Chapter 23 Annabelle
I wake to the sound of measured, mechanical beeping. Something’s clamped tightly around my wrist—plastic cuff, cool metal. My chest screams the moment I shift. Every inch of me aches—muscles stiff, skin chafed, throat raw like I swallowed the river.
The bed creaks. My head turns—or tries to. Tape pulls like it’s ripping skin off the back of my neck. An IV drips next to me. Sterile air swells with antiseptic and metal. The scent hits like déjà vu—riverside blood, panic, rot.
My vision swims.
“Derek?” My voice barely makes it out.
A groan. A shift. The faintest rustle of sheets, and I turn, heart leaping to my throat, head throbbing like bomb’s about to go off.
“Derek?” I try again.
He stirs. Groggy. Eyes swimming as they try to find mine. A wince cuts across his face. His ribs must be screaming. Still, his hand stretches toward me, slow and shaky, until our fingers touch. Just barely.
“Hey,” he rasps.
God. That sound. I nearly sob. “I thought I’d wake up six feet under.” I force a laugh, brittle and shaking. “This is… nicer.”
His lips twitch, but the movement looks like it hurts. “What happened? How’d I get here?”
I shut my eyes tight, trying to recall the somber morning. The bomb in my head goes off and it all rushes back.
“You passed out before the ambulance came,” I whisper. “They put you in the back with Blake. I passed out in Misty’s ambulance. She lost a lot of blood. You slept all day and night.”
He jerks upright—too fast—and gasps. “Blake? Is he?—?”
“He’s alive.” I squeeze his hand. “Still unconscious, but stable. ICU. They think it’s secondary drowning, but he’s holding on.”
I try to smile. It wobbles.
“And Misty?’ He asks.
“She had surgery yesterday—shattered arm and a dislocated shoulder. They said she came through fine, but she’s probably sleeping now.” I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. “She hasn’t seen Blake yet. I don’t even know if they’ve told her everything.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” My thumb rubs slow circles against his knuckles. “Not after the river.”
The door swings open with a knock and a click, and Caroline storms in like a warrior, rain dripping from her coat. Her belly appears first, then tablet in one hand, and scowl on her face follows.
“You two are gonna make me earn my damn fee, huh?”
I lift my head. “Why are we cuffed?”
She lowers herself into the visitor chair with the determination of a woman who’s heavily pregnant and over everyone’s shit. A small grunt escapes as she settles. She swipes the rain off her tablet with the cuff of her sleeve. “Because the justice system’s allergic to nuance.”
She tosses a manila envelope on the tray table, eyes narrowed. “Rick Bishop’s lawyer turned in parts of your journal. Pages were found in a plastic bag in the river. They’re using them to build murder charges for Huntz, and possibly Mike Bishop, depending on the autopsy.”
My heart seizes.
“M-Mike’s dead?” Derek’s voice cracks.
Caroline nods. “Pulled from the river around noon. Gunshot to the shoulder, likely drowned. The coroner’s still confirming cause of death, but it complicates everything.
They’ll try to paint it as murder. Self-defense won’t be enough unless we lock down every detail.
Emma’s getting in touch with Cash Wagner to help out. ”
I blink, willing my stomach to stop turning. I didn’t pull the trigger. But part of me wanted to. Part of me still does.
“Misty only fired a warning shot,” Derek says.
“She fired, it hit him, he fell in the water, and then he died,” Caroline says. “ Doesn’t matter if the boat spun him off or if he slipped. Prosecutors love a neat story, and this one’s messy. And Intent won’t matter if the DA’s aiming for headlines.”
I tighten my grip on Derek’s hand. “What about Rick? Where is he?”
“Still missing and on the run. There’s an active warrant and search underway.
” Caroline’s nostrils flare. “His lawyer’s stonewalling.
Claims he hasn’t heard from him, but I’m not buying it.
Technically, attorney-client privilege still applies, even if the client's wanted. I can’t force disclosure unless we catch him or the lawyer screws up. ”
I stare at the tablet she’s holding like it’s a weapon. “So we’re being dragged through hell while the guy behind all this sits safe with a lawyer on speed dial?”
She shrugs. “Welcome to the American justice system.”
Derek growls, quiet and low. “Unreal. How long do we have?”
Caroline doesn’t blink. “The hearing’s in five days.
Thursday morning at nine. Judge Holloway.
Courtroom 2. We’ll file a motion to toss the journal pages for hearsay, lack of context, and chain of custody.
But you’ll remain cuffed until the bail’s approved.
” She turns to Derek. “Once you’re stable, they’ll transfer you to county.
Annabelle stays here under observation.”
She slides the tablet between us. “I need written statements from both of you. Detailed timeline. Everything that happened. Every word said and every threat made. Don’t leave out a damn thing.”
Five days. Five. That’s less than a week to lock down every interaction in perfect order.
I nod. “We’ll write everything.”
Caroline’s gaze meets mine. “You’ll testify to the journal’s disappearance and your relationship with Mike.”
The nausea returns.
My stomach twists so hard I think I might throw up. The word relationship feels like poison in my mouth—too small to hold the bruises, too tidy to explain the cage I lived in. My vision blurs for half a second, and I grip the bedsheet like it might keep me from unraveling.
“I will,” I say, even as the words drag thorns across my throat.
“I want to go see Blake.” Derek sits up, but the cuff yanks him short.
The door opens again, and Misty’s wheeled in by an officer. Her leg is casted, arm in a sling, and one wrist shackled to the chair. The officer hovers in the doorway like he’s guarding a crime scene.
“I was just there. There’s no change,” Misty says. Her smile is brave, but her eyes—raw and red—betray her.
“Blake…” I breathe out broken, and jagged.
“There’s no change?” Derek asks.
She shakes her head.
I can’t hold back. The tears fall, hot and fast.
“And you?” I whisper as Caroline parks Misty’s wheelchair closer to my bed. “How are you holding up?
She swallows hard, eyes shimmering with grief she can’t quite contain.
“I lost our baby.” Her hand moves to her belly—empty now. A ghost of what could’ve been.
Time stops.
She closes her eyes for a beat. And for that heartbeat, she looks fragile enough to shatter.
Derek flinches beside me. I swear I hear something crack inside him. A grandchild gone before he learned what it felt like to hold that future in his hands.
Loss swells in my throat, thick and unspoken. I blink hard, but it doesn’t stop the heat behind my eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, reaching for her. Our fingers lock.
Misty’s tears fall too fast to hide, but she swipes them away, shoulders straightening.
“I’ll be okay.”
She’s lying. That kind of grief doesn’t settle overnight, but I nod anyway.
The silence between us grows thick—grief curling into the corners of the room like smoke that won’t clear. None of us know what to say next, and maybe there’s nothing left to say. Just the weight of too much loss pressing down, waiting for something else to break.
Caroline clears her throat. “The trust disbursement is paused until your marriage is legally recognized,” she says, voice clipped. “And Derek—your loan payment is due today.”
I watch him go still. Not just quiet—still, like a wire pulled too tight.
His jaw clenches. His shoulders lock. I swear I can hear his pulse thundering across the room.
Pressure clamps down on my chest, like a vise closing around everything we’ve built.
The bakery. The orchard. The future we just started dreaming out loud.
All of it sputtering like an engine one breath away from stalling out.
Misty shifts, digs into her hoodie pocket, and pulls out an envelope, handing it to Derek.
“I paid it all off this morning.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Family’s worth more than debt.” Her voice cracks, but she pushes on. “You two need a fighting chance. And Blake might need that money to fight, too. The money from the land Huntz left should go to something good. I never wanted it, but if I’m gone… I won’t need it.”
“Gone?” Annabelle lifts.
Misty hesitates, her gaze falling to her lap.
“After the hearing and once I’m cleared, I’m leaving town for a bit,” she says quietly.
“I’m scared to stay. Rick knows I’m Skylar Bishop.
Part of me thinks I need to leave—go somewhere safe, at least until Rick is found.
But I can’t stand the thought of leaving Blake’s side right now.
I… I feel lost. I don't know what to do.”
My stomach sinks.
“He looked at me like I was the answer to every twisted question he ever had. I can’t stay here and wait for him to find me again.
I need space. A chance to have...any kind of life after this.
Caroline and Emma are arranging protective custody or a safe house until Rick’s caught.
Unless he shows up to court, which... I doubt. ”
I squeeze her hand tighter. “No. Stay in Lords Valley. It’s your home. We’re your family.”
But Misty shakes her head. “Everything I’ve lost is here,” she says. “And I’m tired of losing. We don’t know when Blake will wake up and I need space. I need... To breathe.”
The ache in my chest sharpens, like grief grinding bone against bone.
Derek reaches over the bedrail and takes her other hand. “You don’t have to do it alone. We’ll protect you. You shouldn’t be out there without backup.”
Misty shakes her head. “I need to not be hunted. Just for a while. I need to find out who I am when I’m not… Someone else’s secret.”