Chapter 7 Burned
On Sunday evening, I cleaned the apartment and scrolled through job ads until my eyes blurred. My heart and soul felt shattered, but I kept telling myself it would get better. I would get better. I had to.
I’d find a job. I’d enjoy the outdoors again. I’d start over.
And maybe one day, I’d be happy again.
Nick would always be a part of me. I would never forget him or the love we’d shared.
But how could he not trust me? How, after four years, could he think so little of me?
Did he even know me at all?
I had to let him go.
I had to move on.
And if I said it enough times, maybe I would start to believe it.
Out of habit, I glanced at my phone. It was always on silent now. The hateful calls and messages had made sure of that.
I really needed to change my number, but I didn’t have the money.
One notification caught my eye.
Sent ten minutes ago.
Unknown number: You need to come outside. Urgent. It’s about Payton.
My stomach tightened.
Another message appeared.
Unknown number: If you care about the truth, meet me. It’s time you knew what really happened.
I hesitated, staring at the glowing screen. But a moment later I grabbed my jacket and keys, stepping into the hallway before I could talk myself out of it.
Outside, the air was cool and still. Streetlights flickered against the empty road, painting the cracked pavement gold. The neighborhood was silent.
“Hello?” I called, scanning the shadows.
No answer.
Then a sound.
Tink.
A small metallic sound echoed from the alley beside the building. Not loud, like a coin flicked against metal.
Someone was there, half-hidden in the shadows.
I stepped closer, slowly.
“Hello? Are you the one who sent those messages?”
The figure didn’t move. Not until I was only a few feet away.
Then it happened fast.
An abrupt snap of motion. An arm jerking up. Something glinting in their hand.
A sudden splash.
I flinched hard, twisting on instinct, but the liquid still hit the left side of my face and chest. Heat exploded across my skin, a burning so sharp it stole the air from my lungs.
I staggered back, choking on a sound that barely made it out of my throat.
“Ah—God—help!”
The bottle clattered to the ground.
The figure was already running, disappearing into the dark.
Gone before I could even understand what had just been done to me.
I fell to my knees, screaming, the world spinning in a blur of pain and light.
“Help!” I choked, clutching my face. “Somebody—please!”
Doors opened. Voices shouted. Someone threw water on me, trying to rinse the acid off, but it only spread the burn.
I screamed until my throat gave out.
Then everything went black.
Time stopped meaning anything after that.
I drifted in and out of consciousness for what felt like days.
Pain.
Darkness.
More pain.
Voices I couldn’t hold onto.
When I finally woke fully, the world felt wrong. Heavy. Muffled. Like someone had stuffed cotton into my senses and sealed the edges shut.
Bandages wrapped half my face and chest. My left eye was sealed under layers of gauze.
“Try not to move,” a nurse murmured beside me, her voice soft. “You’re stable now.”
My throat felt scorched when I tried to speak. “Where…?”
“You’re at St. Andrew’s Hospital,” she said. “You were brought in Sunday night. You’ve been sedated most of the time. Your burns were severe.”
Sunday night.
How long had I been drifting in that void?
“What day is it?” I asked, my voice rough.
“Thursday,” she said gently. “You’ve been under for four days.”
Four days.
I swallowed, the movement sending a bolt of pain down my neck. “And my eye?”
She hesitated. Just for a second, but I caught it.
“The doctor’s on the way,” she said. “He’ll explain everything.”
When the doctor came, she explained the bandages. How they were protecting the skin. Protecting my eye while everything tried to heal.
The ophthalmologist said it was too early to know the full extent of the damage.
Words like chemical burns and skin grafts blurred together, fragments trying to push through the rising panic buzzing in my head.
Tears slipped from my good eye.
When the doctor finally asked if I needed anything else, I managed a single word. “Painkillers.”
The nurse touched my arm gently. “We’ll keep you more comfortable now that you’re awake.” She adjusted my IV, then paused. “Oh. I should tell you. You had visitors while you were unconscious. Your parents came the morning after your surgery. And a man came by, separately.”
My heart reacted before my mind could stop it.
Nick.
Maybe he had come. Maybe he had realized—
“Did he… say his name?” My voice cracked.
She nodded. “Thomas Hale.”
The breath left me in a slow, hollow exhale. Something inside me sank.
Of course it wasn’t Nick.
Of course he hadn’t come.
Why would he?
“We told him you weren’t awake yet,” she said softly. “He stayed maybe ten minutes. He looked… very worried.”
I stared ahead, saying nothing.
She guided a straw to my lips. “You should try to rest now. Let your body catch up.”
I closed my eye.
Not because I was tired.
Because there was nothing left to hold onto.
The next morning, a knock came at my door.
The nurse peeked in first.
“Detective Monroe is here to speak with you,” she said. “Just a few questions, if you’re up to it.”
I nodded, even though my throat still felt like sandpaper.
A man stepped in. “Miss Richards,” he said. “I’m Detective Monroe.”
A brief pause.
“I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.”
He pulled up a chair and sat at an angle, not too close, like he was trying not to crowd me.
“I know you’ve been through a lot,” he said, flipping open a small notebook. “But we’d like to go over what you remember about the night of the attack.”
I swallowed, the motion painful, and forced myself to speak.
I told him about the messages. The one that said it was about Payton. The unknown number asking me to come outside.
I told him about the alley. The metallic sound. The flash before everything burned.
He listened without interrupting, pen moving steadily across the page.
“Do you still have the messages?” he asked.
“My phone…” I trailed off. “I dropped it. I don’t know.”
“We recovered it,” he said. “It’s in evidence now.
I’ll have the tech team analyze it once we have your permission and passcode.
So far, we’ve traced what we can.” He glanced down at his notes.
“CCTV from the main street picked up someone heading toward the alley, but the alley itself has no working cameras. It’s a dead zone.
Witnesses saw a hooded figure running away.
No clear face. The bottle was recovered.
The lab is testing it for DNA and fingerprints. ”
My pulse sped up. “So they just… got away?”
For a second, something softened in his expression.
“I can promise you, I’ll do everything I can to solve this case,” he said. “We’ll keep you updated, Miss Richards. And if you remember anything, no matter how small, call me.”
He placed his card on the nightstand.
Then he stood and left, the sound of his shoes fading down the hall.
The room felt too quiet after he was gone.
The nurse came in a moment later to check my IV, but I barely noticed.