Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(63)
He scowled at me as the nurse turned away, stifling a laugh.
My mind felt fuzzy. “Where is Michael? Where is the Keeper of Crows?”
“What did you give her?” the doctor asked the nurse. She rattled off some long, stupid medicinal name and he huffed.
“Let it wear off, but I think we may need an MRI if she keeps talking nonsense.”
“I’ll show you nonsense, asshole,” I muttered. Then I promptly fell asleep.
*
When I woke, I was still in the hospital bed, in the same cookie cutter room that was beside Pamela’s.
When the nurse came back in, she asked me question after question.
What was my name? Carmen Kennedy.
What date was it? Who the fuck knew?
What type of car did I crash? Why are you asking me about a car? Dimitri put me here!
Who was Dimitri?
When my father strolled into the room, steaming coffee in hand, I screamed, trying to sit up in the bed. It was him! He wasn’t gray and he wasn’t alive. He was dead. How was he here? Was he going to kill me?
“He’s going to kill me!” I shrieked, trying to get away from him, clutching the thread-bare sheets beneath me for leverage.
The nurse told Father it would be best if he left for a few minutes.
“Try forever! I don’t know how you’re even alive!”
“What was that all about?” the nurse asked, wide-eyed.
“He’s…the fucking antichrist, and he’s going to kill me. He came back to kill me! I had the crows end him. Their feathers impaled his heart, but evil doesn’t stay fucking dead!” I roared so he could hear me.
“Calm down,” she tried to soothe.
Another nurse came into the room. A woman. Then another. A man.
They approached either side of my bed with their hands up. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” I screamed, thrashing wildly until my leg screamed in pain. I cried, trying to get them to leave me alone.
“Keep away from me. I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!”
I called for the crows. Did I lose the power over them when I woke up? Where the hell were they? I needed them.
A nurse pushed a syringe into the IV port as two others held my arms still. Soon, my body felt warm. My veins. My head. Warm.
“That’s it. Relax.”
“Don’t let him kill me…”
“I won’t, sweetheart. Get some rest. I’ll talk with the doctor.”
“Don’t… let…”
Her footsteps on the tile echoed through my mind.
29
When I woke, my hands were in soft restraints. So was my unbroken leg. I waited for the nurse. The remote at my side had a red button that was supposed to summon them, but after several clicks they still weren’t coming.
A male nurse with dark blue scrubs finally stepped in, pumping the hand sanitizer dispenser once and rubbing the teal goop into his hands before approaching. “How are you feeling?”
“Like absolute shit. Now, why am I tied down?”
“We need to assess you. While you were sedated, an MRI was performed.”
“I didn’t hit my head, dickhole.”
“You’re belligerent,” he deadpanned, pecking the keys on the computer’s keyboard one at a time. He sighed and turned to face me, crossing his arms.
“What is your name?”
“I’ve already told you my name.”
“Humor me,” he said.
“Carmen Kennedy.”
“What year is it?”
“Does it really matter? Why do you keep repeating the same questions over and over?”
“Who is your father?”
“Warren Kennedy.”
“Is he the antichrist?” The nurse narrowed his eyes in challenge.
“YES!”
He smirked as he pecked the keyboard again, dismissing me.
“Do you remember the car accident?”
“I’m not in here because of a fucking wreck! I’m in here because Dimitri beat me senseless. He almost killed me, and when I was put in this hell hole, I floated—my soul floated above my body. Then these men with lightning leashes captured me and pulled me through the veil into Purgatory and everything was gray, and they were trying to sell me into… sex slavery, and then I learned that my father is the antichrist. He was setting up a kingdom, and there were Lessons there.” I jerked my arms, trying to free myself. “Some had no eyes, some had their ears filled with tar, and others had skin over their mouths. Demons put them there. Demons! Because my father was one of them. Lucifer gave him his sword, but in the end…” I smiled. “I killed him. I killed the devil.”
The doctor on duty, a petite woman with a hairstyle from 1990, stepped into the room. “Did you hear all that?” the male nurse asked her.
“I did.” She stepped toward me. “Your MRI showed no trauma. At this point, I think it’s best that we ask our on-staff psychiatric team to evaluate you.”
“Psychiatric team? I’m not crazy!” I thrashed against the bed. “Untie me. Please, doctor. I’ll tell you all about it. Everything you want to know. Oprah would want to interview me for this. She would love the story. Trust me when I say that I know I’m sane.”