Pyro

Chapter 34

I stirred. A wave of nausea ambushed my stomach and I writhed under thick blankets, thrashing under them and clamping my hand over my mouth. I crumpled to the floor and spotted a trash can in the corner.

I scrambled to it and coughed. Vomit ravaged its way up my throat and surged past my lips. A whimper escaped me as I swabbed my mouth and I slumped against the bed, resting my head on the mattress and gasping for breath.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

My back, God my back, I thought, shuddering. My limbs hung limply by my side and an intense pressure in my head had my vision revolving. I couldn't even affirm where I was.

It was some sort of bedroom, I surmised. Obviously, if there was a bed.

Stagnant air inundated the room. A black curtain sealed off a window, barring light. I fumbled for the lamp on the bed stand, fishing for a light, but an overwhelming fear I'd break something smothered me and my hand retreated to my side, opting for darkness.

Dressers littered with loose objects flanked the bed and rested on the sides of the room, and a golden doorknob loomed in the darkness. I attempted to haul my mess of limbs up by propping myself up on a dresser, but a sharp sting sliced my back so I sunk to the floor.

An ajar door in the corner led to, what I assumed to be, a bathroom. Even from my position tucked in the corner, I spotted the telltale reflective shine of a mirror.

Lethargic, I wrapped my arms around the trash can, burying my face in the cool metal. The heat in my skin leached out, and I moaned.

Somewhere in the middle of my embracing the trash can, yellow light flooded the room. Light bathing him, Wais descended on me. He frowned. "Are you hugging a trash can?"

Umbrage annoying me, I set the trash can to the side. "The trash can and I are friends. You hug your friends."

His frown deepened and Wais kneeled, pressing his hand to my forehead.

I batted him off. "What happened?"

Wais noted my trembling and asked, concern tinging his voice, "Are you cold?"

I nodded. The motion flared my neck, and I slumped my head, staring at the ceiling.

Wais offered me a towel to clean off, but I refused to move. He took it upon himself to dab at my freezing, yet simmering, skin, as he said, "You passed out in the bathroom because of your injury. We couldn't leave the motel for a few days and we couldn't get you proper treatment, so you've been in and out of consciousness. We split up and got you to a doctor a week ago, and we're in his house."

I groaned and pushed myself up. "They're a hack doctor. I still feel like shit."

He cracked a smile. "You're on some pretty strong painkillers, actually."

I sighed. "Wish I could enjoy them properly," I said, crawling back in the bed and squirming under the covers. Exhaustion promptly pervaded my body, and sleep consumed me.

Until the heavy scent of cologne woke me. Groggy, I made out a man's silhouette framed by light. He inspected me but retreated when my eyes fluttered open. "You're awake," he commented, tucking away his stethoscope.

My tongue was a swath of cotton. "Who're you?"

The man braved a second attempt to examine me. He checked my IV, mounted on my bed frame, resecured the needle to my arm, and tapped my forehead. "Your doctor. What's your name?"

My heart rate hitched and the haze in my mind dissipated. Was it safe to trust this guy? If Wais transferred me here, though, he had to be. So, heart thundering, I rasped, "Last I checked, it was Henry Jacobs."