Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
LIAM
Sitting up makes me feel like I’m on the waltzers, the room lurching and spinning violently.
If I lie perfectly still, I almost feel like I’m okay enough to convince myself to move, only to realise real fast that I’m not.
Still, I need to try. Kat hasn’t called or texted since she left yesterday, and it’s the longest I’ve gone without contact since I found her again.
The pain of my injuries is nothing compared to the thought of her hating me.
So I push myself again, and almost get myself sitting before my stomach contents violently exit my mouth in a torrent of acrid liquid.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say to the nurse, Kim, collapsing backwards and wincing as I wipe my mouth.
‘What did I tell you, William?’ She rushes over and sighs. ‘Lie still before you do yourself another injury. You can’t push past a concussion, no matter how hard you try.’
‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ I say again, hating that I’ve made her job that bit harder. ‘I was trying to reach my phone.’
Kim shakes her head. ‘I don’t know what you did to piss off that sweet girl, but if she hasn’t answered the first twenty times, she might need a little space.’
‘I need her.’
‘You need to lie there and have a long, hard think about whatever led you to this,’ she says, gesturing at me in the bed before mopping up vomit with paper towels.
‘At least you didn’t hit the bed this time.
Stop trying to be Superman and realise that the sooner you behave yourself, the sooner you can go home. ’
I hate this.
Stuck in a bed. Unable to so much as go to the bathroom. Having to piss into a fucking bag. People flitting in and out, checking on me. Touching me. Eyes widening at my scars. The questions. And all without my girl. I can’t take it.
Kim finishes the cleaning and looks at me with an expression of pity that I detest. But she’s just doing her job. And she’s kind. It’s not her fault I’m such a monumental fuck-up.
Kim writes something on my chart before handing me my phone. ‘Keep your backside in bed, Clark Kent.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. All that for nothing. No text. No call. I pull up the map and see her dot in our flat. Which is only mildly reassuring, because I know we often leave our phones there when we are on the hunt.
I send another text. Another plea to get in touch.
The reply dots don’t reappear.
Tipping back against the pillow, I let my mind roll over the past few weeks.
The killing shouldn’t be hitting me as hard as it does.
I’ve done it plenty of times before. So it’s not the killing that’s causing me to freak out.
Is it who I’m killing? Seeing the faces I’d left in my nightmares again in the flesh.
Their added wrinkles speak of the years they’ve continued to hurt people.
I escaped, for a while, but plenty of others never do.
Like Sam. If my dad hadn’t died, maybe I would have.
And now I have more money than I ever dreamt I could. But at what cost? I have no future without Kat. She’s it for me. I can’t live without her. Even the thought of doing so makes my heart ache.
I imagine how she felt seeing me dumped in the alley, especially with all the other fears and worries piling up. If I’d seen her like that, I’d have gone berserk.
I did that to her.
Not Ashworth.
Not her parents.
Me.
Fuck. Panic rises, and I try to call her again, listening desperately for her voice. Ring after ring plays out until I hang up.
A moment later, my phone vibrates, and Kat’s name graces my screen. Hope surges as I click through.
KAT: Not ready to talk to you yet.
At least I know she’s okay. Mad but safe, I can deal with.
Another text comes before I can reply.
KAT: Can’t let what you did hold us up. Not with Ashworth on the case and Freddie sniffing around. They’ve linked the incidents on the news. We need to finish this. Seeing as you’ve taken yourself out of the game, I’m on my own for this one.
The fact that she’s even texting this, when we’ve been so careful, hits me hard. She’s not thinking straight.
I press the call button.
Voicemail.
LIAM: Kat, stop. Just wait for me.
Not delivered.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Locking my phone, I toss it on the bed, determined to get to my feet.
My ribs scream in my side as I force myself upwards, my breath catching.
Ripping my cannula out leaves a streak of blood dripping down my hand.
There’s a god damned catheter tube riding up into my robe, and the thought of tugging that out makes me hesitate.
Until I picture Kat. Alone. With one of them.
I don’t get the chance. When I move, my head spins, and a fresh wave of vomit hits the bed and the floor. There’s pain everywhere. Shaking, I try to push on, get one down, and force myself to stand.
That’s when Kim and a handful of other nurses fly into the room, one skidding on vomit and ending up doing a half split on the floor.
‘William, get back in bed,’ Kim demands.
‘Can’t,’ I say through a brilliant burst of pain behind my eyes. ‘Kat.’
‘She needs you to get better. Sit down.’
I shove her aside as I take a lurching step toward the door, a stand behind me crashing to the floor.
My legs buckle, and I catch myself against the bed, trying to find my breath. There’s nothing but pain where it should be.
‘I need help in here,’ Kim calls out, and I try to shake my head. I want to explain.
‘Help me,’ I say, taking another tiny step toward the door.
Then there are more of them, swarming me like ants. Hands pushing me back toward the bed. My thrashing is weak and inefficient, but I keep trying. I have to get to Kat. To stop her.
Kim is talking to me, soft and firm, but I can’t focus on the words. There’s a sharp pain in my left thigh, and I look down to see a needle in my flesh.
‘No—’ I shout. Except my shout is slurred.
Hands lower me into the bed as I lose the fight against whatever they’ve injected into me. My vision blurs as my limbs become useless. I feel like I’ve been disconnected from my body, and it’s terrifying.
I’m all too aware of them talking around me. Tutting while they clean up the mess I made and reinsert my cannula. Humiliation washes over me as they strip me naked and scrub me down before fitting me into a fresh gown.
My body is no longer under my control. I have no voice. No autonomy. I can’t help Kat.
The ceiling stares down at me in ageing squares of white while nurses move around me. They tighten straps I can’t feel around me, fastening me to the bed.
As they leave, I scream at them inside my head. Beg them not to leave me like this. It’s like being held underwater.
No one can hear me scream.