Chapter 63
I remembered it all too well. It was the night Erika crashed her Porsche. I'd been standing just outside a side entrance, trying desperately to reach her parents before they spotted her car at the end of their driveway and assumed the worst.
Erika was somewhere on the fifth floor, getting X-rays and a few stitches. I'd brought her to the hospital myself, in my piece-of-crap Fiesta, which, come to think of it, wasn't quite as crappy back then.
I'd just finished leaving another message on her dad's cell phone when I heard the steady beat of techno music, growing louder with every second. I glanced up just in time to see a huge white SUV squeal up to the curb. It had dark tinted windows and bright gold rims that kept turning even after the car stopped.
The rear passenger door flew open, and a body tumbled out. It rolled a couple of times, then stopped, face down on the sidewalk just a few feet away from where I stood.
I watched, in frozen shock as the SUV squealed off, leaving whoever – definitely a man – lying there on the concrete.
"Oh my God." Without thinking, I rushed over to crouch beside him. "Are you okay?"
He wore no shirt, no socks, no shoes, just some dark running pants. I saw spiky dark hair and the body of someone I guessed to be in their twenties, at least based on his physique, which was embarrassingly magnificent.
Instantly, I took in the hard lines and sinewy muscle. And bruises. And blood. And – I swallowed – cigarette burns all up and down his arms.
I looked frantically for signs of life. "Somebody help!" I called.
It was stupid really, considering I was the only one out there. Tentatively, I reached out for his hand. Was he breathing? Did he have a pulse?
My own pulse was jumping so much, I couldn't be sure of anything. "Help!" I yelled again. "Somebody's hurt over here!"
And then he spoke in a groggy masculine voice with just the barest hint of humor. "No," he mumbled. "I'm good."
I heard myself gasp. At least he was alive. It was better than I feared, given the blood pooling around his head.
"Uh," I stammered. "I, uh, I don't think you're exactly alright."
Desperately, I looked around. Where the hell was everybody? But I knew exactly where. I'd been at the hospital for the last couple of hours. I'd seen plenty of people inside, or lingering by the front entrance, or even near the emergency room doors.
This door was next to the dumpsters. No one wanted to hang out here. But that's exactly why I'd picked this spot in the first place, for some privacy.
I pulled out my phone. "Hang on. I'll call for help." I started to dial 911, and was immediately struck by the sheer stupidity of it. They'd just send an ambulance, which would take him to a hospital.
He was at the hospital. "Wait here," I said. "I'll get help."
"No. Wait," he said in that same groggy voice.
"What?"
With a small groan, he lifted his head and turned it in my direction. "Don't go."
He couldn’t be serious. He needed help. "Don't worry. I'll be right back. With help. I promise."
At this, he gave me such a piercing look that I felt my own gaze shift from his swollen eyes to the rest of his face. It was covered in so much blood that I felt the color drain from my own.
"No. Stay," he said. "Please."
Did he think he was going to die? Maybe he didn't want to die alone? I tried to keep my voice calm. For his sake. Still, when I spoke, it came out as a ragged croak. "What happened? Were you shot or something?"
At this, he laughed. Seriously laughed. "That bad, huh?" The laughter died abruptly when it was replaced by a choking fit.
At this, I went into full panic mode. "Help!" I yelled. "C'mon! Someone's hurt over here! Please? We need help!"
But nobody came. I was afraid to leave him. And more afraid of what might happen if I didn't.
His lips moved. "Stop."
"Stop what?"
His mouth moved, like he was trying to form a smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. "Stop yelling."
In spite of everything, I felt vaguely insulted. I'd been yelling for his sake, after all. I was still holding his hand. "Then I'll be right back," I said, pulling away.
Somehow, he managed to grab my wrist. For someone in such rough shape, the grip was amazingly strong. "Don't tell," he said.
I stared at him. "Don't tell what?"
"Anything. Whatever you saw, it didn't happen."
Frantically, I looked around. Was he talking about the white SUV?
"Stairs. Fell down 'em. No big deal." He rolled onto his side and clutched his stomach. "Be fine in a minute." A spasm shook his body, and his eyes fluttered shut.
Shit.
I leapt to my feet. "You hang on, I mean it!" I told him. A waste of words, really. It was pretty obvious he couldn’t hear much of anything. With a final glance at his scarily still body, I sprinted around the side of the hospital, heading full speed toward the emergency room entrance.