One of Those Faces (71)

My head popped as it hit the floor. I choked on my own blood, trying to breathe.

Issi’s back was to me in the water.

If you give up, you will die.

My lungs burned. I could hear my own gasps, growing more stifled and panicked. My arms collapsed back to the floor, my injured wrist landing on something sharp. I wrapped my hand around the piece of ceramic from the lamp, the shard burrowing into my palm. I tried to pick my hand up, but it dropped down on the wood floor with a thud.

“I’m not going away for this,” Bug’s voice quavered as he relaxed his grip. “You don’t even know—”

I remembered what Wilder had told me about Holly’s death.

Ten seconds.

We only have ten seconds.

My throat spasmed as I gripped the shard again and swung my arm off the floor to plunge the piece into the side of his neck as deep as I could manage. His body slumped over mine.

I gasped and rolled to my side as he stumbled to his feet, a fountain gurgling from his mouth out onto the floor. Blood dripped from my palm and from my forehead, streaking the wood floor as I dragged myself toward the door, only making it as far as the nightstand before the door flung open. Wilder appeared and fell to his knees beside me. “Harper?”

The back of my head felt cold.

He gently turned my face to the side. “Shit,” he exhaled loudly. There was sudden pressure against my head and neck. “Harper?”

My eyes focused on him, but I couldn’t speak. I opened my mouth, but only a terrible and haunting rattle escaped.

“Hang in there,” Wilder said.

The chill spread from my head and into my limbs. I closed my eyes.

“Stay awake! Look at me!”

I succumbed to the darkness.



I heard the beeping first. Then I felt the pain.

I was awake, but my eyelids were so heavy. I swallowed. I could taste iron.

My fingers twitched, rubbing over the rough fabric. I slowly opened my eyes to the white blankets and white walls ahead of me. The steady beeping of the vitals monitors beside me continued. I looked at the IV needle pinching the vein in my hand. I was alone; the only other sounds were the people rushing past the open door in the hallway. I turned my hand over and saw the gauze secured over my palm.

Iann walked in, and his eyes grew big when they met mine. “Thank god! You’re awake!” He pulled a chair away from the wall and set it closer to the bed. “How do you feel?”

I swallowed. It was a little easier now. “What happened?” My voice was hoarse and foreign. I remembered Bug sitting on top of me, crushing my throat as he slammed my skull. I remembered the blood pouring from him. My entire body stiffened. “Where is he?”

Iann frowned and ran a hand across his face. “You don’t have to worry about him.”

“What does that mean?” I croaked. “What happened to him?”

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly.

“Where is he?” I asked again, my heart beating faster.

“He’s dead.”

I touched my neck. I still felt that cold ceramic shard in my hand. “I don’t—how did I get here?” The back of my skull throbbed.

He fiddled with his hands and leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees. “The cops found you.”

Yes, that’s right. Wilder. Oh god. Woodstock. My eyes burned. I remembered the little blue collar caked with blood, and a sob escaped. “Is Woodstock . . .” My voice cracked.

Iann looked down. “I haven’t found him yet.”

I pressed my palms to my eyes as the tears came. If they couldn’t find him, then he couldn’t be dead. But all that blood . . .

Iann stood, resting his hand on my shoulder. “He’s still out there somewhere,” he whispered. “He’s okay. We’ll find him.”

“She’s awake?”

I opened my eyes again and rubbed the tears away from my cheeks.

Wilder was leaning into the room, against the doorway, his eyes narrowed as he glanced from me to Iann.

Iann kept his hand on my shoulder but stepped back a bit. “Yeah, she just woke up.”

Wilder stepped farther into the room. “Are you up for talking right now?” he asked, looking at me.

“She just woke up,” Iann hissed.

“It’s okay,” I said.

Iann glanced at me. I nodded, and he pulled his hand away. “Okay, I’ll be outside,” he said and walked out into the hallway.

Wilder watched him go and then sat in the chair. “How are you feeling?”

Terrible. “Fine.” I swallowed a sob. You have been through worse. You have been through worse.

He nodded. “Okay, good. I thought I told you to go somewhere safe and wait for me.” It was more of an accusation than a statement.

I held a hand to my aching temple. There was a bandage wrapped around my forehead. “What happened?”

He scratched the back of his neck, irritably. “You were attacked. You remember that, right?”

“Yes.” I saw Bug’s outline as he sat on top of me, his legs digging into my sides. “I was just going to get my cat and leave when it happened.” My lips trembled. “How did I get here?”

He sighed and settled into the seat next to me. “You never called me from the park, so I drove straight to your apartment.” He rubbed his hands together. “Your landlord didn’t make it to the hospital.”