It was a gunshot. That was the ear piecing sound I'd heard in the distance as I laid in a muddy crevasse, nearly passed out and waiting on someone to bring a stretcher. The noise surrounding me was fading in and out, but my vision had turned to all black. I felt sick, like I was going to vomit any second, but the cold sweat rushing through my body was preventing me from moving if I had to. It was that horrible chill you get before fainting. Only I hadn't fainted. I was still barely coherent, at least enough to know that I'd heard a gunshot in the woods. It came from the same direction that Blake had headed in chasing the man in black, and my imagination began to run wild with what if scenarios.
"Mackenzie, can you hear me?" Ranger Carson's voice was intelligible, but it sounded like she was a football field away, speaking through a narrow tunnel.
She was shining a small flashlight in my eyes, checking my pupils for reaction as I lay in what could only be described as a trance, staring into the abyss. I could feel my body starting to shake with anxiety, but I couldn't control it. I couldn't even force myself to speak coherently. I knew I was mumbling something, but it wasn't verbiage anyone could make sense of.
Everything finally fell silent, and I completely faded out of consciousness just as the paramedics had arrived with the stretcher. I heard someone say something about helping me, but nothing after that.
When I awoke in a hospital room that evening, the incessant beeping of machines was enough to immediately bring on a headache. I blinked numerous times, trying desperately to focus, but it took at least a minute before the room came into clear view. I glanced around at everything in the room. There were two vacant guest chairs and a small table in the corner with nothing on it. No signs of anyone there to check on me.
On the wall directly in front of me was a large white board with the date, my doctor and nurse's names, and some abbreviated information about what medications I was on. It said the R.N.'s name was Shelley. I figured the best way to get some answers was to summon her. Fiddling around in the bedding, I located a remote and pressed the nurse call button. I heard a ding like a doorbell and a red light lit up. After a few minutes, I considered pressing the button again, but a knock at the door signaled someone's arrival.
A short brunette woman with a kind face and tired eyes entered the room. She looked like she could use a couple cups of coffee.
"I'm glad to see you're awake, Miss Vega," she smiled, retrieving my chart, and glancing over the paperwork. "My name is Shelley. I'm a registered nurse. How are you feeling?"
For the first time since passing out, I opened my mouth to speak, and I was surprised to discover how hoarse I sounded.
I shook my head, trying a couple times to clear my throat. "My head is pounding, but I think I'm okay otherwise. Can you tell me what happened? How long have I been here?"
Shelley pulled up a seat beside my bed and eyed the monitor that was displaying my vitals. "You were brought in by ambulance this afternoon. Do you remember anything?"
A gunshot. That's what I remembered. A horrible bang clattering through the forest. My blood running cold at the sound. I remembered someone trying to help me, but I couldn't remember who. Had I been shot?
I immediately started feeling around my body for a gunshot wound, but I felt no pain and didn't spot anything unusual.
"Miss Vega, are you alright? Do you need something?" the nurse asked with concern at my behavior.
"I'm sorry." I shook my head again. "I just... I don't remember anything. What happened? Why am I here?"
Shelley gave me a reassuring smile and placed a comforting hand over mine. "That's alright. You're here because you sustained a nasty concussion after a fall in the woods. The national park police called it in. Were you hiking and lost your footing? I know it can be real slick on some of those trails this time of year."
I didn't have the heart to tell her what was actually going on. And honestly, that was a can of worms I wasn't interested in opening anyway. She didn't need to know.
"Uh, yeah," I nodded awkwardly. "I tripped on a root or something."
Or something.
She managed a sympathetic look and patted the back of my hand before getting up. "Well, the doctor will be in to speak with you shortly. He can talk with you regarding further treatment and discharge timing. Is there anything you need from me in the meantime?"
I thought for a moment, debating if I even wanted the answer, but I asked anyway. "I was just wondering... has anyone come to check on me?"
Shelley grinned, opening the door to exit. "Of course! Your fiancé has been in and out for the last three hours. I finally sent him to get something to eat a little while before you woke up. Poor guy was worried sick. I'm sure he'll be back soon."
I frowned and started to tell her I wasn't engaged, but she turned to leave before I could say anything. My fiancé? What the hell?
Maybe this concussion was extra strong, and I'd just imagined that conversation entirely. Yeah, that had to be it. Nothing made sense otherwise.
But then there was another knock at the door. I assumed it was the doctor coming to discuss the situation with me, but to my shock, it wasn't medical staff at all.
"You're awake," Blake grinned, shutting the door behind himself. "How's your head?"
I was so fucking confused.
"Blake? What the hell is going on?" I asked, the words coming out sounding ruder than I meant for them to. "What are you doing here? I mean... not that I don't appreciate it, but... yeah, what are you doing here?"
He snorted a laugh and sat down in the chair that Shelley had sat in. "I've been here since about an hour after they brought you in. How are you feeling, Mackenzie?"
I groaned, rubbing my palm against my forehead. "I have a splitting headache. It feels like somebody's been chopping firewood on top of my head."
He gave a halfhearted smile and sighed, leaning back in the chair. "I'm just glad you're okay."
It took me a moment to finish wrapping my mind around the fact that Blake was sitting in the hospital room with me. I didn't know what all was hooked up to my body or what medications I'd been given, but I knew my thoughts were impaired, maybe for more than one reason. I felt stupid once I realized the magnitude of the situation. Blake was here. And he was okay. He was alive. My worst fear hadn't come true. That's when I started to feel the anxiety kick back in. The shaking seemed to start in my feet and began to work its way up my body, once again turning my blood cold at the realization. Had they caught the killer? Was Blake actually okay? Was he really there or was I imagining things? The understanding that I'd sustained a head injury had my thoughts running wild like a forest fire and the line between reality and imagination was beginning to blur.
The monitor reading my pulse began to increase its chirping and I could feel my blood pressure rising.
"Hey. Mackenzie, it's okay. It's alright. I'm here," Blake said, leaning over and wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
Well... he felt real. Maybe I wasn't going insane.
I sucked in a harsh deep breath and looked up into his eyes. He looked so worried, and I instantly felt terrible for worrying him on top of everything else.
"I'm sorry," I heaved, choking back what was trying to become a full-on teary waterfall. "I guess I'm just really overwhelmed with all of this."
He shook his head. "No. No. It's okay. You're safe now. I'm here and I'm going to stay with you until you get discharged. Nobody can hurt you, Mackenzie. Trust me."
I tried my best to clear my throat again, my voice still croaking out in a hoarse rasp. "Blake, what happened? I don't remember anything after you went running after that guy. Are you okay? Did you get him? I-"
"Mackenzie, I need you to breathe in between words or that monitor is going to go ballistic," Blake said with a calm smile. "I don't know if this is the best setting to discuss this. You need to rest and recover."
My brows drew inward, and I groaned in response. "No. I need to know what the hell is going on. Please tell me."
I could tell by the look on his face, he knew I wasn't going to stop hounding him for information until he spilled. He knew it was futile to argue with me and surrendered.
"Alright, fine," he sighed, running his fingers through his messy hair. "I went after the guy. Probably a quarter mile into the pursuit, I thought I had him cornered. He turned around and I thought he was going to take a run at me, but he threw a smoke bomb. I fired, but I couldn't see anything, so I'm sure I missed. Long story short, the bastard got away again. I feel like I really fucked up, Mackenzie. I should've had him."
It wasn't the news I wanted to hear, but I was happier to hear that Blake hadn't been shot. I'd been so worried that the killer was armed too. I knew Blake was just doing his job, but a part of me was so angry with him for chasing after a murderer without backup. He could've gotten himself killed!
"I was so scared that you'd been hurt," I admitted, swallowing the lump in my throat. "When I heard that gunshot... I didn't know who was being shot at. I thought you could've been hit. I think that's what made me black out. I couldn't handle it."
Admitting that my feelings for this man were so strong that I would pass out over stressing about his safety was not something I had expected to blurt out, but now that it was out of my mouth, somehow, I actually felt a little better about it.
Blake smiled softly, rubbing his palm up and down my arm to comfort me. "I'm so sorry I scared you like that, Mackenzie. I never should've taken you with me to the scene."
I shook my head. "No. You probably shouldn't have. But I'm glad you did anyway."
Glancing around the room, I was in search of wherever my belongings had been placed. Blake seemed to know what I was looking for and gestured to a small rolling cart that had a couple shelves in it. I supposed they were using it like a makeshift dresser.
"Do you need something?" he asked.
"Find your hoodie I was wearing," I told him. "Look in the pocket. I hope it's still there."
He looked at me confused, but obliged, fishing through the contents of the drawer. He pulled out the small item from the left pocket and held it up to the light. It was a man's silver pinky ring with a small green stone in the center. I assumed it belonged to the killer and had been overlooked by the authorities previously on the scene.
"What-"
"I found it on the ground near where the body had been found," I explained. "I thought it might belong to the killer. Maybe that's why he was out there with us. He might've been looking for it so we wouldn't find it. Why else risk being caught in broad daylight?"
The look on Blake's face was perplexing – something I couldn't decipher. He almost looked like he was going to be sick. Whatever the reason for his reaction, my pounding skull wouldn't allow me to quiz him on it until later, but I fully intended to.
"So... you're my fiancé now?" I opted to tease him to lighten up the mood.
Blake's expression turned back to a grin, and he discarded the evidence in his hip pocket, sitting back down beside me.
"They wouldn't let Michelle in because she wasn't family. It was essentially the only way they'd let me see you," he chuckled. "Don't tell anybody. You'll get me kicked out and then you'll be bored without my charming entertainment."
I shook my head and smiled for the first time. "Oh yeah. The entertainment is immense."