very real pain in my head. “It's not your fault.”
She stopped pacing and stared at me. “What?”
“This isn't your fault. You love me. I know you would never do anything to hurt me on purpose.” God, I deserved an Oscar for saying that with a straight face. “You're just trying to take care of me.”
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “I am. I love you so much, Joy. I just wanted us to have time together without all the distractions. Without him pulling you away from me.”
“I know.” I let my eyelids flutter close, like I was struggling to stay conscious. “But I think I need something for my stomach. Maybe some ginger ale? Or crackers?”
“I don't have any ginger ale.” Glenda's voice was thick with tears. “I should have thought of that. I should have prepared better.”
“What about Sprite? Seven-Up? Anything with bubbles might help.”
“No, I don't have anything like that. Just water and some lemonade I made. How about scones?” She was wringing her hands again.
“God no!”
I forced myself to dry heave again, my whole body convulsing with the effort. It wasn't entirely fake. The combination of whatever drug she'd given me and the stress of the situation had my stomach in knots.
Glenda was pacing again, her movements becoming more agitated. “This is a disaster. I planned everything so carefully, and now I’ve poisoned you.”
“We’re not sure you’ve poisoned me.” I made my voice as weak and reassuring as possible. “This happened to me once before when I had my wisdom teeth out. The anesthesia made me really sick for hours. But I was fine the next day.”
It was a lie, but it seemed to calm her down a little. She stopped pacing and looked at me with desperate hope.
“Really? You think it's just a reaction to the medication?”
“I'm sure of it.” I let my head fall back against the pillow again. “You know me, Glenda. You know I wouldn't lie to you. This isn't your fault.”
The absolute conviction in my voice seemed to be exactly what she needed to hear. Her shoulders sagged with relief, and she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“You're so good to me,” she whispered. “Even when you're sick, you're trying to make me feel better. That's why I love you so much. You have such a pure heart.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming. Instead, I forced myself to smile weakly at her.
“I just need to rest for a little while.” I let my eyelids drift closed. “Maybe if I sleep it off, I'll feel better when I wake up.”
“Yes, that's a good idea. Sleep is probably exactly what you need.” Glenda pulled the afghan up to my chin, her touch gentle despite everything. “I'll just sit right here and watch over you. Make sure you're okay.”
That wasn't what I wanted to hear. I needed her to leave me alone, at least for a few minutes. I lay still for several minutes, trying to even out my breathing and make it look like I was falling asleep. But I could feel her eyes on me, watching my every breath.
This wasn't going to work. I needed a different approach.
I let out a small whimper and shifted restlessly on the couch. “I think I'm going to be sick again.”
“Oh no.” Glenda's voice was immediately full of concern. “Do you need me to help you sit up?”
Instead of answering, I let my body go completely limp. My breathing became shallow and rapid, and I made sure my face was turned away from her so she couldn't see that my eyes were slightly open.
“Joy? Joy, can you hear me?”
I didn't respond. I let my body stay slack and unresponsive, like I'd passed out.
“Oh God, this is bad. This is really, really bad.” I could hear her getting up from her chair, her footsteps moving around the room. “Joy, wake up. Please wake up.”