The Retribution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer, #3)



32


OKAY, SHE’S OUT.”

I’m not

“What did you give her?”

“Morphine, I think.”

“You think?”

“I don’t know! Whatever was in that vial.”

“How do you even know how to do this?”

“YouTube videos.”

“Ha.”

“Okay, um, there’s like, tissue around it—”

Around what

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Hand me a scalpel first?

“Which one?”

“I don’t know. No, not that one, a different one. Yeah, that one I guess.”

“You guess? What if you cut, like, an artery or something?”

“Stop making me nervous.”

“Sorry!”

“Should we just take her to the hospital?”

“I think . . . I don’t know. I think maybe. Yeah.”

Something smashed against the wall. “Okay. Okay. Go call.”

No no no get them out “Oh, shit, Jamie. She’s moving. Hold her—”

“I can’t!”

“She’s digging. Oh, God. She’s, like, digging . . .”

“Give her more morphine or something. Christ!”

“I don’t want her to OD!”

“Well, she’s tearing out her intestines!”

“She is not. Don’t be so dramatic.”

Their voices blurred to silence, and my hands disappeared into warmth. I saw red and felt pain, but my hands kept moving, pushing, pressing, until I felt— “Is that— What the fuck are those?”

What are they what are they “There are two of them. Oh my God.”

“She was right. She was right.”

“Is that—maybe that’s what’s been making her sick?”

“I don’t know. I think—I think I can stitch this up.”

“How can you even see?”

“Here, give me that towel.”

It hurts it hurts stop please “Stella, her lips are white.”

“Put some pressure here, maybe?”

“Should she be shaking like this?”

“Oh, no. She’s seizing—”

“What should I do?”

“Mara? Mara, look at us, okay? Just keep looking at us.”

But I couldn’t. Their words faded into darkness, and I did too.




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