Page 32 of What’s Left of Me (What Left #1)

I wake up slowly, the kiss from bedtime lingering on my lips.

Sending Alastair home was a smart idea even though I wanted him to stay.

My mom is cool, but she would have an issue with him sleeping in my bed for the night.

Vinny is busy with his father today, and I doubt I’ll get to see him this weekend.

It doesn’t matter though. It’s summer. We’re all working out the logistics to head to Denver, afford an apartment together, and start our lives. Away from the drama and tragedies that suffocate Citrus Grove.

At first I don’t understand why it’s taking so long to open my eyes. It’s sort of like a hangover, but I don’t remember drinking. My body becomes more and more aware but I can’t seem to move, and nothing makes sense as I open my eyes.

“Don’t go any deeper,” someone says, the voice so distorted I can’t recognize it. Staring up at the ceiling I realize it’s mostly dark with a tiny haze of light around me, and my mouth feels like it’s glued shut from how dry my tongue and lips are.

Something… touches me? It’s hard to determine what, but then there’s white hot pain. More pain than I remember ever experiencing before, and it sends needles of agony throughout my body.

Actually, it matches with the rest of the pain in my body. I still can’t move, but the agonizing feeling is mirrored in different spots, and it takes a great effort to drop my head to one side.

Someone’s screaming now, and I think it might be me. The pain dances up and down my body, like I’m being pushed through a meat slicer in a deli. My skin burns everywhere, and I can’t pinpoint what hurts the most. The pain becomes my entire focus.

What is happening?

It takes a moment for my eyes to finally adjust to the dark but when they do, I see them. Two blurs bouncing on one side of me. The shapes start to form, and I can distinguish two people.

I recognize him first, my voice scratchy and thick when I try to speak. It hurts to make my lips work, like I’m forcing my voice through a spiked field. “A-Alastair.”

His head snaps around kind of like he’s on a string, and he spins far enough that I can catch sight of the other person too. I don’t say her name though, because now nothing makes sense.

Mom?

Awareness trickles in, intensifying by the minute along with the pain throughout my body. There’s a bloody knife in Alastair’s hand and blood on his fingers. But Mom…

She’s red. Literally. The room is dim but there’s some sort of lamp nearby, and it reflects off of her enough to see the blood that coats her body. It’s all over, across her torso, dripping down to her legs, covering her arms and hands with fat drops sprinkled across her cheeks.

This time when the screams begin, I know for sure it’s me.

“Jo-” he begins.

“Get away from my daughter, Mom screams, launching herself at him. She catches him off guard and knocks Alastair to the floor, out of my line of sight. I can barely hear them scuffling around the sounds of my screams.

I look around, panic gripping me as I try to take stock of my surroundings. Belatedly I realize my legs and arms are bound to some sort of table, and there are two belts banded around me. One at my waist and another higher across my chest.

And all across my skin, everywhere I can see, vertical lines cut through my flesh.

Everything is red, and I can’t tell if there’s ten or a hundred cuts but the burning makes more sense the longer I stare.

I think I’m going into shock because the pain is there, but I’m not feeling as much of it as I think I should be.

There are so many cuts, so much blood… this can’t be real.

Alastair pops up beside the table, and I’m still screaming. His lips are pressed firmly together, but the blade in his hand from moments ago is missing. “I should never have agreed to this. I’ll get you-”

I’m shaking my head, unsure if I want his help or not. I don’t know why these two seem to be on opposing sides, but I need something to make sense or I’m going to begin screaming again. “Where’s my m-mom?”

His eyes find mine, the dual colors unmistakable and it assures me that this is truly Alastair. His fallen angel aesthetic drew me in, and it’s what hypnotized Vinny too.

What fools we’ve been.

I’m screaming again, the cuts across my body coming to life. I don’t know if the pain ever faded or if I’m just delirious and distracted, but it returns tenfold and I throw my head back and scream.

Vaguely, I’m aware of what this means. I’ve seen the news reports, the bodies, the warnings from local police and FBI agents…

It’s the Citrus Grove Slayer. And I’m the next victim.

But there’s two people fighting and I don’t know who to blame.

“Joelle,” he breathes, and I try to focus on him. Seeing Alastair and Mom together is really weird. They know each other through me, but I don’t think I’ve seen them together.

I need to focus, but it’s like my mind can’t hold onto my thoughts. Everything just keeps drifting away in my head.

That can’t be a good thing.

Before Alastair can say more and help me, Mom stands up with a violent cry. I tear my gaze from him, peering over at mom with her body soaked in blood and her blonde hair caked in the same red mess. There’s rage in her eyes, and she stalks closer to us from across the short space.

“Stay back,” Alastair growls, fiddling with the straps of the bed. They rub over the cuts down my body, and I sob at the feel. It’s like rubbing salt in an open wound, the raw leather making the pain that much worse.

“You stay away from her,” Mom growls, getting closer to the table. Alastair abandons whatever he is doing, turning to face her, and suddenly I can’t see my mom at all.

I cry out, panic rocking through me again. I think I might pass out again. I struggle against the bindings, the pain present whether I’m moving or still, and the strap across my chest falls away.

I can lift my hands, but they’re still bound, which just makes sharp pains shoot up my arms. White spots pop through my vision, and I think I lose consciousness, or at least fade into a daze.

When I can focus again, there’s some sort of heavy smell in the space that I can’t name. The white noise around me fades, and I can make out Mom and Alastair once more as the disorientation fades.

“...make me do this,” Mom cries, and I turn my head slowly. I’m too tired to do much else, and the pain from before flares to life without me having to move. I stare across the space, the heavy smell of gas choking me.

Gas? There shouldn’t be gas, right?

“M-mom?”

She’s still facing me but I feel like my head is starting to float away. I think Mom smiles as I cough, that gasoline smell turning to something else. Maybe it’s smoke, and the room looks darker, but that might just be my eyes drooping.

The pain and exhaustion are pulling me under again. If I pass out once more, I’m pretty sure I’ll wake up dead.

“Don’t worry, doll,” Mom says, and it's soothing to hear my childhood nickname. “It’ll all be over soon.”

It’s hot in here, too hot, and I cough as something fills the air.

Smoke I think.

“You’re not getting out, Porscha,” Alastair threatens, and I’m certain I hear hate in his voice.

Mom tsks, turning away from me again. “Only one of us leaves here, boy.”

I try to focus on them again, but it’s not just pain and disorientation anymore. I try to get my hands to move, fighting through the pain, but nothing seems to be cooperating with me. Even lifting my hands to ensure they are still there doesn’t seem to be right.

It’s so hot in here. I can feel something licking against my skin and I’m slow to realize its flames. Am I burning now, too?

It’s too hot, too smoky, too much. I’m only bound to this thing by my legs now, and if there’s a fire in here I have to try and get away. Forcing one hand to grip the edge of the table, I attempt to throw myself off of it.

Even that’s slow. The binding against my legs doesn’t give, and I’m lethargic with my movements. The coughing takes hold as I slide, and when my torso is off the table I get stuck upside down hacking.

This is how I’m going to die.

Someone grabs me, but I can’t tell who. Between the stink of blood, the suffocating smoke, and the overwhelming pain, I can’t bring myself to open my eyes.

They say something to me, but I’m too lost to know if it’s Mom or Alastair.

As the heat in the room becomes overwhelming I slip away again, certain it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.

“Mrs. Surwright, can you hear me?”

Slowly I can focus on the voice as someone repeats the question, and it feels like I’m trying to pry my eyes open.

The harsh light above me makes me regret opening my eyes, and I blink against the startling contrast to my nightmare. I try to lift an arm to shield my eyes, but the movement is sluggish and restricted.

Panic sets in, and I start to fight against the restraints. Violent memories slam through my mind, and I can’t catch my breath as I fight to sit up on my own.

“Code-”

“Just give her a fucking second,” someone snaps, and I’m surprised when I recognize Sterling’s voice. It cuts through the muddy haze, and slowly I turn and lift my eyes to his, struggling to not fight to move again.

He reaches out, grasping my opposite hand as our eyes lock together. His dark brown eyes ground me, and I feel my upper lip trembling as I try to collect myself.

I was at the penitentiary with Vinny, and then we felt strange and someone came out -

The doctor says something I miss, and I’m speaking without trying to figure out what he said. “V-Vinny. Where’s-”

“He’s being checked out. He’s fine,” Sterling assures me, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand. “He woke up a little bit ago and asked about you. I assured him as soon as the doctors check both of you out that you can see each other, you just need to let them do their jobs.”

“We’re just trying to do our jobs, Agent,” the doctor snaps, but I don’t look back at him. I can’t.

“The prison…”

Sterling nods. “Poison Control and the DEA are evaluating the prison. Something was released in the ventilation system of the prison. It’s extremely dangerous but they’ve got it under control now and everyone affected is being treated. The gas knocked out everyone in a very short amount of time.”

The disorientation maybe. I press a hand to my chest, thinking of the strange feeling that swept through me before passing out.

Swallowing down the tremors, I force myself to try and stay calm. “I - I thought I saw-”

“You can explain everything to Agent Gideon after we access you,” the doctor interrupts, and I don’t even turn to look at him.

Shaking my head, I tighten my hand in Sterling’s. “My mom. I thought I saw my mom.”

His brows pinch together, and I don’t know what that means. The doctor clears his throat, and Sterling squeezes my hand back. “Let them check you out, Jo.”

“But Alastair!” I hiss, refusing to let go. “What about him? Where is he? And the rest of the prisoners?”

“Ma’am-”

“Please,” Sterling interrupts, glaring at the doctor.

It doesn’t seem like they are getting along.

His gaze returns to me, and when he lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles I feel something inside me shatter.

“At the moment, Jo, Alastair is unaccounted for. We’re looking into it.

As for your mother, we’re looking into her as well.

According to a new hire at the hospital, someone conspired to break Alastair out of the prison.

She’s currently on the run, and we believe he’s with her.

If you believe the nurse, Alastair is currently being held hostage by Porscha Surwright. ”