“Your money.” He sounded raspy, and his breath smelled of stale booze. “Now.”
“I—I don’t have any. Please. I forgot my bag—”
“Pretty but stupid, eh?” He grabbed my shoulder again, his thumb digging underneath my collarbone. His knife was so close it grazed my stomach, catching on my jacket. “Give me your fucking money. Now, bitch.”
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, feeling small, pathetic. “Honestly, I left it—”
I didn’t see the punch coming. Only knew it had happened when his fist connected with my cheek. A crunch—from his hand, my face or both—vibrated in my ears as searing pain shot across my jaw. I stumbled sideways. He came at me again, pushed me to the ground where I lay on my back as he pressed the cold blade against my neck.
“Move and I’ll cut you.”
I didn’t budge, but he grabbed my hair anyway and slammed the back of my head against the concrete. Bright white stars exploded in front of my eyes and I heard myself let out an incoherent groan. I felt him patting down my chest, my pockets, cursing and swearing. His breath, coupled with the pain in my head, made me want to retch. When his fingers went inside my pants pockets, I attempted to swipe at his hand, but he swatted me away and punched my head again as he fired off another string of expletives about not finding my money.
My eyes rolled into the back of my head. As I gave in to the pain, wondering if I would die right there, in the middle of the street, I heard a yell in the distance.
“Hey!”
Because of the pounding in my ears I couldn’t tell how far away the voice was, or if the shout had been directed at us. Noise sounded strange, muffled, as if I’d been dropped into a swimming pool and was sinking to the bottom, left to drown.
“Hey!”
Definitely male. Deep and gruff. Closer this time, wasn’t it? The sound of what I thought were footsteps approached, fast and heavy, followed by another yell.
“Get away from her!”
When the man with the knife took off in the opposite direction, I rolled onto my side, chest heaving, mouth gulping for air as I curled up into a shivering ball.
Moments later someone crouched beside me. Someone smelling of sandalwood and laundry detergent. It was a familiar, comforting scent, but one I couldn’t place. I tried to push words from between my lips but nothing came out, and when my vision blurred again, making the human shape above me fuzzy, I closed my eyes, searching for relief.
“Eleanor? Eleanor! It’s you. Jesus! Talk to me.”
I wanted to answer, but couldn’t speak or open my eyes.
“Shit...shit... Hello? Yes, I need an ambulance.”
Through the brain fog, I grasped he’d called 911, and my woolly mind made quantum leaps to connect the dots. The voice belonged to Lewis Farrier, my upstairs neighbor. He was here to help. It meant I was safe. Tears snaked down the side of my face, pooling in my ear.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said as the weight of something soft and warm—his jacket?—spread over my chest and I felt him stroking my hair. “You’re going to be all right, I promise. I promise, Eleanor, it’s going to be okay.”
I wanted to look at him, to thank him, but the more I tried to focus, the darker everything around me became. The last of the light and all the remaining sounds merged into one, before fading to nothing, taking my words, my thoughts and every other part of me with it.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FAINT BEEPING SOUND became louder, cutting through the murkiness that had taken hold of my brain, making fragments of memories fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces. I’d been attacked. A man had hurt me. The smell of his rancid breath lingered in my nostrils and I felt the sharp tip of a blade pressing against my skin. Was I safe? Was he still here?
My heart pounded as I forced my eyes open, squinting and wincing at the pain when the light hit my face full on. I pushed myself up, tried to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. I wasn’t dead, at least I didn’t think so, but this wasn’t my bedroom with its teal-painted walls and the blossom branch decal I’d painstakingly stuck above my bed one rainy afternoon. The windows in this room had blinds, not the turquoise satin curtains with the blackout backing I’d found at Target and silently thanked the gods of retail for because they’d been seventy-five percent off in the sale.
No, this wasn’t home, but when I tried to move my head again to figure out where I was, another sharp pain shot from the middle of my head right down my spine.
I lifted my hand to identify the source of the pressure on my finger. It took a while to focus, recognize the object as one of those things to measure—what was it again?—yes, that was it, oxygen levels in the blood. Why was it such an effort to think?
My gaze followed the cable to a machine standing on wheels to the left of the bed, its display jam-packed with colorful numbers I couldn’t decipher, but which gave me a clue. A hospital. I was in a hospital. But who had brought me in, and how long had I been there?
As I tried to remember, my next thoughts went to Dad. He was sick. He needed me. I had to make sure he was okay. As I searched for a phone, trying not to move my head or my eyes too much, a nurse walked in. She was thin as six o’clock, with chicken-feathered, eggplant-colored hair, and when she saw I was awake she tilted her head to one side, her face breaking into a comforting smile.
“Welcome back, Eleanor,” she said. “I’m Miranda, and I’ll be your nurse today. Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital.” My voice croaked and broke over the single word.
“Yes, very good. You’re in ICU for close monitoring, okay? You had a bit of a rough time, didn’t you? How are you feeling, dear?”
I tried clearing my throat but winced again. “I...I hurt... My head feels really bad.”
“You took quite the blow to the back—”
“There was a man. He grabbed me and—” I stopped as tears filled my eyes, increasing the pressure in my skull, making me bite my lip as anger and frustration built within me. I’d never been attacked before. Had always thought I’d scream and kick, scratch and bite. When it came down to it, my fear and the element of surprise had been on his side because every single one of my muscles had frozen, and I’d done nothing to defend myself. Nothing at all. I gulped in some air, said, “Uh, I think my neighbor...Lewis. He helped me.”
“Lewis Farrier?” Nurse Miranda smiled again. “He should be here soon.”
“What time is it?” I said, trying to lift the covers. “I have to call my dad.”
“Nine thirty.”
Nurse Miranda rearranged the sheets and blankets on top of me, tucking me in as if I were a child. I sank back onto the pillow as she handed me a glass of water. Dad would be asleep now, which meant I could call him in the morning, except when I looked at the light coming in from the window, it didn’t add up.