The Ghost did, though. A fiery figure walked in from the kitchen, her body emblazoned with living flame. “Who's left?” She asked. Her voice sounded like fire crackling in a wood stove.
Oh God, Sara!
I left Mom, running for my little sister who stood frozen by the garage door. “Sara, run!”
A blast of heat flared up behind me and I thought for sure I was dead; instead, Mom screamed again before it was cut off. I tried not to think about what that meant, and just focused on Sara. I reached her in an instant. Pulling her to me I kept moving for the garage. If I could make it to the car—
Pain, unlike anything I’d ever felt before burst through my chest. A blade as long as my arm exploded out of my ribs and into Sara’s heart, killing her. The light went out of her eyes so fast I didn’t even have time to say “Sorry.”
I crumpled to the ground, the horror of what was going on around me overwhelming my brain and dulling the pain somewhat. I pressed a hand to my chest in a vain attempt to stop the blood gushing out and tried to scream, tried to say something, but the air wouldn’t come. When I tried to stand, I slipped in Sara’s blood and fell face first into the floor.
“Can I torch the place now?” Fire voice asked.
“Do it,” Ghost replied.
Smoke filled the air as darkness encroached on my vision. I tried to breathe, tried to move, but nothing happened. Then the blackness took me, and I was thankful.
Chapter 2
When I woke up, I didn’t expect too. I even hoped I wouldn’t. I gasped for breath, jerking upright. Monitors and alarms rang around me as I regained consciousness. Confusion swept over me like a wave.
Where am I? A hospital… why? Oh, oh no, please oh please let it all have been a bad dream?
It wasn’t though. The hospital was real enough, as were the sounds and smells; antiseptics and the rushing of nurses and doctors as they went about their day. All blissfully unaware of the horror in my mind.
Sara… Mom, Dad…
“Henry,” I said spitting out his name with as much venom as I could muster. I reached under my shirt and felt a scar… but that wasn’t possible? My hands trembled as I looked at them, they were covered in burn scars, crinkled skin, barely recognizable as my own spread out around my palms and fingers. For them to be this healed though…
“Miss? You’re awake!” A nurse burst in, checking the machines before taking my pulse. “We were wondering if you were ever going to wake up. How are you feeling?” she asked as she pulled an electronic thermometer out and ran it across my forehead.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“It’s perfectly natural for there to be some fuzziness. Can you tell me your name?”
My name? What was… oh, right. “Madisun Dumas.”
“Very good, wait right here and I’ll get the Doctor.”
I replayed the last moments, the images of my family burned into my brain like a branding iron. Mom screaming, Dad’s gurgle as the life flowed out of him, the look of fear on Sara’s face. That was the worst. The walls seemed to close in on me and I started hyperventilating. I put a hand to my chest trying to hold back the pressure there.
Oh Spice… I’m so sorry.
When the nurse returned with a doctor, I was barely aware, lost in the nightmare that my life had become. Why would someone do that to another person? Who were they? Why?
It took the Doctor several tries to get me to respond to him. When I did, I just gazed at him. I could see his mouth moving but was not understanding any of the words. He shined a light in my eyes then left with the nurse.
Henry worked at Dad’s office… Dad was an assistant district attorney; I needed to call the police, tell them what happened. I fumbled for the phone before I finally was able to close my hands around the receiver and punch the numbers. Pain in my fingers and palms caused me to wince with each push of the button. Was it going to hurt like this for the rest of my life?
Who would I call? I didn’t know anyone at the city offices. It wasn’t like I even lived there. Looking around the room I located the closet. My body ached as I moved, muscles long dormant shook with effort as I crossed the room. Inside were clothes, cleaned and folded, along with a sealed plastic bag that had my personal effects, including my smartphone. I ignored the clothes for now and pulled out my phone. Thankfully it was relatively undamaged. I found a cord and plugged it in. After a few minutes, I had Internet, though it was from the hospital’s Wi-Fi since for some reason I didn’t have cell service.
I cleaned off the smudges on the screen before pulling up the city’s webpage. Scrolling through the different names, I scanned for one that sounded familiar. Henry’s name wasn’t on the list of city attorneys.
Wait? How long…
I pulled up my calendar… my heart skipped a beat and I had to force myself not to drop the phone.
Six months?
Six freaking months since my family was slaughtered. It was only a few minutes ago for me. I had no recollection, no dreams, no stirrings of the last six months. I had always heard that people in a coma were aware, but for me, I passed out in my parents’ house and woke up here.
I scrolled on and saw Henry’s name finally. He was the new ADA. He got Dad’s job that son of a bitch! My fingers trembled as I played the video of his acceptance speech linked to the listing.
“I promise to continue the legacy of integrity and justice my dear friend instilled in me.”
I swiped it off. I couldn’t listen to him, I could barely look at his face without bile building up in the back of my throat.
“Internal affairs!” Right? Every police department had them. I pulled up the NOPD’s listing and found the Office of Public Integrity. A lofty sounding name; surely they could help me? It didn’t take long to find the chief detective’s number. Thankfully, the Wi-Fi let me make a call using a VOIP number I kept for emergencies. Mostly I used it to text my friends in NYC when I was overseas.
“Detective Franklin’s office, Franklin speaking.”
What luck! “Hi, my name is Madisun Dumas, I’m Alex Dumas’ daughter.”
He didn’t respond for a moment, only silence filled the phone and I worried we’d lost connection.
“Is this a joke?” he asked eventually.
“No… no it isn’t. I’m in the hospital—I don’t even know which one. I woke up a few hours ago to find six months have gone by.”
A new kind of pain lanced through me, this pain was familiar. Hunger. I was starving. As an editorial model, I was used to starving to keep my size three waist intact. This was a different kind of hunger though. I doubt I’d eaten a single piece of solid food in months.
“Ma’am, I’m very sorry. I was a friend of your dad’s. Is there’s anything I can do?” He trailed off. Anything he could do?
“Officer—”
“Detective—”
“Whatever, I was there. I saw the whole thing. I’m a witness.”
“Perhaps I can point you at a grief counselor, you’re at NOLA General, they have plenty of good therapists and—”
I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment and stared at it in abject horror. What was he talking about? “Detective. I don’t need a counselor I need to see that bastard in jail or worse. I was there. I saw them murder my family, I can tell you what they looked like. I can testify that Henry was there, he orchestrated Dad’s murder and—”
“Ma’am, your parents and sister weren’t murdered. There was a house fire and you were the—”
I stopped listening. Not murdered? That’s not possible. Closing my eyes for a moment allowed me to see everything that happened in crystal clear detail. I saw the man slash Dad across the throat. The same man who could walk through walls. The man who killed Sara.
Franklin was still talking about the ‘accident’ and how sorry he was that my parents had died.
Accident?
“Detective Franklin, before my parents and little sister were murdered, my ex-husband Henry Williams,
your new ADA, was there. He begged Dad to call the NOPD superintendent and have him back off some case against…” I searched my memory for a name. Sara had mentioned them but I couldn’t put it together. “Somebody, a gang or something. A new one that had just moved in from the south?”
“ISO-1?” he supplied.
“Yes! That was them. When Dad wouldn’t, a woman on fire came into the house and… and burned my mother alive. Then a man walked through the walls and slashed Dad across the throat. Mom died in my arms—it’s how I burned my hands. When I tried to leave with Sara, the other man… he… he… stabbed us both with a sword.”
I couldn’t go on. This was too much. Not only was my family dead—murdered horrifically—no one even knew they were murdered? How was that even possible?
The fire… the fire must have done enough damage that Henry could have it covered up. After all, if he was on the payroll of some mobster then they had to have cops and… oh no. I looked at the phone again.
“I’ll come right over ma’am and take a statement. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
I nodded before remembering it was a phone. “Sure.” I hung up. I had to get out of here. My whole body ached from the simple movement of walking five feet to the closet. How the hell was I going to escape?
I made it to the sink and turned on the cold water. I took a long drink and then splashed the water on my face. Gripping the sink I looked in the mirror—I hadn’t since I woke up. Part of me was afraid the scars were on more than my hands.
My hair was shorter, only down to my shoulders. I ran my fingers over my scalp to feel for wounds but didn’t find any. It was supremely weird, looking at my gaunt face and shorter hair in the mirror. This morning—six months ago—I had hair down to the middle of my back and I looked a helluva lot healthier than this. I pulled my hospital gown over my head and inspected myself.
I traced the scar on my abdomen with my fingers. It was six inches long, just below my right breast, and it was thick and ugly. I clenched my fists and slammed them down on the sink. A wave of dizziness washed over me and threatened to send me sprawling.
“No,” I said out loud. “No!”
Sara died in my arms, and if it was the last thing I did, I would see Henry in jail along with the bastards who actually did it. Sara deserved better than to die like that. They all did.
I stumbled back over to the closet. Where I had found my phone was a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a short coat, and some very generic looking shoes. I didn’t recognize any of it; it wasn’t mine. Maybe the hospital supplied it? I didn’t know and right now I seriously doubted I had time to find out. With shaking hands I pulled the jeans on, they were too big but I managed to make it work. Next the shirt then the jacket. They didn’t leave me any underthings and I didn’t have time to care. I had to sit down to put on the shoes or risk falling over.
By the time I was fully dressed I was shaking and sweat was beading on my brow. I stuffed the plastic bag that had contained my phone and the clothes into the pocket of the short coat then took another drink of water and headed for the door. It was the middle of the day; the hustle and bustle of the public hospital was in full swing. I had no idea what I was going to do after I made my way out, but this was step one.
Get out.
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. No one noticed. No one screamed my name or told me to stop. I went out and turned right, walking behind a doctor heading for another room. I wished I had a hoody, but I didn’t.
I looked around for an exit. Hospitals could be mazes but at least they were well marked; I was in the long-term care wing. A sign on the wall had little arrows pointing in every direction. It took my eyes a second to focus—nothing worked right after so much time spent in a coma—but when they did, I could see the exit. My heart pounded in my ears and all my muscles screamed at me to stop and rest.
No. If I did, then they could catch up to me. If that happened then Sara’s death would go unpunished. That is all I have, the one thing I can do. I can make sure they are brought to justice.
I focused on my feet, one step in front of the other, pushing, sometimes stumbling forward. My stomach nearly revolted as I passed the cafeteria. I needed food badly, but if they were going to come get me, they’d search the hospital first. No, I could eat later. Urging myself on I pushed through the pain, hunger, and dizzy spells until I was in the lobby.
A hundred people walked back and forth, coming and going. It would be easy to leave—except I was too late. I froze. Standing by the front door in a slick white suit was the Ghost. The man who’d walked through the walls and killed Dad… killed Sara. I’d never forget his face as long as I lived.
“Damn superpowers. As if murderers needed more of an advantage,” I muttered. If I had any doubt the NOPD was in on it, I sure as hell didn’t now. I slipped to the side down a hallway. There were no public rooms in this one, just the maintenance people and a few trash bins. I made my way to the back, through a big double door, and into the loading area. Service vans full of laundry were backed up to the dock and attendants pushed carts of laundry into them. I waited for one to look away and shuffled as fast as I could into the back, past the last storage bin. I leaned against the wall, slid down, and collapsed from exhaustion.
Chapter 3
The van hit a pothole, banging my head against the aluminum side and waking me up instantly. A moment of confusion clouded my thoughts before I was able to snap out of it. Would there ever be a time when I would awake without having to remember what happened? I hadn’t cried yet—I knew I wanted too, but I wasn’t going to, not yet. I was out of the hospital and safe for the moment. What I needed now was a plan.
Dad would always say, “Have a plan Madi, then have a plan for when that fails.” He was talking about college and my “supposed” modeling career at the time.
I cradled my face for a moment, remembering the first time he told me that—and the million times after. Of course, when I actually did go to college, he’d already stopped talking to me because of Charles. Who could blame him? It was my fault Charles was at the party. My fault he—
Focus Madi! Grief later.
Okay, I tried to think of every spy/cop/crime thriller I’d ever seen. Sadly, I hadn’t seen many. The last eight years of my life were spent in front of a camera trying to impress people while managing to keep my clothes on. By the time I returned home at night I just wanted to sleep. I could’ve taken the easy out, done what some of the other girls did, private gigs, drugs, and whatnot, but I had promised Charles I’d stay true to myself and I wasn’t about to break a promise to the one person on Earth I could never willingly disappoint.
The van shook as it took a turn a little too fast, but I managed to keep my feet.
I don’t know what was keeping me going, certainly not adrenaline. That had worn out after I left the hospital. If I didn’t get my grub on soon, I was going to pass out.
The van came to a halt and I made my move. Leaping shakily to my feet I lurched for the doors. It took a few tries to get the handle to turn. Just as I opened the door the van started off again and the pavement came up fast—I barely had time to get my hands up before I hit the ground.
I rested my head against the hot ground for a moment before pushing myself up. I dragged myself over to the sidewalk and took a moment to breathe. Who could I even go to? If the gang had district attorneys and police in their pocket… what the hell was I supposed to do? I’m no detective. I’m not a hero.
Standing around sure didn’t help; I needed to move. This city was nothing but a pile of bad memories now. There was a park not two miles away I used to take Sara too… the same one Mom took me and Charles to when we were kids. They were all gone—
No. I can’t go down that road, not yet. I have to have a plan, something to do. First things first. I need food and for that I need money.
I spied a bus stop half a block away and stumbled for the bench. My legs felt like rubber and my whole body had gone from aching to str
aight up pain. I collapsed on the bench, leaning my head back for a moment. I blinked… and hours passed. When I passed out the sun was high in the sky, now it faded toward the west casting pink light on everything.
“Dammit,” I muttered.
At least I felt a little better. Still starving though. I pulled the bag out and up-ended it on the bench. The necklace Mom gave me when I graduated from college spilled out along with my Gucci wallet. Though singed, it was still intact. I pulled it open and all my ID and cards were still there, though I had no idea if there was any money in the accounts or if any of them were even open.
The silver necklace with the St. Christopher medal dangling from it caught the dying light of the sun, reflecting it at me. I reached over and picked it up.
“Oh Mom… I guess it did bring me luck after all,” I said. I pulled the medal around my neck.
Still hungry. Right. I heaved a huge sigh and pushed myself up. I thought I’d seen a Jimmy John’s a block away. Now I just had to get there and hope they were still open.
Chapter 4
I can see Sara’s face as the blade slices through us both. In reality, she died instantly; in my dream, her pain and anguish lingered for an eternity.
“Ma’am, we’re here,” the Uber driver said quietly.
I shook myself fully awake. After I had eaten, I caught a Lyft to Baton Rouge and then a plane to NYC. Then one Uber ride to my hotel and I’m back home, sort of. The apartment I rented had already gone to someone else. When I left I put all my things in storage but after three months they auctioned it all off, leaving me with just what was in my bank account and the clothes on my back. It was easy enough to restore my cell phone at the airport. I used that to call ahead and rent a hotel room for a couple of nights.
It wasn’t the nicest hotel I’d ever stayed in—Dubai had that honor. This would do, though. I tossed my new shoulder bag on the bed and collapsed into the corner chair. The decor felt like it had been pulled out of a 1970’s magazine and I felt dirty just being in the place. I opened the one window wide to let in some semi-fresh air. I was in Hell’s Kitchen after all—the air wasn’t that fresh to begin with.
The Wraith (Superhero by Night Book 1) Page 2
