Apartment 214

PROLOGUE

Beeping pierced the silence, pulling me from the depths of darkness. I fought to open my eyes, but harsh light sliced into my vision, making me recoil.

Panic tightened my chest as I squinted to block out some of the glare, desperate for clarity. I turned my head, searching for something. I couldn’t say what, but nothing was clicking at the moment.

My throat was dry, parched like the desert, and a bitter, medicinal taste coated my tongue. I pushed against the mattress, trying to sit up, but a sharp tug on my arm stopped me cold.

My heart raced, beating like a wild drum in my chest as I looked down. Wires tangled from my chest and arm, and an IV needle was taped to my elbow, dripping something into my veins.

My breathing kicked up, and I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to get my bearings, but the beeping didn’t stop, and my thoughts wouldn’t settle long enough for me to make sense of anything.

I clawed at the edges of my own mind and came back with nothing. Something had happened, something bad, but my brain was a locked room I couldn’t get into.

I forced my eyes open again and looked around the room. The chair beside the bed was empty.

No one was here for me? No one cared? Where was my family? I wondered.

The realization that I was alone made my breathing falter for a second before picking back up. The machines around me started beeping faster, responding to the spike in my heart rate.

I knew I was in a hospital, but I didn’t remember how I got here. My last clear memory… I had no clear memory. My mind only drew blanks.

I reached down and started ripping at the wires attached to my chest, my fingers fumbling with the adhesive. One came free, then another. The monitors screamed in protest, their alarms blaring like a siren.

I looked across the room, searching for anything that could ground me in reality. That was when I saw a calendar mounted on the wall opposite the bed. My gaze locked on the date, and the wind was knocked right out of me.

The year had changed.

Not just the month. The entire year.

But how did I know that when I didn’t know much of anything else, not even my name? I couldn’t say, but it felt right, and I always followed my instincts.

I stared at those numbers as if they were written in a different language. December had bled into January, which meant... how long had I been here? Days? Weeks? Months? The thought sent ice through my veins, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe fast enough.

I had to get out.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and slid down until my feet hit the cold floor, then pushed myself upright on legs that had forgotten how to hold me. A hospital gown was all I had on, and the back of it hung open, exposing skin I didn’t remember being this scarred.

I ignored it and looked around frantically. A chair in the corner of the room held a black duffel bag. I crossed the distance in three strides and snatched it up. Inside were clothes. Real clothes. Jeans, a black hoodie, underwear, socks. Even a pair of sneakers, laced and ready.

Someone had left this for me. Someone who knew I’d wake up, and I didn’t waste time wondering who.

I peeled off the hospital gown and dressed quickly, my hands shaking as I pulled everything on. I was halfway through tying my second sneaker when the door swung open. A nurse in pale blue scrubs stepped into the room, her eyes widening the moment she saw me standing there fully clothed.

“Ms. Holiday, you need to get back in bed,” she said, moving toward me with her hands up in a placating gesture.

Holiday? I turned the name over in my head until I remembered my name was Konika… Konika Holiday.

“The doctor hasn’t cleared you for—” the nurse started to say, but I pushed past her, my shoulder brushing hers as I bolted for the door.

My body felt weak and uncoordinated, like I was operating a machine I’d never used before, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug. It carried me through the doorway and into the hallway beyond.

“Ms. Holiday, wait!” the nurse yelled behind me.

Her footsteps were quick, but I could tell she wasn’t running.

Up ahead to the left was an elevator, and to the right was a set of double doors marked “STAIRWELL” in faded letters. I bolted for the stairs as the nurse’s voice grew more insistent behind me.

“Ms. Holiday, please! You’re not stable enough to leave. You could hurt yourself.”

I didn’t look back. Couldn’t afford to. The moment I hesitated was the moment they’d get their hands on me, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.

For some reason, I knew I hated hospitals. A face flashed in my mind. A woman. My heart warmed. She was someone close to me.

My momma?

Yeah, that was it. The woman was my momma.

I remembered how the doctors had let her die. They had said her cancer was aggressive and there was nothing they could do for her. They didn’t even try.

Why would I believe they’d be different with me? I didn’t trust it.

The stairwell door was heavy, and I had to throw my full weight against it to open it. My shoulder screamed in protest, but I didn’t feel much pain.

I took the stairs two at a time, driven by pure desperation. The handrail was cold under my palm as I pulled myself down, down, down.

My chest heaved, and my head started to pound with every movement. I couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t think about anything except getting out.

My foot missed the next step, and for a moment that stretched like taffy, my body was weightless. My hand tore free from the railing, and I went tumbling down the concrete stairs.

My ribs cracked against the edge of a step, my shoulder slammed into the wall, and stars exploded across my vision. I braced for the sickening crunch of bones breaking, but my body hit the landing hard instead, knocking the wind clean out of my lungs.

I lay there gasping, my ribs on fire, trying to figure out which parts of me were still in one piece.

I wasn’t broken. Not yet, anyway.

I pushed myself up on my elbows, my breath coming in ragged pulls. My shoulder throbbed where it had connected with the wall, and my ribs felt like they’d been worked over with a sledgehammer, but I could move. Everything still bent the way it was supposed to.

I dragged myself to my feet using the railing, my legs unsteady beneath me.

The adrenaline was wearing thin, and every bruise, every cut, every place my body had been put through hell screamed for attention.

But the stairwell door to the ground floor was right there, maybe twenty feet away. Freedom beckoned.

I didn’t know where I was going or what awaited me outside, but hiding here would mean facing a past I couldn’t remember. Whatever waited for me on the other side of that door, I would confront it head-on. I had to.

With one last push, I lunged toward the door, my breath coming in desperate gasps as I pushed it open.

This was my chance to get far away from here, and I refused to let it slip away.