Page 72 of Not Her Day to Die

My head is heavy and it lands on my arms as I slide slowly down to the ground. Landing on a cushioned surface.

Why didn’t I want to be down here? It’s so nice and comfortable.

What did I need to do again?

My mind is disjointed, nonsensical. It is an endless game of telephone echoing from one second to the next.

“She’s in here!”

There’s banging and crashing.

“There’s so much blood!”

Sturdy arms wrap around me, cradling me in their warm and familiar embrace.

“Sunday?” The word should mean something, but it doesn’t. It is absurd.

Laughter bubbles up out of my lips, echoes around us.

“It’s not hers. It’s his. Good fucking riddance. We need to get her out of here. The FBI is here. We can’t let her get caught up in the system for his murder. Luna will lead them to this underground prison, to the evidence of all their mother fucking crimes.”

I am moving now, or at least I think I am. It is hard to tell with my clouded sight. Perhaps I’m not moving but just dizzy. Maybe it’s both?

“Can we just pretend we weren’t here? Won’t there be evidence? DNA?”

“There’s too much to sort through down here. And if anything, Jane said she would handle it.”

The voices are more and more distant as they continue on, even though I know they’re right next to me.

Does that even make any sense?

“We just need to leave and figure this out after. She will be okay once she’s outside and rested.”

A familiar hum starts up, it is comforting and chaotic.

Reminds me of a happy time when I was much younger.

My lips lift on their own, and I snuggle further into the arms that hold me.

Nothing is making any sense, but that’s okay, because I know with certainty.

I am safe.

37

October 9th

“If she doesn’t wake up soon, we’re taking her to the hospital.”

“So then the FBI can know she was there, so she can be interrogated and thrown into a fucking cell away from us? So she can go away forMark? Just get oxygen delivered or get a home nurse or some shit. We’re in modern times, why can’t we bring the hospital to our house?”

A warm hand is squeezing mine and the smells surrounding me are familiar. My headhurts, but it is manageable.

My body feels as if I have been compressed into a tiny foam ball and is slowly expanding back to where it needs to be. The sensation is nearly cathartic.

Blinking a few times, I find myself in my room at the O’Brien’s house. Axel and Grayson are at the foot of the bed arguing, but Darius holds me wrapped in his secure embrace. It is eerily familiar to so many months ago when I woke up just like this.

“The purple strands are gone,” I say, my voice cracking. They were a comfort, and I feel bare,lost,without them. A wave of unease and anxiety circulates through me.