Pixie couldn’t figure out who was speaking. There was an echo around the words, making the voices indistinguishable. Why couldn’t she hear properly? She tried to sit up, but her head spun horribly and she couldn’t force her body to move. Where the hell was she?
Someone grabbed her hand. It was warm, which was a good thing because she was freezing. Every bone in her body hurt, and she couldn’t figure out why. She was in some kind of trouble, and panic rippled through her.
“We made you a shit-load of fucking money, asshole.” The voice was closer, deeper. Dred. It sounded like him. What had happened to them? Trying to figure out what was going on was like clutching smoke. As soon has she felt like she had a thread to hold on to, it disappeared from her grip.
PETAL. She’d been trying to get to Petal, but couldn’t quite reach her. Why had she been doing that? Petal’s blanket had slipped through her hand before . . . she’d been hit . . . from behind. Which explained the blinding headache. Sam and Arnie had her.
“We were meant to make even more. Without me creating extra interest in you, you would have flopped.”
Pixie whimpered in pain. At least she thought she did. She needed help because her head hurt, but she couldn’t force her eyes open.
A hand brushed across her forehead. “I have you, Snowflake. You’re safe, I promise.”
It was definitely Dred, she could tell from the low gravelly tone of his voice.
She raised her hand off the floor, and he took it in his. He squeezed it gently. “Look at me, gorgeous.”
Everything was out of focus, the light bright as she opened her eyes and squinted.
“Thank fuck. Never been so glad to see you.” Dred kissed her gently. His lips were warm, a physical representation of everything that was safe in the world.
“What do you mean, you created extra interest?” Nikan asked, clutching his arm.
“You know what I mean,” Sam said. “All the stories. I put stuff into the press to generate interest, then got retractions and apologies, even financial settlements to keep you happy.”
Pixie’s mouth was so dry, but she needed to ask. “Why me?” she croaked.
“Because you distracted them. Distracted Dred. Without you around, he was focused. Dedicated. But around you, he was arranging additional trips, missing meetings.”
The ceiling was beginning to move in circles above her, leaving her nauseated. Pixie closed her eyes again. Her head was still spinning when additional voices flooded the room.
“Please, help her. She’s been hit about the head. She’s been in and out for at least twenty minutes,” Dred said.
“What’s her name? Please, sir, can you step out of the way for us?” a different voice said.
“It’s Sarah-Jane. Sarah-Jane Travers.”
She felt Dred’s hand slip away. Come back. She needed the connection. It gave her something to come back to, something to swim toward. She needed to do something to get Dred’s attention. She put all her effort into reaching out for him.
“Snowflake,” he said as he grabbed her hand. “I’m here, gorgeous. You need to stay calm.”
“Please, sir. We need to check her out.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll have to work around me, because I’m not going anywhere.”
Pixie groaned and forced her eyes open. “No . . . drugs,” she whispered.
“What Sarah-Jane? Can you talk to me?” the paramedic asked.
She tugged on Dred’s hand.
“What, Snowflake?”
“No . . . drugs.” Dred finally came into focus.
“She’s a recovering addict, but she’s been sober for over six years,” he told the paramedic while looking straight at her, his dark brown eyes red-rimmed.
“Is Petal okay?” she asked.
“She’s fine, Snowflake. Let the paramedic do what he needs to do to get you to hospital. We can talk once we’re there.”
Pixie closed her eyes again, aware that for the first time in years, there was no threat, no sword of Damocles hanging over her head. She was free to live her life with Dred.
“Stay with me,” she whispered.
“Where you go, I go,” Dred replied, burying his head against her chest. “Always.”
*
Epilogue
Three months after that awful day, there were several sounds that Pixie had come to associate with happiness. The first was Petal’s attempts to say da-da. Dred was beside himself with joy at her first word. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she said it all the time, to everything she came into contact with. The second was the ringtone of her new phone. The one that was set up for her new clothing company called Partture, a play on “party” and “couture.” With Dred in town, but busy recording the album, and the new body-mod expert taking part of the managing load at the tattoo studio, she had time to ramp up her sewing. And the third was the sound of a key being placed in a lock, because it meant Dred was home, and they were a unit again. She loved the independence she had with her work and friends, but having never had a real family of her own, she wanted to spend as much time as she could with Dred and Petal, even if it was a slightly old-fashioned point of view.