6. Knox

Chapter Six

KNOX

S omething’s wrong.

I can feel it.

Feel it right down to my bones.

I’ve been sitting in the waiting room of the clinic for almost forty minutes now and Hazel still hasn’t come to get me.

She’s never late.

Never .

Even that first time we met she was only a minute past the appointment time, and since then, she usually comes to get me at five to.

It’s twenty after.

I know today is a busier for Hazel, a day where she sees most of her clients back-to-back, but even when she’s gone over before, she always pokes her head out of the door right on time and lets me know her client went past their hour or whatever.

To make matters worse, I messaged Sunny on a whim, tried to see if I was right about my gut feeling since there are so many parallels I can draw, but she didn’t respond either and now I’m convinced they’re the same person, my person who something is definitely wrong with.

Fuck .

I get to my feet and start pacing.

Hazel is here. I know that for sure because I parked my Cadillac next to hers, the model a lot older and way bigger than mine still sitting in one of the three spaces designated for the clinic.

The front of the building was unlocked, the sign clearly turned to open and based on the soft music playing in the waiting room, she’s already finished with Mr. Willis because she’s switched from his preferred smooth jazz to the classical shit she plays in between appointments.

Personalized playlists are just another of the many thoughtful things Hazel does for her clients, me included.

It would feel almost wrong to just barge through the door and potentially walk in on someone else’s session but I’m so close to exploding, so anxious there’s no way I’ll be able to get through mine let alone wait out here any longer.

That settles it .

I lock the front just in case something is way more wrong that I anticipate, stomp my way to the door, and take a deep breath.

One I basically spit out when I find the clinic totally empty.

Out of habit, I kick my shoes off, avoid the urge to straighten them out against the wall, then start looking under tables as if that sprite of a woman is hiding from me.

I check all the cabinets like an idiot because while Hazel could most likely fit into one as well as come up with a reason to do so, she’s not that quirky. And just when I’m about to call the fucking cops, I hear the most pitiful moan from behind the door to her apartment.

“Hazel?” I knock, then wait. “Hazel? It’s Knox. Are you?—”

“Help!”

The sound was muffled some and a touch quiet, but I know I heard it.

“Hazel!” I pound on her front door. “Hazel, baby, are you okay?”

“Help, please!”

My hand lands on the knob and when it turns, I throw it open, searching for a damsel in distress.

But I don’t find one. Just two very concerned cats that are running back and forth in a frenzy along the length of the studio.

“Hazel!”

“Knox? Oh, thank God. I’m in the bathroom!”

Given there’s only one other door and her apartment is tiny as fuck, I make it there in basically two strides. “Hazel? Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

“I need help.” She sounds terrified . “The door is?—”

Well, it was locked, but I’m big and anxious, so I threw my good shoulder into it and practically busted the damn thing off the hinges.

“Are you...” Oh fuck me .

My brain momentarily short circuits with the many emotions that flood it in that second.

There’s blood on the floor.

Not crime scene level, but there’s enough to make me panic, and that’s not all.

Hazel is also on the floor, the lower half of her body in the still running shower, the upper bent awkwardly over the slight step up into the stall.

She’s naked and wet, her ivory skin covered in goosebumps and tinted blue, and shaking something fierce.

Her wide green eyes blink up at me, tear stains on her cheeks, and when she lets out a relieved, albeit pained, sigh, her teeth chatter.

Fuck .

“Hazel.” I cut the water, then drop to the floor next to her, my heart pounding in my ears. “Sweetheart?—”

“I can’t get up.”