Chapter 5
IVY
This isn’t the same room I was in before, was it?
It all comes back to me in a rush. The nurse, those two cops, the news that my father is dead, and that strange man with his constant questions and the needle in my arm. I’m tied to the bed again, but rather than being cuffed to a metal frame, I’m handcuffed to a wooden headboard.
At a glance, this room resembles the hospital room I woke up in previously but it’s also… different. The lighting isn’t as harsh, the bedsheets are softer, and the dark paneling on the closed door resembles something in a hotel rather than a hospital.
What is this?
No, it doesn’t matter.
I need to get out of here.
I need to get out and find a doctor or a phone to call the police and tell them what happened. I have to find out what happened to my parents.
Tears come as soon as my mom and dad enter my mind and a deep ache opens up in my chest. It’s like a black hole that’s drawing me in, twisting me from the inside, and I almost wish it would hurry up and swallow me so I don’t have to feel it.
My head throbs in pulses matching the pounding of my heart, and my ankle pulses hot and uncomfortable, as if it’s being held over an open flame.
None of it matters.
Sitting up, I turn to the best of my ability and examine the metal circling my wrist. It’s cold and narrow.
No matter how hard I tug, there’s no way for me to slip my hand through.
A small chain links to the other cuff wrapped around the wooden slat, and when I pull hard on that, the wood bends ever so slightly.
It’s my only chance.
After ripping the I.V. from my arm, I twist my hand around until I’m able to grasp the chain with one hand, then I enclose my fist over my knuckles and pull as hard as I can.
It’s not very hard at all.
My bones are like jelly, my muscles aching and tired. Each tug sends the metal cutting into the bone of my thumb, and that pain only seems to amplify the pain I feel everywhere else.
But once I start, I can’t stop.
I become possessed with the desire to escape and start throwing my whole weight behind each pull.
The pillows shift and the blanket slips from the bed while it rocks back and forth with my movements.
I pull and pull, straining with all my might until blood trickles down my wrist from where the cuffs slice into the thin skin of my wrist.
It doesn’t stop me.
Back and forth I rock my body, jerking and twisting and pulling with strength that rises up from the hollow pain in my chest.
Then, finally, wood splinters. It cracks under one pull, snaps under another, and then suddenly, the wooden slat breaks free of the headboard as I throw every last ounce of strength behind the pull.
Unfortunately, I’m overzealous and as the wooden slat finally snaps, freeing me from captivity, the momentum of my pulling sends me tumbling back over myself and out of the bed.
I hit the floor with a thump, broken ankle first, and the lash of white-hot pain through my foot and calf draws a pained scream from my throat.
I slam both hands over my mouth to drown out the scream while tears of pain spring into my ears and leak down my cheeks.
Oh, God, it hurts.
It hurts so bad I might throw up.
Fire rages through my broken ankle and crawls up my leg as I lie there, crumpled and panting.
The cold floor seeps through the thin fabric of the hospital gown, numbing my thighs as I sit there.
It’s almost comforting, and I yearn for the numbness to spread to my ankle and soothe it, or up to my pounding head.
It does neither.
They’re both fires of their own, ravaging my body with pain. Through it all, oddly, the sharp ache in my elbow where I ripped out the I.V screams the loudest in my mind.
“Up,” I croak, as if hearing myself speak will encourage me to move. “Get up, Ivy.”
It works. After removing the broken wood from the end of the handcuffs, I use the bed to haul myself up onto my feet with a muted whimper of pain.
I got out of bed. Now I need to get out of this hospital.
Being as mindful of my broken ankle as I can be, I hobble to the door and rip it open.
Instead of being faced with a long, bright hospital corridor filled with medical staff and patients, sickening white light, and a colorful line on the floor to guide me to safety, I’m greeted with something else entirely.
A carpeted hallway stretches in two directions, with warm red walls and rather expensive-looking ceiling lights twinkling with warm orange bulbs.
There are a couple of doors the same shade of brown as my own, and a sweetness clings to their air as I hobble out.
Plush carpet fibers hug my bare toes as I take one limping step, then another.
Bracing on the wall for support, I drag myself down the corridor toward the brightest light at the end.
What kind of hospital is this?
What did that man do to me?
Tears continue to leak down my cheeks and I sniffle, trying to keep my eyes clear, but it’s not until a dark shadow falls across the mouth of the hallway that I realize the pain in my head is making it hard to see.
The glare from the lights increases so I close my eyes, shake my head, and open them again.
Details in the distance fade in and out as the shadow starts to grow bigger and bigger. My heart pounds and my hand slips against the wall, sending my weight painfully onto my broken ankle.
Pain squeals out of me and I gasp as my leg gives way, but before I hit the floor, strong arms sweep around my waist and lift me clean off my feet.
I look up and it’s him.
The man from my room.
The man who held me down and shoved a needle in my arm.
For a few seconds, I see him as clear as day.
Light brown hair that sweeps down and frames his face in straight strands, deep blue eyes set in golden skin, a shadow of facial hair clinging to a square jaw that jumps as he clenches his teeth. He has a small scar under his right eye in the shape of an arrow.
I didn’t notice that before but this close, face to face, it’s impossible to miss.
Those few slow seconds finally pass and terror grips me like a vise. I start to struggle. “Let me go! Let me go! I want to get out of here, let me go!”
My screams don’t appear to affect him and my demand to be released quickly becomes louder as this strange man ends up throwing me over his shoulder like I’m some kind of sack of grain.
He wraps one arm around my thighs and holds me tight while nausea pulls through my gut and my head spins at suddenly being upside down.
“Put me down!” I scream, hammering my hands at his back. “Put me down, put me down and let me go! No! No, I don't want to be here! I don’t want to! Put me down, you bastard, put me down!”
It’s unclear that he’s carrying me back to that room until he throws me down onto the bed and my hair sweeps across my face, blinding me completely.
That doesn’t stop me from fighting. I punch and kick and roll over, struggling and fighting against his hands on my waist, then my shoulders.
Then a rough palm grips my forearm and jerks my arm above my head, where a painfully familiar cold ring of metal seals around my wrist.
“No! Fuck you! No! You can’t tie me up here. You can’t keep me here! Let me go! Let me fucking go!”
My good foot finally collides with something soft and the man grunts, his presence vanishing from over me. I toss my head back and forth until enough of my long hair has fallen from my face.
He stands a foot away from my bed, massaging his crotch with a wince. “That’s a good kick.”
“Come closer and I’ll show you how good it can be when I can see what I’m aiming at,” I snarl.
The man shakes his head and winces. “No, thanks.”
As I sit up, my hospital gown slides down my thighs and pools at my waist. I quickly cover myself up but just as my struggles renew, pain pulls deep through my skull and down the back of my neck.
It calms me instantly and I sink down into the pillows with a wince. “Ow.”
“You’re a danger to yourself,” the man says. “It won’t do you any good to fight it.”
“Why?” I groan as the edges of my vision light up like someone is standing just out of sight with a flashlight. “Does it ruin your fun? You want to drug me again?”
“I did that for your own safety,” he replies.
“Sure. Like this is for my own safety.” I rattle my bound wrist against the cuffs. “If you… if you want money, I have none. If you want anything else then… then…”
“Stop,” the man interrupts me quickly, still massaging his crotch. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“Then why am I here? Where even is here? Why have you tied me up? Who even are you?”
He straightens up and takes one step closer to the bed. “My name is Ruslan, and believe it or not, I’m trying to save your life.”
The only thing that stops me from fighting back is the pain in my ankle and in my head.
This stranger, Ruslan, talks to me about how important it is for me to keep the I.V.
in and to eat something, but the thought of doing anything just because he asked me to aggravates me, so I refuse.
Until the nausea from being upside down is too much and Ruslan rushes to untie me in order to drag me into the small ensuite.
We make it just in time, and I throw up nothing but bile until I’m raspily gasping for air.
This time when he carries me out of the bathroom, he doesn’t take me to the bed. He takes me out of the room and the hallway passes in a daze until cool air brushes against my bare arms and legs.
I blink, and we’re outside. A darkening sky stretches out above me as Ruslan places me down on a wooden bench situated on a small balcony that overlooks the entirety of New York City. Night is falling and the city is coming alive with lights and sounds.
Car horns, brake screeches, and the subtle, low hum of a million voices rises like music from the city below, and it’s familiar.