Remind Me

Chapter Forty

I gasp when my eyes catch sight of the blood. I feel dizzy. The room is spinning. I'm dying. Is this what it feels like?

Something's ringing. Is it in my mind? What's going on?

No, I think that's a phone. But where's the phone? I don't think Ian has his. And I don't even think Ian is here anymore. I guess I wouldn't really know with my vision blacking out so rapidly.

My eyes fly open. I sit up, my lungs struggling to find breath. My hands are clutching my sheets. My heart is beating so hard that I can hear it. It is pounding in my head.

I'm not in the basement. I'm in the guest bed, and Clarin is sleeping across from me in the other. It was a nightmare.

I put a shaky hand to my forehead an let out a relieved breath. It was a nightmare. Not real. None of that happened. I'm safe. I'm not bleeding. I'm not impaled. I'm completely fine, minus some mental trauma.

Wait, I do hear ringing. That wasn't in my dream. My phone really is ringing.

I pick it up, not bothering to check who it is, only that it's 6:30 in the morning.

"Hello?" I say, rubbing my eyes.

"You have a caller from the Pearlin County Prison. The caller wishing to speak to you is Jonathan Reanolds. To accept this call, press 1," a friendly feminine voice replies.

I blink a few times, surprised by this. Jonathan wants to speak to me? Isn't he dead? I killed him! My heart is pounding in my chest and my eyes are wide. Jonathan is calling me?

I press 1.

"Brinley?" The low voice I've come to know says, sounding shocked.

"Yes," I say slowly. "Why did you call me? How are you alive? I shot you!"

"You have awful aim," is all he says.

I stay silent, gaping at the wall. I didn't hit him in the head like I thought?

"I want to say one thing to you," he spits nastily.

"Get on with it," I say, pretty annoyed and very in awe. I thought I killed him! I really did! I can't decide if this is a bad thing or a good thing.

"Don't think that just because you put me in this horrible place and gave me weeks in the hospital that this is over. I want you to know you're going to get what you deserve for shooting a bullet through my shoulder and putting me behind bars," Jonathan says.

I narrow my eyes at the blanket. "You're in there for thirty years. So are your friends. I don't think you'll be able to hurt me by the time you get out. Everyone's in jail."

"Not everyone," Jonathan breathes.

"What?" My eyes widen. But how didn't the cops find the others?

"Someone's willing to help me," he continues. "And they've recently contacted me about you. When it happens, I want you to know it's from me. My little gift to you because of this."

"You... You don't even know where I am. I could be halfway across the country and very safe, for all you know," I say, feeling anxious. He couldn't find me somehow, could he? He couldn't send someone after me. I'm here in Oregon for two weeks!

Jonathan only laughs, like he knows exactly what's going on. "Watch your back, Brinley." And then the line goes dead.

<•>•<•>

I don't go back to sleep. I just sit in my bed and stare at the painted ceiling, wondering why he responded how he did. He must know where I am. He must've done exactly what he said: contacted someone who knows exactly where I am.