Whisper in the Rain

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

GRACE

An ache in my neck threatened to pull me from sleep, but I hung on like a tick. I turned on my side and attempted to fall back into sweet, dreamless oblivion, but something tugged at the seams of my consciousness, urging me awake.

Something wasn't right.

The lights were too bright. The sheets were too thick. I took in a deep breath and was hit with the smell of sanitizer and latex. I wondered – or hoped, really – that I was dreaming. But when I opened my eyes, reality filtered in and I realized I wasn't at home in my bed. The white walls, the tile floors, the uniformity of the cold room all screamed one thing.

Hospital.

Terror ripped at my chest as foggy memories of what I thought had been a nightmare came crashing down around me. The fear. The blood. The screaming. It had all been real.

I clutched the blankets in my hand as I took silent inventory of my body and mind. There was no pain, no discomfort, not even an IV wire fed into a vein. A single plastic finger monitor was the only apparatus attached to me. My thoughts were clear and focused, telling me no drugs of any kind wandered through my system. The only thing that plagued me was the overwhelming need to empty my bladder.

My bare feet hit the cold floor and as soon as I ditched the clamp on my finger I shuffled into the bathroom. After stifling a sigh of relief, I flushed, washed my hands, and reached for the door knob. My hand froze mid-turn when footsteps right outside tapped closer. Carefully, I stepped out into the room where a man in a long white coat waited for me.

"Good morning, Miss Wildstone. How'd you sleep?"

His deep voice was calm, authoritative, but lacking empathy. The icy way he held himself told me he didn't care and he'd rather not be addressing me in such a civil manner.

"Fine, I guess," I answered as I nervously straightened my hospital gown. "I don't remember much."

"Good." He gestured to the bed and I forced my stiff legs to carry me across the room.

"Care if I ask you a few questions?"

I sat on the edge of the bed and shrugged without meeting his eyes. I didn't think I had anything to hide, but one wrong word and he'd be escorting me up the elevator to the psych ward.

"Do you remember what happened last night? Why you were admitted?"

I nodded as my brain jogged through the memories of last night.

"I was throwing up. My foster sister called for Martha and they brought me here. Guess I must have passed out on the way. I don't remember much after that."

"Yup." His voice was clipped and annoyed, like I'd inconvenienced him in some way. "And before all that, what were you doing?"

I swallowed nervously. His icy demeanor put me on edge, making me feel like I was being interrogated instead of examined.

"I, uh, I went to my boyfriends house for dinner. Before that, I was at school. That's it."

"Uh huh." He made a quick notation on the chart in his hands. "And did you do anything illegal? Drugs of any kind? Did you smoke anything? Take some pills, maybe?"

My head jerked back, surprised at how forward he was being. His lack of warmth finally made sense. He was chalking everything up to drug abuse.

"What? No! Nothing like that. I've never even smoked a cigarette before, I swear."