I hesitate on the spot and hear the unmistakable skid of a car, a blood-curdling scream just around the corner.
‘Cait!’
There’s a thud, followed by quiet. Deathly quiet.
I know it’s her. My head spins, my heart contracts, and I’m stumbling and running.
I break out onto the road, skidding to a halt as my gut rolls. I don’t want to see it. I don’t.
But no amount of mental talk can take away the image of her lying on the ground, the car headlights highlighting her crumpled state, and my entire world crumples with her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I CAN HEAR VOICES, lots of voices. Or wailing. Or is that a siren?
I try and open my eyes but the light’s too bright. I try to move but it hurts too much. I want the blackness back, no pain, no noise...
I’m cold, so cold, and I don’t know where I am. I want to open my eyes but my body won’t listen. Lights flash behind my eyelids, colours, then white and more white.
I’m moving, being pushed along. What happened? What’s going on?
The voices sound worried, panicked. Is that Mum? Mum?
Nothing. The blackness wraps around me, comforts me.
* * *
I’m warm now and still, very still. There are hushed voices nearby, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I try and lift a hand, but it hurts. My entire body thrums with a strange kind of numbness. I’m fuzzy, out of step with my body.
I try and remember how I got here. Wherever here is.
There’s a weird humming, a low buzz, and a clinical smell in the air... Hospital. I’m in hospital.
And then I remember the car—the car I didn’t see coming because I was crying. Why was I crying?
Jackson. Our argument. I try to push the memory away. I don’t want it. I move my head and hear a whimper. Was that me?
Someone takes hold of my hand, someone soft, loving. Mum?
I try to open my eyes, but they feel stuck together.
‘It’s okay baby girl, we’re here.’
Mum. It is Mum. I rest back into the pillow and feel the tiredness take over. Pushing out the pain, the memory...
* * *
I’m dreaming. I know it’s a dream because I’m dancing with Jackson again. We’re happy, so happy. I look down, expecting to see green silk blending with the navy and green of his kilt and instead I see white.
It’s our wedding day. Our wedding day...
Wake up, Cait, don’t taunt yourself with this. Wake up!
‘Wake up, Cait.’ I realise the voice is real. It’s Dad.
‘Maybe she needs more sleep,’ I hear Mum say as someone puffs the pillows beneath me, and the head end of the bed rises up.
‘It’s been two days.’