Chapter 7

SEVEN

Sabella

The darkness of water is bliss. It's weightless.

Freedom.

This darkness is different. It's heavy. A prison. It pins me down and glues my eyelids shut while dunking my head under the surface. All I want is to come up for a breath. I'm fighting, but it's stronger than me.

It takes every ounce of energy I possess to swim up from that bottomless pit of inky black liquid. Every movement is a battle against the density of the mass that keeps sucking me down. How can anything be so tiring?

Celeste's voice reaches me from the top of the well. "I don't think keeping her drugged is a good idea."

My brother replies. "It's a radical treatment but no different than one used for depression."

Mattie surfaces somewhere. "…think she has depression?"

Ryan again. "She's suffered severe trauma, that's for sure."

A woman cries softly. My mom. "It doesn't help that we can't give the doctor the full details. How is he supposed to treat her properly? And bribing him to do this to her?"

Something stirs in my memory, something that compels me to fight harder.

"Shh." Ryan's voice is hushed. "Not here."

"But two days?" Celeste's voice drifts back to me. "Two days in an induced coma sounds severe."

"It's for the best. At least it delays the police interrogation."

"…shock treatment. It gives the body and brain time to recover from an overload of…"

"Wait." My mom. Alarmed. "She stirred. I think she's waking up."

"…too soon. Get the nurse to…"

I'm reaching for the voices, trying to grip the edge of the well, but I'm sinking deeper again.

No.

Don't leave me here.

I swim harder, using all my might, but invisible fingers wrap around my ankle and pull me back into a dark hell from which I can't escape.

The fog lifts a little.I'm dreaming. I'm on the bottom of the ocean. It's dark around me, but I'm not alone. I sense his presence. He comes closer. I sense this too, even before the smell of cedar and citrus pierces the water. This isn't the cruel Angelo. This version of him is the one from before, the kind one who pretended to like me. The man who gave me a phone for no other reason than to get to know me is pulling me onto his lap and wrapping his arms around me.

He rocks me gently as I cry for that man, the one I lost. No, the one I never had, because he's not real.

"Shh, cara."

His lips are warm on my temple. It's comfortable in the heat of his embrace. I burrow deeper, losing myself in the safety of his arms. It's good not to swim so hard against the stream. I just want to rest here for a little while.

I drift closerto the surface. It's unbearably hot. How can I be burning up in the water? No. The fire comes from inside me.

The water smells like cedar and citrus. It doesn't douse the flames, but it soothes me. I inhale deeply, wanting to drag that fragrance into my lungs, and choke on a mouthful of seawater.

I'm drowning.

Panic grips me until a soft, warm mouth presses on my parted lips and feeds me air. Soothing hands hold me as I grab that air greedily, violently fighting to breathe.

"Easy. I've got you."

Something cool and wet presses on my forehead. Calloused fingers caress my neck. Refreshing drops dribble down my chest and roll over my stomach. I'm a starfish on the surface of the sea. I'm five years old, laughing while Dad teaches me to float on my back in the pool. The sounds of sobs reach my ears. Why am I crying?

I sink again. The hands that catch me are different. They're not Dad's. Angelo's face flickers through my memory. I recognize those hands, the only hands that touched me with pleasure. I give in to those hands, letting them carry me.

Sharp light infiltratesmy closed eyelids. Someone lifts my eyelids.

The light hurts. I open my eyes and blink a few times. The faces of the people around the bed come into focus. Ryan, Mattie, and Jared.

A woman I don't know switches off the penlight in her hand and removes nasal prongs from my nose. "There you go, sweetheart. Take it easy. I'm Dr. Stein, your anesthesiologist." She looks at Ryan. "Everything looks fine. Take a moment to get her settled." She pats my hand. "Your doctor will be here shortly."

Nothing makes sense.

Ryan takes my hand when she leaves. "Hey." He smiles. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty."

Mattie catches a tear under her eye with a finger and hands me a cup with a straw. The water tastes like honey. I've never sipped anything sweeter.

I look around, taking in the white walls and strange bed and starched linen. I have an IV tube in the back of my hand and a heart rate monitor clipped onto my finger.

My voice is croaky. It's difficult to speak. "Where am I?"

"In hospital," Mattie says, brushing the hair from my forehead.

I frown. "What happened to me?"

She looks at Ryan, bites her trembling bottom lip, and turns away.

Jared puts his arm around her shoulders.

Ryan is the steadfast one, the person who answers. "Your memory will come back slowly. The doctor says that's perfectly normal."

The note of caution in his voice scares me. What I should remember frightens me the most. I'm in the dark, even now in consciousness, and it's a scary place to be. I don't want to be there any longer.

A memory flashes through my mind, a picture of my dad lying in a pool of blood on the floor in his office.

It's horrible. Terrifying.

I blink it away.

The picture that replaces that dreadful image is one of Angelo sitting on the bed and holding me in his arms. Another flash of him giving me a sponge bath rushes to me from nowhere.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

The same image reappears, but this time, Angelo is kissing my forehead. I hear his voice.

Easy. I've got you.

And then he kneels over the body of my dad with a gun in his gloved hand, his black gaze blazing with a cold fire as he looks at me.

My eyes fly open. Bile pushes up in my throat. I gag. Ryan grabs something from the nightstand and pushes it in my hands. A metal bowl. Convulsions fold me double. My stomach is empty except for the few sips of water. Like the storm trapped inside me, nothing comes out.

Dragging in ragged breaths, I try to calm the heaving.

Ryan rubs my back. "Feeling sick is a normal side-effect of the drugs they gave you. It'll pass in a bit."

My eyes burn from dryness and memories. "I remember."

His face takes on a regretful expression.

"Where's Mom?" I ask. "How is she?"

"She's been here for most of the day," Ryan says. "I sent her home to get some rest."

I don't miss that he's not answering my question.

How is she?

Does she know? Does she know who killed her husband? Does she know that Dad didn't commit suicide?

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I push the questions and recollections aside. "I want to go home."

"Where is that doctor?" Mattie's eyes are red and swollen. "What's taking him so long?"

I look between my sister and my brother. "How long have I been here?"

Mattie shoots Ryan an accusing glance. "Two days, honey."

"Two days?" I exclaim. "Why?"

"You suffered severe trauma," Ryan says. "The doctor thought it wise to induce sleep to allow your body and mind to recover from the shock."

"I'll get the doctor," Mattie says, taking Jared's hand and pulling him to the door.

Jared gives me a strained smile. Straightening his glasses, he says, "I'm glad you're better."

Better.

It sounds so simple, so easy.

When they're gone, I look at Ryan, really look at him. The strain around his eyes isn't new. It's always been there. I just haven't noticed it before. Whatever my dad was involved in, my brother knew about it. Was he the only one who shared Dad's secrets? Or am I the only person in the family who's been left in the dark?

"Mattie shouldn't be here in her condition," I say.

"She's fine. The baby is okay. Jared is taking good care of her."

"We need to talk."

The set of his mouth is resigned. "At home."

The doctor enters, followed by my sister and brother-in-law.

"You're awake," the doctor says in an upbeat tone. Taking a penlight from his pocket, he flashes it in my eyes. "Your red blood cell count was on the low side when you were admitted. I'm going to run a few tests to make sure your mineral levels are normal. I'll prescribe an iron supplement, but you should also consult a dietician to work out a balanced meal plan.

"I'll have lunch delivered to your room. You've been on an intravenous drip for two days. Start with lots of liquids and go slowly with the solids until your digestive system has adapted. It's best to stick to bland food for the first week. Don't forget to make sure you're well hydrated.

"We'll keep you under observation for another couple of hours after you've eaten. If you keep the food down and your tests come back normal, you can go home. But I want you back here for a checkup in another couple of days."

My family gives us privacy while he takes a blood sample, checks my vitals, and tells me that my blood pressure is fine. They return when a nurse wheels a trolley with soup, a glass of juice, and a bowl of jelly and custard into the room. The doctor scribbles the name and number of a psychiatrist on a prescription sheet and gives it to Ryan.

"I recommend that you schedule a visit as soon as possible," he says with a pat on Ryan's back and a smile directed at me before he leaves.

Despite myself, I'm starving. I don't remember ever being this hungry. The food is tasteless, but I finish every morsel under Mattie and Ryan's scrutiny.

After eating, I'm suddenly exhausted again. Ryan switches on the television, and Jared offers to get everyone coffee from the vending machine.

I'm drifting in and out of awareness, doing my best to just survive and not to think for now.

It feels like hours later when the doctor returns to inform me that my test results are normal and that he authorized my discharge. A nurse removes the IV tube and tells me that I can get dressed.

"We'll wait outside," Mattie says.

Ryan's manner is quiet and calm. As always, it grounds me. "Your clothes are in the closet."

Mattie pushes Jared through the door. "Call if you need us, honey."

When we're alone, I turn to Ryan. "I think he was here."

He stills. "Who?"

"Angelo." The name gets stuck in my throat. I swallow around it. "I think he was here in the hospital."

Compassion softens my brother's face. "You were dreaming. Hallucinations are a known side-effect of the drugs."

"No." I shake my head. "This was different from dreaming."

"He wouldn't dare come here." A shutter drops in front of his eyes. "Not after what happened." Putting on a bright smile, he says, "Get dressed so that we can take you home."

Walking through the door, he closes it softly behind him.

I rub my hand where the IV was inserted. The needle left a small puncture mark. The skin around it is bruised, the blue already turning a greenish yellow.

I don't want anyone to help me dress—I hate feeling like a helpless child—but I'm dizzy when I sit up and swing my legs over the bed. The world spins a little as I make my way to the closet where I find a clean pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a sweater, underwear, and my toilet bag. Mattie or my mom must've been thoughtful enough to bring my toiletries and clothes.

I go to the en-suite bathroom to use the facilities, freshen up, and change. I'm dying to have a shower and wash my hair, but I'm eager to go home. For now, brushing my hair and my teeth will have to do.

My reflection stares back at me in the mirror. I don't recognize the woman with the pale skin and dark circles under her eyes. I don't want to look at her too closely because I'm afraid I'll hate what I see.

Not making eye contact with that woman, I brush my teeth and pull my hair into a ponytail. Then I untie the hospital gown at the back, free my arms, and let it drop to the floor. At the sight of my naked body, I freeze. I go cold. Colder still. So cold that it feels as if my veins are filled with ice.

The curls between my legs are gone. I'm bare, shaved clean. At the apex of my sex, the embossed white circle of Angelo's mark screams the truth.