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CARVED HIM UP LIKE A FUCKING JACK-O-LANTERN

QUINN

My body is wracked with spasms and my mind is spinning in a foggy haze as I struggle to find rest. Every muscle aches and twitches, fighting against whatever foreign substance is coursing through my veins. In the moments when my consciousness flickers back, I hear Jack's voice nearby, his words soothing and reassuring.

His hand is a constant weight on mine, grounding me in the present and reminding me that I am safe now. I try to respond to his whispered words of comfort, but my body is unresponsive and heavy with exhaustion. His touch is the tether that keeps me from drifting too far away.

Later, when my mind finally clears enough for me to wake and speak, two police officers come into the room to take my statement. Jack’s by my side, and their questions blur together, but I answer them as best as I can, even though my body still feels like it's been pulled through hell.

As they’re wrapping things up, I glance at my arm, still bandaged where Stu cut the chip out of me. My stomach twists with unease, and I clear my throat. "Do you know what the chip was? The one he took out of my arm?"

The cops exchange a quick glance, one that makes my pulse quicken. A tall, burly officer with a furrowed brow tilts his head slightly. "Chip? Ma'am, we don’t have any information about a chip."

My chest tightens. I’m suddenly more alert than I’ve been since I got here. "Stu… he said he cut it out. That it was storing information, something my dad put there."

The officer who had spoken before shifts uncomfortably, glancing at his partner—a woman with short-cropped hair who’s watching me a little too closely, her expression unreadable. "We weren’t told anything about that," she says, her voice cool and steady. "If something like that exists, it’s not in our report."

The way she says it sets off alarm bells. The tension between them, the quick glances—they're hiding something.

I push myself to sit up slightly, my body protesting with every movement. Jack notices and places a steadying hand on my shoulder, but I can’t stop. "You didn’t find anything? No sign of the chip at all?" I press, my voice trembling slightly. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.

The officer shakes her head again, almost too quickly. "No, ma’am. All we’ve got is evidence from the crime scene, and nothing like that came up.” She is adamant.

I narrow my eyes, studying her. There’s something off about their lack of concern and their overly neutral expressions—it feels rehearsed. I catch the slight shift in the male officer’s posture like he might try to keep this conversation from going any further.

Jack squeezes my hand, but his touch doesn’t ground me this time. Instead, I’m overwhelmed with disappointment. I know I should care more about uncovering whatever The Assembly is hiding, but right now, I just want to be free of it all. I take a deep breath, shaking my head slightly. “I must be imagining things,” I say, forcing a weak smile. “Maybe the drugs are messing with my head.”

The officers exchange a glance, their expressions shifting to one of relief. “It happens,” the female officer says, her tone almost soothing. “You’ve been through a lot.”

I nod, letting the moment pass without pressing further. “Right, of course,” I murmur, allowing the suspicion in my voice to fade. I don't want them to see me as anything but a confused patient—or at least, that’s how I want them to think I see myself right now.

I don’t believe them. Not for a second.

But I have to consider Sienna. I can’t go running around playing detective, putting myself in danger, and in turn, my sweet baby and her dad.

As they leave, I watch them go, my suspicion hardening into certainty. The Assembly has its claws in this town, and the cops? They’re part of it. But I can’t bring myself to dig deeper into it. I’m just relieved to be away from all of that chaos now, which may make me a terrible person but I am not in any place to take them on.

Jack leans in, brushing a reassuring kiss against my forehead.

But as I close my eyes, unease swirls in my gut. I don’t trust the police. Still, a part of me is thankful to be removed from the situation. I hope to go on with my life without thinking about any of this again.

Jack

My feet carry me back and forth across the sterile hospital room, my gaze never straying from Quinn's pale form. She looks so fragile lying there, an IV drip attached to her arm and tubes snaking out from beneath her thin hospital gown. Her breathing is shallow but steady, and I can't bear the sight of her in this state.

The rage simmering just beneath my worry threatens to consume me. Suddenly, the door opens and a doctor enters the room, her face etched with a somber expression. My eyes lock with hers as I turn to face her, desperate for any news about what the hell Stu dosed her with. I am thankful she’s been awake enough to talk and eat, but it hasn’t lessened my worry. She’s still sleeping a lot. Too much.

I am still reeling in shock at the thought of someone intentionally hurting her like this, especially one of my best friends—least of all, Stu.

She gets straight to the point, her voice grave and serious. "After thorough testing, we have identified the substance that she ingested. It was a high dose of strychnine, an incredibly toxic poison with potential for severe and life-threatening consequences."

My jaw tightens.

"Luckily, it seems she only consumed a small amount. At higher doses, it can be lethal, but in this case, it was barely enough to cause a severe reaction."

Her words carry a heaviness that lingers in the space between us as I try to process the gravity of the situation. My mind races with thoughts of how easily things could have turned out much worse.

If my best friend wasn’t already dead I’d have gladly shot him myself. Or strangled him to death. Carved him up like a fucking jack-o-lantern. That probably would have been more satisfying. “What does the recovery for something like this look like?” I ask.

“She will be fine within the next day or so,” the doctor says reassuringly. “She’s past the worst of it. With some rest and proper care, she should make a quick recovery.”

I let out a breath.

She nods and leaves the room, leaving me alone with Quinn again. I climb into bed with her, curling my body around hers as she sleeps fitfully, my mind racing and my heart in fucking pieces.

Later, I step into the hallway to call Ezra. It rings once before he picks up.

“Jack, how is she?” His voice is filled with concern.

“She’s stable,” I say, my voice tight.

When he stopped by my house and found a fucking gun lying on the kitchen island—something we both know I do not own—and the door to the basement cracked open, he didn’t hesitate to do what needed to be done. He hadn’t even realized it was Stu before he pulled the trigger, which is something I am sure will take him a long time to recover from.

The gratitude I feel for this man is immeasurable. Not just for his quick thinking, but because he’s caring for Sienna today to give my mom a break and so I can be here with Quinn around the clock.

She babbles in the background and a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Smiling is hard right now.

Remaining upright is hard right now.

I’m exhausted and my face is numb from lack of sleep.

“Baby girl has been an angel,” he says. “The crazy mutt too.”

“Thank you,” I say seriously. “For everything.”

He is silent for a moment. He’s been adamant that he’s no hero, that he only did what anyone would have done in such a dire situation. “I’m here for you, man.” No truer words have ever been spoken. “Take care of your girl and don’t worry about us.”

If there’s one thing I’m not worried about, it’s Sienna’s safety while she’s with Ezra. “Thanks. Give me a call if there’s anything you need.” My words are loaded, because I don’t mean just for Sienna. Processing all that’s happened is going to be a trip for all of us.

I end the call and return to Quinn’s bedside, my heart heavy. I gently stroke her hair, watching her sleep.

No one will hurt her again, because she’s never leaving my fucking sight after this.