Page 6 of Unnatural (Men and Monsters #2)

Autumn’s morning nurse was a thin-lipped shrew, ironically named Joy, who had only been at Mercy for a few months.

Thankfully, she was rarely on Autumn’s floor, and her type of unpleasant personality was the exception rather than the rule when it came to the staff.

Autumn took the offered paper cup of morning meds and feigned a minor coughing fit as she palmed the same ones she’d slipped under her hip the night before.

Thankfully, joyless Joy looked away as she fake hacked and didn’t notice the—unpracticed—sleight of hand.

Autumn showered, tossing the pills down the drain, and then once dry, she dressed distractedly, her heart beating more swiftly than usual.

She was scared, anxious. What if you’re wrong and the price you pay for this comes quickly?

She had a scan in about a month. What if they find a tumor or three or six?

Will it be worth it? The way her blood raced and her breath came short—not because she felt ill but because she felt a shiver of life move through her sickly body—offered up the answer: yes .

Yes, yes, yes.

The mere idea of feeling unmedicated and experiencing physical normalcy was suddenly a draw too strong to deny.

She’d only considered going off her pharmaceuticals because Salma had all but instructed her how to do so, but now that the promise of strength—no matter how momentary—was shimmering before her, Autumn could not let go.

She gazed at her sallow, sunken face in the mirror, feeling slightly surreal.

She was certain of her choice, yet it’d happened so quickly, with nothing more than an off-the-cuff question and the unexpected instructions from her favorite nurse.

Maybe that’s the only way it could have happened. If you’d considered it too much, you’d have chickened out.

She was glad she hadn’t chickened out. She turned away from the mirror.

She’d only skipped two doses, but already she felt better, stronger. The nausea had gone completely, and she ate all her breakfast for the first time in months.

Over the next several days, her stomach pains diminished and then disappeared. When she looked in the mirror one night before bed, there was color in her cheeks, and her lips had taken on a subtle rosy hue where before they’d been practically bloodless.

Her muscles ceased aching, and one day as she headed to dinner, she came to a stop right outside the cafeteria, realizing suddenly that the ceaseless ringing in her ears had stopped.

She blinked, bringing her fingertips to her ears in wonder and almost laughing out loud.

The tinnitus—yet another side effect of the medication—had been ongoing and aggravating, but she’d learned to live with it as if it was just part of existing.

As she stood there, the realization that it in fact was not almost brought tears to her eyes.

Her head felt clear, the fogginess that had been a constant companion had lifted, and she felt bright and alert. Alive.

Autumn palmed the pills for the next week and then the next, her strength doubling by the day.

Yes, but there will be a price.

She pushed the thought aside. She was willing to pay it, she knew that much.

She just didn’t want to consider it too closely and risk her fear taking over.

So far, she hadn’t dreamed of her monster.

But again, those running dreams—or, more specifically, hiding dreams—had come during the full moon.

The more she’d thought about it, the more certain she was.

There was a possibility she’d never dream of him again, the possibility that all the medication she’d been taking, not just the sleep aids, and that inexplicable pull of the moon Salma had spoken of had worked in perfect combination somehow to bring on that particular vivid dream.

So on the night of the full moon, she’d take a dose of the sleep medication.

A singular dose would wear off the next morning.

But she wouldn’t take the others. She refused to feel hopelessly ill again when she’d just begun to really live.

Even he wasn’t worth giving that up for.

She pulled her shoulders back. Will it work?

There was only one way to know. There was still a little less than two weeks until the next full moon.

A week to get strong.

She wanted Salma to see her. She wouldn’t tell her what she’d been doing, but she would certainly know. She wanted to share her happiness, brief though it might be, with someone. But Salma hadn’t been to her room since Autumn had started palming the pills. Was she on vacation?

She walked to the nurses’ station where Ian was sitting in front of a computer. He smiled as she approached. “Hey, good lookin’.”

Autumn smiled back, leaning on the desk. “Hey, Ian. I haven’t seen Salma this week or last.”

His smile slipped. “They didn’t tell you? She was let go.”

Autumn’s breath stalled. “What? Why?” No, no, that can’t be right. Salma was the best of the best.

And though Ian looked sad to deliver the news, he merely shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Is there any way to get in touch with her?”

“Not that I know of, and I doubt they’d give out her personal information anyway.”

Woodenly, Autumn pushed off the counter, muttering a thank you to Ian and walking away. Loss twisted through her, but she steeled her shoulders. She was no stranger to loss. In fact, one might say she was intimate with it. So why did it still hurt so badly? I need you, Salma.

She was let go.

Why?

Did she do something wrong? Did they find out she’d all but spelled out how Autumn might wean off her medication? No…no, it couldn’t be that. If they’d found out, someone would have confronted Autumn about it and made her resume her treatment.

My special, beautiful girl. Grow strong.

Autumn looked over her shoulder, but the hallway behind her was empty.

Instead of heading down the hall that led to her room, she made a sharp right, bypassing the elevators and pushing the door to the stairwell open.

If she was going to get strong, she needed to exercise.

And this was one of the only places where no one could see her.

She stared over the railing to the floors below.

There were three, with two flights of stairs separating each landing.

Six flights. She walked slowly down all six flights, and despite her pace, her heart sped, her chest rising and falling as a light sweat broke out on her forehead.

Autumn turned, peering up, inhaling deeply. “Mount Everest,” she muttered.

She glanced behind her at the door that led to the lobby and the elevator bank that would take her back up to her floor. She should use it. She’d just descended six flights of stairs, an impossibility just weeks before. It was enough for one day.

Yet she stood there, staring up at that faraway door.

There had been a maintenance man named Joel who’d worked at the hospital when she was seven or eight.

He’d retired years before, but she still remembered him.

He’d been nice. He’d whistled while he worked, and if Autumn was feeling well enough, she’d chitchat with him while he fixed this or that.

One time, there had been some damage to a whole section of penny tile, and he’d started to replace it when she sat down to watch.

She’d remarked on the tiny tiles and the large space and that it looked like it would take him a hundred years to finish it.

But he’d only smiled and said, “Well, Miss Autumn, how do you eat an elephant?” She’d laughed and wrinkled her nose, no idea how to answer.

But Joel had winked and answered for her. “One bite at a time,” he’d said.

She looked up at that door again, putting her hand on the rail and lifting her foot, beginning the climb.

“How do you climb Mount Everest?” she murmured, setting her foot down. One step at a time.

She climbed those six flights of stairs that day, resting on each landing before gearing up for the next.

When she took that final step to the top, she nearly wept with victory.

She might even have clapped for herself if she’d had the strength to lift her hands.

Instead, she shuffled back to her bed and slept for hours.

But not the sleep of the sick and the drugged.

The rest of one whose muscles ached with growth and whose spirit soared with accomplishment, even while in peaceful slumber.

Autumn tackled those six flights of stairs every day after classes and lunch were over, when she’d normally be resting or reading or, if she felt strong enough, sitting outside in the sun.

She pushed herself mercilessly, ever aware of the possibility that her time was dwindling.

Down, then up, until she could walk the stairs in both directions without breaking a sweat.

Next, she began jogging. Only down at first, but then she jogged one flight and walked the rest, then two, then three. Over and over and over.

Her muscles burned, her vision blurred, and still, she powered on. There was something utterly addictive about feeling in control of pushing the boundaries of her body. The medication had set the limits of her capabilities. Now it was her. She was giddy with the feeling.

She began doing her stairwell exercises not only in the afternoons but in the mornings as well.

On the eve of the full moon, Autumn jogged down the stairs, turned, and began jogging straight back up.

She doubted herself on the fourth flight but kept going anyway.

By the time she leaped onto the top landing, tears were stinging her eyes, and sweat was rolling down her back and dotting her forehead as she panted for breath.

The door from the hallway opened suddenly, making her jump and step backward against the railing.

“Autumn?” It was Genie.

Autumn couldn’t even catch her breath enough to greet her.

Genie stepped forward, her surprised expression transforming into concern.

She took her in, clearly seeing her jackhammering pulse, bright red and sweaty face, and her staggering breath.

“Autumn. Oh dear, you shouldn’t try walking up the stairs.

What are you thinking?” She took her arm.

She’d assumed Autumn had just climbed the two flights from the floor below, even if incredibly slowly.

The truth was she would have looked just like this weeks before after what was now an easy task.

“Take the elevator. None of you are in any condition to climb stairs. Come with me. I’ll help you back to bed. ”

Autumn nodded and allowed Genie to lead her back to her room. “Genie,” Autumn asked when she could manage a few words. “Do you know why they let Salma go?”

Genie shot her a glance, pressing her lips together for a moment.

Autumn could see that she was considering whether to say something.

But Autumn knew Genie enjoyed gossiping, and if she knew something, she’d say so.

“Well,” she started, glancing around. “I heard she got caught stealing from the hospital.”

“Stealing?” That didn’t sound like Salma. Autumn didn’t believe it. “Stealing what?”

“I don’t know. Medication maybe. But that’s all I heard. Now, lie down for a while, and don’t let me catch you on those stairs again,” Genie scolded, though there was affection in her voice.

Autumn sat on the window seat in her room, tracing a raindrop down the glass and gazing out at the woods beyond.

She pulled out her journal and drew a large, round circle in the middle of a blank page, her lips curving into a smile.

Tomorrow night, she’d take the sleep medication they gave her.

She had to recreate the circumstances that had caused her to dream of him.

Nerves skittered along her spine as she gazed at the moon just coming into sight in a darkening sky, a mere slip away from being full.