3. Hospital
New readers, start here: 1. Survivor
My eyes flicker open. My mind feels stuffed with cotton. Soft. Scratchy.
“Help,” I whisper.
“Hey,” says a man’s voice. “You’re awake. That’s good, Shelby. Real good.”
Who’s Shelby?
I reach for … dog. Where’s my dog? “Ranger.” No, no. That’s not right. “Ra-ra-ra…”
“Raina,” says the man.
The blurriness leaves my vision. I see the man standing next to my bed. Brown eyes. Short hair. Round hat. Blue shirt. Black pants. Policeman. I’ve seen him before.
But I don’t want him.
“Raina,” I demand hoarsely.
“She’s not allowed in the ICU,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Raina!”
“Hang on. I’ll get the nurse.”
I don’t want the nurse. But maybe she can bring me Ranger. No, not Ranger. Raina.
Pain throbs throughout my body. It’s especially tender between my thighs.
But this pain is tolerable. It’s far less agony than when he strapped me to the big metal table. Pain is life, he said. You’ll learn, sweetheart. You’ll learn.
My heart started to pound as fractured memories wormed through my cotton brain. Blades punched into skin. Words etched into flesh.
Red-hot iron rod. Him standing between my legs. Eviscerated smile.
I start to shake.
“She’s on a shit-ton of morphine,” I hear the man’s voice say, “but she was still moaning in pain. Isn’t there anything else you can do?”
“We’re doing everything we can, Sergeant Kinsley,” answered a woman.
My teeth are chattering. I hear machine beeps turn into screeches.
People flood into the room. I’m lost. I’m lost.
“Raina!” I yell.
“Who the fuck is Raina?” asked a man’s deep voice. Authoritative. Not blue shirt’s.
“The K-9, sir. She wants my dog.”
“My dog,” I whisper. Then I shout, “Raina!”
“Get her the goddamned K-9.”
My vision blurs again, and I’m shaking so hard, I swear my bones are rattling.
“Jesus, what’s wrong with her?” Woman. Young. Scared.
“Are you serious? You saw what that monster did to her. She’s lucky to be alive.” Another woman. Older. Professional.
“Shut it, both of you.” Man. Annoyed. Focused. “We need to—what the fuck!”
A heavy weight settles on top of me. My hands dig into her thick fur, and my body stills. I sigh with relief. Raina lays her head on my chest.
“Raina,” I whisper.
My body relaxes.
My mind lets go.
“The dog stays,” says Authority Male.
I drift. Away. Away.
Thank you for reading REMEMBER, a micro-fiction novel experiment.
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Authority Male: The dog stays.
That's the way it should always be: The dog stays.
Loving this tale!