Page 19 of Frankie and the Fed

A vision of Michael restraining me in handcuffs comes to mind, and I feel sick. I pull my arms tight against my body, trying to break free.

“Ayala, calm down. You’re in a hospital.” I hear my father’s voice. “Caroline! Come quick,” he shouts, and footsteps approach.

“Ayala.” Mom appears beside me and caresses my arm. My body relaxes under her gentle touch. Michael isn’t here.

“How long have I been here?”

“Three days,” she answers without looking at me.

I squeeze my eyes closed. Three days were taken from my life.

I try to check my condition again. My ribs are sore, and my face is too. But my arms and legs move without restraint.

A hospital worker enters the room and places a lunch tray next to me. Who can eat now? Hunger is far from my thoughts.

“What happened to me?”

“Don’t you remember?” My mother’s voice breaks, and she can’t complete her sentence. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry I didn’t support you. That I thought he was acting in your favor,” she cries.

Images of the cabin in the woods jump in front of my eyes. Michael caught me. I was a prisoner. I was his slave.

“Michael. He was there,” I cry as the memories hit me. I remember. Every horrible moment of it. Every moment of pain. But how it ended... The ending is blurry. I don’t remember how it ended.

“You’re safe now,” Mom cries next to me. “You survived.”

“You were hysterical when they found you,” Dad whispers. “And Michael is dead.”

I exhale, and my eyes widen. “Dead?”

“Yes. Do you remember what happened?”

I shake my head. Then, images of Michael lying on the floor, blood pouring from his throat. No. It wasn’t real. I don’t want to believe it.

Images of Ethan float through my mind too. His lifeless body on the floor, blood... Lots of blood. Michael killed him.

I cry out and try to cover my face with my hands, but I’m stopped by the pain. My face is broken.

I remember.

Ethan and Michael are dead.

My mother comes to hug me, tries to comfort me, but when all the memories fall on me at once, I’m overwhelmed and drown under their power.

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulls our attention, and Mom and I break away. She wipes at the tears running down her cheeks. I don’t even bother.

A policewoman in uniform stands at the door. I turn my attention to her. Another policeman is standing right behind her.

“Mrs. Summers,” she begins, but dad stops her.

“She just woke up, and she’s in no condition to answer questions.” my father insists and approaches the policewoman in a menacing manner. But the policewoman doesn’t seem affected by this at all.

Her steps halt when Dad blocks her way to me. “Mrs. Summers, my name is detective Delfino. I’m a police investigator.” She stands with her thumbs in her pockets.

“Not Summers. I don’t want to hear that name ever again. My name is Ayala Beckett.” I want nothing to do with that monster.

She shakes her head. “Okay, Miss Beckett. Can you answer a few questions for me?”

A doctor pushes his way into the room, followed by the policeman. “I already explained to you she’s in no condition to answer questions. Leave this room immediately.”