by Stella Hart
“If I die,” he rasped. “You die too.”
With that, he turned away. His slow, lurching footsteps echoed in the tunnel, along with his grunts of agony. After a moment, the sound finally died, leaving me alone in the cold, dark silence.
I sucked down a deep breath. Then I raised my chin and let out a terrible, unearthly howl of sheer feral frustration as the colossal failure of my scheme sank in.
Nate was right before.
I was totally fucked.
18
Nate
I staggered out of the tunnel, clutching at my guts. The pain was deep and throbbing, like someone had shoved a hand inside me and was squeezing as hard as they could. Warm, sticky blood was leaking out onto my shirt, pants, and shoes.
“Fuck,” I muttered, falling to my knees outside the tunnel as stars exploded in front of my eyes.
I couldn’t die. Couldn’t let that evil bitch win.
In my weakened, blood-soaked daze, I thought I heard her voice in the back of my head, cackling cruelly. No one to blame but yourself, Nate...
The voice was right. It was my fault this happened. I knew Alexis was a crazy bitch, but I went ahead and listened to her bullshit story anyway. I saw the blood on the tissues and heard her moaning in agony—supposedly—and then I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.
I should’ve known she had something up her sleeve. Should’ve known she planned to gut me and watch me bleed out in front of her.
She knew exactly how to get me close enough to strike out at me. She knew the right words to murmur to a man to make him feel sorry for even the most depraved, messed-up bitch on the planet. I might be pregnant, and it’s yours.
Such a good actress. Such a good liar.
Battling the urge to pass out, I took a deep breath and rose unsteadily to my feet. There was no one around to see me or help me. This side of the med school building never attracted anyone but the occasional gardening and maintenance staff, because there was nothing around here. Just the edge of the building that backed onto the wooded area on the western side of the campus.
Wincing, I gathered up my strength and closed the tunnel trapdoor. Then, with weak, shaking hands, I padlocked it.
Another wave of pain hit me, and I let out a choked groan as more blood leaked over my right hand, dripping onto the dead leaves at my feet. I needed a doctor. Now.
With another groan, I took off down the side of the building, heading for the closest parking lot. The late afternoon air was cold, whipping through my hair and over my sweat-drenched skin until violent chills wracked me, making me stumble as I walked. Every faltering step made me feel like a bomb was exploding in my ribcage, but somehow, I made it to my car.
I thought about waiting to see if anyone would show up in the parking lot to help, but the place was empty and silent. No one ever hung around this part of the campus on the weekend except for the security guards who patrolled the area, and none of them were anywhere near the area right now. They might not circle back around to this spot for another twenty minutes or so.
Shit. I had to drive myself.
I managed to turn the car on, and with one hand on the wheel and the other on the knife buried in my abdomen, I steered my way out of the lot and onto the road leading north. The Blackthorne teaching hospital was only half a mile away. I could make it. I just had to hold on.
Hold on…
The next thing I knew, I was outside the hospital, lurching my way up to the door. I didn’t remember arriving. Didn’t remember parking. A sudden paroxysm of agony made me let out a guttural cry, and someone came running toward me.
“Sir? Do you need help?” he said.
“Yes,” I croaked, gesturing to the knife between my ribs.
The man shouted something to someone else. In a blur, more people arrived, and someone helped me onto a gurney.
“Sir, can you tell us what happened?” a woman in blue scrubs asked, staring down at me with wide eyes.
I had to make something up. Couldn’t admit I was stabbed by the psychopathic murderer I was currently keeping captive in an old Prohibition cell under Blackthorne.
“I was mugged near here. He… he stabbed me,” I muttered. Stars were exploding in front of my eyes again.
“You’re safe now. Try to relax. You’re in good hands,” the woman said in a soothing tone before turning and barking a series of commands to others.
Someone jabbed a needle in my arm, and an oxygen mask went over my face. I closed my eyes and felt something wrapping around me, like cold tendrils of fog. Then the pain was gone, and everything went black.
When I woke up, I was in a private room with bright fluorescent lights and pale blue blankets pulled up over my legs. An IV tube was stuck in my left arm, and a heart monitor clip was on my thumb. The smell of cleaning supplies lingered in the air.
Nausea made my guts roil, and I coughed and tried to sit up straight.
“Please don’t try to move just yet,” a soft masculine voice said. “Here, I’ll move the bed up instead. Slowly, slowly.”
A familiar face came into view. Edward Paxton.
Fuck. I forgot he owned this place.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Lockwood?” he asked, peering down at me through his glasses. “The nurses found your license in your wallet,” he added.
“I feel like fucking shit,” I croaked.
“That’s normal. It’ll pass,” he said. His brows furrowed, and he stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. “I don’t know how much you remember, but you were stabbed.”
No shit. Stabbed by your fucking granddaughter, I wanted to say. I simply grunted instead.
“When I heard you were here, I decided to come and check on you personally,” he said, glancing over some paperwork on the table next to my bed. “I’m acquainted with your mother. She assists with the hospital’s philanthropic endeavors on occasion.”
“Right.” My mind felt a little clearer now, and I noted that the pain was gone. My main issue was nausea, presumably from the painkillers they’d given me. “What’s the time?”
Edward glanced at his watch. “Half past six.”
“So I’ve only been here for a couple of hours?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No. It’s half past six in the morning. You were in emergency surgery for quite some time, and then you had to sleep it off.”
My brows shot up. “I’ve been here for over fourteen hours?”
Alexis would think I was dead. Right now, as I spoke to her estranged grandfather, she was probably simultaneously gloating over that and crying over her impending death from dehydration and starvation.
“Yes.” Edward nodded. “We’ve been trying to get in contact with your mother, but we haven’t been able to reach her yet. Her assistant said she’s on some sort of business trip.”
“Don’t talk to her,” I said. “I don’t want to worry her.”
“We need to inform a next of kin so we can—”
“No,” I snapped. “I don’t want to worry anyone. I’ll be fine, won’t I?”
He frowned. “Well, yes, but I’d really prefer it if we could—”
I held up a palm. “I can take care of myself. No need to worry anyone else.”
He was silent for a beat, and then he nodded. “As you wish. You’ll need to sign some extra forms before we discharge you, though. Liability issues and such.”
“That’s fine.” I waved my hand to hurry the conversation along. “When can I leave?”
“Not yet. I need to go over what happened to you first.”
“Okay. You said something about surgery?”
“Yes. You’re very, very lucky. The knife was lodged between your ribs, just a hair’s breadth away from your liver. If it was any lower, you might not be here right now.”
I clenched my jaw. “So what happened when I got here?”
“Our surgeons removed the knife and stabilized the bleeding. Then they explored the wound to check the extent of the injury. A minor surgery had to be
performed to repair some of the damaged tissue inside you, but as I said, you were fortunate to avoid any major organ damage. You’re going to make a full recovery. It’ll just be quite painful for you over the next few days.”
“But I’ll have painkillers, right?”
“Yes, along with antibiotics. Right now, the biggest risk is infection, so we need to go over some aftercare techniques.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Edward rattled off a long list of instructions about keeping my stitches and bandage dry, cleaning the wound when it was time to change the bandage, and monitoring for signs of infection.
“Any fever or chills, swelling around the wound, foul smells coming from it, or pus draining from it are a negative sign. If you experience any of that, you’ll need to come straight back in,” he said, placing the list of instructions on the bedside table along with the bag of medications that had been prescribed to me.
“Right. How long will it take to get better?”
“It should be healed in ten days, but you’ll start to feel better long before then, provided there’s no infection and you manage to keep the stitches from breaking open. I’d like you to come and see me for a follow-up appointment as well.” He paused and smiled. “I’d hate to send a Lockwood to anyone else. Not that our doctors are anything short of world-class, but—”
“I get it,” I muttered. By virtue of my birth, I was entitled to nothing but the very best care. “Can I go now?”
Edward shifted in his spot and rubbed his jaw. “No, not yet,” he replied. “Sorry, Nate. I know how eager you must be to get home and rest in your own bed, but you need to speak to the police first.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure if you recall this, but when you arrived at the hospital, you told one of the doctors that you were mugged and stabbed at Blackthorne,” he said. “It’s hospital policy for us to contact the authorities when a crime is brought to our attention.”
“I see.” Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You aren’t in any trouble, of course. The police just need to take a statement from you. After that, you’re free to leave.” Edward paused and cleared his throat. “I’d really prefer it if you stayed longer, but I can’t stop you from going home if that’s what you want.”
“Right. Are the cops here already?”
“Yes. They’ve been waiting for a while. Should I get them now?”
I lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. “Sure,” I muttered. “Might as well get it over with.”
He nodded and left the room. While I waited for the police to arrive, I went over my story in my head. I barely remembered what I told the hospital staff when I dragged myself here. All I knew for sure was what Edward told me—that I said someone mugged me.
The cops had the knife as evidence, but they couldn’t do anything with that. Most of the prints on it were mine, and it was doubtful that Alexis had ever been in the system, so even if they managed to lift her prints off it, they wouldn’t have anything to match them with.
I just had to make up a feasible-sounding story and keep it straight. Hopefully, that would be enough to avoid arousing any suspicions about how I really obtained the injury.
A few minutes later, two detectives stepped into my hospital room and flashed me tight smiles. “Good morning, Mr. Lockwood,” one of them said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I was stabbed by a junkie.” I tried to stretch my lips into a sarcastic smile, but I had a feeling it looked more like a snarl.
“That’s why we’re here. I’m Detective Belson, and this is my colleague, Detective Fernandez.”
“Right. Nice to meet you,” I muttered.
“We need to ask you some questions about what happened to you yesterday afternoon. Are you up for that?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Let’s get started.” Belson nodded to his colleague, and they sat down on plastic chairs near my bed. “So, Nate, what can you tell us about what happened to you?”
I scratched my head. “I was going for a walk around the campus. It’s always nice in the afternoon. Quiet and peaceful.” I hesitated and went on. “Anyway, some guy came up to me. At first I thought he was lost and wanted directions, or wanted to know the time. I couldn’t really understand most of what he was saying because he was talking really fast and slurring some of his words.”
“What happened then?”
“I tried to say something like, ‘Sorry man, I can’t understand you’. I think he thought I was saying no to whatever he’d asked for, because he started shouting right in my face. Then he pulled out a knife.”
Belson nodded slowly. “And then?”
“By then I realized what was happening. He was trying to mug me.” I paused and stared into space with a strained look on my face to make it look like I was actually trying to recall the event. “I don’t really remember what I said or did then, but I must’ve pissed him off, because the next thing I knew, he shoved the knife in me.” I paused again, wincing at the thought of the agony I felt when the blade slipped between my ribs. “After that… I don’t know. I don’t even remember getting to the hospital.”
“Do you remember what happened to your attacker? Where he went afterwards?”
I rubbed my chin. “Uh, yeah, sort of. I think he freaked out when he saw how deep the knife had gone in. He was probably just trying to scare me, but he slipped. He looked at me for a second with a totally panicked look on his face, and then he ran away.”
“Did you see where he went?”
I shrugged. “No. He just disappeared.”
“He disappeared?”
“Uh… yeah. I mean, I didn’t really see where he went. I had a knife in my guts, so I was more concerned about that.”
Belson looked at Fernandez and raised a brow. The look that passed between them made me stiffen. They didn’t believe me.
“When you arrived at the hospital, you told a doctor that the attack happened right near here,” Fernandez said. “Can you tell us exactly where it was?”
I racked my brains, trying to remember if I’d left a blood trail on the ground yesterday. If I did, I couldn’t tell them I was near the main med school building. The trail could lead back to the side of the building, and that could lead them right to the trapdoor.
On the other hand, I had to admit that the alleged attack happened on campus. There was nothing else around this area except the woods, and apparently, I’d told the doctors that it happened close to the teaching hospital.
“I think it was near the Blackthorne quad,” I said, knitting my brows as if I were deep in thought. “Honestly, though, it’s hard to remember exactly where I was. It’s pretty blurry.”
Belson nodded. “I understand.”
“Can you describe your attacker?” Fernandez chimed in.
I tried to conjure up a mental image of the kind of person who’d stab someone for their wallet.
“Very pale. Tall. Skinny. Twitched a lot, like he was on drugs.”
“Any specifics? Hair color? Eye color?”
“Uhh… brown hair, I think. I can’t remember his eyes.”
Belson frowned. My story obviously sounded like total bullshit, and I was pissing him off by not giving him any useful details.
“There was a tattoo,” I added, hoping that would take some of the heat off me. “Two, actually.”
Belson leaned closer. “Can you describe them?”
“One was on his wrist. A black circle with a pattern in it. I noticed it when he brought out the knife and waved it in my face,” I said. “It wasn’t very big, and I probably couldn’t draw the pattern for you from memory, but I think I’d know it if I saw it again.”
“All right. And the other one?”
“A small teardrop thing on his face, near one of his eyebrows. Like a gang tattoo, maybe.”
“A gang tattoo?” Belson looked skeptical again, and I knew I’d gone too far. There were no gangs on Avalon Island.
“Well… maybe not a gang th
ing, but it was definitely a weird tattoo,” I muttered.
“Right.” Belson was quiet for a moment as he wrote down some notes on the pad in front of him. Then he whispered something to Fernandez before looking back up at me. “Nate, are you absolutely sure this man was trying to mug you?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Your wallet and phone were in your pocket when you arrived at the hospital, even though your attacker could’ve taken them after he hurt you. Also, you said you couldn’t really understand much of what he was saying. Can you think back, really hard, and see if you can remember anything he said at all?”
Relief cascaded over me in warm waves as a realization sank in. I was wrong earlier. The detectives weren’t suspicious of me, and they didn’t doubt my story. They were just concerned because I told them I was a victim of a knife attack near the Blackthorne University quad.
They thought I might’ve been attacked by the Butcher copycat.
As far as they knew, the killer was still roaming around, searching for new victims. They had no idea that she’d already been apprehended—by me—and was currently languishing in a dark cell underground.
“I don’t know what he said,” I replied, shaking my head. “He was twitching a lot and talking really fast. I think it was just a drug thing. He needed money so he could score some more shit.”
Belson’s brows knitted. “That’s a possibility, yes, but we need to be extremely vigilant in regard to attacks on the Blackthorne campus right now. I’m sure you can understand why.”
“Yeah, of course. There’s a psycho on the loose.” I sat up straighter and winced as my stitches pulled a little. “Do you have any idea who it is yet?”
“We can’t discuss that case with you. Sorry.”
I held up a palm. “It’s okay. I get it.”
“It’s odd that none of the security guards saw anything,” Fernandez piped up. “The Blackthorne administration tripled the security presence on campus after those bodies showed up, and the quad is a hotspot for them, seeing as that’s where the bodies were placed by the killer.”
I swallowed thickly. “You’ve already spoken to the guards?”
