Page 20 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

SHAE

T he first thing I sense is pain. Bright, drumming pain right in my temple.

The second thing I sense is disorientation. I’m not in my bed at home; the sheets are too rough. I’m not in the dress I wore; the fabric is formless on my body.

So I crack open my eyes to the sunlight and panic swells in my chest, making it hard to breathe, when I realize I’m in a hospital.

“Oh, god!” I hear Yenn’s voice but feel several bodies move closer to my bed. Even though my eyes are open, things are a little blurry, and turning my neck feels awful.

One by one, faces come into view.

“Mom? Dad? Ezra?” My parents and my roommates stand around my bed, all looking strung out and terrified. “What happened?” I croak.

My throat does not feel great.

“Where am I?”

“St.Helene Hospital,” Mama says. Her mouth twitches, her chin trembling. But I’m distracted because?—

“Why am I in the hospital? And—St.Helene is….”

Expensive. St.Helene is an expensive hospital with some of the best doctors in the country, and I know my student health insurance would not pop for a place like this.

I can’t even choose my primary care physician under my plan.

My eyebrows slam down when Yenn releases a wail, and I turn in time to see her fall into Ezra’s arms.

It hits me.

“Oh my god, Yenn… Your dad?” I try to sit up, but that causes the world to tilt. I was so drunk last night. Did I get alcohol poisoning? I try to shake my head, but Yenn turns from Ezra and faces me.

“My dad is going to be fine. He has a stent now, but he’s already back answering emails.” The smile she gives me wobbles on her face. “I’m so sorry, Shae.”

She turns back to Ezra, and confusion causes panic to mount.

I glance between Yenn and Ezra, my throat tight. “Sorry? For what?” My voice is hoarse, raw like I’ve been shouting. The sudden beeping from a machine behind my head causes me to snap my gaze in the direction of the sound.

The resulting pain has me shouting.

At once, a nurse enters the room, pressing a button to silence the alarm, but Mom’s in the way, rubbing my head and pressing a firm hand over my heart at the same time.

“Breathe, baby. You’re okay. You’re okay,” she says. It sounds like she’s saying the words more to herself than to me. The nurse says something, but the only word I catch is “doctor.”

“Shae, you had…a fall.” Ezra’s the one to deliver this news. Yenn faces me again, and I don’t think I’ve seen her this distraught…ever.

“A fall?” My memory feels scattered, shards of last night slipping away the more I try to piece them together. “Oh, no. Alcohol plus too high shoes…did I trip or something?” I grab Mama’s hand, lacing her fingers with mine in the way she always does with me.

Yenn’s lip trembles, but she forces a smile. “Something like that. You hit your head, and… you needed some help getting here. But….”

The energy in the room changes, tenses.

“But what?” I say. Dread bubbles up as I try to breathe.

“Someone drugged you, Shae.” This comes from Daddy, and he looks so furious that I begin to shake. My hand goes to my stomach, and I look down at my lap, searching….

“Yenn—” I choke out, and she takes a step toward me, hugging me close.

“Not that. That didn’t happen,” she whispers in my ear. Not that meaning…I wasn’t date raped.

But I was…drugged?

My dad grips the railing at the foot of the bed. “You’re lucky that Storm kid was there to bring you to the hospital.” His voice is steady, firm, and reassuring.

The mention of his name is like a bomb going off in my already overworked synapses.

Storm.

Storm was with me.

Storm saved me.

I wince, bringing my free hand to my temple.

“Storm brought me?” I ask, keeping my eyes closed in a prolonged blink.

“Yes,” Mama says from my side. She hasn’t let go of my hand, and I don’t know who’s holding on to whom.

“Storm walked into the emergency room with you in his arms. He saw you at the club and knew the guy you were with was up to no good. So when Storm tried to take you from him, the other guy didn’t like that too much. ”

She chokes on the last part of the sentence.

“Hence the fall,” Ezra offers softly.

A fall…why don’t I remember any of this?

A flash—Storm’s face, his hands around me, his eyes filled with something I can’t quite name.

“I don’t remember,” I say, and that sense of panic returns.

Storm. Storm….

“Is Storm okay?” My scalp burns, and I realize my terrified look pulls on the stitches at my hairline.

Oh, god!

“It’s okay.” My mom strokes my hair gently. “You were pretty out of it when he brought you in, honey. You’ll remember in time. What matters is you’re safe.”

The word sits strangely on my chest, and I’m unsettled. Safe. I look at my family and friends around me. I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel safe at all. And why isn’t anyone telling me about Storm?

The sound of the door opening interrupts my thoughts, and my heart skips a beat as I look toward the entrance, but then it drops again.

A tall woman in a white lab coat glides into the room with an air of confidence that can only come from being really good at one’s job.

“Ah, I’m glad to see our VIP is awake.”

Her gentle smile puts me at ease when she comes to the side of my bed. I try to sit up to make room, and she settles her hip in the free space.

“I’m Doctor Elizabeth Swanson, and I’ve been the one taking care of you here. How are you feeling?” she asks, her voice low. I open my mouth to say something, anything, when another flash hits the front of my skull, and the pain in my head doubles.

“Would you like me to assess you privately?” Dr.Swanson asks, her voice still low. With my eyes closed and thoughts spinning, I nod.

“Yes, please,” I whisper.

She rises from my bed and, with friendly authority, says, “I need to assess my patient in private. Why don’t you folks head to the food hall downstairs?

It’s probably the best hospital food I’ve ever eaten, and there’s gourmet coffee of any variety available from the barista.

” Dr.Swanson extends her arm, effectively ushering my family to the door. No one argues.

“We’ll be back soon, baby girl,” Daddy says when he moves to the opposite side of my bed and leans over to kiss my temple. “Everything is gonna be just fine. God’s grace and mercy is sufficient.”

With another firm kiss, he pulls Mama into his arms before passing through the door.

“First, I want you to know all your labs have come back clear. The drugs found in your system have worn off, and all your scans look good.”

I swallow and blink, feeling…feeling something at the idea of someone drugging me.

Guilt and self-blame cover my shoulders like a heavy blanket.

I shouldn’t have drunk so much.

I should have been more careful—more aware.

I suck in a breath, letting my head fall back to the pillow.

Storm saved me.

“What was I drugged with?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

“Rohypnol,” she says with an angry twist to her lips. I look down at my lap again and ask, “And you’re…you’re sure I wasn’t s-sexually assaulted?”

The tremble starts in my lips, then my cheeks and shoulders before shooting down to my nailbeds.

“We ran a full rape kit. There doesn’t seem to be evidence of sexual assault.” She tilts her head, her expression turning grave. “Unless…do you remember something?”

I search through everything I know about last night—the dancing, the laughter, the delicious drinks.

I’m never drinking again.

But it’s like there’s a big hole in my memory. Besides feeling really tired, I don’t remember anything after getting in the cab.

I don’t remember meeting Storm, much less on a sidewalk.

But I do remember seeing his face.

I shake my head, starting slowly, but then I move with more determined movements.

“No,” I say. “I don’t remember anything like that happening.”

Dr.Swanson looks at me hard for a moment before patting my hand. Unwinding the stethoscope from her neck, she places the earpieces and listens to my heart and lungs.

“All in all, you’re in pretty good shape. Our mutual friend will be relieved,” she says. It’s an offhand remark, but I zero in on the meaning.

“Mutual friend?” Could she mean Storm? “Is he—where is—” I begin to stammer, but Dr.Swanson puts her hand on top of mine.

“I’m sure he’ll be by soon,” she offers cryptically. Patting her thighs, she rises and walks over to the computer attached to the wall, speaking as she types.

“I want to keep you overnight for observation—just to make sure nothing new crops up. But other than some additional fluids and pain management, you’ll be back to normal in no time.”

I grimace. “Um, I think I’m good to go home now,” I say.

Dr.Swanson gives me a confused look, lifting her hands from the keyboard.

When she doesn’t respond to my statement, I clarify, “This is going to be pretty expensive already, and I….”

I don’t want to confess to this probably world-renowned doctor that I’m a broke college student who can’t afford to get the big bottle of Tylenol because it’s too costly.

But the state of healthcare being what it is, the probable costs of my treatment thus far have my head spinning like a slot machine.

“Are you concerned about your hospital bill? If so, you don’t have to worry about that.”

My temple pulses a bit more, thinking of some kind of charity program the hospital may run for cases like mine, but then Dr.Swanson continues.

“I’ve known the Sandoval family for years, so when Storm called me and demanded I treat you, I didn’t hesitate.” Dr.Swanson drops this bomb like she’s not saying something thoroughly outrageous.

“I see?” I say, my voice not at all confident.

Storm called the doctor in? From where? Why?

“Anyway, all you need to worry about is getting better. And as your current physician, I believe an overnight stay is warranted.”

There’s no arguing with her on this point, so I hum, and she presses a few more keys.

After a beat, I say, “My memory is fuzzy. Will I…?”

Will I remember what my brain really doesn’t want me to remember?