The Last of Us

Forty-One

It had been a week since Danni's attack. She was finally allowed to have visitors outside of her family.

I had so many questions for her.

I follow the signs leading me to her room number, passing busy nurses as they ignore my presence, marching past. I always wondered how stressful it would be to have a job that important. Even though I sometimes felt like I made a difference, it was nothing compared to what other careers entailed.

I spin on my heel, taking an immediate turn down the next corridor to my left as I make my way closer to her room.

We'd sent a few texts over the last week, but I still hadn't had the chance to ask her anything substantial. She'd already had to speak to the police about anything she could remember.

I almost ran into a cleaner, carting half-eaten and finished food trays. She throws me a sideways glance that I ignore, too focused on what lies ahead.

Danni is sitting in bed, tapping away on her phone, when I tap my knuckles against the open the door to her room.

"Fuck," she curses at her phone, frowning. "Flappy fucking, stupid bird, this game should be called."

"You've clearly recovered well," I snort, closing the door behind me.

She doesn't bother to look up from her phone, instead offering me a slight nod as she settles back into her game. "I've nearly been killed before, so I'd like to say I'm a bit of an expert in the whole recovery thing."

"Yeah," I clear my throat.

All jokes aside, none of this was really that funny. It may have been a way for Danni to cope, but we still had to deal with what had happened—what is continuing to happen.

"Danni," I begin.

She sighs, putting her phone on the table next to her bed. I noticed a long line of stitches up her wrist, which I hadn't seen that night in the forest. My eyes had been too focused on the etchings in her stomach.

"I honestly can't tell you much," she murmurs, staring at her hands. Most of her hands are still covered in scabs, defensive wounds beginning to heal as though nothing ever happened to her. As if they're doing their best to erase the trauma.

"One second, I'm looking at the back of you and the next—the next, someone is holding their hand over my mouth and a knife at my throat, pulling me backwards.

"I know you probably think I could have yelled out to you, but it was as though I'd gone into shock. I'd just realised that it was—that Katie was dead. Her glasses were lying there..."

She pauses for a while, and I almost think she's finished telling me everything she remembers. I take a seat opposite her bed, facing her.

"I eventually started to scream as well as I could when he dragged me outside. The knife was starting to cut into my throat, though, and I was afraid he'd kill me right there, so I stopped moving.

"The whole time, he didn't even say anything to me. His grip was so tight I couldn't even turn around to see what he looked like.

"When he finally brought me to the forest, I was shoved hard into the ground. He had his knee against my throat and pulled up my shirt."

I see the slight shake of her hands, which she quickly covers by turning into fists. The IV needle in her hand strains, and she winces, relaxing her grip again.

"Then he—" she begins to tear up, but when I go to comfort her, she holds out a hand. "Don't fucking do that," she croaks. "I wanna finish what I have to say. That fucker isn't stopping me from making sure everyone knows what a sadistic prick he really is."

"Okay," I whisper.

"He carved his message into me. It hurt a lot initially, but I've learnt to calm myself over the years. I focused on how dark it was around me. I tried to get a clearer image of him, anything more than an outline. It didn't work, but I'm sure he had darker features. Brown hair, I think. I don't know; I was starting to pass out at that point."

She rubs her eyes, hiding the tears. "I don't really know what happened next. It was strange, actually. He seemed to turn away from me, and that's when I got all this adrenaline. I don't think he expected it because he'd sliced me up badly. I just kicked him, sending him off balance. It was enough for me to run."

"That's when you found me?" I ask.

She nods. "Yeah. I remember seeing you, but that's it. I think I lost consciousness after that. It was like my body said, I've gotten you to safety; now let me fucking rest."

"Have the police given you any leads?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. "I don't know what the fuck they're doing, Harlow. I've never seen a more incompetent bunch of idiots. It's like they don't really care. Like they're pretending to on the outside, but it's all a facade."

I drum my hands against my knee, thinking. "It's strange that they haven't found anything concrete. Surely the killer has slipped up somewhere."

"You know what's strange? They told me they needed to see me when I was admitted to get evidence from my clothes and body. My mum said they never came for any of that, though."

"What?" I frown.

"Yeah," Danni nods. "Mum spoke to a younger officer about it, said a team would be at the hospital shortly...they never came."

What the fuck was going on?

"This whole investigation has been a complete shit show. People are dying, and they're not doing anything to stop it," Danni grits her teeth.

I'd known that the investigation had been slow, that there had even been times when I hadn't been listened to, but I'd never thought that they weren't collecting evidence.

"This doesn't make any sense," I rub my forehead.

"I know," Danni shrugs. "Maybe it's a complete breakdown of communications or just pure laziness..."

She stops, almost as though she wants to say more.

"Or?" I nudge her.

"Or, the killer knows someone in the police force."