Page 8 of Morgue

When I looked back at Dorothy, she smiled even though tears were still flowing freely. “Texas?”

“Yeah, baby. Texas, then Florida.”

“Am I dreaming?” Her smile faltered. “I always wanted to go to Florida. Wanted to move there after school. But I ended up in that horrible place and… Am I still there?”

“No, Dorothy.” I tried my best to reassure her but wasn’t sure how much I managed. The pain in her voice, the confusion on her face, was almost my undoing. Christ, I needed to get a rein on these feelings. Fast. “I promise you’re out of there. And safe.”

“You’re supposed to be scary. Aren’t you.” She didn’t phrase it like a question.

“Most people think so.”

“Have you really killed a lot of people?”

“That frighten you?” I moved slowly to sit next to her, not wanting to startle her or make her feel like I was crowding her.

“To know that you’ve killed?” When I nodded, she looked thoughtful. Like she was really pondering the question. “It probably should, but it doesn’t.”

“Good. I don’t want you to be scared of me. Just want everyone else to be.”

Again, she smiled. “OK, then. I won’t be scared of you.”

Which, now that I thought about it, might not be a good thing for me. If she wasn’t scared of me, I couldn’t keep her at arm’s length. And she was already seriously under my skin. For no good reason.

Whatever happened in the next few hours, I knew my life would forever be linked with Dorothy’s. I wanted her to be mine. I knew this without a doubt. But letting her in meant making myself vulnerable. If you didn’t love anyone, you had no one to lose. I’d long ago lost everyone I cared about. All I had were my brothers. I even kept them away as much as I could. Whatever I was feeling for Dorothy wasn’t at all comfortable, and I knew I didn’t want to become comfortable with it. I wanted to run as far and as fast away from her as I could, even when I knew I never would. This woman was meant to be mine. I just had to be brave enough to take her.

Chapter Three

Dorothy

My head ached. So did every bone in my body. My abdomen felt like someone was twisting my insides in a wringer, and my mouth tasted like a cat had shit in it. And I needed water like I needed air to breathe.

“Ohhhh…” I groaned. I rolled over on my side, expecting the stench to hit me. This place wasn’t exactly sanitary, and the only bathroom we had was the bucket in the corner. Not only did the air have a clean, fresh scent, but I wasn’t lying on the hard floor.

I opened my eyes and blinked. I was in what looked like a decent-size room. The bed I was in was a queen. The sheets smelled cleaner than anything I’d smelled since my ordeal began… How long had it been? Sunlight filtering in from the window created dust motes that glistened like diamonds.

“Where am I?” I wasn’t sure who I was talking to, the words coming out on their own before I could censor myself. Was anyone even with me? I tried to convince myself that the last few weeks had been a nightmare, but the way my body ached and my stomach cramped told the truth. I didn’t have a whole lot of experience with drugs, but I was willing to bet I was starting withdrawal. It all depended on how long I’d been out and how long it had been since they’d shot me up.

“Evansville, Indiana.” The deep voice answering me sounded like it was across the room. “You been out a while. Stitches checked on you to make sure you’d respond but didn’t think it was a good idea to wake you as long as you were sleeping peacefully. Sorry ’bout the catheter.”

“What?” I tried to sit up, but any movement made my head swim and pound with pain. I groaned.

“Careful,” the man said. Then he was at my side, helping me to sit. He put a couple of pillows behind me so I could sit comfortably before moving away. For some reason he sat in the far corner of the room. Trying not to scare me?

I sat there for several minutes just trying to not puke. That’s when I realized what he’d been talking about. Between my legs, a rubber tube sprouted, draping over my leg to a bag hanging on the bed frame. Half full of urine.

“Fuuuuck.” I picked at the rubber tube, but the man moved back to me and gently removed my hand.

“Be careful. Stitches said you’d hurt yourself if you didn’t get it removed properly.”

“Who did this? You?” It felt like a violation, though considering what I remembered, maybe it was this was the lesser of the evils.

“No. Stitches. Our doctor.” The guy seemed not to say anything not strictly necessary. It was damned frustrating.

I sighed. “Can I have some water?”

Instead of replying, he crossed the room to a small fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, bringing it back to me. He opened the top and held it out. I took it eagerly, gulping down several swallows before my stomach protested.

He gently took the bottle from my hand and set it on the nightstand. “Not too much.”