Kelsey. I need to ask for Kelsey before I talk to any other doctors.
As my eyes adjust, I realize it’s not actually a hospital room. Aside from this bed, which appears to have been rolled into the room, the place looks more like a hotel suite or a tiny apartment. A small kitchen with no table, just a single stool at the raised counter. A desk. A second bed that actually looks like a bed instead of the gurney I’m on. A large monitor mounted on the wall across from the bed. No windows. Three doors, with only the one to the bathroom open. The only light coming from a fixture above the bathroom sink.
I prop myself up, but that only makes the nausea worse, so I lean back into the pillow. Sitting upright will have to wait.
When I pull my hand up to brush the hair out of my eyes a few minutes later, I see the scratches on my arm. That brings the past few days flooding back.
Deo was taken. Hopefully Deo was taken here, wherever here is. Kelsey’s in Indianapolis. Molly is gone. Aaron and . . .
The wall.
Forcing myself to sit up, I look around the room more carefully. I don’t see Dacia, and more to the point, I don’t feel her mental probe tap, tap, tapping at my brain. But I’m sure she’ll be back.
As I lower my feet to the floor, my right ankle throbs. Not too bad, though. I test it and it easily supports me. Just hope I don’t need to run a marathon any time soon.
I’m surprised to feel the familiar weight of my phone in my back pocket. Someone turned it off, so I’m guessing they’ve already collected any information they found interesting. And, when I check, I see that I have zero bars, which means we’re either someplace remote, someplace underground, or (most likely) they’re blocking the signal.
Once I check the time—12:22 a.m.—I power it down. Not a good idea to waste the battery, on the off chance, even if it’s probably a very, very off chance, that my lack of signal is temporary.
I’m still a bit on the woozy side, and my head pounds each time I move. I initially thought maybe whatever Dacia doped me with was nitrous oxide. Arlene had bad teeth, along with her myriad other health problems. Somewhat ironically for a hypochondriac, she hated needles, so she always opted for dentists who offered laughing gas. The dentist she liked best had scented masks—orange, spearmint, and vanilla. But whatever Dacia used, I don’t think it was nitrous. That wears off within a matter of minutes, and you’re fine afterward. Arlene was able to drive herself home after dental appointments. My head, on the other hand, still feels very fuzzy.
Dehydration, maybe? I go to the kitchen in search of a glass, which I find after opening several of the cabinets. I find Tylenol as well, along with a standard first-aid kit and an unlabeled medicine bottle. When I open the bottle, I see dozens of the familiar pentagon-shaped sleeping pills that Kelsey prescribed for me.
Finding my pills here gives me the feeling I’m being watched, although I probably should have assumed that already. I visually scan the room for cameras but stop after a few seconds. The tracking devices they hid in our backpacks were minuscule. There could be dozens of cameras in here and I’d never find them. Better to assume I’m being watched and act accordingly.
I open the fridge in search of bottled water, and find a case of Dasani, along with string cheese, baby carrots, milk, apples. Butter pecan ice cream in the freezer.
An icy finger that has nothing to do with the still-open freezer runs down my spine. The kitchen is stocked with my favorites. Oreos in the pantry. Deo once joked that I could eat my weight in Oreos. Walkers Shortbread, which I love but rarely buy because it’s so expensive. Jalape?o pretzels. Ritz Crackers. Peanut butter—extra crunchy, because otherwise, why bother? Cheetos. Honey Bunches of Oats. Dunkin’ Donuts Pumpkin Spice coffee, Sleepytime tea. Honey. Kit Kat Dark. Reese’s Cups, Hershey’s Kisses.
I take two Tylenol and carry the bottle of water back into the main room. The clothes in the dresser and the closet aren’t my clothes—these appear to be new. But they’re about the right size and they’re the stuff I usually wear. Jeans, sweaters, T-shirts.
Everything in this room makes me feel violated, like they’ve stolen things that make me me. But I know without a doubt that it’s Deo’s mind they raided for this information, not mine. He knows what I like almost as well as I do, but Hershey’s Kisses are way too sweet. Yes, I buy them occasionally, but only because Deo likes them.
The door, which has a security panel on the left, is locked from the outside. I knew that would be the case, but, hey, gotta try. Not that I’d even think of leaving without finding Deo. But I’d like more information about where I am. Whether he’s even here.