Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

The flapping flames framed the exit. Desperate for oxygen, I had no more time to think. I called on my last shreds of adrenaline and strength to pick up Dr. T and sling her over my shoulder. My knees almost buckled, but I steadied myself for the five seconds I needed to burst through the doorframe. I collapsed as soon as I sensed fresh air.

We were outside the apartment at least.

“Liam!” I screamed, coughing up a lung. “Help!” My head felt like it wasn’t my own. I was disoriented and barely alive—I felt like I was choking to death. If I just lay my head down here, maybe it would feel better. Maybe Liam would come and we’d be OK.

A blanket of cool air swept over my body as I drifted in and out of consciousness. In a distant corner of my mind I was no longer in danger. I was weightless and free. I thought I was in the ocean, lying flat on my longboard. With the sun on my back, I let my arms dangle in the water. I heard my dad’s voice in the distance, gently calling my name. The current was taking me toward him…

A jarring pain stabbed through my chest, and a coughing fit brought me back to reality.

The last thing I felt was being carried away in the arms of a strong man.

The last thing I saw was the reflection of flames in the man’s eyes through the clear plastic shield of his black tactical helmet. Familiar eyes with an unfamiliar intensity.

The last thing I heard was my own voice screaming, “Wait, Dr. T!”

Everything glowed too white. Too sterile.

I couldn’t keep my eyes open with all these fluorescent bulbs trying to blind me. I could barely breathe with whatever was strapped to my face. I couldn’t move with my arms bound.

Wait. I was tied up? Where was I?

I forced open my eyes to look down at the body that surely wasn’t mine, even though it was attached to my very dizzy, throbbing head. An atrocious gown covered my torso, and sandpapery white sheets covered my legs. I didn’t even want to think what kind of nasty wool socks covered my feet. I felt them scratching my heels, and that was enough to piss me off.

I jerked at the leather straps at my wrists and ankles, blinking wildly from light overexposure. My damn pupils stung like invisible fairies were taking archery practice on my eyeballs—

I had to be on drugs to be thinking like this.

The plastic mask covering my mouth felt sweaty and claustrophobic. I wanted it off. Now.

Was this some kind of torture room? Where was Liam? And Dr. T?

I closed my eyes and fought my restraints. I don’t think I meant to scream, but it sure sounded like my voice echoing off the white walls and beeping machines.

“Relax, honey, relax!” A voice caught me off guard—a sharp, authoritative voice, accompanied by soft, heavy hands. I stopped fighting long enough to find out who was brave enough to call me honey when I was in such a foul mood.

All I saw were huge boobs. Not the usual perky Hollywood implants, but enormous mounds of flesh.

“It’ll be better if you relax,” the sharp voice warned.

I slammed my head back against the pillow. Whoever this lady was, she meant business. She’d probably been hired to carry out the torture. I wouldn’t make it easy for her.

Step 1: Get free.

Step 2: Land a serious knee kick to her head. Striking her anywhere in her core would be like trying to punch Play-Doh. Hell, those breasts were as good as a bulletproof vest.

Step 3: Find clothes.

Step 4: Run!

Of course, this brilliant plan only had a chance if I could steady my breathing and get free. I didn’t need the beeping monitor to tell me my heart rate was dangerously high.

“I don’t want to have to increase your dose,” she said as she fussed with my straps, my mask, my sheets. “But you’re testing my patience.”

“Please, just tell me where I am and what is going on,” I said. But given the combo of not having spoken in who knows how long and the thick plastic mask covering my mouth, I doubted she understood. I lifted my thirty-pound bowling-ball head to plead with my eyes.

“I’m going to untie these wrist straps now,” she said with less attitude and more tenderness than I expected. “You’re going to be all right. Now that you’re awake, no more thrashing around, OK?” She moved in and started working on the ties. I prepared myself for the moment when I’d be free, heel kick her in the jaw, and escape this strange, sterile dungeon. I’d find Dr. T and carry her on my back if I had to—

“Oh, thank God.” A familiar voice came from outside the door. “She’s awake? Can I see her?”

My mom! Did Silver get her, too?

The door swung open and she was there, hurrying toward me.

A short, wrinkly man in a white coat materialized behind her, carrying no weapons as far as I could tell.

Beyond them, a tall figure moving in the doorway caught my eye—Sergeant Mathews. His square jaw was set tight, yet his dark eyes were soft. My drugged brain couldn’t make sense of how and why he was here.

Cool air tickled my wrists, telling me I was free. I wanted to rip the plastic mask off my face and bolt out of this white hell, but my mom’s fingers wrapped themselves around the place where the straps had just come off. Not free enough.

“Oh, Rue,” my mom said as she sat beside me and pulled down my mask. She looked unusually haggard and stressed. “I was so worried.”

“Mom, what’s going on?” I still wasn’t sure if I needed to protect the both of us.

“You gave us a scare there,” the wrinkly man said as he wobbled closer and nodded to excuse the woman I now understood was my nurse. “It’s been nearly two days since you came in here kicking and screaming.”

That made no sense. I didn’t remember that. Why didn’t I remember anything? Maybe that was why I was strapped down.

I searched my consciousness for a crack in the dam that held back my memories of when and how I got here.

“You suffered extreme smoke inhalation. We had to give you oxygen and keep you sedated so you could rest,” Dr. Wrinkles said, patting my foot through the sheets.

Smoke. Yes, I remembered the smoke. So much smoke.

Crack .

“Luckily, you only have minor burns on your leg from the fire,” the doctor continued.

Fire, sure—where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

Crack, crack .

“Give her a few more days, and your little heroine will be good as new,” he said to my mom.

Heroine? Who did I save?

Crack, crack, crack .

The dam broke, and Dr. Teresa was behind it.

“Where is she?” I sat up tall in bed. “Dr. Teresa? Is she OK?”

“She’s fine,” my mom said, putting her thin hand on my knee. “She’s in a room down the hall.”

I exhaled in relief and went into a coughing fit.

“I have to go see her,” I said, starting to get up. “I need to talk to her.”

My mom’s grip tightened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I jerked away to climb toward the opposite side of the bed, but then I felt a sharp, pointy tug at my forearm. I looked down to find that a scary-looking IV connected me to the medical equipment lining the headboard. The thought of ripping it out made me dizzy and nauseated.

I held my head in my hands for a moment to fight the desire to dry heave. Another attack of the black lung made me double over the bed with a very unladylike hacking noise. Someone slid the plastic mask back over my face, and I concentrated on the cool, wet air replacing the painful darkness inside me.

I had no choice. I let my mom force me back in bed.

When my breathing steadied, I opened my eyes to find my mom standing at the foot of my bed. She had tears in her eyes. Not little ones or fake ones meant for TV, but real streaming tears.