Paula wished she could have one day without thoughts about suicide and death. Her traumatic childhood had followed her into her present life. She thought the death of her parents would be the worst moment of her life, but it had cycled back around. The dark weight of the box pushed all other thoughts out of her head. The box had harmed many, including her best friend. But what if the box could fix what was broken inside? Something positive out of something negative.
Her secret had ruled her life. To get too close to anyone could be dangerous—deadly even—her parents had been proof of that. The unpredictable nature of her ability had forced her to keep people at a distance. But with that short exposure to the box, for the first time, Paula had gained some control over it. With a fleeting glimpse of how things could be, she hungered to continue learning how to dampen her ability and keep it under her control.
Yes, the box had hurt people, including her own best friend, and it might even end up hurting her, but the box may be her only way to normalcy. Maybe with enough exposure to the box, she could eradicate her ability completely. No longer would she have to hide who she was or worry about what others might think if they found out.
She’d had no ill effects. No headaches. That was the one thing that set her apart from the black box victims. Perhaps she’d be safe after all. Perhaps keeping that box and using it would pose her no harm. It could, in fact, be the one thing in the world that might help.
A plan formed in her mind.
“Paula?”
She blinked and turned away from the window. “Yeah?” She headed toward the bathroom. “What is it?”
The door opened a crack. She caught a glimpse of Will’s wet head and naked torso. A strange, red spidery scar covered his chest.
“I don’t see any towels in here.” His face flushed, and he worked hard to keep his lower half squarely behind the door.
“In there?” She pushed the door open a bit to point at the tall cabinet next to the shower. “Or did I forget to put the clean towels in there yesterday?”
Will cleared his throat and made sure to stay behind the door. “Uh, there were a couple of hand towels in there, but they don’t cover much.”
Was he using a hand towel to cover himself up? The minute she thought about what might be waiting behind the bathroom door, she backed up into the hall. “Let me get you a bath towel. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.”
She stood in the hall unmoving. She couldn’t get her feet to take any steps. Frozen to the spot, she stared at Will and his handsome, clean-shaven face and the well-sculpted chest with the interesting scar. Like a tree etched across it.
“The towel?”
She made an effort to break the stare. “Yep. Towel. Here I go, getting a towel.” She turned back down the hall, toward the basement door at the other end of the house.
“Thanks.”
Stupid, stupid, Paula.
She didn’t have time to dally with Will. Guilt washed over her as she opened the door to the basement. She should be thinking about Lark, not lusting after an almost-naked guy in her bathroom. When confronted with mortality, she sure knew how to live it up, didn’t she?
Before she could turn on the light, a shadowy figure lunged at her. She spun around to run. A sharp pain struck the back of her head. Everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Paula?”
The voice came from far away. Her body was numb; her limbs heavy. A dull, painful throb filled her head.
“Wake up. Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes.
Will hovered over her with a concerned look on his face.
“What?” She tried to sit up. “What happened?”
He pressed her down. “Whoa, take it easy.”
She pushed him away. “I’m fine. Really.”
“No, you’re not.” He was bare-chested, the odd red scar emblazoned across it, and wore his jeans.
“The towel. I was getting you a towel.” Everything in her vision wobbled.
“Yeah, I kind of had to do without.” His wet hair dripped onto the hoodie she wore, leaving dark marks on the fabric.
She touched the scar with the tips of her fingers. “What happened to you? Does it still hurt?”
He grabbed her hand. “What happened? You left to get a towel, and I heard this major crash. Did you faint?”
Her head pounded more intensely. Pain radiated from a spot behind her right ear. She reached up to feel it. “Ouch!” When she pulled her fingers away, they were red with blood.
“Oh, my God.” Will paled. He looked as if he were going to be sick. “You must have hit your head on something.”
“No,” the memory came back to her in pieces, “there was somebody—” She couldn’t think clearly.
“Let me get a towel...some ice...a blanket?” His knowledge about treatment of head injuries was clearly limited.
“Okay.” The dizziness wouldn’t subside.
What had happened?
She remembered opening the door, a movement, and a dark shadow. Then the pain.
Will returned with a bowl of ice, a hand towel, and an afghan from the living room couch. He thrust the bowl of ice at her. “Here, maybe you can...you can, uh—” He realized a bowl of ice couldn’t be applied to an injury on the back of one’s head. “Crap.” He set the bowl down. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Really?” She took some of the ice from the bowl and wrapped it up in the towel. “I never would’ve guessed.” Gingerly, she pressed the towel to the aching spot on her head and winced.
He knelt and picked up the afghan. With gentle hands, he spread it across her lap and tucked it in around her legs.
She caught his wrist. “That’s all right, Will, I’m fine. Really.”
“You were just lying there on the floor...I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay.” She lowered the ice-filled towel. Dark red blood stained it. “I think I remember what happened.”
Will kept his eyes on her face and not on the bloody towel. “Do you have hypoglycemia? My grandmother had this problem with low blood sugar. It kinda runs in the family—”
“Someone hit me.”
“What?” He took her hand with the towel and pushed it against her head. “Who would do that?”
“I don’t know. Pritchard? When I opened the basement door, someone thwacked me really hard.”
“Someone was in the house?”
She shuddered. The intruder could have been in her house all night. Who knew how long they were being watched, listened to?
“But why would someone do that?” Although her head ached from the ice pack, she wanted to make sense of it all. “We had no idea anyone was here. They could’ve sneaked out in the middle of the night, and we never would’ve suspected a thing.”
“Maybe they were looking for something or hoping to hear something.” Will paused for a moment. “The box. Do you think they were looking for the box? It’s our only proof.”
“It’s in my car, back at the hospital.”
“Maybe the intruder thought we’d hidden it somewhere in the house.”
Paula struggled to get up. “We need to get the box.”
“Hey, where do you think you’re going? Sit down.”
“Then, help me.” She braced against the doorframe. The dizziness returned, and her vision grew spotty.
Will sighed. “You’re a stubborn woman, you know that?”
When she swung an arm over his shoulder, she touched bare skin. “Just help me down the hall.” He was warm under her clammy hands. Why couldn’t he put a shirt on for goodness’ sake?
He helped her into the living room and onto the couch. “How’s the head doing?” He lifted the makeshift ice pack. She looked at him for some clue as to what he saw on the back of her head. “Ouch.” He appeared a bit green around the gills.
He coughed. “Uh, it’s still bleeding...and you might need some stitches.” He gently p
ressed her hand over the wound. “Let me get some water.”
“I don’t want any water.”
“The water’s for me.”
“Right, blood’s not your thing. I’ll try to remember that.”
“But I really do think you might need some stitches.”
“Great.” One side of her head was a massive pulsating wave of pain. “How long do you think they were in the house? All night?” She shivered at the thought of someone sneaking around the house while they slept.
“Could be they were in the house before we got here last night.” Will took a sip of water and sat down on the other end of the couch.
“Hmmm.” Paula wanted to lie back and close her eyes. Think about anything but the throbbing in her head.
“Hey, are you feeling all right? I think we should take you to the ER. You could have a concussion.”
“Do you think Pritchard knows you’ve been helping me?”
“If they didn’t before, they will now.”
“We’ve got to get that box, keep it safe. That’s our only evidence.” Her voice faded.
“I’m taking you to the ER first.”
“Dammit Will, we don’t have time to sit around waiting for a band-aid and a twenty-dollar Tylenol pill.” She didn’t really believe that was all it would take to piece her back together.
The towel grew warm and damp in her hand, soaked in blood. She knew she needed to get to a doctor, but she wanted to make sure the box was safe. If Pritchard was after it, she had even less time to work on her experiment. To know for sure the box helped her, she had to follow through on her plan. But Will didn’t need to know she had very personal motives for getting the box back in her possession.
“Well, you’re going to make time for it.” He scooped her up and carried her toward the front door.
“Hey, put me down!” She struggled in his grip.
“It won’t do either of us any good if you pass out from blood loss.”
She stopped struggling. Her thoughts grew misty and distant, and her heart raced in an uneven rhythm. “Okay,” she leaned her head against his naked shoulder. “But put a shirt on, will you?” Her eyes drooped closed. She struggled to stay conscious.
“Hey, wake up, Paula.”
Her eyelids fluttered. The bright blue of the sky blinded her, but the cool, fresh air brought her back to her senses for a minute. “You’d better make this quick.”
He opened the passenger’s side door. “I’ll do my best.”
She slumped in the seat, and he leaned across her to buckle the seatbelt. “Hey, I thought I told you to put on a shirt.”
He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back with my wallet...and a shirt.” He closed the door and trotted up the front steps.
The quiet lulled her into semi-consciousness. Her eyes closed against the brightness, and she let herself drift.
She sensed the driver’s side door opening and closing, the engine starting. The last thing she remembered was Will’s voice. “We’ll be there soon, sweetheart. Just hang on.”
Sweetheart? Was he talking about her?
Then the blackness came.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Paula’s brother, Peter, sat next to her hospital bed when she woke up. “I know you don’t like coming over for dinner, but don’t you think this is a little extreme?”
Her mouth was as dry as a cotton ball. “How long—?”
“Here, let me get you a drink.” Peter, his wispy black hair sticking out every which way, stuck a plastic cup with a straw in her face.
She took a long drink of water. The icy coolness soothed her parched throat. “Where’s Will?” Only Peter was inside the curtained partition.
“He’s waiting outside.” He nodded at the curtain, then adjusted her pile of pillows. “He’s really worried about you.”
“I need to get out of here.” Despite her head wound, she returned to her obsessive thinking about the box. She needed to get to it before anyone else did. Before someone knew what she had planned. “Can you find my shoes?”
“Hey, slow down, sis. You don’t just get up and walk away after a head injury.”
“I do.” She swung her legs around.
He blocked her. “You have a minor concussion. The doctor says you need to be monitored for twenty-four hours.”
“Great. Will can sleep on the sofa again tonight.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “What?”
She tried the other side of the bed. An IV stand stood in her way. She noticed the needle taped to her left arm. “Get this thing out of me.”
Peter placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hold up, Paula. What do you think you’re doing?”
She scraped at the tape securing the IV line to her arm. “Taking out my IV.”
“My God, Paula, does it ever stop with you?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you listen just once and do something someone tells you to do?”
She smiled wryly. “I was wondering when the real Peter would come out and play.” With the box so close, she didn’t care if she ticked off her brother. She’d gotten beyond caring about his feelings.
“What do you mean?” He’d lowered his voice to a whisper. “What are you talking about? I’m worried about you.”
She yanked the IV out of her arm, pain zinged through her body. The IV monitor began beeping. “Shit.”
God, that hurt worse than she thought.
She grabbed some tissues from a box next to the bed and pressed them to the wound left behind by the needle. “I told you to stop worrying a long time ago. Face it, I’m not you, and I’m never going to be. Stop trying to save me and let me live my life.”
“What?” He jerked his head back.
“You heard me.”
“Excuse me for caring about my only sibling. I came down here because I got a frantic call from that Will guy, thinking you might be seriously injured.” He minutely shook his head. “But I can see now that it was a mistake for me to come.”
“I never asked you to care.” Paula stood up and dizziness struck. She grabbed onto the curtain for support. Determined not to show her brother how weak she felt, how sick to her stomach, she smiled grimly and took a few steps forward.
Peter sighed, but he had visible tension in his neck “I can’t help but care. I can’t help but love you, be worried about you. Is that so terrible of me?”
“Just go, Peter. Thanks for coming. Thanks for worrying, but just go. I can take care of myself.”
Peter shook his head, zipped up his jacket, and parted the curtain. Standing in the opening, he turned, “I’m here for you if you need anything. Just call, anytime.”
“I know,” she whispered as her brother disappeared. “I know.”
Tears formed behind Paula’s eyelashes. Why did she always do this? Why did she drive him away right when she probably could use his help the most? Last night they had connected on the phone, and now she had ruined it all. For what? Because of stubborn pride? Because she was afraid? Afraid he wouldn’t believe her again if she told him what was going on?
A reed thin nurse whipped the curtain open. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Where was Paula going exactly? To her car to retrieve the box and crank up her experiment? Or back to campus to confront Pritchard in a bloodstained hoodie and no shoes? Her thoughts were muddled and slow. She couldn’t think things through. Where were they supposed to go from here? How were they ever going to stop Pritchard from harming more people? How was she going to fix her ‘ability’ in such a state?
“You need to lie back down.” The nurse put a hand on her arm just as Will came around the corner.
“Where’s your brother going?” Will asked.
Another wave of dizziness hit her, and she thought she was going to throw up. Maybe Peter was right. Maybe she needed to rest. She sat on the edge of the bed and examined the wound in her arm. A small droplet of blood had smeared across her forearm. Will wouldn’t like that.
The nurse
helped her back into the bed. “Did you pull this out?” She’d spied the IV line.
Will’s pallor turned a bit green.
“When can I get out of here?” Paula lay back on the stack of pillows.
“I need to get a new IV kit. I’ll be right back.” She gave Will a pointed stare. “You, keep an eye on her. She shouldn’t be getting out of bed just yet.”
Will nodded.
When the nurse was out of ear shot, Paula caught him by the sleeve. “I need to get out of here. We have to get the box before they figure it out. Call Larry. Do something.” Her motives might not be pure, but she knew Will would make sure the box didn’t slip away.
Will smoothed the covers around her. “I called Larry while they were stitching you up.”
She felt behind her ear. A huge bandage had been wrapped around her head.
“I’m going to meet Larry over at the lab later. It should be pretty empty by the time I get there.”
“And then what do we do?”
“Well, you have to stay here.” He gave her a strained smile. “You heard the nurse.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“What good will it do either of us, if you black out? It could be dangerous.” His tone grew scolding. “They think it’s nothing too serious, but you can’t go gallivanting around campus with fifteen stitches in your head and pretend you’re okay.”
“’Gallivanting’? She suppressed a grin at his old-fashioned vocabulary.
He rolled his eyes.
“All right. You convinced me.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll stay. But only for a few hours. And you have to promise me that you’ll call me the minute you meet up with Larry.”
“I will.”
***
Will had been gone at least an hour and no call. Paula checked her cell phone to make sure it had a full charge.
A new nurse stepped between the curtains. “How are you feeling? Any nausea? Any pain?”
“I feel fine. How much longer do I have to stay here?” Paula wanted to be out there, helping Will, finding the answers they needed.
“Well that’s good to hear.” The nurse ignored Paula’s question. “Let me take your pulse.” Taking hold of Paula’s wrist, she pressed her fingers lightly to the pulse point. “So, your boyfriend was telling me a friend of yours is a patient here as well?”
The Little Black Box Page 14
