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 somefirst 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?”
