Possess Me by Michelle Heard
Chapter 17
Everleigh
When I open my eyes, my body feels numb, and I don’t recognize anything around me.
It looks like I’m in a hospital room. I hear sounds from machines next to the bed.
My heartbeat speeds up, and I notice an IV in my left hand.
Where am I?
The memories of my captivity pour into my mind, and I remember being shot by Alek’s father.
Oh, God!
Alek! Did he survive?
Suddenly an elderly man comes into the room.
I don’t recognize the old man and stare at him, fear and panic filling my chest.
When he notices I’m awake, his eyes widen. He rambles something in Russian, and it looks like he expects a reply.
“I’m American,” I say, my voice hoarse as if I haven’t used it for a long while. “I don’t speak Russian.”
“Ohhhh.” He comes closer, his eyes skimming over my face. “I found you in field not far from my house. I brought you to hospital.”
Pure relief washes over me, and the tension that’s become a normal feeling for me falls away. Overwhelmed by the realization that I’m no longer a captive, my chin trembles, and hot tears roll down my cheeks.
“You found me?”
He nods. “Bad shape.” His eyebrows draw together in a serious expression. “Why you get shot?”
After all the trauma I’ve suffered, I don’t trust a single soul. What if he’s in the bratva or knows them? What if he tells them I survived, and they come to kill me?
Besides that, who would believe my insane story?
I don’t think this man knows Alek’s father, or I wouldn’t be alive right now. But not willing to take the chance, I shake my head and lie, “I don’t remember.”
I can see he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push the subject. “You American? Didn’t find passport.”
Shit!
The hotel. I hope they still have my belongings.
“Politsiya will come,” he mentions, his eyes watching me like a hawk.
The police? Oh, crap. What do I tell them?
My heartbeat speeds up, and my anxiety spikes high again.
If I tell them the truth, what will happen?
They’ll probably open a case, and the bratva will find out I’m alive.
Alek’s father will try to kill me again.
That can’t happen!
I’ll just pretend I don’t remember anything. I just want to go home.
“How long have I been here?” I think to ask.
“Three weeks,” he answers.
God, that’s long.
But then, there were also the weeks I was held captive.
“What’s the date?”
“February 24th.”
Holy crap!
I struggle to make the calculation, and when I realize it’s been almost three months since I was taken, I feel physically ill.
I’ll need my passport to get home. And my personal belongings. What are the chances of the hotel keeping my stuff for three months?
We’re interrupted by a nurse coming into the room. Her accent isn’t as thick as the old man’s when she asks, “How are you feeling?”
How do I feel?
There are no words. My emotions are all over the place.
I struggle to keep the horror of the trauma I suffered from overwhelming me.
Unable to answer truthfully, I lie, “I feel okay.”
She checks my vitals, then says, “You had three bullet wounds, a urinary tract infection, and were severely malnourished.” She pats my forearm before checking the IV to make sure I’m getting whatever medication they’re giving me. “The infection is gone, and you’ve managed to gain weight. The doctor will come to see you during his rounds.”
She glances at the old man and says something to him in Russian. He nods and leaves the room.
“Mr. Vlasov is a nice man. He’s been worried and checking in on you every day.”
Mr. Vlasov. I need to thank him.
The nurse locks eyes with me. “Do you know you’re pregnant?”
What?!
My heart stutters in my chest, and my mouth drops open. Waves of shock hit me one after the other.
She gives me a comforting smile. “From your reaction, I’m guessing you didn’t know. You’re nine weeks pregnant. It’s a miracle you didn’t miscarry with all the trauma your body’s suffered.”
I can’t form any words, my mind coming to a dead stop.
She squeezes my hand. “Luckily, you and baby are doing well. Good news, right?”
Good news?
I’m only eighteen and alone in a foreign country.
Alone in the world.
Overwhelmed, I can only nod.
“What happened to you?” she asks.
Everything, and I mean every single moment, passes through my mind like a horror movie.
My throat strains, and my muscles tense. The trauma is too much, and I fight to put up a mental wall.
My voice is still hoarse, but this time it’s because of the fragile state of my mind. “I can’t remember.” My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “When can I leave the hospital?”
“The doctor has to check you. He’ll decide when you can be discharged.”
Needing to call the hotel to hear about my belongings, I ask, “Is there a phone I can use?”
“Who do you need to call?” she asks.
“The hotel I was staying at.”
“Give me the details, and I’ll call for you,” she offers.
Her kindness makes tears well in my eyes as I give her the name of the hotel and my details.
If I can get my belongings, it will be one thing less to worry about.
“Thank you,” I whisper, giving her a grateful expression.
Her smile is warm. “You’re welcome. Get some rest. I’ll check in on you when I do my rounds again.”
I watch as she leaves the room, then turn my eyes to the window. It’s dark outside.
It’s always dark.
Pregnant?
God.
I’m carrying Alek’s child.
With a trembling hand, I place my palm over my abdomen.
Did Alek survive?
The thought of him being dead is too much, and I quickly shove it away.
He’s strong. He survived.
He probably thinks I’m dead.
My heart cracks down the middle when it sinks in that I won’t be able to contact him. Not if I want to live.
Tears begin to fall down my cheeks because I don’t know how to let go of Alek. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
I don’t know how he’s doing. He must be heartbroken from losing Vincent.
God, I wish I could hug him.
For an insane moment, I wish I was back in the dark room with him.
I cover my face with my hand and cry because I don’t know what else to do.
I can’t deal with everything that’s happened to me.
I can’t deal with being pregnant and alone.
I can’t deal with never seeing Alek again.
I wish I had died in the field.
