Page 9
No.
This can absolutely not be happening.
“I need to go.” I try to get up again, but the doctor is right there.
“You need to stay put, Miss Swanson. You are injured.”
“I have things to do. Fish that need—” But as I try to sit forward, my vision blurs, and the dizziness is too much to bear.
Why am I here and not at home?
Outside, thunder claps once more, and the room fills with a bright flash of lightning.
“Dahlia.” Ryker says my name softly as he steps around the doctor. “Breathe.”
“I don’t need to breathe. I am breathing.” Anger surges forward, coming out of nowhere.
The doctor steps forward. “Miss Swanson, you’re still coming down from the drugs. Couple that with the—”
“Drugs?” Now I force myself to focus on him. “What drugs? I’ve never done drugs.”
“You had a significant amount of diazepam in your system.”
I stare at him. “I’ve never taken Valium or anything like that in my life.” The panic has ebbed, making way for an even larger dose of confusion.
“Well, there was plenty of it in your system. And in high doses—”
“It can cause memory gaps, confusion, poor coordination, and drowsiness. Among other things. I’m well-versed in pharmaceuticals,” I snap. “But, as I said, I don’t take them.”
“Then how do you know so much about them?” Ryker questions. It’s the first thing he’s said since telling me to breathe, and I don’t miss the accusation in his voice.
“Because I work at Pine Meadow Senior Center. And I was an ER nurse before that,” I snap.
“Look, we’ll get to the bottom of this, okay?” Doctor Edwards’ sympathetic smile irritates me even further. He thinks I’m an addict. The phone clipped to his scrubs beeps, so he reaches down to check it, then nods. “Sorry, excuse me a moment.”
“I don’t take medication,” I say to Ryker as soon as the doctor is gone. “Something is not right.” Exhaustion tugs at every part of me. I close my eyes for a moment and just breathe, trying to center myself in the reality of everything going on.
“You have no recollection of the last two weeks. People can change.”
“Not that much.” After opening my eyes, I shove the blankets aside, but my vision swims, and I have to take a moment to pause before moving my legs.
This time, Ryker doesn’t try to stop me, but the woman does take a step closer to me. “Hi, Dahlia, my name is Katelyn Holt. I’m a friend of Ryker’s, and I’m also a nurse. Or was, anyway.” She smiles softly, and I can see that she’s trying to be friendly to put me at ease, but we are way past that.
“How long have I been here?” I demand.
“A few hours,” she replies.
“I need to get my phone. Where are my things?”
“At the bottom of the river,” Ryker says. “With the hurricane picking up steam, it’s too dangerous to fish them out.”
“Hurricane? Where am I?” Wait, didn’t I already ask that?
“Still in Stormwatch Landing. A couple of hours outside of Charleston.”
“How in the world did I get here?”
“Where do you live?” she asks.
