Dead in Bed by Bailey Simms, The Complete First Book (9 page)

Shawn turned and
stepped out of the room. He gave me one last indignant look over his shoulder,
then closed the door with surprising gentleness and went back downstairs to
sleep on my parents' couch.

* * *

I must
have slept, because sometime before dawn I woke, slumped on my old desk chair.

Ian had returned
during the night. He was sleeping on the floor without a pillow, his folded
hands beneath his cheek.

I'd woken because I
could hear someone pulling into the driveway. What sounded like a large vehicle
moved over the gravel and then came to a stop outside the bedroom
window.

Ian woke, leapt up,
and looked between the closed blinds.

“Fuck,” he whispered. "Stay
here."

He left, hurrying
downstairs.

Someone started
knocking loudly on the front door.

"Ian Craig? Shawn
Young?" The gruff, official voice that called out paused
long
enough to knock loudly three more times. "Are Ian
Craig and Shawn Young on these premises?"

I peered between the
blinds. Some kind of large, black, military SUV was idling in the driveway.
Three men in uniform stood beside it. I couldn't tell what kind of uniforms
they were, but they definitely weren't local or even state police. The men
looked more like soldiers at war. They were dressed in full combat gear. Each
held an automatic weapon pointed at the ground. They must have been some kind
of military police. They waited without expression while the fourth man, the
one in charge who I couldn't see, called out to Ian and Shawn from the front
door.

I wasn't totally shocked
when I heard Ian’s name, even if I had no idea
who
these people were or what they wanted from him. He did have a military
background, after all. But I was surprised to hear my husband’s name in the
same breath. What could they want with Shawn? I also didn't understand how anybody
could possibly know that Shawn and Ian were at my parents' house. Neither my
husband nor my brother-in-law had addresses registered here.

I heard the door open
with a
creak
, then Ian’s startled voice
asked,
"
What is this?"

It was hard to make
out what the man who’d been knocking said in response, but there was something
about “emergency conscription orders.”

I heard Ian say, “No
one’s leaving this house.”

“Sir, you have one
option and one option only. One way or another you’re coming with us. Time is
extremely sensitive. You’ll be briefed at the center. Here are your orders.”

Shawn must have
arrived at the door while the man in charge was handing over whatever
conscription documentation he had.

“Shawn Young?” he
asked.

“I’m Shawn Young.
What’s—”

“These are your
conscription orders, son.”

After a pause, Ian
said, “We’re not even wearing shoes. What is this?”

“You have exactly
thirty seconds to get what you need. Otherwise, appropriate footwear will be provided
at the center. I will not repeat again that time is extremely sensitive.”

At this, the
three armed
men who'd been standing back actually raised
their guns. Practically in unison, they took a few steps forward.

“You’ve got to be
fucking kidding me,” Ian said.

“I assure you, I am
not.”

There was some
shuffling in the entryway while Ian and Shawn must have been putting on their
shoes and jackets. The uniformed men who had drawn their weapons didn’t move.
They kept their guns trained directly at the front door.

“Our wives are
inside,” Ian said. “My kids. We need to tell them we’re leaving, at least.”

The armed men stepped
forward, marching up the front steps and onto the porch, out of my line of
sight. All I could see now was the idling SUV with its faint trail of exhaust
visible in the cool morning air.

“Sir, even the very
fact of your leaving these premises has to be kept under the utmost secrecy. Do
I make myself clear?”

Suddenly I saw Ian
stumbling down the porch. Two of the armed guards were holding his shoulders.
Right behind them came Shawn. He was being escorted toward the SUV in the same
way, a guard at each arm. It looked like they were being arrested. Ian was in
the faded blue jeans he’d slept in, and Shawn was still in his sweats. His
tennis shoes were untied.

The guards threw Ian
and Shawn into the large SUV and climbed in behind them without lowering their
guns.

I gave Morgan a quick
glance. It was the first time I’d looked at her that morning. She was breathing
faster than she’d been the night before. I put my hand on her forehead. She was
still burning up. But she was alive.

“Be right back,
sweetie,” I whispered, knowing full well she couldn’t hear me.

I raced down the
stairs. Haley had been using her coloring books at the base of the stairway,
and I had to be careful not to slip on the crayons she’d left scattered
everywhere. I opened the front door and ran out onto the porch.

The black SUV was
already speeding away.

I stumbled onto the gravel
driveway in my socks. For a moment I considered following after them in my car,
but that was obviously a stupid idea. There was nothing I could do. I looked
back at my parents’ old farmhouse. Already I was worried about leaving Morgan
alone.

I went back inside. In
the entryway, I noticed something stuffed into the pocket of the jacket I’d
left hanging on the rack.

It was an envelope
from an unopened credit card offer, partly crumpled. I turned
the it
over.

On the back was Ian’s
handwriting in purple crayon. He must have taken the envelope from the mail
piled in the entryway while putting on his shoes. He’d managed to use one of
Haley’s scattered crayons to scribble out a message:

DO NOT LET
ANYONE

TAKE MORGAN AWAY

I found my sister’s
jacket and rifled through its pockets. Another note, this one written over a
post office pink slip, said only:

AM SAFE

DON’T WORRY

LOVE, IAN

How could he possibly
know that he would be safe? After what I’d overheard, there didn’t seem to be
any reason to believe I’d see Ian or Shawn anytime soon.
Or
maybe ever.

This fact swept over
me slowly as I dialed Shawn’s number on my parent’s old rotary phone in the
entryway.

No answer. His phone
was off.

I tried Ian.

No answer on Ian’s
phone, either.

Their phones had
probably been confiscated.

The house was silent.
My parents’ bedroom and Danielle’s bedroom, where she was sleeping with both
her kids, were in the back of the house. They’d slept through everything.

I didn’t wake them.
Before I did anything else, I had to figure out what to do with Morgan. I’d
barely glanced at her before racing out of the bedroom, but it was clear enough
that she hadn’t gotten any better during the night.

And I was pretty sure
now that Morgan wasn’t safe here at the house. Everyone knew she was a close
friend of our family. If someone was trying to find her—and Ian seemed to
think that someone probably was—it wouldn’t be long before they came
looking for her here.

I had to keep her
safe.

* * *

Touching
Morgan’s forehead was like touching a hot water bottle freshly filled with
boiling water. She was sweating, and beads of perspiration had collected on her
upper lip and across her cheeks. I was too afraid to take her temperature and
find out how high it actually was. Her breathing had sped up so much that she
was panting, taking in short little breaths and releasing them maybe two times
a second.

I needed to figure out
where to move her, and how. But before anything else, I had to get her some
water. Considering how much she’d been sweating, I figured she was probably
dehydrated. There was a glass on the bedside table, which I took into the
bathroom to fill.

On my way back through
the hallway, I could hear my mom stirring downstairs. She was in the kitchen,
cooking. Bacon and eggs, it smelled like. She was probably trying to offer some
small, homey comfort to lift everyone’s spirits after everything that had been
going on.

She didn’t know the
half of it. She didn’t know that Ian and Shawn had been taken away, not yet. I
was pretty sure she had no idea that Mr. Hershel was dead. I didn’t think she
even realized that Morgan was still in the house—not at the hospital—and
maybe dying in my childhood bed.

Briefly, I envied my
mom. I didn’t think that I’d ever be able to just get up one morning and do
something as simple and pleasant as cook eggs. Not ever again.

I slipped back into my
room, eased the door shut, and tipped the water into Morgan’s mouth. She was
breathing so quickly that most of the water just spilled down her cheeks. I
didn’t know if she’d even swallowed any at all. I tried tipping a few drops at
a time between her lips while I figured out how to hide her in a safer place.

For the second time
this morning, I heard someone knock at the front door. I hadn’t even heard
anyone drive up this time; I was too focused on Morgan.

Through the blinds I
saw a black sedan parked in the driveway. Its windows were heavily tinted.
There was no way I could see if there was anyone inside.

Another knock came at
the front door.

This time it was my
dad who answered. I couldn’t quite make out the male voice he was talking to, but
I did hear my dad say, “Oh, yes. Yes. She’s upstairs. She’s awake. I just heard
her up. It’s the first room on the left.” He called out, “Ashley, someone’s
here to see you! He’s coming up!”

I’d never been so
frustrated with my father’s unquestioning trust and his idiotic country
hospitality.

Why hadn’t I tried to
hide Morgan faster?

I’d wasted too much
time deciding what to do, and now someone was already here. Ian had a hunch
that someone would come for Morgan, but I didn’t think even he knew how fast
they
would arrive. Now it was too late.

Footsteps came up the
stairs.

I dropped to my knees
and looked under the bed. The space was mostly filled with plastic bins containing
my old clothes and school papers. It was too shallow anyway. I could never fit
Morgan under there.

I threw open my closet
door. It was filled with hanging clothes and shoes, but there was probably just
enough room for Morgan on the floor if I bent her legs and closed the door.

It would have to do. I
had no other choice.

I pulled back the
sheets, slipped my arms beneath her body, and lifted her from the bed. She felt
incredibly fragile, but she was heavier than I thought she’d be.

One of her legs
slipped from my grasp. I had to set her on the floor before I made it all the
way to the closet. Her head bumped hard against the carpet.

Fuck.

She started breathing
even faster. She was still sweating, and she’d grown pale. She started to make
little rasping coughs.
A thin
foam had appeared at the
corners of her mouth. I was terrified that she was on the verge of death.

There was a soft knock
on the bedroom door.

I grabbed the chair
and wedged it under the doorknob as quietly as possible.

I lifted Morgan’s
ankles. I had no choice but to drag her the last few feet to the closet.

There was another
knock at the door. Whoever it was quietly said my name. “Ashley?”
Another soft knock.
“It’s me. Are you there?”

I recognized the
smooth voice of a professional singer and knew right away who it was. Bryce
Tripp was in my parents’ house.

I practically
collapsed in relief.

“I have your phone,”
he said through the door. “I hope I’m not bothering you. Sorry for showing up
so early.” He was playing it cool, but I could tell he was shaken by everything
that was going on in town. He must have been stuck in Muldoon because of the roadblocks.
“I hope it’s okay,” he said. “Your dad said I should just come up.”

I set Morgan’s legs
back onto the floor, moved the chair from the door, and opened it.

Right away Bryce saw
Morgan on the floor. “What the hell?” He knelt beside her. “What happened? Is
she okay?” He gave her swollen eye a closer look. “Oh my God. She’s not okay.”

“I can’t explain,” I
said. “Not now. But I need help. Will you help me? Please.”

“Yes,” he said. “Sure.
What? Anything.”

“Just don’t ask any
questions. I’ll try to explain later. I have to get her someplace safe. She’s
not safe here. I can’t carry her on my own.”

“Whatever you say.”

Bryce gathered
Morgan’s limp body into his arms and lifted her. He was taller even than Ian,
and he picked her up like she weighed no more than a pillow. He was wearing
only a T-shirt and jeans, and when he stood cradling Morgan, the muscles in his
arms tightened. He probably had to keep in such good shape for his stage
presence and album covers, but now all of that working out was paying off in a
much more practical way.

When he looked at me
with his icy-blue eyes, casually waiting to do whatever I told him to, the same
wave of physical attraction I’d felt when I first spoke to him at the concert
passed over me again.

I instantly felt so
guilty. Morgan was on the verge of death, and yet I was undeniably, if very
strangely, turned on.

“Follow me,” I said.
“We have to get her out of the house.”

I made sure no one was
coming up the stairs or standing on the landing.

“Hurry,” I said, leading
Bryce quickly down the stairs and outside.