Hiding out in an abandoned shack from their abusive pasts, Allison and Ethan Bryson entertain themselves by imaging all sorts of curious characters near the frozen lake outside their hut.
But after Allison witnesses a man murder a young woman and di...
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I opened my eyes to a stark white ceiling, different from the walls of the wooden shack I grew accustomed to over the years. I turned to my side, expecting the long, silky strands of Ethan's hair to be tangled in my fingers and provide comfort. Instead, a thick gauze bandage around my hand prevented my fingers from moving at all.
Then the memory hit me like a ton of bricks. Thoughts of Ethan, Owen, Judith and Amanda swamped my mind. They were gone. However, watching the steady drip, drip, drip of liquid slowly slip into my veins through the IV in my arm took my mind off the past and firmly anchored me in the present.
A woman in medical scrubs walked in the room, disrupting my thoughts. "How are you feeling?" She looked down at the notebook sized tablet in her hand.
I studied her, taking in her smile and friendly behavior. Although I wanted to, I didn't trust it. "Where am I?"
"You're at Copper Springs. One of Arizona's mental health facilities." She smiled although I could make out the concern. "You were transferred from St. Joseph's Medical Center. Do you know why you're here?"
I shook my head. "Why?"
"You were missing a couple of fingers and experiencing a major psychosis when you arrived at the other hospital. So, you were brought here to recover and for a mental evaluation. How's the pain?"
"Oh, um. Not too bad." Confusion took over all sense of worry.
"Good. We have you on a low dosage of an opioid analgesic for pain." She moved to the side of my bed, looking down into my eyes. "I'm a resident here. You can call me Dr. Shelby. Do you know your name?"
"Allison."
"Do you have a last name?"
If I told her my last name, was it possible for her to discover what Ethan and I had left behind four years ago? If they investigated Allison Lynn Bryson's past they'd link me directly to Mr. Bryson. So today I am ... "Allison Smith."
Allison Smith was a girl looking for her remaining family and didn't experience the sudden and devastating loss of everything she had known for the last few years.
She nodded. "Ok, Allison. Do you suffer from a history of self-harm?"
"Self-harm?" I shook my head.
"How about a history of using illegal drugs or stimulants?"
"You think I hurt myself?"
"Did you?" She stared at me, attentively waiting for my answer. When I didn't say anything, she moved on. "How did you get your injuries?"
"I—" I couldn't speak.
She gave me a suspicious glance, but quickly replaced it with a neutral gaze. "How about a history of eating disorders?"
