Chapter 49 Vivian
Vivian
Present Day
The series of loud clangs that interrupt the silence begins to occur with regularity. It’s a tune of sorts, Vivian realizes one day with a start. She quickly grows tired of it. Vivian doesn’t like to rewatch a movie she’s seen, let alone listen to a song on repeat.
But something about the sound tugs at her subconscious, like an impatient child vying for her mother’s attention.
And then it comes to her: It’s the church bells from King’s Chapel Parish House in Beacon Hill.
They ring each day at noon. She hears them from her storefront; they serve as her daily reminder to eat lunch.
The realization is startling. She tries to sit up but finds she cannot. It’s like she’s paralyzed. No, not quite—she can move her fingers and toes. Thank God. It’s more like her brain is sitting outside her body, a deconstructed turkey on a platter.
Where am I??
The church bells conclude, and in the too-quiet silence that follows, she gradually becomes more aware of her surroundings. The sheets beneath her that are too soft and satiny to be hospital-grade. A hard plaster cast that encompasses her wrist.
And then, the rustling in the room.
I’m not alone.
Fear prickles through her body.
She wills her eyes to open, but they won’t obey. Even so, a shadow fills her vision, like a dark cloud crossing the sky. A figure. A stranger.
Someone who now touches her hand.