3. THREE

THREE

I wake up in Rancho San Flores.

Or at least that's what I think when I first open my eyes and take in my surroundings. White room, white sheets, shitty mattress and pillows. Then, I try to move and realize I'm covered in wires.

I'm not in Jurassic Park—I'm in a hospital because those assholes gave me kiwi, and I almost died wearing a sequined sombrero. My throat is still sore; I feel faint. On the side table, there's a bottle of water with pink lipstick around the ring, the same shade my mother wears, and a vase of flowers.

I grab the card, open the envelope, and pull out the note.

I bet your throat would have felt really good closing up around my cock like that.

-B.S.

What.

When I glance back at the table, there's a kiwi sitting next to that lipstick-stained water bottle. Suddenly, I'm not so thirsty anymore. I think I'm—I think it's happening again. I set the card down beside the flowers and look around the bed for that remote thing with the call button. Those are still a thing, right? But my head is swimming, my vision blurry. If it's there, I certainly can't find it.

An alarm blares from the monitor behind me, and a few seconds later, a nurse enters the room.

"You're up," she says cheerfully. The woman crosses the room toward the monitor on the far side of my bed. I follow her with my eyes and watch her morph into a tiny blonde girl in a leather skirt. I blink hard, and when I open them again, she's back to her normal self. "Blood pressure drops after anaphylaxis are normal, but you should lie down."

I do as she asks, and she grabs a clipboard and a pen, scribbling for a couple of minutes before asking, "How are you feeling, Teagan?"

"Um, lightheaded, but not terrible," I tell her, my voice raspy and strained. "Am I going to be able to go home soon?"

"I think they're going to want to keep you overnight," she says. "You had a really serious episode, and we'll need to monitor you for a biphasic response."

"So, that's going to happen again?" I ask.

"It can."

"Awesome."

My mom steps into the room with a coffee in hand. "Hey, you're awake!"

"Yep."

"All right, Teagan. I'm going to let the doctor know you're up, and he'll probably be in to talk to you soon."

"Thank you," my mom says as she leaves the room. "Where did these come from? Did Blakely send them?"

"What?"

The flowers. She's talking about the flowers. Quickly, I turn back onto my side and reach for the card.

But there is no card. There's no kiwi, either. There's only the flowers and that half-empty water bottle with the lipstick ring around the lid.

I'm losing it. I'm losing my mind. Maybe I'm crazier than I thought.

"Huh. No card. Maybe they just put them in all the rooms. They look nice, though."

"Yeah, maybe."

"I'm so sorry, Teagan."

"My fresh start isn't off to a great start, is it?"

"What's odd is that the restaurant uses a premade margarita mix that doesn't even contain kiwi. They said they don't have kiwi in anything on their menu at all. But the doctor says sometimes these allergies and subsequent reactions can worsen as you get older. Someone must have had some on their hands or it may have even been shared equipment at the packaging facility."

"Can I get some water?" I ask. "Sealed water, please?"

"I have water right here," she says, indicating the bottle on the table.

"Yeah, I don't…no, not that one."

Sorry, Mom. It's not you. It's just that I hallucinated a kiwi propped against it a few minutes ago.

"Sure, honey. I'll run down and get you one."

Once she leaves the room, I roll onto my side, and my hand brushes up against the remote I searched helplessly for minutes earlier. A chill runs up my spine, but I quickly put it out of my mind and turn on the TV in front of me.

I flip through the channels for a few seconds before a marquee headline catches my eye: "Former Gods of Tomorrow Blood Cult Member, Hazel Pinault-Hollis, Speaks Out."

I think I'm choking again. Am I imagining this, too? Why would she do that?

"And tonight, we're bringing you an exclusive first: Hazel Pinault-Hollis speaks out on her experience in the Gods of Tomorrow Blood Cult in an exclusive interview with Brandy Brookfield, airing tonight at nine PM. Hazel and her wife, River, lived with Declan De Rossi for almost a year and were with him the day the De Rossi brothers boarded a plane and disappeared last spring…"

The screen cuts to an image of Hazel and River, a selfie, smiling at one of the shows. That crushing feeling at the center of my chest—the one that was constant for months and almost killed me—is back again. I hear the doorknob turn and, panicking, quickly change the channel, stopping on one of those home renovation shows.

My mom enters the room with the doctor trailing behind her. She hands me a bottle of water before sitting in the chair beside my bed, and, with shaky hands, I unscrew the top and force it down. I try to focus on what the doctor is saying, but I can't hear much over my escalated pulse and the blood pumping in my ears. All I can think about is that Hazel is going to be on TV. I'm going to see Hazel's face and hear her voice…if I can get everyone out of my room.

What is she going to say?

I nod, pretending I understand everything I'm hearing, but I do hear that I will be kept overnight. My mom stays for a couple more hours, with my dad dropping in, too, and I just watch the clock, waiting for 9:00 PM and silently begging them to leave.

Eventually, they do, instructing me to get some sleep and turning off the lights. When the door closes behind them, I flip back to the news station and turn the volume down low.

The interview has already started. Hazel sits across from the reporter alone, wearing what appears to be a blonde wig, dark-colored denim, a long-sleeved black top, and black high-heeled boots. Her makeup is subtle. She looks like herself, but a softer version.

Like River.

She's still explaining to the reporter how she and River met.

"She had a more difficult time in foster care than I did," she explains. "She doesn't do well with yelling; she hates violence. And even after all she went through, she was still a very optimistic, trusting person. I blame myself, honestly. I blame myself for what happened. It was because of me that we ended up on that bus. We were at this weird crossroads where River had just graduated from nursing school but didn't have a job yet, and we were living off of my income as a ticket agent at Phoenix Sky Harbor, but they'd been canceling so many flights that I wasn't working much. We were behind on our rent, and at the same time, her student loans were coming in."

"So, let's talk about that, Hazel," Brandy says. "How did you end up on that bus?"

"We had these tickets," Hazel explains. "Backstage passes I'd bought six months earlier for River's birthday. We were both super into the band, their aesthetic, and all that."

"Drinking blood?" Brandy asks.

"I mean, yeah. It was the music and their lyrics, but it was that, too. It was edgy. I kind of went down the rabbit hole, watching all of these fan videos. I thought it was sexy. You know, we almost sold the tickets. Riv suggested it since we were having issues with money, but I said no because I wanted her to enjoy her birthday. And then I met Declan, and he just…sucked me right in. He and Layla both, actually. She reminded me a lot of my wife."

"So, even though you were married, you pursued a sexual relationship with Declan De Rossi."

"It wasn't like that," Hazel says. "Not at first anyway. Declan was…smart. Everyone talks about how rich and talented he was, but he was so smart. He knew what to do to get under your skin; there was no set formula, it was individually tailored. He seduced me with his intelligence and his outlook on life, his words. It grew into something else for both River and myself, and it was fucking magical, honestly. I mean, it was a family—that's what he called it, and that's how it felt, too. He took care of us, and it felt like love. He showed us the entire world through a fresh lens when we'd barely even left the desert."

They talk for a while about what it was like at first—the parties, the concerts, drinking blood. How it felt intimate, romantic even. Declan convinced her it made them powerful, and she believed it.

I believed it, too.

She talks about how he took care of them, about the sex, about Layla and Heidi. She talks about Declan's rules, the rewards, and the punishments. And hearing it like this from her …for the first time, I see it.

Maybe I really was part of a cult. And I killed for them.

She confirms that Layla did kill herself and tells Brandy that Luca and Declan buried her in the woods.

She tells her she didn't find out about Heidi until after she disappeared, and she knows nothing about the sister.

"What made you decide to tell your story now?" Brandy asks.

"I want the world to know that we aren't bad people. We aren't killers. We're just…a couple of people who fell in love with a lie. Who hasn't been guilty of that?"

"I have one last question for you before we go. You mentioned before the interview that you were not willing to discuss the other survivors of the cult, Teagan Townsend and Alana Baker—"

"No, I'm not. Because Alana and Teagan are victims, too, and wherever they are now, they deserve peace. That's all Riv and I want—to be left in peace, to be normal again."

"What about Eli Wallace, the lesser-known member of the band? He left after the concert in Dallas, where it's believed Heidi's sister was last seen, and flew home to Boise, but by the time police arrived at his home, he and his entire family had disappeared."

"Declan and Eli hadn't seen eye-to-eye in a while. They argued a lot—mostly about little things, music-related—but I think there was a lot more to it than that. I don't think Eli is alive. I doubt his family is, either."

"What about Declan? Do you think he's still out there? And what would you say to him today if you could?"

"Declan De Rossi convinced me that he was immortal, so yes, I believe he's still alive." She pauses, leaning in and turning to face the camera. "And if I could see him today, I would tell him that I fucking hate him. I hate you for what you did to us. I hate you for Brady and Layla. I hate you for Teagan. And I hate you because I know you'll never spend one second of a single day thinking of us or being sorry for any of it." She blinks, sending tears rolling down her cheeks. "I hope you die miserable, weak, and alone. And to the fans who have hurt themselves or others because of this, I'm so sorry you believed the lie, too."

The camera zooms out and pans over to the reporter, who thanks Hazel and her viewers, and as crisis resources and their respective phone numbers and websites scroll across the screen, I turn off the television and roll onto my stomach. I close my eyes and try not to comfort myself by imagining I'm on a tour bus rolling down the highway with Declan and Luca on either side of me.

You were never in love, I remind myself. You were part of a cult. And they ruined you.

The nurses check on me a few times during the night. Aside from those moments, I sleep.

I wake when I hear someone shuffling around my bed. The lights are still off, but the sunlight streaming through the open blinds renders them irrelevant. It must be well into morning by now.

"How are you feeling, Teagan?" a nurse asks.

"I feel okay," I tell her. "I need to use the bathroom, though."

"Let me help you with all of this," she says. "We can actually just go ahead and take these off, and I'll remove the IV so you don't have to take all of this stuff with you. We're working on getting you checked out now. It might be just a little while, though, so I'll go ahead and order your breakfast, okay?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," I say.

"Great," she says. "And you look great, too. Let me know if you need anything else."

I grab my phone from the table and text my mom, letting her know that I'm up and they're going to let me leave soon. When I look up, the nurse, Stacy, is still there, standing at the threshold of the door.

"Is there…something else?"

"I'm sorry," she says, pushing the door closed. "I just…I can't leave without asking."

"Asking what?"

"What was it like? Touching the Devil? Caring for his brother? Knowing Him? Feeding Him?"

Oh, shit. She's one of those.

"Declan was just a man," I tell her. "That's all. He's not the Devil—not any more than the next narcissistic asshole. And his brother…" I pause, blinking back tears. "His brother is dead because he believed him, too."

"You have to say that; I get it." Her lips twist into a smile. "But can you tell me where the secret concert will be on the fourth? Most people are saying it's going to be in that abandoned warehouse on Evelyn Street because…well, because of you, Teagan Evelyn. Because they're coming for you. And the coordinates match up with—"

"Stop!" I say, covering my ears with my hands. "Just stop. It's not fucking real, okay? None of it is fucking real. No one is coming for me."

"Sure they're not," she says, winking.

What in the actual fuck is going on?

I shake my head. "I'm going to pee now."

"I have a confession to make," she says, smiling again.

"I don't think I need to hear it."

She pulls a vial of blood from the pocket of her scrubs. "I did it while you were sleeping—I couldn't resist. This blood is inside him, too."

Rage boils inside me. I clench my jaw before I speak.

"Stacy…it's Stacy, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Give it back. Now."

She cocks her head to the side. "But if none of it is real, what does it matter? It's just a little blood."

"It's mine, " I say, my fingernails digging into my fists. I do that thing again where I start taking inventory of all the ways I could kill her with just the items in the room. There are a lot of things in this room I could kill Stacy with, but the easiest would probably be a shard of glass from the flower vase. I bet the crazy bitch would even thank me for it. "It's my fucking blood. Give it the fuck back now, or I'll tell them you have it. You could lose your job."

"Teagan…" she waves me off, laughing again. "No one is going to believe you . I mean, come on."

It pisses me off, but she's right, isn't she? I'm the crazy one. I'm the one who just got out of a mental hospital a couple of days ago.

She unscrews the cap on the vial, throws back the contents, and then drops the tube in the biohazard bin. "Besides, I don't have anything now."

My eyes dart to the vase again, my hands shaking. It'd be so easy. I barely prevent myself from lunging for it, instead darting for the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me.

"Oh, I can feel it!" she says. "I can feel him. Thank you for this power, Teagan. Thank you so much."

I sit on the toilet, covering my ears and screaming internally while my hands shake with rage. I want to kill her—I almost killed her. Dropping my head in my hands, I take a few deep breaths, willing my body to calm down and fucking cooperate. Luckily, she's gone when I finally manage this feat and leave the bathroom.

But there's something else unwelcome in the room now—a bowl of kiwi where the flowers used to be.

"Fuck!" I scream, stomping across the room. One by one, I hurl them against the wall, watching them splatter before dropping to the ground. Gritting my teeth, I try, once again, to regain control over my breathing. I almost bring my hands to my face before I realize they're covered in kiwi juice.

Oh, shit.

Panicking, I rush to the bathroom, and, using a paper towel to prevent spreading it further, I turn on the faucet. I scrub and scrub my hands and arms until the skin feels raw. Then, I coat the same area with hand sanitizer before returning to the kiwi-infested room.

Except…there is no kiwi residue on the walls. There are no kiwi on the floor, and the flowers are back on the table. I stay there, frozen.

"Teagan Townsend?"

"Um…yes?" I answer, tears stinging my eyes.

"I have your breakfast," the man says. He enters the room and sets it on the tray. "Are you okay, miss?"

"I have some medication," I almost whisper. "I'm on…an antipsychotic and an antidepressant. I need them."

"Sure…I'll let the nurse know," he says before leaving.

Slowly, I walk back to the bed and climb under the covers. I look at the tray of pancakes and bacon, but all I can think about is kiwi. I push the tray aside and pull the covers over my head.

You're losing it, Teagan. You need to get your shit together.