Dead Girl Walking ― Aaron Minyard

53. peace

i never had the courage of my convictions
as long as danger is near,
and it's just around the corner, darling,
'cause it lives in me
― taylor swift

♦

WHEN ELIZABETH WOKE, NOTHING HURT, which was her first indication that something was wrong.

She opened her eyes to the sterile innards of a hospital room. There was an IV in her arm pumping something into her veins—some kind of painkiller, if she had to guess based on the fuzzy quality of the world around her. A monitor beeped slowly to her right, advertising her abysmal health for all the hospital to hear.

Her face was hot, and when she moved her mouth just a bit, she felt the tug of the shallow cut Lola had drawn into her cheek. Her bicep was bandaged as well where the cleaver had hit, and she could feel gauze on her midsection.

She turned her head just a bit to the side, taking note of two visitors—Feds, judging by the arrogant superiority they carried, and the badges hanging from their shirt pockets.

"Where am I?" Her voice was raw and her throat felt painfully dry.

"Heyward Memorial in downtown Baltimore," one of the agents, a gruff-looking man, answered.

Baltimore.

It came back to her in disjointed pieces—the game in Binghamton, the phone call with her father, the riot. Chasing after her brother, clutching too-familiar knives in her hand, choking underneath her father's hands.

"My father," she said. "Is he dead?"

"He is," the second agent, a slightly less gruff-looking woman, confirmed.

"You want to tell us how that happened?" the first asked.

Elizabeth blinked. Someone... Stuart. He said not to. He said to let them believe it was him.

"No," Elizabeth said. "My team—"

"We're getting their statements now," the woman said. "Then we'll send them back to South Carolina."

"No," Elizabeth said again. They couldn't go back, it wasn't safe, someone—

It was all so fuzzy.

"Bryson Fisher," she remembered.

"Who?" the man asked, leaning forward.

"He's at Palmetto," she said. "He works for my father—he'll hurt them."

The woman looked at her partner, who nodded briefly and stood.

"We'll take care of him," the woman promised, as if that was an easy promise for her to make. The man left the room, and Elizabeth watched in silence.

The woman leaned closer. "I'm Agent Seung," she introduced herself.

"Am I under arrest?" Elizabeth asked.

"No," Seung was quick to reassure. "But we're going to need your cooperation to make sure the right people are arrested."

Elizabeth swallowed. "Let me see my brother first," she said. "And my team."

"I can't do that," Seung said gently.

"It wasn't a request," Elizabeth said.

"Miss Wesninski—"

"I'll talk when I see them," Elizabeth said, as forcefully as the painkillers and lightheadedness would allow.

And then she said nothing.