But the most puzzling part is how it flickers back and forth from the image of me as a little girl to me as a grown woman. I don’t know what the hell to make of it, but my most distinctive memory of the accident is my palpable fear and the agony of my skin being on fire.
I don’t recall the orphanage I was sent to or anything recorded in the social worker’s records that described how badly I’d been bullied there. I couldn’t tell you a thing about elementary school, aside from a glimpse of memory of me sitting at a desk with my hands folded primly.
I do remember devouring books like they were fresh water and I was stranded in a desert. But most of all, I hoarded books that taught the ins and outs of car maintenance, building car engines, and restoring vehicles. That was how I discovered a passion for it.
My most vivid memories are from my high school days and working at the Otis Brothers Salvage Yard after school. Callahan Otis was an older man with a Southern drawl thick as molasses, and the last of the Otis brothers. He’d graciously taken me under his wing, mentoring me by offering me a part-time job.
Once I aged out and left the orphanage behind, I purchased the salvage yard from Mr. Otis with the trust fund I’d finally gained access to. He’d been wanting to retire and move to southwest Florida to be closer to his grandkids, and I’d made that wish a reality for him.
He didn’t realize it, but he’d made my wish a reality, too. He enabled me to not only become a business owner, but to have a job doing what I love. By being my own boss and not having to answer to anyone.
The shitty part is not having any employees to take the brunt of responsibility off my shoulders. I’d love to have someone help me stay on top of bookkeeping and inventory, but it’s just not in the cards.
It’s hard enough to find somebody who doesn’t gawk at my face, let alone a person who wouldn’t run their damn mouth the entire workday. I work better alone—in all ways. Plus, it’s proven to be even more of a wise choice after I discovered my ability.
“Okay, let’s get you set up for the sedation, and we’ll start your treatment.” Lara drags me from my thoughts, and I focus on breathing even, deep breaths.
Dr. Phillips told me not to expect an instant miracle or rapid improvement, but I’d hoped to get results faster than this.
“A little sharp pinch…” Lara warns softly, and I turn my head, squeezing my eyes closed.
“You’re doing great.” She shuffles a few items around. We’ve done this dozens of times before and I know her script by heart, but I appreciate the comfort of the routine. “You might feel a little warmth in your veins…”
That’s the last thing I remember before the wooziness takes hold and everything goes dark.
6
MAC
“Get her sedated!” a man’s voice bellows amidst the cacophony of shrill beeping and other alarms sounding.
I twist and buck my body wildly, trying to free my bound arms and legs, but when I fail, panic drenches me.
“I’m getting it now, sir!” a younger man calls out, nervousness coloring his tone.
As if someone’s just snapped their fingers, my vision goes from blurry to focused in a flash. I frantically scan my surroundings, my eyes bouncing over the unfamiliar medical equipment.
I peer down at my body and see restraints binding me to the gurney. Multiple thick, wide straps restrain me to the flat surface. My ankles, legs, stomach, chest, arms, and forehead are held firmly in place. The only thing covering me is a thin cotton hospital gown.
My heart thunders in my chest, beating faster and faster, and a monitor chimes with each beat.
“Where am I?” My voice emerges raspy, as if I haven’t spoken in a while.
A man lowers his face to mine, and immediately I recoil. His eyes are terrifying and possess a haunting quality.
The barely audible word spills from me before I realize it. “Evil.”
There’s no way he can hear me over the near-deafening noise, but he must read my lips. His mouth forms a slow smile that sends a barrage of shivers down my spine.
He says something, but it gets lost in the noise and drowned out by another man’s voice. His tone’s urgency pulls at me like the strongest rip current.
“Mackenzie! Mackenzie, can you open your eyes for me?”
My closed eyelids flutter and twitch with the effort it takes to open them. Once I do, I blink against the bright light before I’m able to regain focus.
Dr. Phillips’ concerned expression is the first thing I see, second to a distressed-looking Lara. His features relax a fraction, and he releases a breath. “You had us worried there for a minute.” His gaze sweeps over my face. “Do you remember your name?”
“Mackenzie Ford.” My voice is raspy, as though I’ve been screaming at full volume.
“Good. Do you know who I am?”
“Dr. Phillips.” My eyes flick to Lara. “And you’re Lara.” Focusing on the woman, I notice her hair is a ruffled mess, a bruise is blooming on her cheekbone, and a bloody scratch leads from her jawline to low on her neck.
“Good. That’s good.” My worry increases at the brittle, tense quality of his forced smile. “We’re relieved to have you back.” His gaze briefly drifts down my body where they’ve applied restraints before he turns to Lara. “These can be removed now.”
Lara bites her lip, her eyes cagey, but begins unfastening my restraints.
My heart thuds in my chest, beating as though I’ve just sprinted for miles. “What happened?”
He exchanges a quick look with Lara before clearing his throat. “You had a bit of an episode, I’m afraid. Shortly after you were sedated and your therapy began, you suffered a violent panic attack that triggered some sort of…” His brow furrows as he trails off, as if searching for the correct phrasing.
“It seems to have triggered a psychosis that caused you to hallucinate.” He shifts slightly while uneasiness etches his features. “Do you remember anything?”
Lara unfastens my ankle restraints. When she arrives at the ones binding my wrists, her hesitation is unmistakable.
“I remember being restrained and not being able to move.” My chest tightens with a fragment of the fear I’d felt in that moment. “I was afraid that something terrible was about to happen.” My eyes clash with Dr. Phillips’. “What did I do?”
He winces, his lips pressing thin as though he’s determining how to phrase his response. “For some unknown reason, you were triggered by Lara. You immediately became violent and lashed out at her.”
My eyes sweep over the poor nurse’s face, taking in the bruise on her cheek and the bloody scratch I evidently delivered to her. Fuck.
I address Lara. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Her offered smile is weak, and she avoids meeting my eyes. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not.” My tone is firm, ripe with self-recrimination. “I’m truly sorry.”
Her gaze flicks briefly to mine before lowering to finish the task of releasing my wrists. “It’s fine.” A forced smile graces her lips. “All part of the job.”