Chapter Three
Saved
My eyes roll back in my head. The strength in me is gone. The fight in me is gone.
I’m dying.
The sound of twisting metal grinds through my ears before a burning grip wraps around my body, and I fade into the darkness.
Sensing someone hovering over me, I force my eyes open.
I’m no longer in the car, but beside it, and the man-creature is staring down at me.
I gaze up at him as I cough and moan, the pain reminding me I’m still alive.
His tongue extends from between his lips and snakes its way to my waistband.
I stifle a cry as it slips beneath my leggings and into my underwear, where it flickers against my clit like a serpent, tasting me.
“Mmm,” the creature moans.
The roar of a motorcycle draws the creature’s attention away from me.
His tongue slithers out of my pants and retreats back into his mouth.
As the sound of the motorcycle grows near, he leans over me, his face in mine, and tightens his hand around my pussy.
“Mine.” Flames rise in his eyes, and I scream as he backs away from me and vanishes into the fire.
I toss my head back and cry out—screaming for my friend, screaming for Jayce’s betrayal, screaming for my life.
My head falls to the side, and the heat from the flames stings my face. It’s blurry now, the mangled car, the smoke and fire billowing around it.
Hands suddenly grab me, and the distance between me and the inferno that once was my car grows.
My back scrapes against the highway as someone leans over me, shuffling backward. I can’t see their face; it’s blurry along with everything else. My eyes are reduced to slits, barely able to stay open.
“Stay awake,” a man’s voice says as I close my eyes. “I’ve called 911. Help is coming.”
My leg shifts as the stranger tears the hole in my pants wide open. “I have to stop this bleeding.”
I sense his hesitation right before he says, “I’m sorry.”
A heavy pressure presses down on my leg, and I shriek, trying to reach for him to make him stop, but my arms won’t raise high enough; I’m too weak.
I writhe back and forth, barely moving, but it’s enough to ease some of the pain.
“Please, stop moving. I have to do this, or you’ll bleed to death.” The pressure returns, greater this time as he repeats, “I’m sorry.”
Blue and red lights flash around us and seconds later, two silhouettes appear above me.
“I’ll take over,” one of them says. The pressure on my leg releases only to return with force.
I cry out into the darkness that’s slowly taking over my vision.
A hand brushes my hair off my cheek before cupping my head.
“You’re going to be okay.” A face appears above me, shifting in and out of focus.
I catch a quick glimpse of him and realize he’s young like me.
My eyes drift past him to the sky, the moon a bright, beautiful circle drawing me to its light.
Everything turns black, and I feel myself letting go of this life. Voices shout, but they fade farther and farther away as I drift into the quiet darkness of death.
* * *
Beeping draws me from the dark into a blurry light.
Every inch of me is on fire, not just from the flames that scorched my skin but from the pain penetrating every muscle and bone beneath it.
A vice-like pressure squeezes my temples, crushing my head.
My eyes widen as I try to breathe, but a tube blocks my airway.
A figure appears over me, and a woman with a soft voice says, “Cough hard.”
I force out a cough, and the tube scrapes out of my mouth.
She turns away from me, and a man, wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck, says, “There you go.” He leans over me with a flashlight, his brows furrowing as he raises each of my eyelids and shines it into my eyes.
“You were lucky someone came by the accident when they did, or you wouldn’t be here. ”
Someone? What about the something that was there before that person arrived? Was that just a dream?
“Did I die?” I rasp out in a scratchy voice, my throat burning and raw.
The doctor sighs heavily before saying, “Yes, but we got you back pretty fast, so there should be no lasting effects.” He shifts his focus to my leg wrapped in bandages.
“I pulled out a three-inch piece of metal from your thigh, which did some damage, but I repaired it. There will be a scar, and the site will likely be tender for the rest of your life.”
I shake my head, trying to rid it of the fogginess. “How long have I been here?”
His hand grips my wrist and raises it. “Two days.” He turns my arm slightly, showing me the bandages. “You have some first and second-degree burns, which we’ve treated and will send cream home with your parents to apply in the places you can’t reach.”
My parents. The mention of their names sends a wave of panic and fear over me. I wrecked my new car. Not only that, I killed my best friend.
“The police want to speak with you as well,” the doctor says, drawing my eyes to his.
My heart pounds as the memory of what I did floods back in. The monitor beeps above me, alerting everyone that my vitals are going haywire. The doctor pats my hand and says, “Relax. They just have a few questions to clear some things up.”
I’m not ready to talk. What do I say? What do they know? Do they know I did it on purpose?
A man in khaki pants and a blue button-up shirt and red tie enters the room and stands at the foot of my bed, clipped to his waist, a gun, cuffs, and a shiny gold badge.
He nods to the doctor who does the same before exiting the room, leaving us to talk.
The light above him reflects off his shiny, bald scalp as he leans over and says, “Hello, Miss Salavatori. My name is Detective Peterson. I have a couple of questions about the accident.”
I rub the blanket covering me between my fingers, the friction heating them. “I don’t remember much,” I lie.
He nods and says, “Well, tell me what you do remember.” He seizes a chair from by the door and drags it to the side of the bed, scraping the floor the entire way, unnerving me.
I rub the chills from my arms and say, “We were at a party—”
“By the abandoned factory?” he interrupts.
I nod and continue. “The police came, and we ran. Maureen and I…”
My eyes flit to his. “Did you find her? She fell into the creek.”
He shakes his head. “We’re still looking.”
“She never wears her seatbelt. No matter how many times…” I choke on my words, a wave of fresh sorrow flooding through me.
“How did the accident happen?” His pen hovers over his notepad. “Did you swerve to miss an animal? Were you speeding and lost control? Because there are no skid marks at the scene indicating you tried to stop?”
I don’t reply. I keep my head down, focusing on my fingers. My breath catches in my throat, and the monitors start beeping again as my heart pounds. Under the nail of my right pointer finger is caked blood. “No,” I whisper to myself.
“No, what?” The detective asks, leaning closer and examining my fingertip. “Is that your blood embedded under there or…?”
This can’t be real. I didn’t make a deal with the creature sealed with my own blood, did I? If I did, where is he? Why hasn’t he appeared? What exactly did that piece of paper I signed say? I glance at the detective. Could he be it, using the detective’s body to torment me with questions?
“Look, I know you just woke up, but I need answers.”
“Maureen did it,” I lie again. “She was really drunk and grabbed the wheel while I was driving, making us swerve.”
The pen scratches across his notepad as he writes down what I’m saying. “And why did she do that?”
“She was trying to make the car bob and weave to the music that was playing, and she…”
A loud thump rattles the window, drawing our attention. The detective stands and peers outside. “Must have been a bird.” He turns back to me. “Your toxicology readings indicated your blood alcohol barely registered. Not much of a drinker, huh?”
“No.”
He stands at the foot of my bed, grips the rail, and says, “Who cut off your seatbelt?”
“What?” I ask, confused by the question.
The detective removes his phone from his pocket, turns the screen toward me, and shows me a photo of the melted seatbelt that has clearly been cut. “Who else was there? Because the paramedics and the Good Samaritan who stopped said you were already out of the car when they got there.”
“I don’t know. I told you, I don’t remember.” Another lie. What am I supposed to say? A man-creature must have cut me free with his talons and pulled me from the vehicle while I was blacked out?
My mother appears at the door, her eyes bloodshot and wet with tears. “My baby. Oh, my sweet innocent girl.” She wraps her arms around me, her embrace stinging my burned skin. Her eyes pierce through the detective’s, giving him a death stare. “Really? You couldn’t wait a day?”
The detective tucks the notepad in his pocket and shoots my mother a soft smile, “I think I have what I need.” He pulls a business card out of his back pocket and holds it out to my mother. “In case she remembers anything else.”
She refuses to take it, her mama bear instincts kicking in, not allowing her baby cub to experience any more trauma. “Leave it there.” She nods to my bedside table.
The detective sets the card on the surface and slides it toward me with two fingers. “Call me.”
I look away from him. I’ll never call. Not a chance.
“So, now that he’s gone, who was the third person at the scene?” My mother asks, raising her eyebrows.
I don’t like lying to her, never have. She can sniff out a lie better than a hound can sniff blood.
I close my eyes and decide to tell her the truth about what I saw inside that car—what it did to Maureen, to me.
I open my mouth to speak, and an alarm sounds overhead.
The lights dim, then flicker, and a static voice crackles over the PA system in the hallway. “Code Red. Lobby. This is not a drill.”
A nurse speeds into our room, “Stay here. We’re sheltering in place. There’s a small fire in the lobby.” She exits the room, closing the door behind her. Another door slams outside my room, and another as the staff goes room to room and door to door, securing patients.
As the alarm overhead continues to screech, the fear inside me builds, and I don’t know why. I want to go home and crawl under the covers where it’s safe.
My mother places a reassuring palm on my forehead. “It’s going to be okay.”
I force a nervous smile, and after several agonizing minutes, the alarm falls silent. The door swings open, and a nurse peeks in. “All set. Someone turned on the lobby fireplace, and a magazine left on the hearth caught fire. They think a draft may have blown it toward the flames or something.”
My mother thanks the nurse and stands. “Well, it’s getting late. Your father will be by tomorrow to see you.” She kisses my head and combs my hair with her fingers. “Love you, Tessa bear.”
“Love you too.”
She strolls through the doorway and vanishes around the corner.
I stare at the blank television screen, my eyes stuck and watering.
My chest tightens, and I clutch it as I sob uncontrollably.
My friend’s dead, my boyfriend’s a cheater, my car’s totaled, I’m in the hospital, and all I can think about is the man-creature that saved me.
His words filter into my head, and goosebumps raise the hair on my arms. He said I belong to him now.
What does that even mean? And him tasting me, what was that all about?
A shift in light draws my attention to the open door. The hallway grows darker and darker until there’s nothing but a black opening where the door should be.
I grip the sheets beneath me, my nails folding over as a soft orange glow lights up the blackened space.
My heart races, and the monitors above me bleep their warnings to whomever will listen as a single burning piece of paper floats into the room, landing on the floor beside my bed.
Etched on its surface in black jagged letters is one word.
Mine.