Stay (40 page)

His body flopped over, held in place by the seat belt. Dark red blood dripped down his chest. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t moving.
 

“Jackson!” I screamed again. I clawed at my seat belt. My fingers were numb, but I somehow managed to press the button and released the belt. “Jackson,” I repeated. Tears blurred my already fuzzy vision. I reached out and touched his arm. He still didn’t move.

Pain began to register in my brain. My head throbbed, and my legs hurt. I manically flailed about, trying to get my legs up from under the steering wheel. I twisted and grabbed onto the seat, using it to hoist my body up.

Glass crunched under my feet as I pushed off the driver’s side window. I needed to get out and pull Jackson to safety. The scent of gas was getting stronger. All it would take was one spark, and we’d be dead for sure.

“Hey!” someone shouted. “She’s alive in there!”

The realization that other people had been involved in the crash weighed down on me. “Help!” I screamed. “Help him!”
 

There was a horrible screech of mangled metal. The SUV shook.

“The door’s stuck!” the same voice yelled. Someone shouted back to them, their words far and indiscernible.
 

“It might be too late,” a female voice spoke. “It smells like gas. Strong. Help me get them out!”

I clambered over the seat and pressed my hand to Jackson’s wound. The bullet had struck in between his neck and his left shoulder. Blood pooled around my fingers. “You’re gonna be okay,” I frantically mumbled. “You have to be!” Sirens echoed, and red and blue lights danced across Jackson’s bloodied face.
 

“Can you hear me?” a woman shouted. I jerked my head up, looking at the back of the Blazer. “You need to get out of there! Can you move?”

“Yeah,” I answered automatically and turned my attention back to Jackson. My body violently trembled, rendering me useless. I shook my head. “Can’t leave him,” I said hoarsely. “Can’t leave him.” Jackson’s blood dripped down my arms. Car doors slammed shut and multiple people shouted orders. I cupped a hand around Jackson’s face. “Wake up!” I yelled. “Jackson, don’t leave me!” Awkwardly contorted in the overturned Blazer, I slipped, crumpling down onto shards of broken glass.
 

The back passenger window broke. My mind flashed to Zane, and I thought he was here to finish us off. A low rumble of an engine shook the car. I scrambled back up, swaying when dizziness crashed down on me. My eyes threatened to close.

A horrible high-pitched sound filled the air when part of the SUV door was torn off. I looked up to see several firefighters working to cut away at the Blazer. They spoke to me, but their voices were a distant echo.
 

My knees gave out. I reached up, lacing my fingers through Jackson’s. His arm was outstretched, unnaturally hanging to the side. I held onto him. I began to feel cold. The vision of Jackson and I sitting at the dining room table flashed before my eyes. It was the same as it always was, but this time everything was bathed in a bright white light.

Jackson’s hand slipped from mine. I forced my eyes open and reached for him. He was lifted up, carefully moved out of the car. Then heavy hands landed on me, bringing me out to safety.

I was laid down on a gurney. I tried to sit up. The same firefighter who rescued me gently put her hands on my shoulders. “Stay,” she said. “You were in a bad car accident,” she reminded me as if I didn’t remember.
 

“No,” I protested and continued to fight against her. I looked up with a desperate fear in search of the black Camaro. Still down in the ditch, I wouldn’t have been able to see the road even if the emergency vehicles weren’t in the way. “Jackson,” I mumbled. An EMT buckled a strap across my legs. “No!” I shouted. “Jackson!”

“He’s okay,” the EMT told me. “We’re taking you both to the hospital.”

“You …” I started and felt the dizziness sink its claws into me. “You don’t understand.”
 

The EMT put an oxygen mask over my face. I swatted it away.
 

“I might need some help over here!” he called and picked up the mask.
 

“No!” I mumbled again. “My name … my name is …” My eyes were pulled closed. Someone put my hands at my sides and buckled another strap around my chest. “Ad…e…line,” I panted. “M-mill. Miller,” I forced out.
 

It took an enormous amount of energy to turn my head. I opened my eyes briefly, but it was just enough to see Jackson being wheeled into an ambulance. Emergency workers surrounded him. One was pumping air into him, and another had hands on his chest. I wasn’t sure if they were doing CPR or putting pressure on the bullet wound. My ears rang, and I felt the familiar feeling of my mind wanting to check out, unable to deal with what was happening.

“Adeline Miller?” someone questioned. Hearing my name jolted me to life. I tipped my head back and saw a police officer jogging over. “Did you say your name is Adeline Miller?”

“Yes,” I said and strained against the safety straps. “My family. They said they’d go after my family.”

The officer turned and said something into his radio. The EMTs pushed me forward and loaded me into a different ambulance than the one Jackson was in. The cop got in, staying in the back while the EMTs set to work on mending me.

“No,” I said when one of them tore open a plastic case and held up a needle. My hands moved over my abdomen. “Don’t hurt my … my …baby.” Saying the word brought on all of the night’s emotion.
 

“It’s just for an IV, honey,” the EMT spoke. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her brown eyes were kind. She picked up my hand, giving it a squeeze before extending my arm. “How far along are you?” she asked, wiped my skin with alcohol, and pressed at the skin inside my elbow, feeling for a vein.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Jackson,” I mumbled. “I need to go to him.”

“He’s already on his way to the hospital,” she soothed and unwrapped a needle. “You’re gonna feel a little poke,” she warned me.
 

The ambulance doors shut. I let my eyes close. Tears ran down the side of my face.

“Adeline,” the cop said.

My teeth chattered as I tried to keep from crying. “Yeah.”

“You’re really Adeline Miller.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been missing for over a year.” My eyes opened. Had it been that long? “Are you able to tell me what happened?”

A chill made its way down my body. The memory of that day was still vivid. I could feel the sunlight on my skin. I remembered how excited I was when I checked my email and saw one of my favorite authors had sent me an advanced copy of her book.
 

“We were at the Gay Pride Parade.”

“Yes, we know that,” he said gently.

“I saw him.” I stopped and swallowed hard. “I saw him doing something I wasn’t supposed to see. So he took me.”

“Who did you see, Adeline? Who took you?”

“Where’s Jackson?” I asked and tried to sit up. “I need to find him.”

“Who’s Jackson?” the cop asked. “They guy who took you?”

“No.” The EMT leaned over. “He’s the guy who was in the car with her.” She patted my hand. “Honey, your friend is on his way to the hospital. He’ll be taken care of there. You can see him in just a little bit, okay?”

I blinked back tears and nodded.

“Adeline,” the cop pressed. “Who took you?”

I didn’t want to say his name. He was evil, and I worried that speaking his name would summon him like a demon. I closed my eyes again. “Zane. I don’t know his last name.” I shook my head.
 

“Do you know where he is now?” he asked patiently.

“No.” The memory of Phoebe crumpled against the dumpster played out next. My heart broke all over again at the thought of her, and I started to cry.

“Maybe this should wait,” the auburn haired EMT said under her breath.
 

Wait. The word reverberated in my head. Wait. It was exactly what I couldn’t do.

“Please,” I spoke with more clarity. “He said if I ever left he’d go after my family. And Lynn. My friend Lynn. You have to get somebody there!”

The cop nodded and spoke into his radio again. “Do you know where this guy, Zane, would go?”

“No. Maybe back at the house,” I said and felt sick again. I wanted to be with Jackson. I wanted to hold his hand and tell him we made it, that we escaped. I wanted to press my lips to his and tell him I loved him.
 

“Where is the house?”

I sucked in air, on the verge of hyperventilating again. It didn’t matter where the house was if Jackson didn’t make it. Nothing mattered. I needed him. If it wasn’t for Jackson, I would be leaving for another country in a few short weeks, never to be seen again. If it wasn’t for Jackson, I would have given up.

“That’s enough for now,” the EMT said. She took my hand and talked me through quieting my breathing. I remembered what Jackson had said about saving the other girls.

“It’s okay,” I panted. I thought about the teeny-tiny little person growing inside of me and found a new type of strength. I took a long, shaky breath and looked at the police officer. And then I told him everything.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

NERVES TWISTED IN my stomach. My abdomen tightened. I squeezed my eyes closed, and swallowed the lump of vomit that was rising in my throat. The ambulance stopped. The cop and the EMT got up, letting me know that we had arrived at the hospital.

“I need to see Jackson,” I said.

“I know honey,” the EMT said gently and grabbed one end of the gurney. I strained my neck, trying to sit up and look into the emergency room as I was wheeled in. Nurses and doctors buzzed about the busy hall.

“Where is he?”

“He’s being taken care of,” the EMT replied.

“I need to see him!” I said again, my voice rising. I struggled against the safety restraints, painfully twisting my very battered body.
 

“Calm down,” the EMT said.
 

Calm down? She wanted me to calm down after what I had just been through?
No fucking way.
I thrust my weight to the side. The gurney came off balanced and almost fell. A nurse rushed over and put her hands on the foot of the gurney, steadying the little bed. I twisted again and yanked an arm up.

“We need assistance!” the nurse yelled over her shoulder.

I pushed up and pulled my other arm free. The IV line caught and ripped out of my arm. Pair seared through me, but that didn’t matter. I needed to get to Jackson.

The nurse put her hands on my feet. “You have to stop moving,” she said as she struggled to hold me down. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

The EMT took one of my hands. “Adeline!” She stepped to my side. “Honey, stop it! You’re already banged up. I’ll find Jackson.”

I jerked my head around. “Please do. Now. I need him!” I pulled my arm back, breaking free of the EMT’s grip. “Jackson!” I kicked my feet. “Let me go! I have to find him!” He was okay, he had to be. We had come so far, risked so much…he was alive, and he would be okay.

My eyes flitted around the ER. Curtains were drawn around small rooms, and Jackson was in one of them. I had to get up, had to go to him. He needed me as much as I needed him. I swatted at another set of hands that tried to hold me down.

“Bring me IM Ativan!” a man shouted. He was standing to my side, pushing down on my shoulder. “Now!”

“She’s pregnant,” the nurse told him. “She can’t have it.”

“Jackson!” I called. All of my energy was draining fast. Everything hurt, but it didn’t matter. I had to get up. I just had to. “Please! Let me see him,” I cried.

A curtain across from me pulled back. Several nurses stood around a bed, working on a patient. I heard one of them say something about taking the patient into surgery. They pushed the bed forward. Then I saw dark, wavy hair. Bandages covered most of his face. An IV was strung from his arm.

 
“Jackson!” He didn’t turn to look at me. He didn’t even move at all. I shook my head. “No. No, no, no! Jackson!” I watched in horror as the bed rolled by, out of sight and the ER. “I have to go to him,” I stammered as I fought against the hands that held me down. I curled my legs up.

“Adeline,” the EMT grunted. “If you calm down we can talk about Jackson.”

I stopped struggling. “Okay.” I sniffled, becoming aware that tears were streaming down my face, and I wiped my runny nose. “Where are they taking him?”

“Into surgery,” the man answered. I twisted to look at him. He was tall with dark skin and black hair. I couldn’t pronounce the long name embroidered onto blue scrubs. His dark eyes were gentle. “You can go once he’s out.”

“Is he going to be okay?” My hand trembled as I pushed my hair behind my ear.

The doctor’s face remained still. “We will know once he’s out of surgery. Now you need to let us take care of you.”

I nodded, agreeing. Then I was whisked into one of those small rooms and hooked up to several machines. I watched my rapid heart rate on the monitor that hung above the bed while the nurses and doctors worked on me.

I had a mild concussion and was dehydrated. I needed four stitches to the gash on my right shin, my left wrist was sprained, and my face and arms were scratched and bruised to all hell.
 

But I was okay. Technically, I didn’t even need to be admitted. I was treated in the ER, and only time would heal the concussion and sprain. Medically, I was sound enough to be discharged. Mentally … that was a whole other story. My brain hadn’t allowed me to process anything. It was just too much. The words ‘Jackson is in surgery’ replayed over and over in my mind like a broken record.
 

I looked at the floor. Light reflected off the freshly waxed tile. I couldn’t handle thinking about Jackson lying on a table under bright lights. I stared at the floor until my vision blurred and my eyes watered.

Dressed in only a hospital gown, I shivered. I rubbed my hands on my arms. The air was cold in the emergency room of Genesis Medical Center. I pulled my knees to my chest, watching the clock. Thirty-four minutes had gone by, and I hadn’t heard anything about Jackson.