“Keep your fat mouth shut, and don’t forget to cry big ugly tears.”
I twist to look at him. Those copper eyes widen at the snarl on my face. “He was—is my father. We don’t even know it’s Jack!” I grind out. Anger is the single emotion I’m able to hold on to as the rest swirls around me, and I wish he would hit me so I could focus on the pain.
A grin, like the Cheshire cat’s, takes over his face and it has me looking between them. “It might not be him,” I whisper.
Please, God, don't let it be Jack. Malachi’s words whisper around me. He’s pissed off too many people.
The scenery blurs around me, and I jump when Declan leans over. I look around to see we’ve arrived. The two policemen and Marcus are all standing outside, waiting for me. Declan lingers, pushing my hair behind my ears. He grabs a chunk of my hair at the scalp, tightening his hold as my eyes water.
“Don’t mess this up.” He leans close, and I’m sure to anyone else it looks comforting. “Or you will pay! Move.” His demand breaks any train of thought and I grab the handle. The weather is warm for September, but there is a chill in the air.
Walker opens the door of the hospital, a back entrance. No one else is around. With a few touches to a keypad, a loud click tells us to enter. The smell… death hangs in the air. The corridor is long and narrow with stark white walls and a blue tiled floor. Fluorescent lighting buzzes above us like a swarm of angry wasps.
No other sound can be heard. It’s not the nice kind of silence but the eerie kind that sends a shiver down your spine.
Walker walks a little ahead, picking up the pace as he spots a lady in a white coat. Her eyes flick over her shoulder to me, before looking back at Walker, to whom she nods. Just as I catch up, she forces a smile to her lips.
“Miss Harper.” She holds her hand out, and I stare at it for a moment before reaching out. The warmth of her skin burns mine.
“This way.” She repeats medical terms to Walker. From my nurse’s degree, I know what she’s saying; fractured skull, heavy object, brain bruising and swelling, missing index finger, multiple lacerations to the body, broken kneecaps and four teeth removed.
I race past them to the waste bin, dry heaving.
“She’s a nurse,” Michaels explains.
They both look apologetic. “I’m sorry. Have you seen a dead body before?” I nod, and her lips pull tight as she opens the door.
Stepping in feels like I’m entering a walk-in fridge. I stop a few feet from the steel table, then the woman nods, pulling back the white sheet.
Even with all my training, nothing prepares me for this. With the clean-up job, the man’s hair is still a mixture of reds, and his skin is a faint pink from the extreme amount of blood this poor person lost. His skin is starting to turn a bluish, grey tone, which makes the purple bruises that cover his skin look like a dot to dot.
“A lot of the bruising was done after the time of death.”
I cover my mouth as bile creeps up my throat. Even after his death, they continued to punish him. Or were they so carried away they didn’t realise they had stolen his last breath as they continued their brutal assault?
My heart lets out a sigh as I continue to take in the poor person covered in deep lashes and marks. It isn’t Jack!
“It’s not him!” I whisper, relief in my voice.
“Are you sure?” I think it’s Officer Walker who talks.
My gaze continues to flick over the body. Jack was skinnier, his face gaunter. I go to nod, stopping myself when I see it. Between the bruises is a birthmark on the side of his neck that looks like a triangle.
I take a step closer as all the features start to stand out more. I remember how Hayden used to tease me, saying Jack was an alien and that’s why he had that mark.
Jack… Oh, Jack, what did you do?
I feel the wetness race down my face. “Jack,” I whisper, going to touch him before lifting my shaking hand to my mouth.
The woman nods to someone before Declan steps up beside me, putting his arm around me, as if for support. “Looks just like his son did.”
As his words bury deep inside of me, taking root, I feel a change take over, hear people talking. I nod and reply, yet it’s as if someone has taken over. I’m no longer in control. I’ve taken a backseat. Something has taken over, almost like it is protecting me.
The sun hits me. I’m outside? When did I get outside? I blink.
I am back at the house. When did that happen?
“Would you like some tea?” Do I want tea? I nod. Yes?
I look up to see Clara trying to take the cup from my hand. “Sorry, it's cold. I’ll make you a fresh one.”
I look down at the mug in my hand, the tea stone cold. “Thank you.” I smile—I think.
“Lilliana?” I turn to the voice. Malachi. There’s a deep line between his brows, confusion in his eyes. Did he ask me a question? I watch as Marcus walks over to him, whispering in his ear, causing Malachi’s whole body to tense, his eyes fixed on me. He takes a step forward before turning and slamming the door behind him. I turn back to the window, frowning at the midnight sky. It’s night? Where did the sun go?
I feel soft sheets beneath me. I’m in a bed? I look around the room. It’s gloomy, and there are black sheets and curtains. Warmth invades me. Malachi? No, it's Prince. He’s Prince now. I’m here, his prisoner. How did I forget that?
There are flecks of red on his neck. Did he hurt himself shaving? I run my fingertips over the mark, and it wipes off, smudging on my finger. I look down at the smear, and suddenly I can't catch my breath. All the oxygen leaves my body in one whoosh as I start trembling with force. Who is that screaming? Why isn't anyone helping her?
“Lilliana?” I look into dark eyes, and they hold me in their force.
“Ge-get it… get it off.” She’s screaming again.
When did it start raining?
It’s stopped, and white tiles surround me. Is this a bathroom? I’m wrapped in a towel. Why is Malachi—Prince wet too? Did we just shower?
I’m surrounded by heat, the softness of the sheets. I’m in bed again. The red light of the digital clock flashes, showing me 3:49. I blink: 3:50. I blink again: 8:23. Blink: 8:24; blink: 13:56; blink: 13:58; blink: 18:10; blink: 20:40.
“Lilliana, you need to eat.” I look up when I hear the rough voice, seeing Prince holding a sandwich. I turn back to the clock: 23:17. Blink: 1:30; blink: 3:42.
The warmth is back, holding on to me tight, pulling me as close as it can, surrounding me like a blanket. Blink: 6:25.
“Lilliana, the doctor’s here. He needs to look you over.” An old man with a receding hairline smiles at me. He pokes my body, asking questions, but no words come.
I hear the words; broken ribs, bruising, cut on neck, no stitches, shock, trauma.
The doctor holds out two tablets. “These will help.”
I take them with a shaky hand and pop them in my mouth. A fuzzy feeling takes over me, and my eyes grow heavy. I smile as the wave of darkness washes over me.
“Lilliana, we need to talk about Jack, about the funeral.”
Jack’s funeral? I frown at Prince. “It wasn’t him. It wasn’t.”
His brows slam down. “Yes, it was. I went myself.”