The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)(9)

I had never seen this room before. It was small, cozy, with coarse wooden walls made up of slats. Framed, faded pictures hung on the walls, but my eyes slid over them as if they were coated in oil. I took a deep breath and then tried to roll over onto my side—my left side, as I distinctly remembered that something was wrong with my right arm.

As I rolled, a wave of pain and sickness swelled up in my gut, and my ribs screamed in protest. I gave up halfway through the motion, flopping back down into the blankets. Sweating, I forced my breathing to even out, taking pains to keep the panic down, in spite of protests from what seemed like every muscle in my body. I settled back on the pillows and gave myself a few moments to calm down, concentrating on simply keeping my stomach and head from exploding. Eventually, the throbbing pain and nausea subsided.

I eased myself up a little higher, using my left hand as a brace, and slipped my legs off the bed until I was in a sitting position. My arm and shoulder ached from the exertion; as soon as I was upright, I rolled my shoulder around in its socket, trying to alleviate the discomfort. Without any support, I swayed slightly and almost fell over, my hand shooting out to grab the bedframe before I toppled over. Bile rose in my throat, but my stomach felt hollow, shaky. Maybe I had run out of things to vomit up. I ignored the trembling of my limbs, the huge swamp of pain that was my ribs.

Swallowing hard, I took a few more breaths and stood up, the blanket sliding off me. I wavered, keeping my hand locked on the bedframe as the room tilted to one side. I tried to focus on an area of the wall, blinking away black spots. It helped, but I still felt woozy, my steps not landing where I wanted them to. I felt like giving up right then, but I had no idea what could happen next. If I had been kidnapped… You can do this, Violet. You have to.

I leaned heavily on the bedframe and took baby steps, examining the room more closely. It was definitely new. My heartrate increasing, I forced my eyes to check every corner for anything I could use as a weapon—and I needed to be sure that she wasn’t there. The muscled woman with the sadistic gleam in her eyes who haunted my dreams and nightmares. Panic bubbled up in my chest at the thought of being in her clutches again.

My eyes settled on a book. It wasn’t much, but if I slipped it in my pillowcase, then I could…

A sharp voice, distorted by distance and my deaf ear, caught my attention, and I paused in my scheming. There was something familiar about it. I swallowed, and slowly turned my eyes to the spot I had been carefully avoiding—the window—and the bright, shining beams of sunlight pouring in. The light blazed into my head, making me squint, but I pushed the pain back, letting my eyes adjust bit by bit. I took a cautious step toward it, then another, and another, until I had gone as far as I could without letting go of the bedframe.

Wobbling slightly, I released the bedframe and propelled myself forward. I stumbled, my equilibrium off, but managed not to fall. I reached for a desk that sat just left of the window and used it to steady myself, clutching it with weak, shaky fingers. I took a moment to collect myself—sweating, panting hard, and bone-weary. Then, I moved a few steps more, leaning on the desk.

At first the light outside was too intense, but eventually, shapes and colors began to form, slowly, and then faster.

The first thing I noticed was the trees. They seemed to stretch on forever, until I lost sight of the individuals in the enormity of their spread. The forest seemed to run along both sides of the house, thick and dappled. A worn dirt road cut through it across from me, and a wide yard stretched out before the house, with a small barn nestled at the opposite end. The ground was dark and wet, as if it had rained recently, and I noticed several tents along the edge of the woods, forming neat and tidy lines. Someone had cleared away an area at the edge of the tents, and I could see a hodgepodge of benches and chairs encircling the smoldering remains of a fire pit. People my beleaguered mind vaguely recognized were moving around the camp, some in and out of the tents, performing various tasks and chores around the yard.

I pressed my forehead against the glass, letting the cool from the panes seep into my forehead. It helped to push back the throbbing pain, numbing it slightly, as I continued searching for the owner of the familiar voice I’d heard.

I saw her standing by some stairs that probably led to a porch. She was with a young man, her brown hair bobbing as she listened intently. She said something, her voice calm and even, but even from this distance I could pick up the authority in it. I smiled as a memory of her sharp, no-nonsense voice, ordering me to keep my back straight and adjust the heel of my foot slightly, came over me.

Ms. Dale. She looked over her shoulder, back at the tents, for a moment, and then back to the man. Nodding at him once more, she pointed a finger toward the tents, and then the two parted ways. I watched her go, allowing relief to wash over me. If she was here, then I was safe.

I took a deep breath and then turned left toward the door, a new compulsion pulling my aching body forward. I was safe. Now I needed to see Viggo.

It must have taken me ten minutes to hobble over to the door, and when I finally reached it, I sagged against it for a moment, breathing hard, my hand barely resting on the handle. I just had to see him—I had to know he was all right. The doorknob felt odd under my left hand, but I managed to lean on it enough to push it open. The cast on my right made it impossible to grab anything, and my body was so damn weak.

The hall was dim, lit only by a single lantern that hung from a hook in the ceiling. Using the doorframe as a brace, I stepped out, the floorboards creaking under my bare feet.