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“Joy, listen to my voice. You're safe. You're at LeConte Medical Center here in Sevierville. Glenda is dead. She can't hurt you anymore.”

Graham. That was Graham's voice. But Graham couldn't be here. Graham was the one in the hospital, not me.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. Let me see those baby blues.”

The tenderness in his voice broke through the terror. Graham never used that tone with anyone else. Just me. My eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I forced them open.

Hospital room. White ceiling with fluorescent lights that made me squint. Machines surrounded my bed, their screens glowing with numbers and wavy lines. And there, sitting in a chair pulled close to my bedside, was Graham.

He looked terrible. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his left arm hung in a sling, and I could see the edge of bandages peeking out from under his shirt collar.

But he was real. He was alive.

“There you are.” Relief flooded his features as our eyes met. “How are you feeling?”

I tried to speak, but my throat felt raw and scratchy. Like I'd been screaming. Maybe I had been.

“Water,” I croaked.

Graham was already reaching for a plastic cup with a bendable straw. He held it steady while I sipped, the cool liquid soothing the burning in my throat.

“Better?”

I nodded, still staring at him like he might disappear if I blinked.

“Graham?” My voice came out as a whisper. “Are you real?”

His face crumpled for just a second before he caught himself. He reached out with his good hand and cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away tears I didn't realize had started falling.

“I'm real. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise.”

The warmth of his palm against my skin convinced me more than his words. Glenda's tricks were elaborate, but she couldn't fake this. The slight tremor in his fingers. The way his breath hitched when I leaned into his touch.

“What happened?” I searched his face, looking for answers. “How did I get here? How did you get here?”

“What do you remember?”

I closed my eyes and tried to piece together the fragments floating in my head. Running through the woods. The sound of gunshots behind me. Graham's voice shouting my name.

“I remember escaping. The woods. Glenda coming after me.” The memories felt fuzzy around the edges, like looking through dirty glass. “There was shooting. Lots of shooting. And then…”

I concentrated harder, pushing through the fog. More gunshots. The metallic taste of fear in my mouth.

And blood. So much blood.

“Oh God.” The memory hit me like a punch to the gut. “Glenda. She's dead, isn't she?”

Graham nodded, his jaw tight.

“There was blood on me. Her blood.” My voice cracked as the image crystallized in my mind. Glenda’s head… Oh God! The image in my mind made me gag.

The sobs came without warning, tearing out of my chest in great heaving gasps. Graham was out of his chair and perched on the edge of my bed before I could blink, his good arm pulling me against his chest.

“Shh, baby. It's over. She can't hurt you anymore.”

“I know I should feel bad that she's dead,” I hiccupped against his shirt. “But I don't. I'm glad she's gone. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“No.” His voice was fierce. “That makes you human. She terrorized you for weeks and weeks. She drugged you. She kidnapped you. You don't owe her your grief.”