“What the hell is going on in here?” Leonard asked, rushing in. “Maybe you should take this to the police station, instead of?—”
“Do your fucking job,” I said, cutting him off and pointing at Tate, “and figure out who the real killer is! Stop blaming me. Or else it’s going to keep happening, all over again!”
I stood to leave.Too quick.
The floor shifted under me, nausea roiling in my gut.
“You’re not thinking clearly. Are you ok?” Tate said, grabbing my arm to steady me. Leonard took hold of the other.
“I’m fine.” I jerked out of their grasp and stumbled away. It felt like the ice pick was lodged through my head and out my left eye. The whole back of my skull throbbed. “I just need to lie down.”
The floor shifted again, and suddenly I was on my ass, legs sprawled out and back braced against the wall. I could smell the warm, spoiled blood from earlier.
“Mike!” Leonard called out. “Something’s wrong!”
His voice was garbled and far away. I couldn’t open my eyes anymore—the overhead light was piercingly bright. “Turn it off, please,” I groaned, shielding my face with both hands.
Dad appeared in the doorway. “What the fuck did you do?” Dad snarled. I felt him kneel next to me. “Reece? Are you alright? What’s going on?”
I heaved in a deep breath so I wouldn’t cry. “I don’t know. I think it’s happening again.”
Ididn’t remember the drive back to Dad’s. Once inside, he handed me a glass of water and some pain relievers before sending me upstairs to sleep in the dark, cool loft.
Lying under the blankets with an ice pack on the worst of my throbbing head and neck, I sent a handful of frantic messages over MyChart to my neurologist and then fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning the whole time.
She called me later that day and calmly explained this was more than likely just a migraine attack.
“Pseudo-flare-ups aren’t uncommon, though. Patients with MS are particularly prone to temperature sensitivity, and symptoms lasting less than twenty-four hours after exposure to extreme heat should go away on their own without further intervention.”
“So I could get double vision all over again if I get too hot?”
“Yes, but flare-ups aren’t always the same as you’ve previously experienced. You could experience new symptoms as well.”
Great.“It could be brand-new!”wasn’t exactly comforting.
“But I don’t think that’s what’s happening, now. Hydrate, eat something filling and nutritious, and get some rest. We’ll send your prescription to the pharmacy in Ponderosa. Take care, Reece.”
Turned out she was right—it wasn’t happening again.
The migraine knocked me out for three full days, though. In my dreams, I’d wake up hot and sweaty in the lookout, eyes scanning for Charlie. I’d wander through the woods, searching for him behind blood-coated trees and in dense piles of leaves. Chunks of animal hair clung to my hands as I dug through them, but I never found him.
His chair remained empty, and the blanket he usually had draped around his shoulders was sprawled at the foot of my bed, lifeless and unused.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Now, it’s time to remove the spine.
Using your kitchen shears, start at the parson’s nose and cut up through the ribcage along either side. Don’t throw it out—save this yummy piece for stock!
“What the fuck is a parson’s nose?” I mumbled, glancing back and forth between the video demonstrating how to spatchcock a chicken and the whole, raw chicken sitting on the counter in front of me.
None of it looked like a nose.
Now that we’ve got that part out of the way, flip the bird over, and…
“Slow down!”
The cheery British woman in the video did not slow down and began smashing the chicken flat against the counter with an alarmingcrack!
