Chapter 10
A little after midnight, Mom called and announced that the tornado watch had escalated to a warning.
“Make sure you get someplace safe, like in a closet or under the stairwell,” Mom had admonished with the shrill hiss of fear in her voice.
Jules assured her that they would stay on top of the situation.
Brock insisted that he and Luke sleep in the living room so they could keep an eye on Jules and Nikki.
Nikki had been sleeping in the guest room upstairs. Jules’s bedroom was on the first floor. “Maybe Nikki should sleep in your bedroom tonight,” Brock suggested. “It’s not good to be on the second floor during a tornado warning.”
“That’s fine with me,” Jules said, even though she wasn’t keen on the idea of Nikki sharing a bed with her. Nikki snored like a buzz saw. Still, she couldn’t put her own comfort over her cousin’s safety. Exhaustion was settling in. Her left shoulder was throbbing, and her pelvis ached. She needed to take a couple of ibuprofen tablets before going to bed.
“You look tired,” Brock observed.
“I am.” She used the back of her hand to stifle a yawn. “Goodnight.” She reached for her crutches and used them to get up off of the armchair. In another day or so, she’d start weening herself off the crutches. She couldn’t very well use them at work, so she needed to practice for a few days beforehand. It was only Tuesday. She had a little less than a week to get stronger. She could do it. “Nikki, would you get out the extra blankets, sheets, and pillows and help Brock and Luke get situated?”
“Sure thing,” Nikki answered.
Jules was hobbling into the kitchen when Brock caught up with her. “What do you need?”
“A couple of ibuprofen.”
“Where are they? I’ll get them for you.”
“It’s okay. I can get them.”
“I’ll do it,” he insisted. “Where are they?”
“In the cupboard to the right of the fridge.”
“Okay, go on to your room, and I’ll bring them to you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Just so we’re clear, being Mr. Nice Guy is not going to make me change my mind about us getting back together.”
His eyes swirled with amusement. “Just go to your room. I’ll be there shortly.”
“I’m going,” she chimed. She took a couple of labored steps and then stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. “Oh, one more thing.”
He raised both eyebrows.
“Thanks for all that you’re doing.”
His expression softened. “You’re welcome.”
She was being burned alive.
Every nerve in her body sizzled with agony as fiery flames ate at her skin, searing muscle and bone. She tried to move—tried to pull free—but she was trapped.
Her mind grappled to make sense of what was happening.
One minute, she’d been sitting calmly at the red light, talking to Nikki. The next, her entire world exploded in a storm of glass and steel, a thousand shards slicing her skin like razors.
Tears slipped down her face as she twisted her head, trying to figure out what to do. Every inch of her body screamed in protest. Blood rushed hot and fast to her head.
She realized with a jolt that she was upside down.
Acrid smoke filled her nostrils. The bitter stench of gasoline stung her throat.
She had to get the door open. She had to escape.
She slammed her hand against it.
A jolt of white-hot pain ripped through her left shoulder. She cried out, clutching it instinctively.
Panic gnawed at her. How much time had passed? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?
Movement caught her eye. Through the cracked windshield, she saw someone coming towards her.
“Help,” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. Her throat was so shredded that she could hardly make a sound.
She tried again, louder this time. “Help!”
The man kept coming, footstep after footstep, slow and deliberate.
Relief surged through her.
Until she saw it.
A flicker of metal.
Her heart nearly stopped.
He was holding a gun.
Terror exploded inside her, worse than the fire, worse than the pain. Was he the one who had hit her? Was he coming to finish what he started?
She opened her mouth to scream again—but it came out as a strangled sob.
The man’s shoes crunched on shattered glass.
She strained to lift her head, but she couldn’t see his face. Only his feet. Step. After. Step.
The car rocked violently as if some monstrous force had grabbed it and was shaking it apart. Metal groaned and screamed around her.
Another window shattered. A shower of glass rained down needles.
The next second, she was running.
Ignoring the pain, she pumped her legs faster, but the man was on her heels. His footfalls were echoes in an empty chamber—impossibly loud. Thunderous even.
"Jules!"
The screech of her name ripped through the air, cutting through the chaos.
“Oh, no. Oh, no!” For a second, Jules thought she was the one repeating the phrase, but it was someone else.
She bolted upright in bed with a scream, gasping for breath.
For a moment, she couldn’t orient herself. Darkness pressed in from all sides. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, a sticky sweat drenching her skin.
“Oh, no.” Nikki was standing at the foot of the bed. Her hands went over her mouth.
It pinged through Jules’s mind that Nikki’s panicked words had penetrated her dream. She looked around in a daze, trying to figure out what was happening. Then, she saw the jagged edge of a tree limb piercing through the window of her bedroom. The blinds were a tangled mess of slats and strings with rain blowing in.
Jules pressed a trembling hand to her chest, willing her heart to slow down. It was just a dream.
But the terror—the smell of smoke—the flash of metal—the memories clung to her, refusing to fade. For a second, she was thrust back into the car, and the man was coming towards her.
Wait.
The man.
He had a gun.
She searched her brain. There was something she was supposed to remember about his feet or the way he walked. What was it?
A rapid succession of footfalls sounded before Brock came bursting in with Luke close on his heels.
“What happened?” Brock glanced around as if ready to act. Then he saw the tree. He looked from Nikki to Jules. “You guys okay?”
“Yeah,” Jules sighed, still trying to control the trembling in her body. “We’re okay.”
Urgency coated Brock’s voice. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Numbly, Jules scrambled out of bed.
“The power’s out,” Nikki exclaimed in dismay.
A little while later—after she and Nikki had gotten situated in the living room with candles lit to stave off the darkness—Jules turned to Brock, who was sitting next to her on the couch.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” Her heart quickened as scenes from the nightmare flashed through her mind.
He shifted towards her, waiting. The only indicator of his readiness for her to spill the news was the slight twitch of his jaw muscle. His masculine features were sharper than normal in the flickering light from the candles. Being here with him like this was surreal.
“Something came back to me in a dream.” She hugged her arms, wishing she could go back to before—before Lisa Randall died after surgery. Before Brock broke her heart. Before her body was injured and hurting. Before terror was eating away at her and threatening to be her undoing. “The hit-and-run wasn’t random,” she said hoarsely. “It was Steve Randall, and he wants to kill me.”