“Hold still for a count of ten. This is the last image I need.”
The loud noises come from every direction. A single tear trails down my right temple. It’s so bright in here, even with my eyes screwed shut. The cacophony from the machine turns into a hum so strong, it vibrates through my entire body. It goes on and on…for hours…even days…
“Your sacrifice will bring about salvation…”
The man’s voice chills me straight through. My stomach twists in on itself like I haven’t eaten in forever. I can’t get out. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. My fists hit wood. It’s so hot. Then freezing cold. My wrists ache. My hands. My head. Oh, God. I’m going to die in here…
“Grace!”
The bright lights fade away. My chilled skin warms where strong arms wrap around me. A wet nose presses to my calf, followed by a solid weight and wiry fur under my fingers.
“Come back to me, Grace. You’re out. The scan’s done.”
AJ.
I open my eyes. The panic and fear etched on his face ease only slightly when his gaze locks on mine.
“You were screaming.” The words are like gravel spilling from his throat. “Begging. ‘Make it stop. Please. Make it stop.’”
Chapter Thirty-One
AJ
Belle’s soft snores rumble at the foot of the bed, her paws twitching in some happy dog dream. Chasing squirrels, probably. Or tennis balls. She loves tennis balls.
My laptop is warm against my thighs, the glow of the screen the only light in the room. I’ve been up and working for hours, but Grace hasn’t stirred.
Hearing her broken, whimpering cries from inside the MRI machine destroyed me. She couldn’t tell me why she was screaming, “Make it stop.” She couldn’t say much of anything beyond, “Take me home.”
Jasper left his truck in the garage and drove us home so I could hold her. She clung to me, staring vacantly into the distance, not a single flicker of recognition in her eyes.
Was it a mistake to bring her to the hospital so soon? Reyes told me not to wait. That he’d done his best, but he wasn’t a neurosurgeon.
I should have known she wasn’t ready.
As soon as I helped her into her pajamas, she curled into a ball under the duvet and fell asleep. I didn’t even have time to get her a glass of water and one of the Xanax Dr. VanHorn prescribed for her.
I kept watch over her long after exhaustion tried to pull me under. But eventually, I wrapped my arm around her waist, buried my face in her hair, and let the nightmares come for me.
In every one, when I woke up, she was gone.
She’s going on almost fourteen hours of sleep, and I’ve spent the past five of them searching for any and all cult activity from Austin to the US-Mexico border.
Even after so long, her face looks…hollow. Like sleep can’t touch the bone-deep exhaustion that comes from constantly trying to remember who she once was. Or what was done to her.
Now on my second cup of coffee, I rest my back against the headboard and take a long, slow sip. On screen, a slideshow of the bloodstained dress Grace was found in, the burlap bag, and the white and gold rope plays on a loop. I keep hoping I’ll see something—anything—that might help me figure out who took her. And whether they’re still out there.
A ping breaks the quiet. A new email from Reyes.
AJ,
I received the toxin results from the lab this morning. Grace consumed a concentrate of oleander nectar before she was stabbed. It was strong enough that, had hypothermia not slowed her metabolism, her heart would have stopped before the blood loss killed her. I hope all is well, and that Grace’s memories are returning.
Respectfully,
Alejandro Reyes
Oleander. Again.
