Till Death(51)

“Shit,” a man grunted at the same second a loud crack thundered through the narrow landing. For a horrified moment I realized it was the railing breaking, giving way under my weight.

And then I was falling backward into the air.





Chapter 15




The fall was fast and brutal, all happening so quick. One minute there was nothing behind me and then I was slamming into the hard, uneven floor. I cried out sharply as pain exploded and the air punched out of me.

Agony flared along the side of my head and arced across my left shoulder, deafening the sound of approaching footsteps. Confusion beat at me. I tried to sit up—I knew I needed to get up—but my stomach churned viciously. My arms . . . they didn’t seem to work. They were useless at my sides.

Suddenly, a hazy image of a man formed, bending over me. I saw the black baseball cap again. I squinted, because I saw two hats. Two men?

I tried to get my mouth to work, to ask for help.

“Shit,” he grunted, and there was a creaking sound of old hinges, and a rich, earthy scent surrounded me.

Then there was nothing.

Skin damp and chilled, my knees press into the hard, cold floor. He’s behind me, sitting on the edge of the bed, combing my wet hair. I want to vomit, but my stomach is empty and my sides already hurt too much. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want to listen to him talk as if I want to be here.

The comb stills, and I sense the change in him. He stiffens. My fingers curl inward, blunt nails digging into my palms.

“Don’t move,” he says, rising and stepping around me. He leaves the room, and I hear the door lock in place.

I don’t move.

I remain on my knees, shivering and straining to hear anything, but there’s nothing but the muted sound of cows. If I listen hard enough, I will hear a horse.

A door slams shut somewhere.

My chest aches and the shivers turn into trembles, but I don’t move. I don’t dare move. Heavy footsteps thunder. Something crashes. He’s in a mood again. Oh God, he’s in a mood, and I’m going to die—no.

No, this isn’t real anymore. This is a nightmare. Wake up. Wake up!

I woke up.

“I should’ve gotten those railings fixed a long time ago.” Mom fretted, pacing in front of the small window like a nervous bird. “You could’ve cracked your head open.”

Shifting my gaze to the dull drop ceilings, I slowly turned my head to the left. A dull spike of pain flared. “My skull is too thick for that.”

The way-too-young-looking doctor at the foot of the bed smiled as she scribbled in my chart. “You’re actually lucky.”

“That means I get to go home?”

“No.” She hooked the chart at the end of the bed and slipped her pen into the front pocket of her lab coat. “You’re here for the night.”

Frustration rose. “But—”

“You lost consciousness, and even though you currently don’t have signs of a serious concussion, we want to monitor you for the next twenty-four hours just to make sure everything is okay.” She moved over to the pole where what I felt was a very unnecessary IV bag was hooked up. “If everything checks out fine in the morning, you’ll be free to go home.”

“Sorry.” Mom drifted to the bed and started fiddling with the thin blanket draped over my legs. “Sasha isn’t very good with the whole hospital thing.”

“Not many people are.” Her cool fingers checked the IV as her smile turned absent. “The nurses will be in here in about thirty minutes to check on you. If you need anything, you know where the call button is.” The doctor turned as the curtain parted. “Perfect timing.”

My gaze flickered over her shoulder, and I wanted to sink through the bed when I saw who was parting the sea-green curtain.

Officer Derek Bradshaw, of course. He must be the only cop on duty in the entire world.

His brow rose as he stepped around the doctor. “Small world,” he murmured, approaching the bed. “Cole know about this?”

I squeezed my eyes shut briefly. “Haven’t exactly had the chance to fill him in,” I said. “He’s at work. I don’t want—”

“You’re in the hospital. He’s going to want to know and that’s not a bother to him. Ever.” He glanced over at my mom. “What’s going on?”

“A man pushed her down the steps of the staff staircase,” Mom answered. “She almost fell through the cellar door! God knows how long she would’ve lain there if poor old Daphne hadn’t found her. Nearly gave her a heart attack. Thought I was going to have to call two ambulances.”

His gaze sharpened.

“That’s not exactly what happened.” I rose onto my elbows, but a dull thump spiked along my temples, so I decided almost at once that lying on my back was A-okay. “I mean, the door opened quickly and I couldn’t move out of the way. That’s what technically knocked me down the steps.”

Officer Bradshaw frowned as his shoulder radio crackled. “I need some clarification on this. Were you pushed or was it an accident?”

“Don’t downplay the situation,” Mom warned as she dropped into the really uncomfortable chair next to the bed. “This is serious.”

“She’s right, Sasha.” Officer Bradshaw shifted closer. “I need to know exactly what happened.”