The Bullet List (The Saving Bailey Trilogy, #1) (16 page)

“Get into bed now! If I see you out of that bed again without the doctor’s permission, I am going to put you in restraints!” She grabs for my wrists to show me back to my bed, but I resist.

“No, I want to go for a walk,” I protest.

“Get into that bed this instant! Child, you must be delusional, with the way you hit your head and all! You are not well enough to be up!”

“What’s all the fuss about?” Spencer asks, looking in through the crack of the open door.

“Bailey, what are you doing out of bed! You will faint, or fall and hurt your head again,” he says.

“Oh not you too!” I say drily. “I am well enough, I want to go outside.”

The nurse and Spencer approach me, hands out to catch me if I should faint.

“No,” the nurse says, pushing me back towards the bed.

“Listen to the nurse, Bailey, she knows what she is doing,” Spencer says.

“I don’t want an altercation,” she says when I swat her hands away.

“Leave me alone! All I want to do is stand! Is that so much to ask for?” I say fiercely.

“I’m going to have to put you in restraints if you will not comply.”

“Oh no need for that, she is probably just tired of lying around all day is all. I can get her to go back to bed,” Spencer says hurriedly as she advances on me with outstretched arms, and clawed fingers. “Bailey, please get back into bed,” he asks of me coaxingly.

I don’t like the idea of this bitter old lady bossing me around. I should be able to walk if I feel like it. After all, my mother is paying thousands to have me here. Shouldn’t that count for something?

“Help me boy,” the nurse says.

“Nooo,” I yelp, as Spencer and the nurse firmly pin me down to the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says as the nurse straps me in.

“Spencer, I hate you!” I spit at him, as he holds both my arms down.

“I’m sorry; I did it for your own good. Now you can sleep,” he says and rapidly presses my morphine button.

“Hate!” I slur as the medication takes effect.

“Nursh, Spence, Jergs!” I sputter.

“You will be okay sweetheart,” he says and sings me my lullaby.

Don’t!
I want to yell at him, his voice like the screech of tires against asphalt. I hate him to infinity right now, and I hate even more that his singing is lulling me to sleep.

Chapter 22

Thieves hide in the dark, Rapists, kidnappers, and serial killers hide in the dark
. I am tearing at the air reaching for something:
a rope, a ladder,
anything to pull me out of this dark abyss.
Spencer did this
, I think.
Spencer, who is supposed to love me, and care for me, sent me to this black hell
. My eyes pop open, and I see Spencer bent over me, holding my arms, which are crossed over my chest like a mummy.

“I thought you were going to hurt yourself,” he says, letting go.

No
, I think,
I have you to do that
.

I sit up, and even though my head is tender, I smack his head with mine. “
That’ll teach you to put me to sleep!”
I think as flashes of light cross my field of vision. The hit is too much for my sensitive head.

“Oh my God!” he screams in outrage and cups his forehead in his hand.

There is a stabbing sensation in my own head, and then I pass out. After what feels like only seconds, I wake with blood on my lips, and can taste it on my tongue.

“Hey,” Spencer says, his voice subdued.

I am tied to the bed by my wrists, ankles, and stomach; Velcro straps securing me in.

“You knocked yourself out,” he says.

He takes a damp washcloth and wipes off the blood from my face.

“I hit you too hard,” I say, regretfully.

“Yes, you did,” he says and sympathetically kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry, I am not upset with you. It was wrong of me to let the nurse restrain you.”

“Do you think she’s done?”

“Who the nurse?” he asks tilting his head.

“Miemah,” I say.

“She did a lot of damage, so yeah, she should be satisfied. And maybe she will be caught now; from what Clad told me you left behind evidence,
blood
.”

“It doesn’t matter. Mrs. Stewart would act like she had no idea, even if she saw it happen. And she may have.”

“I’m sure she is done,” he says, combing his fingers through his hair.

The doctor walks in wearing a grave expression.

“Hello, Bailey, do you remember me?” he asks, loosening my restraints.

“Yes.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Sickly. I think I bit a hole through my tongue.”

“I see your humor is unaffected. Nurse Coledia told me what happened. You could have hurt yourself, severely,” he says in a steady tone.

“I just wanted to walk, and I could have if she hadn’t stopped me,” I say annoyed.

“If you don’t give your body ample time to heal, it will take even longer for you to be released. You could set yourself back a few days by pushing yourself beyond what your body is capable of right now,” he says.

“Can I see Ashten now?
Please?
” I ask, my voice high-pitched and whiney.

“I’m afraid I think its best you stay in bed,” he says, sounding like a typical movie doctor.

I turn the water works on:
I must see Ashten, must see for myself that her arms have not been amputated.

“Don’t cry,” he says unsure of how to respond.

I cry harder and throw in a few fake coughs for good measure.

“I just don’t think-” he begins, and I sob louder.

“Maybe I could get a wheelchair up here.”

“Oh, could you? That would make me feel so much better,” I say, turning off my tears.

“Yes, I’ll see what I can do about it, okay?” he says.

“
That was disgusting
,” Spencer says once the doctor has left.

“I need to see Ashten, and when I cry I get my way,” I say, unabashed.

“Crocodile tears don’t fool me,” he says.

“I didn’t need to fool you, silly! Just the doctor! And listen, here he comes with my wheelchair.”

The doctor returns, then lifts me into the chair with ease.

“Spencer can take me,” I say. “What room?”

“Last one on the right, Burn Unit.”

Spencer reluctantly pushes me down the hall, and then to the Burn Unit.

The tile of the Burn Unit is royal blue speckled with pieces of glitter; the walls have paintings of jungle scenes and underwater murals. They give me a headache.

“Is that your friend?” Spencer asks, as he pushes the chair into a room where Ashten is sleeping peacefully in her bed, her arms wrapped in pillows of gauze.

“That’s her,” I say, not recognizing her at first.

The ends of her hair are still blackened, and I can see a burn healing on the side of her neck. With Spencer’s assistance I get out of my chair, and lean on her bed.

“Ashten,” I whisper.

She mumbles something.

“Ashten,
it’s Bailey
,” I say, raising my voice.

She opens her eyes.

“Bailey?” she asks.

“It’s me. I’m in the hospital too.”

“Oh, I haven’t had any visitors!” she says, sitting up.

“How do your arms feel?” I ask.

“They are numb. The surgeons took skin from my thighs and back, and put it on my arms. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Ludacris,” I say, embracing her.

“Oh, what happened to you?” she says, running the tip of her finger across the staples in my head.

“Miemah happened,” I say, my arms still locked around her.

“
No
, she did this to you?
Oh my lord
,” she says.

“And my arm,” I say pitifully, and show her my hideous cast.

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

“I’m sorry too, because now, she is going to have to deal with me. As soon as I leave this hospital she will get all she deserves, and more.”

“Sit,” she says, patting the bed.

Spencer picks me up.

“We can be hospital buddies,” Ashten says, grinning.

“Yeah, we can,” I say.

“I have a puppy,” I say randomly.

“That’s nice,” she giggles.

“A birthday present from Clad.”

“Was it your birthday when Miemah… you know?”

“Yep,” I say.

“That is
awful
,” she says.

“Miemah is pure evil,” I say.

“Bailey, we should be going now,” Spencer tells me.

I look down at Ashten’s arms for a final confirmation that they have not been turned into nubs, and then allow Spencer to take me back to my room.

“
Happy now
?” he asks, as I get situated in my nest of blankets and pillows.

“No, my head is pounding something fierce, and my stomach is empty, but even the sight of food makes me retch.”

“I’ll tuck you in,” he says, and pulls the blankets up to my chin.

Clad’s baby blankets sit on the guest chair, and I am using the one Spencer got me for my birthday because it is not itchy, and covers my entire body, even my freezing toes.

“There,” he says lovingly.

“Will you sleep?” he asks me.

“It will be dark,” I say fretfully.

“I will hold you and sing.”

“I don’t know if that will be enough, Spencer.”

“My voice will illuminate the dark; you can find it in your subconscious, and swim to it, like a lighthouse. It will steer you away from the rocky seas and velvety black skies.”

A new song emerges from his juke-box lips. I follow it, like bread crumbs in Hansel and Gretel, a beaten path down which my mind can travel.

When I wake I find that it is early morning. The sun is sending horizontal stripes of light down my blanket as it is filtered through the window blinds. I have been asleep for hours and hours.

My saliva tastes like I have been sucking on a jar of pennies:
copper and rust
. There is a tray of food resting on my lap. The macaroni and cheese looks like plastic Barbie food.

“Morning,” Mom says wearily. She is clearly exhausted from having to sleep in a chair for several nights.

“This tastes like glue,” I say and spit out the noodles I have taken.

“That’s all they had. It was that or the beef patty that looked like it might grow legs and crawl away.”

I take more small reluctant bites, my stomach and mouth not agreeing with each other.

“I’m so hungry, but it tastes so bad,” I sigh, resting my spoon on the tray.

“Want me to feed you?” Mom asks, looking up from the book she is reading.

Wait.
My mom is reading a book?
This can’t be.

“Please tell me I am hallucinating,” I say.

She glances up, and squints at me through her reading glasses.
I didn’t even know she had reading glasses.

“You are not,” she says and goes back to the book.

“What are you reading? Does it have lots of pictures?” I ask.

“
Very funny
. No, it is an Alcoholics Anonymous book.”

“Thank you,” I say, knowing she is reading it only for my sake.

“You’re welcome. I should have picked it up a long time ago. I guess I just needed a push in the right direction.”

“Or the wrong direction.
That seemed to get you moving
,” I say, my words laden with sarcasm.

“Yes,” she says, closing the book, and coming to my bed.

“Eat,” she coaxes, holding a spoonful of the cheesy, gummy pasta to my mouth.

I open my mouth and let her feed me half the portion, before my stomach refuses more.

“The nurse shouldn’t have restrained you like that yesterday. She says she felt threatened.
A weak little girl playing soccer, is threatening?
It’s a wonder she isn’t fired. She is too harsh to be taking care of the ill.”

I nod my head in agreement. The doctor says I am making a speedy recovery and can go home tomorrow, but I must be watched closely because of my head injury.

“I will get to see Angel? We can keep him, can’t we?” I ask Mom.

“Yes, he is your present. Take good care of him: water, food, walks,” she says, sounding matronly.

“
Runs
, Mom.
I run
.” I smile as big as the sky.

“You love that puppy,” she says, returning the smile.

“More than anything. Best gift I ever got…besides my beautiful locket. Dad will always be here, even though he is behind bars,” I say, and my voice catches in my throat.

“Don’t be upset. Oh, your father loved you,
worshipped
you. I know it is hard for you to have not had him in your life. You have not had it easy, but you are so much stronger for it.”

“I know,” I croak, twiddling the locket between my fingers. “Maybe, someday, I can visit him.”

“When you are older, sweetheart,” Mom says, though I know the truth is that she means I will never see him.

“Yes,” I say.

I try to imagine what it would be like, going to the federal prison and seeing my dad behind a three-inch thick wall of glass, my heart aching to be close to him. To feel his hand through my hair, his arms wrapped around me, to be his daughter again, not some teen girl living in this harsh world without a father.

“Not once has Alana called to check up on you!” Mom says, furious. “Let alone visit! What a
one-sided
friendship.”

“There is something off about her, Mom. I don’t know what it is,” I say, although I do have an inkling.

“Why can’t I tell the police about Miemah? Tell me once more. It would be nice to have her parents paying your hospital bills.”

“Mom, it will make things ten times worse for me. This is it, she is done, I know it,” I say, my voice so convincing that I almost believe it.

“If she touches you one more time, I’ll break every finger she has!”

“She won’t,” I say. “Besides, we both know you are never going to pay the bills.”

Mom shrugs in agreement.

Later in the day, I visit Ashten again. She is on her bed, pushing a pencil through her cast, her new skin itching.

“Trenton didn’t care,” I say, tossing my soccer ball in the air.

“I like your gown,” she says, amused by the ballerinas on it.

“Yours is better,” I say, laughing at the sight of the Dalmatian puppies on hers.

“Why would he care that I got burned? I don’t think he likes me,” she says, her voice hinting at something.

“Why shouldn’t he like you? You are nice and kind.”

“Trenton isn’t into
nice and kind
.”

“Right,” I say and spin the ball in my hands.

“Your head hurt?”

“It’s bearable,” I say.

“Your arms hurt?”

“No, they are funneling morphine into me like it’s going out of style. My head is in the clouds so bad that I can’t even remember my name. What is it again? Asher?”

“I’m not up for jokes,” I say, and push the soccer ball off the bed.

“Fine, I know my name. But I really am high as a kite,” she says, winking at me.

“When do you get out?” I ask her.

“I don’t know, the doctors haven’t said. How about you?”

“Tomorrow. If I eat today. They want me to eat.”

“You are too thin,” she says.

“The food taste like crap,” I say.

We share her bed and watch cartoons until we both fall asleep to the hum of the machines she is hooked up to. When I wake, she is clinging to me, as if I might leave and never come back, as if she is terrified of something.

Her eyes spring open and startle me.

“
I shouldn’t have gone to the bonfire with them
,” she says, her voice hushed. “I didn’t roll into that fire. Bailey, you can keep a secret, can’t you?”

I nod my head and she continues.

“Trenton wasn’t by your side all night,” she says, her voice suggesting something more sinister.

“Where was he?” I ask confused.

“
Tossing me into the fire
.”

“No,” I gasp. “Stop! That isn’t funny!”

“Shut up! Listen, I am telling the truth!” she hisses at me.

When I try to get up, she sinks her nails into my arm.

“
Don’t
,” she says. “Trenton wanted to kill me, I think.”

“That is insane, Ashten, it’s the drugs talking!”

“Is it? Did I really imagine Trenton lifting me and throwing me into the bonfire? How strange,
I could have sworn I felt my flesh melting from the flames!
” she says.

“Why though? What’s his motivation?” I ask bewildered.

“My brother might have something to do with it,” she says.