Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Shayne | Up in flames

Shayne didn't remember moving. Thinking. Breathing.

The world bled and swirled around her in a blur of shapes, light and noise—she saw none of it, felt none of it, and somehow managed to find her way to the hospital.

"Hey—" Shayne slapped the flat of her hand atop the nursing station. The woman manning the desk jolted, her trio of support administrators whipped their gazed around, equally jarred by her abrupt entrance. "A high-priority patient was airlifted in sixteen hours ago. Plane crash."

Saying those final two words was like smacking her face into concrete as she imagined the horror and devastation.

Plane crash, plane crash, plane crash.

She'd never witnessed such an accident or been in anything remotely similar, but for the last six hours as she vaulted from Vegas to Washington, her mind had conjured a host of painful and terrifying equivalents. The bounce of her teeth against pavement. The sliding scrape of skin ripping away. The roaring screaming of twisting metal. The belching blackness of endless smoke, obscuring sight and funneling down her lungs.

Over and over, until she wanted to scream or cause serious bodily harm to another living person.

The nurse lowered the phone from her ear, warm eyes soft with understanding but firm with the weight of policy. "I'm sorry I can't pass on any details about patients to anyone whom isn't family—"

"It is my fucking family." Beneath the anger, grief blasted through her like high beams slicing through shadows. I should never have fought with Isobel. I should've apologized—instead of letting her stalk out in a snit. If I had she would've stayed. If I had this never would've happened..."Room number. I need to be back there. I need to know..."

"If you sit in the waiting room, I can call the doctors to ascertain—"

Not waiting for further interference, she rounded the nursing station desk, the sound of the nurse calling out to her muted by the roar of Shayne's inner emotions clashing within her body. Shattering her into a thousand tiny pieces that she struggled to hold together. She loped down the hall, the clamouring of footsteps behind her, the heavy fall of a hand.

"Miss, I'm sorry, I can't—" His words ended with an abrupt snap of her palm into his face, the heel thrusting up and driving into his nose. He screamed. Blood sprayed. Shayne kept running, eyes peeling the corridors until she saw exactly what she was looking for.

Bodies clustered near the doorway. Suits and ties.

"Let me through," she warned, hands curled into fists.

One of the guards answered her statement with a lift of his hand and a warning in his eyes. "We're under express orders—"

Shayne picked up speed, and as they saw her furious approach, they braced to tackle her. But she was quick—fueled by adrenaline and fear. All hard elbows and flying knees until she had them both on the ground, groaning at her feet. Pushing into the room, Shayne slammed it shut behind her, set her hands to the door and paused.

Silence.

No, that wasn't right. The room was thrumming with noise, but somewhere inside of her she'd gone silent and still with terror. If she moved...if she looked around and saw...there would be no taking it back. No removing the image from her brain. What she would see in this moment would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Stop being so weak. Face what you've done.

Stretching her shoulders back, Shayne sucked in a deep breath and turned around.