Wake for Me (Life or Death Series)

by Irons, Isobel

  “Oh, wow. That sounds serious.”

  “It is,” Sam lied. “Would you be willing to give me Aiden Faux’s cell phone number?”

  Forty-five minutes later, Sam pulled up in front of the Waldorf Astoria and threw the minivan’s keys to the valet.

  Trying his best not to break into a sprint, he approached the front desk. There was a short line of very affluent-looking people waiting to check in, and only one concierge. Usually Sam would’ve politely waited his turn, but this situation was far from usual.

  “Excuse me,” he said, pushing his way through the line. “Sorry, but this is an emergency.”

  His tone and height seemed to part the tide in front of him, but when he came to the desk, he found himself being stared down—or actually up—by a small, haughty-looking bald man whose gold name tag simply read ‘Stephen: Concierge.’ From the openly disgusted way the guy was eyeing Sam’s track suit and now eleven o’ clock shadow, he didn’t seem to think Sam was deserving of much concierge-ry.

  Well, Sam thought, as he drew himself up to his best ‘angry giant’ posture, this smarmy bastard was about to experience the pants-wetting urgency of daytime hospital drama.

  “I’m looking for one of my patients,” he said, in his best Dr. Bel-Air voice, as he planted both hands on the desk. “She’s on the lam from a medical LSD study. One of the nurses gave her too strong a dose, and she ran off. If I don’t find her and administer the antidote within the next thirty minutes, she could very well end up dead.”

  “Sir,” Stephen said, totally calm, “I don’t think I can….”

  “I need to find this patient, STAT!” Sam yelled, hitting the desk with his hand, and undoubtedly upsetting more than a few of the wealthy patrons in the lobby. Sure, Stephen might call the cops, but it would likely make even more of a scene.

  “Yes, sir,” the concierge responded, much more coolly. “Of course, I’d be happy to help. But you haven’t yet told me the guest’s name.”

  Oh, right. Shit.

  Sam cleared his throat. Nice going, Dr. Bel-Air.

  “Bellerose,” he said, more quietly. “Viola Bellerose.” Then, “Do you need me to spell it?”

  “No, sir,” the concierge said, with a completely straight face. “I’m very familiar with that name.”

  ***

  Sam practically leapt off the elevator as soon as he reached Viola’s floor.

  Even though Stephen had given up the room number, Sam wasn’t totally positive that the concierge hadn’t also notified security. He needed to hurry. If all he succeeded in doing was making sure Viola was safe, he’d be happy to let them drag him off in handcuffs—but only after he saw her, alive and well, with his own eyes.

  When he got to the right room, Sam knocked loudly at the door.

  There was no answer. Instead of waiting, Sam knocked louder. When there was still no answer, he started yelling.

  “Viola?” He shouted, leaning heavily against the door. “Viola, I know you’re upset with me, because I didn’t believe you. And I get it. But I do now, I really do. I don’t think you’re crazy.” He lowered his voice slightly, confessing to the wood paneling as if a priest listened behind it. “Actually, I never did. I was just so worried, when you ran away from me. I thought it meant that you didn’t trust me. I realize now that you trusted me more than you ever should’ve. I was the one who broke that trust. And I should’ve trusted you more. I should’ve told you I believed in you, because I do.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Sam could’ve sworn he heard movement coming from the other side of the door.

  “Viola?” He got loud again, pounding on the door as hard as he could. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Sam looked up and down the hallway on either side of him, but there was no one in sight. If he kept this up though, security guards would be bearing down on him any time now. Hey, if he was going to get dragged off anyway….

  “Viola, if you don’t open the door, I am totally prepared to break it down. I’m not leaving until I see that you’re okay. Please. Just open the—“

  The door swung open, and Sam practically fell inside. It took some very fancy twisting and sheer coordination to keep from landing on his face. When it slammed shut behind him, he turned, ready to pull Viola safely into his arms, no matter how mad at him she was.

  Instead, he found himself face to face with Jacques Gosselin. The guy who was supposed to be in mid-air on his way to Paris. He looked upset. Frantic.

  “Oh, mon Dieu,” he said, reaching out to grasp Sam’s arm, far too tightly. “You’re here, it’s a miracle!”

  Miracle? Sam was genuinely confused. It seemed more like a gigantic misunderstanding.

  “I thought you were in Paris.”

  “I was on my way to the airport, when dear Viola called me,” Jacques explained, in his same breathless, overly dramatic voice. “She asked me to meet her, and said she wanted to apologize. That she was wrong.”

  With Sam’s arm still clutched in his sweaty hand, the Frenchman started backing into the gigantic and very expensive-looking hotel room, all the time keeping the other hand in his pocket. Sam didn’t have to be a doctor to see that the guy was about three seconds away from having a stroke.

  Add to Jacques’ obvious physical signs the fact that he’d said Viola had called him to apologize, and—no. Absolutely not. Apologize for being wrong? Viola? No fucking way.

  Sam followed him warily, but only because he needed to know what was going on.

  The moment he stepped into the bedroom, and Jacques stepped aside, Sam knew he’d come to the right place. The bedroom was empty, except for some trash and what looked like the remnants of the mini bar, strewn all over the rumpled white sheets.

  “What happened?” He gestured to the closed bathroom door. “Is Viola in there? Is she hurt?”

  Sam’s mysterious tugging sensation increased, pulling at him so suddenly that he turned and faced Jacques, before moving to open the bathroom door.

  The Frenchman was pointing a gun at him. With a sudden, icy cold clarity, Sam realized that it wasn’t stroke symptoms that he saw, but the signs of a desperate man who had finally reached the end of his rope. White-faced and sweating, hands shaking, Jacques Gosselin had the look of someone who had nothing to lose.

  There was nothing more dangerous in the world.

  Except for a guy who still held onto a thin shred of hope that the woman he loved was alive. A guy whose older brother had been nationally ranked for total offense three years running, and who’d started teaching him the art of the takedown at age five. Without waiting to hear the Frenchman’s undoubtedly compelling excuses for being a soulless, hate-filled motherfucker, Sam rushed him, slamming his left shoulder into Jacques’ chest while his right hand hit the gun from underneath, knocking it up and away.

  The gun flew across the room, but Sam didn’t bother to chase it. Instead, he did a quick one-eighty and broke the Frenchman’s nose, then doubled him over and kneed him in the solar plexus hard enough to hear ribs snapping. When Jacques fell to his knees, and then went down on the floor, Sam knew—as a doctor—that he wasn’t getting up any fucking time soon, if ever.

  It didn’t really matter right now, because it was time to face whatever was on the other side of that door. Sam reached out to grab the handle and froze—only for a moment. The door was locked. Taking a deep breath and a step back, he kicked the door open to see Viola curled up on a corner of the bathroom floor. She looked so small and helpless, and her eyes were closed. There was blood everywhere.

  The way his chest constricted, seeing her like that, it should have brought Sam to his knees. It should have incapacitated him for life. Somehow, it didn’t.

  Somehow, he was able to reach deep within himself and tap into a kind of hidden well of calm.

  “Viola, can you hear me? You’re going to be okay.”

  Kneeling next to her, he rolled her gently onto her back, tilted her head and leaned down to check her breathin
g. She was breathing, but shallowly. When his face turned to look at hers, there was a tiny, self-satisfied smile on her lips.

  “Sam,” she breathed, right before her head lulled to one side, and she lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.” –Sigmund Freud

  I’m standing in a church. Not just any church, but the crumbling stone chapel at St. Catherine’s Preparatory School for Girls. I’m wearing a white satin dress. My grandmother’s wedding dress. Aiden is standing across from me.

  “I do,” I say, without waiting to be asked.

  Aiden smiles at me. His teeth are blinding. Instead of echoing my declaration of ‘I do,’ he opens his mouth and breaks into song.

  “Oh, speak to me and whisper what you need for me to do. I can't survive the waking world…and my dreams are empty without you. So wake for me, my darling one. Please rise for me, like the morning sun.”

  I’m gritting my teeth so hard at this point, it feels like they’re about to break.

  Aiden leans in to kiss me, and whispers the last line of the song into my face.

  “You're my everything, my world revolves around you.”

  Suddenly, I’m falling through the cracks in the stone floor, as the church crumbles away around me. But I’m not afraid. Instead, I’m relieved.

  “…starting to come out of the anesthesia,” a man’s voice says. “You should probably go get Dr. Philips.”

  Suddenly, I’m flying. But this time, I don’t need to flap my arms. This time, I have giant wings made of soft, white, rose petals. I’m soaring above a lush, green vineyard. It goes on for miles. I can’t even see where it ends.

  “Viola,” the voice says again. “Can you hear me? Wake for me, baby.”

  ***

  Viola opened her eyes slowly, carefully. Her eyelashes felt like they’d been super-glued together for months, or maybe years. Flexing her fingers, and then her toes, she sighed in relief when everything worked. From what she could tell, there were no missing limbs or large holes. The only pain she felt was a slight throbbing in her right shoulder.

  Her eyes flickering around the room, she searched for Sam. She found only Brady.

  “Miss Bellerose,” he said, his demeanor oddly formal. Disturbingly professional. “How are you feeling this morning? It’s good to see you awake, finally.”

  “Finally?” Viola tried to repeat the word, but her tongue felt thick. Like she hadn’t used it in forever.

  “There might be some temporary side-effects of the anesthetic,” Brady told her, solemnly. “But that’s only to be expected following any surgical procedure. And you’ve been through quite a lot of them by now.”

  “What?” Viola was confused. Her heartbeat started to pick up, matched by the beeping of a machine that someone had hooked to her finger. “What do you mean, ‘quite a lot’?”

  “To be honest,” he said, “you’re something of a medical miracle. It’s not every day we have a chance to rebuild a person’s entire face from scratch. You were incredibly lucky to be chosen for this study, Miss Bellerose.”

  Automatically, Viola’s hands flew to touch her face. Everything felt normal. Her hands were a little swollen, and there was an unfamiliar ring on her left hand. Other than that, though—suddenly, her mind backtracked. Wait.

  “Brady,” she said slowly, staring wide-eyed at the thin, rose gold band on her finger. “What the hell…is going on?”

  Dr. Brady stared back at her, equally wide-eyed.

  “Miss Bellerose, how do you know my name? We’ve never met before.”

  If the monitor hadn’t still been beeping, Viola would’ve sworn up and down that her heart had stopped completely in that moment.

  “What…what do you…”

  But then, Sam was there, standing in the doorway. Looking at her the same way he always did, like she was the best part of his day. Scratch that—the best part of his entire world.

  “Hey, you’re awake!” When his eyes fell on her face, his smile wilted slightly. “What’s the matter, baby? Does something hurt?”

  “No…I….” Viola had never been more confused in her entire life. She looked down at her hands, then back at Sam, then over at Brady.

  Who promptly burst out laughing.

  “Dude,” he said, exploding out of the chair with a fist pump of triumph. “I totally pulled a Vanilla Sky just now, and she totally fell for it, and you totally missed it! Oh my God, that was awesome!” He sputtered loudly, choking on his own laughter.

  Viola just stared, as Sam’s face went from confused to deadly serious.

  “Out,” he said, pointing at the door. “Get out, Brady. Before I actually kill you.”

  “Hey,” Brady held up his hands in mock surrender as he fake moon-walked out the door. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Sam dragged a hand over his face in obvious exasperation, but before Viola could even open her mouth to ask him anything, Brady was back. Or at least, his head was. He smiled mischievously as he poked his face back into the room.

  “Hey, you guys? Can I…” he batted his eyelashes. “Can I still come to the wedding?”

  “Out!”

  “Alright!” Brady’s head disappeared, but his voice continued to waft in from the hallway. “Think about it. I’ll be at the nurses’ station, with my new lady. Oh, and V? I took a poll, and all the other interns agree. Best. Drunk dial. EVER.”

  Finally, Viola had had enough of being kept in the dark.

  Sam shook his head. “I should’ve known he was going to copy it. At least he hasn’t auto-tuned it.” He grimaced slightly. “Yet.”

  “Sam,” she demanded, crossing her arms—though, with the numbness still wearing off, it took her a few tries. “What in the hell is going on?”

  Sam sighed, coming over to sit in the chair on her left, by the window. Viola noticed, for the first time, that she wasn’t in her usual room. The view she saw now wasn’t of treetops, but of parking lot light poles.

  “Also, where are we?”

  “PACU,” he told her, straight-faced. When she wrinkled her nose at him, he laughed. “It stands for post-anesthesia care unit. Basically, it’s a short-term layover before you get released, so we can make sure you don’t have any negative reactions.”

  “Last time wasn’t a reaction,” Viola told him. “I was poisoned.”

  “I know,” Sam told her, slowly tracing his fingers across her arm. “I had them test your hair, since all of your other samples from the night of the accident had expired. Just between you and me, I couldn’t believe that you’d never done any kind of drugs before. Even I’m not that prissy.”

  “Prissy?” Viola scoffed. “Whatever, I know how to party like you can’t possibly imagine. Just wait until I get out of this bed, mister.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if we have to wait for proof of that.” Smiling evilly, he ducked his head and kissed her hand. “Do you remember the message you left me?”

  “No…” Viola tried to think back to before her latest near-death experience. “I mean, it sounds vaguely familiar but…no details.”

  “That’s okay.” He reached into his pocket. “Because I saved it.”

  When Sam pushed the playback button on his phone, Viola braced herself for something unexpected. Still, she wasn’t prepared for the blubbering slur of her own voice when the message finally started.

  “Sam…I wanted to tell you something, before I wake up and lose my nerve again. Or before I fall asleep… Wait, no, that’s wrong. Anyway, you know what I mean….”

  Oh. My. God. Viola reached for the phone, but Sam held it out of reach, at the end of one freakishly long arm, as her drunken speech continued.

  “What was I saying? Oh, right. Basically, I’m at this hotel and I just drank the mini bar. And I think I’m going crazy, but I had this dream where we were getting married. And Sam…it was the best moment of my life, except for the part where my
teeth…they were all, like…gross and…never mind. The important thing is family. And my family is gone. I just drank my dad’s bottle, and my mom’s bottle. Then I toasted yours, and that was when I realized…I’ve never had anyone I just wanted to sit and listen to before.”

  “Turn it off,” she demanded, mortified. But Sam only smiled, shaking his head.

  “Because that’s what I did for three weeks Sam. I listened. I found out all about Brady and Whitney in the closet, and how Jeff the tech is gay.”

  Sam winced comically at that part, and Viola’s mouth fell open in horror. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, grinning. “Jeff’s not mad. We already knew.”

  “…And you, the way you cared about everyone—even me, not because I attacked you that time in the bar or because you felt bad for me, but because you’re just so good…And I never wanted to be friends with anyone so much, or know someone so much. You were all like the family I never had. And I loved you. Even that stupid song you made me listen to, and the way you surprised me, so many times…and that thing you can do with your tongue, by the way…that is…amazing. And basic…basically, what I’m trying to say is that you’re so much braver than you think you are, Sam. You’re so much braver than me, even, or anyone I’ve ever known.” There was a short pause, then “…Except for maybe Lucinda, but she’s like…a complete badass. And she loves you too, because you’re wonderful. You’re perfect and I just wanted to say that I lo—”

  That was where the recording cut off.

  Blushing furiously, Viola buried her face in her hands.

  “Delete that. Delete it now.” She peeked through her fingers, and found herself distracted by the glare of the gold band. “Also, what the hell is this?”

  She wiggled her fingers in front of Sam’s face. He caught them, lacing her fingers together with his.

  “It’s a promise ring,” Sam told her, with the adorably crooked smile he got when he was blatantly lying. “See, earlier, when you were about to go under for surgery, you promised to be my girlfriend. Normally, I wouldn’t have taken advantage, because you seemed so out of it, but you were really insistent about it. You made Dr. Chakrabarti witness it and everything.”