I shake my head, then start o
n my notes again. I’m sure Rhys is trying to lighten the mood, and I appreciate his attempt at humor, for my sake. I halt writing as a thought occurs.
I eye my phone, wondering what Torrance the bartender said about me. It’s not as if we’re friends, or remotely close; brought together by unfortunate circumstance. After that night, according to Cameron, she never saw her spring break fling again. A one-night stand that, after her best friend was attacked and nearly died, she forgot all about.
Then the interview when Rhys reopened my case. A ten-minute conversation with Torrance that only reiterated what I already knew. I walked off toward the dock. Torrance and Cam left the bar and went to his apartment. Nothing else.
I reach for my phone. I need to know what he said about Joanna and me. It’s too uncanny that two women were attacked in establishments where he worked.
I try to picture Mike Rixon’s face coming toward me on the dock…
Did Torrance’s brother come there looking for him, only to find me? Are Joanna and I trying to tell the same story?
“I think I got enough for now,” I say as I stand, tucking my notebook close to my chest. I slip my phone into my back pocket. “I’m calling it a day. See you in the morning.”
“We should share a room.”
His words stop me at the door. “Are you serious? Because of the cryptic, three-word note? I thought you said we shouldn’t take it seriously.”
“I never said that. Be it an obsessed fan, jealous agent, or unhinged ghost from your past, I err on the side of caution.”
His mention of a ghost from my past makes me shiver. He hasn’t forgotten. Does that mean he believes it’s a possibility, or just that he believes I think it’s real?
“And your tingly agent senses tell you I’m not exactly safe,” is all I say.
“They tell me that this person knows where you’re staying. They know your room number, because they most likely followed you here.” He pauses to let this sink in. “Until we smoke out the author of the note, I’m keeping you close. You’re staying in my room tonight.”
12
Book of Cameron
Lakin: Then
Awakening in a hospital room is like being born a second time, only with complete awareness. Senses are overstimulated. Lights are too bright. Noises are too loud. Smells are overpowering. Starchy sheets rub against skin like saltwater abrading a wound.
Every move triggers discomfort. You have no memory of what hunger feels like.
Only thirst.
My mouth was so parched, I can still recall the scratchy feel of sandpaper on my tongue. Like spider webs at times. I kept trying to pull the webbing out of my mouth, until one of the nurses reduced the morphine drip.
Then…the pain.
My body was a lightning rod for pain.
It took a week for me to remember my name.
It took another two weeks for me to be able to use the bathroom on my own.
The first time I saw the mutilation to my body in the bathroom mirror…
Let’s just say, the physical agony was bearable compared to the psychological trauma.
But the worst part was the isolation. It was worse than what I suffered after Amber. I’d never felt so alone, so cutoff from the world. It was as if my own small world had slammed to a halt, and everyone else kept going without me. I was stuck in limbo.
I spent the first days drifting in and out of sleep, healing, recovering. My body fighting to live. My mind hadn’t yet grasped why I was in the hospital. I was existing on a plane somewhere between consciousness and a nightmare. Struggling to fully wake up, like a perpetual state of sleep paralysis.
When I fought my way to the land of the living, Detective Dutton was the first person my blurry gaze latched on to.