I rub his chest. “Take it easy. Don’t speak.” I grab the canteen and shake it. One more drink between the two of us. I unscrew the cap and hold the lip to his mouth. “Open up, Griff.” He takes a small sip and tries to push it away. “No—”
“Save it, Shay,” he coughs.
I shake my head, trying to focus on his face but tears blind my vision. “One more sip and I will.” I coax, wiping my eyes on my arm.
He takes another before his hand comes up to grip my shirt in a tight-fist and he tries to lift his head. “I’m sorry, Shay, I tried to save him. I fucking tried,” he coughs, dropping his head back down.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him, not sure who he’s referring to. We were alone here. How we got here I didn’t know. Where here was didn’t register either. All I knew was I needed to save my best fucking friend from dying on me.
“I tried, man,” he repeats, lifting his other hand.
My eyes widen. “What the fuck?” I push away from him, dragging myself on my hands and ass.
“I tried, Shay.” He turns, crawling toward me, waving the severed arm of a baby as he does. “I fucking tried.”
“What the fuck, Griff. Stop, man,” I roar, ignoring the harsh sting of the sand against my hands as I scramble to get away.
Cursing, I jump up and I come face to face with Skye. She’s crying as her hands lift. “I tried to save them, Shay.” She waves the severed arm of a baby in one hand and Griffin’s head in the other, his features curved in his usual smirk. “I tried, Shay.” She steps forward.
Something pierces my arm, my eyes snap down as blood begins to pour from a tiny hole. “Help me, Blue!” I scream, my body snapping upright, my chest heaving, sweat pouring from my heated skin. “Griffin, where the fuck are you? Blue,” I whimper her name over and over. “The baby. They got my fucking baby. They got Blue. They got Griffin.”
“Calm down, Shay, it’s all right, you’re all right. It’s just a sedative,” a deep voice coaxed.
Gentle hands grasped my shoulders guiding me backward. “Listen to me, son. Focus on my voice.”
When my head touched the softness of a pillow, I swallowed the anxiety sitting in my throat. “Dad?” I blinked several times, trying to determine if it were another ploy to get me to speak.
“Yes, son, it’s Dad.” A hand closed over mine, gently squeezing. “Look at me, Shay.”
Slowly, my vision began to clear. “It’s you,” I suffocated on my tears.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, he nodded. “Yes, it’s me. You’re in a hospital.” He squeezed my hand again, holding on tight.
“Why am I in a hospital?” Slowly, I rolled my head from one side to the other, taking in the light gray walls, cool air swishing through an cooling unit, the soothing beep of machines. White curtains, opened with just a thin beam of light peeking through, framed a large window. Next to me and opposite Dad, stood a tall man with a white coat, thick black glasses and a friendly smile.
“You were caught in a nightmare, Shay. Given your experience, it’s bound to happen,” he said, his German accent profound.
“Nightmare? Experience?”
He nodded, writing something in the chart he held in his hand. “You’ve sustained an injury to your left leg.”
Automatically, my eyes flew to my legs, covered by a light gray blanket. I tried moving them. A single stream of pain raced up my leg and I winced. My gaze snapped to the doctor, my expression questioning.
“You’ll need some physical therapy to regain your strength, but in a couple of weeks, you should be up and walking.”
“Should be?” I snapped, wanting out of this bed now and Dad squeezed my hand, his expression begging patience.
“All in good time.” The doctor patted my shoulder.
I tensed. “What the fuck does that mean?” I growled, my free hand flexing.
Unfazed, he exchanged a look with Dad then smiled at me. “I’ve given you something to calm down, but we need to run some more tests. Okay?”
Annoyed and accepting he was just doing his job, I nodded then turned to Dad as the doctor left. Trying to piece memories together that for some reason seemed scrambled right now, I asked, “how’s my son, dad?”
He attempted to mask his confusion with a smile. “Shay, it’s been three years since the baby...”
I examined his face for clues. “Three years for what? Why can’t I remember? Where’s Skye?” I searched the empty space behind him.” Again, he just shook his head. “What are you not telling me, Dad. Did they get her?”
