Chapter 1
Jessie hunched against the pain, cradling her right arm against her abdomen. She eased down the bus steps, trying not to jar her ribs. Pain still jolted through her head, side, and wrist.
The doors slapped shut behind her, brakes hissed, and the bus lumbered away, leaving her in a shroud of exhaust. A heavy mist—typical of Seattle’s weather even in mid-July crowded around her.
She peered across the parking lot, studying the entrance of the University of Washington Medical Center. Illuminated red letters spelling Emergency bled through the dense fog. An ominous shiver raced through her as the shadows closed in.
“I’ll kill you if you leave me.”Patrick’s threat rang in her ears.
Her feet remained rooted to the sidewalk.
One hundred yards to freedom.
She stepped off the sidewalk.
“You can’t escape me.”Again Patrick’s words stopped her.
Jessie balled her sweater in her fist.
“You deserve better than this, honey.”Her mother’s words echoed in her head.
Years of being beaten and controlled weighed her down. How many times had Patrick convinced her she deserved everything she’d suffered at his hands?
She placed one foot in front of the other.
Never again.
How many times had she promised herself that?
“I mean it this time.” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears. The dense fog smothered her words. She swiped at the tears that wet her cheeks. “Never again,” she said. Louder this time.
The words didn’t instill the confidence she needed, but she forced herself to increase her pace.
This wasn’t the first time she’d gone to the hospital after one of Patrick’s beatings.
This is the last, she promised herself. All she had to do was tell the truth. It had been easy to lie last time because she really had fallen down the stairs—with Patrick’s help.
Jessie stumbled as she caught sight of her reflection in the glass doors. She squinted through her black eye at her limp matted hair and split lip.
Clenching her jaw, she walked through the door and approach the reception desk.
The receptionist’s eyes raked over Jessie. She frowned as her gaze settled on Jessie’s battered face. “How may I help you?”
Jessie sucked in a deep breath. A sharp pain pricked her side. “I think I have a broken wrist.” Jessies voice emerged high and squeaky.
There was a possibility she had a couple of broken ribs as well, though experience suggested they were only bruised. They weren’t nearly as painful as the last time Patrick kicked her and broke two of her ribs.
The receptionist studied the way Jessie cradled her arm against her abdomen. She fired off a series of questions, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
Jessie recited her name, birth date, address, and insurance information.
“How did you sustain the injuries?”
Goosebumps raced up Jessie’s spine. She shivered and hugged herself, taking care not to jar her wrist.
“I’ll kill you if you leave me, Jessica.”
Fighting the urge to run, Jessie dried the palm of her uninjured hand on her pant leg. The room spun, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. She braced herself against the counter and stared at the clock on the wall behind the receptionist. Tick. Tock. The big hand jump from one little black line to the next.
