I had to fight to control my temper. I’d just lived through six hours of hell and now I was about to get interrogated by an officer. It was complete bullshit.
“So you brought your friend in after she'd been drugged. Were you two at a party?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his hands on the top of the table.
I sighed and started from the beginning. I described my afternoon: rushing to the hospital to take care of my father who was still in room 178, probably passed out from the morphine they were giving him for the pain. I told him about Ashley's phone call, described Blake as best as I could, and gave the officer his address. Somewhere in the middle of my explanation his brows relaxed and he took a seat across from me, dropping the tough guy act altogether.
He believed me because there was no reason not to. My explanation added up and he revealed that Blake already had a criminal history a mile long.
“Thank you for cooperating,” he said, pushing back his chair. “Just had to follow protocol.”
I nodded and shoved my hands through my hair. I was tired down to my bones. My brain was fried and my limbs felt heavy. I could have passed out in my seat, but Lilah still needed me. I was at a total loss for where to go. The police officer didn't know where they'd taken Lilah, so I had to hunt down a nurse to help me find her. Before I went into her room, I went into the men's room and splashed water on my face, trying to regroup and collect my scattered nerves. I could still picture her on Blake’s bed, ghostly pale. I’d been so close to losing her and my nerves were still frayed.
I took a deep breath before opening her door. She was lying on the same kind of sterile bed my dad was still occupying on the other side of the hospital. Her dark hair was matted with sweat around her temples and her lips were dry and chapped. I walked to the side of her bed and reached down for her small hand, closing my fist around it. I stared down at the connection between us and let the last hour sink into my bones. The first tears that came were surprising and I wiped them away quickly. The ones that came after were heavy and sad. I bent down and rested my head on the side of her bed, completely exhausted.
The nurses came in and I stared at Lilah’s soft features as they assured me she’d be fine, that her dad was already there talking with the doctors. Trent had put Rohypnol in her drink, but by the morning she’d be good as new. No signs of abuse, no lasting damage. All was well.
Mrs. White brought me a cot and a gray wool blanket. The cot fit in the space between Lilah's bed and the wall so it was easy to settle in next to her and watch her chest rise and fall as she slept. I reached back out to hold her hand, wrapping my palm around her cold fingers. She never stirred once, but I still watched her for hours, trying to read her calm features for signs of the lost girl that lived inside.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Lilah
I woke up Saturday morning with a splitting headache and a gaping void where memories of the night before should have been. I blinked open my eyes and stared up at a pristine white ceiling divided into eight panels. I adjusted on the bed and felt the IV needle in the back of my hand and the unfamiliar scratchy bedding. My mind was still foggy until I saw the hospital gown and Chase sleeping soundly in the cot beside my bed.
I remembered being with Trent at the arcade. I remembered him driving us to a party at one of his friend's houses, and I remembered seeing Ashley there? but there was nothing beyond that. I couldn’t figure out how I’d landed in the hospital or why Chase was laying there beside me. The last time I'd seen him he’d been hopping into Kimberly's car.
The door to my hospital room slid open and a young nurse with a bright smile and tired eyes sauntered in to check the machines beeping methodically next to my bed. She fidgeted with a few cords and then reached down to adjust something beside my bed.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t wake Chase.
“Fine, I guess, but I'm not sure why I'm here.” My words scraped against my sandpaper throat.
I wiggled my fingers and toes and then lifted up the neck of my gown to look down at my chest. There wasn't a scratch on me.
“Last night you were given a drink with Rohypnol in it while you were at a party,” the nurse explained before pointing at Chase. “That boy right there found you and brought you in here to make sure you were okay.”
I looked at Chase's sleeping features as the pieces of my memory started to slowly reform: Trent getting me a drink, feeling dizzy after I took a few sips, and then nothing.
I focused on the curve of his cheekbones as I asked the next question.
“I wasn't, um…” I looked down at the bed sheet. “No one took advantage of me, did they?”
The side of her mouth tilted up. “No. Seems that your hero has good timing. I think the police have already brought the two men from the party in for questioning though.”