Hot Ticket
Page 44Chapter 22
Jace moaned in his sleep.
The gurney followed him. He ran down an endless corridor. White tiles, white walls, blinding white light from above. Antiseptic smells. Jason was too afraid to look behind him. He could hear the squeak of the wheels, so he knew the gurney was still there. Still following him.
Kiss your mother good-bye, son.
Jason stopped. The squeaky wheels stopped right behind him.
Kiss your mother good-bye, son. Kiss your mother—
He covered his ears to drown out his father’s voice. No. I can’t. Don’t make me.
This might be the last time you see her. Don’t you love her? Don’t you care?
That’s not her. It’s not her.
He didn’t want to look at her, with her face smashed, swollen, and bruised.
Unrecognizable. Not human. Her body twisted. Contorted. That thing on the gurney was not his mother.
The gurney bumped into his shoulder blades. His heart lurched. He ran. Ran faster than he’d ever run before.
Don’t step on a crack. He tried to jump over them, but they moved beneath his feet, and he couldn’t avoid them all.
Her back is broken, son. If she lives, she’ll never walk again.
But she’ll still be able to play the piano, won’t she, Father?
I don’t think so.
For that, Jason grieved.
Don’t cry, boy. Men don’t cry. Not ever.
He didn’t cry. He ran. Ran until he couldn’t run anymore. No breath left in him. No energy. If he couldn’t run, he had to hide. Hide from it. If it found him, it would get him. The thing on the gurney pretending to be his mother would get him.
An old shed became his salvation. He crammed his body into a small space. A dark place. Musty like an old attic. The air stale and stifling. But he was alone here. He liked being alone. Alone was safe. He listened for the squeak of wheels. They never came, but after a long time his father did.
Everyone has been looking for you all day. I don’t have the patience for this bullshit right now, Jason. Your mother is dead. Do you understand? She’s dead! You’re alive—not a f**king scratch on you—but she’s dead.
Jason was too stunned to feel the first blow.
Dead? What did it mean to be dead? Was it like sleeping? A long sleep with no more pain?
Too confused to feel the second blow.
Don’t you ever hide from me again, you piece of shit. Not ever.
Too afraid to feel the third blow. The fourth. Fifth. The pain washed over him like a comforting blanket. He deserved this. Hurt me, Father. Hurt me.
Jace’s eyes flipped open, his heart thumping with terror. His gaze darted around the sterile white walls. The IV bag hanging beside the bed. The heart rate monitor. The curtain rod above his bed. Instead of receding, fear rose up his neck until it strangled him. An instinctual need to run gripped him. Jace reached for the IV needle in the back of his hand, but before he could jerk it out, someone grabbed his wrist.
“Jace,” Aggie said. “It’s okay. Do you remember what happened? You’re in the hospital.”
He knew he was in the f**king hospital, and he needed to get out. Immediately. Years ago, a counselor had told him that he had post-traumatic stress disorder, but somehow, putting a name to it didn’t make it easier to deal with when it caught him off guard and sent him into a panic. It had been a long time since he’d dreamed of his mother’s death. A long time since the traumas of his youth had controlled his reactions to the outside world. He’d thought he’d moved beyond this bullshit—apparently not.
“Aggie,” he said, grabbing her with both arms and pulling her against him on the bed. He hugged her as tight as he could, which didn’t seem nearly tight enough. “Aggie, you have to get me out of here.”
“Sweetheart, you’re hurt. You can’t leave.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, which he vaguely recognized as throbbing dully in pain.
“I have to leave. Right now.”
“Let go. You’re going to damage your shoulder.”
He had no idea what she meant. “Aggie, please.”
“I’ll talk to your doctor.”
“They can’t keep me here against my will.” He released her reluctantly, and she stared into his eyes. She cupped his cheek and offered him a sad smile.
“It’s okay, baby,” she said. “I’ll take it away.” She kissed his lips tenderly. “Take it.”
Jace opened his eyes to absolute darkness. His body was on fire. His throat drier than a saltine in the Mojave Desert. What had woken him? His bladder protested its fullness. Oh. The glow of the streetlight outside his apartment and the comforting purr of Brownie near his pillow sank into his addled thoughts. He was home? How had he gotten home? A warm hand rested on his belly. Oh yeah. Aggie.
God, he had to pee. He felt for the edge of the bed, rolled to his feet, and immediately hit the floor with a loud thud. Pain radiated through his shoulder and arm. Fuck, getting shot hurt, and not with that sweet, stinging agony he so enjoyed.
“Jace?” Aggie’s concerned voice came from the bed above him. She switched on a lamp and peered over the edge of the mattress. “Are you okay?”
He lay on the floor, simultaneously breathing through his pain and trying not to laugh so he didn’t piss himself. “Can you help me up? I need to get to the bathroom.”
So much for rescuing his damsel in distress. She’d done most of the rescuing, and now she was going to have to help him take a piss. Some hero I am.
Aggie climbed from the bed and hefted him to his feet. He clutched the chest of his hospital gown with one hand and held on to Aggie with the other. Apparently, those wonderful pain meds they’d dripped into him in the hospital had worn off.
“You’re burning up, baby,” Aggie said.
“I’m freezing.”
“We’ve got to get you back to the hospital,” she said. “If you get an infection—”
“No, I don’t need a hospital. I need a toilet.”
He leaned heavily on her as she helped him out of the bedroom and to the bathroom next door. He tried to get his balance, but decided without her support, he’d soon find himself on the floor again. He’d never felt so woozy.