Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 20: Lyle

“Fayth? Fayth can you hear me?” a voice asked. It sounded so far away, like an echo. I heard a sigh as my hand suddenly was wrapped up in something warm, “I’m so sorry Fayth. Had I gotten there earlier I could have stopped it; I could have saved you, I could have…” a deep shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry but she needs her rest now. You can talk to her later,” a new voice said, sounding female and friendly.

“Okay,” another heavy sigh before something brushed across my forehead, “Sweet dreams, Fayth.”

And then the comforting warmth in my hand was gone.

********

“Fayth dear? Can you hear me?”

I could only manage a half hearted groan.

“Wake up. The police would like to speak to you and you have a lot of friends and family waiting for you too,” the voice continued, annoyingly cheery as a sudden bright light was flashed across my eyes.

“Five more minutes,” I mumbled, turning onto my side. Or at least, I attempted to turn onto my side. Two things stopped me; one, a sharp tugging on my hand and face, and two an enormous pain in my abdomen.

“Son of a bitch!” I yelped, bolting upright as my eyes flashed open and more pain shot through me.

“Miss you have to lie down and relax,” that same happy voice came, and with it a face. She was young, in her twenties with smooth tanned skin and long blonde hair with big blue eyes. She put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me onto my back. “You can’t move around too much; you might rip your stitches.”

“St-st-stiches?” I stuttered. “Where the hell am I?”

I looked around the white room and dread settled in my stomach.

“A hospital. A freaking hospital.” I growled, my head starting to pound in time to the beeping. I followed the beeping to see a heart monitor attached to me. There was also an IV and some tubes taped under my nose for me to breathe.

“Um excuse me. I’m perfectly capable of breathing on my own,” I glared at the nurse. It wasn't her I was mad at rwally, but it was disorienting and scary to suddenly wake up somewhere I didn't remember coming too, even worse to a hospital.

“Of course,” she said, starting to fiddle with some machine before unpeeling the tubes from my face. “I came in here to do that. The doctors also want to do a quick examination on you before you talk to the police.”

The police? My head was spinning, trying to grasp all this new information.

“What day is it?” I demanded.

“Wednesday,” she said, eyeing me curiously. “Does your head hurt? Are you feeling nauseous at all? What’s the year?”

“My head hurts, I’m not nauseous and it’s the year 2014,” I rattled off, not paying attention to her as she relaxed again to her happy self.

If it was Wednesday that meant I should be at school. Monday I went to school, went to the salon, and met Sierra. Tuesday…Tuesday Terry was being a creeper. Then I went home and…and what?

I scrunched my face up, trying to figure it out as I shifted to get comfortable. Pain ripped through my stomach again, and with it a parade of images.

Oh yeah. I got stabbed. Repeatedly if memory served.

“Ah Fayth,” a man said and I looked up to see a man in a doctor’s white lab coat walk in. “Nice to see you looking bright eyed and bushy tailed.”