Forgotten (Shattered Sisters Book 2) (31 page)

The pain lanced her head like a dull blade, sawing its way through her skull. At first, that was all she felt. Then, slowly, as if the lights were coming up in a dark theater, other sensations came to life. The hard, irregular shape of her pillow. Her fists clenched around it. The words "steering wheel" surfaced in her brain. She wasn't even certain what that meant. Then it came to her.

Next, she noticed the warm, steady trickle along her neck. She lifted her hand to touch the spot, only to find it soaked and sticky. Her fingers moved upward to trace the source, and located the gash at her temple. She pressed against it and a sharp pain made her wince. Still, she held the pressure there. It would stop the bleeding. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did.

Sounds filtered through the dense fog surrounding her mind. Sizzling...like bacon in a frying pan. No. Rain. It was rain.

Lifting her head slowly brought on a rush of dizziness as she peered through the darkness. Rainwater cascaded in sheets over a shattered windshield. She could see nothing beyond the spiderweb pattern of the broken glass and the rain. Only darkness, filled with the howl of a vicious wind.

At first, she thought the wound to her head was what made her feel off center, out of balance. But when she tried to sit up straighter, she realized the car was at a strange angle, tilted up on its side with the driver's door down.

"I've been in an accident." She said it aloud, trying to take stock and finding it difficult. But the sound of her own voice made her gasp and jerk herself rigid. It wasn't her voice. It couldn't have been. It was the voice of a stranger, a voice she'd never heard before in her life. She blinked rapidly, looking around the car's interior, though she could see little detail in the darkness.

Then there was a flicker of light, a snapping sound, an sharp aroma.

Fire!

Clasping the door handle, she shoved desperately, again and again. It wouldn't budge. Of course it wouldn’t, it was pressed to the ground. Panic wasn’t doing her any good. She had to think. Gathering her strength, she released her seatbelt and immediately fell against the driver’s door. As quickly as she could, she got herself turned around and started to climb up the sloping seat toward the opposite door. Her knee banged against something, a stick shift on the floor. Her skirt caught on it when she tried to move. She tore it free, and the sound of ripping fabric somehow added to the fear exploding inside her mind.

Her body shaking, she groped for the door. It barely moved when she shoved at it. It wouldn't open.

Yes it will
, she told herself.
It
’s not locked and it
’s not jammed. It
’s just heavy
. Gravity made it far heavier than a car door ought to be, that was all. The car was tipped up on its side. Her escape hatch was nearly horizontal above her. She pushed with all her might, bracing her feet against the center console. The door lifted, and she summoned every ounce of strength she possessed and pushed harder. It wouldn't remain open on its own. She could only hold it up, her arms straining above her head, as she made her way up and out. She braced one foot on the dashboard, the other on the seat's headrest and shoved herself upward, still holding the door with one hand while trying to find a grip on the outside of the car with the other. Halfway out, her arm buckled, the door dropped onto her back, and she yelped in pain. And yet she kept going, wriggling her way inch by inch out from beneath the weight of the door, and finally out into the punishing rain and brutal wind. She didn’t hesitate, but kept going, right off the upright side of the car to the ground below.

Her legs gave way as soon as she hit the slick, muddy earth. She fell, curling into a small ball in the mud. Pain screamed through her entire being. She could barely tell up from down, she was so dizzy. She was cold, and afraid, too. So very afraid.

She only struggled to her feet again when the flames began to spread. Brilliant tongues of fire licked a path from the front of the vehicle toward the rear. The smell of gasoline burned her nostrils. She pulled her mesmerized gaze from the hungry flames and bolted, only to skid to a halt in the mud. A sheer drop stretched endlessly into blackness and pouring rain. And behind her, a steep, slick embankment angled sharply upward. She and her car had landed on a small outcrop that had prevented her plummeting to certain death far below.

And yet, unless she could put some distance between her and the flames, she’d be dead anyway.

Cold rain beating against her face, pummeling her body, frigid wind buffeting her every step of the way, she started up the bank. She clawed with her fingers and dug with her toes. She wore no shoes. She had no idea what had happened to them.

Countless times she slipped, losing more distance than she'd gained as the cold, wet soil scoured her palms, her knees, her chin. Each time, she gritted her teeth and began once more. She'd be damned if she would die here in this mud and misery. She gripped every protruding twig or rock that she was fortunate enough to encounter. Slowly, agonizingly, with blood spilling over her neck and dampening her shoulder, she made her way to the top...to the twisting, narrow, deserted stretch of road.

An explosion rocked the ground beneath her, and she nearly fell from the force of its percussion. Bits of metal and glass flew so high that they rained around her and she shielded her face with her arms, frightened beyond rational thought. The car from which she'd escaped became a blinding ball of flame, and she had to turn her eyes away. The pounding in her head and the pressure against her temples grew stronger with every ragged breath she drew.

She heard the sirens then. In the road ahead of her, vehicles with flashing lights and flapping wipers skidded to a halt. Men emerged, and several hurried toward her, shouting.

Again she felt inexplicable fear. She whirled from them and ran headlong in the other direction, bare feet slapping cold wet pavement, raindrops ricocheting in front of her, lashing her face and legs. Headlights rounded a curve. A car swerved to miss her, skidding to a stop on the shoulder. She went rigid as the driver’s door opened and a man emerged.

She could only see his outline. He stepped around the car, the headlights at his back, rain pounding his body, and came toward her, a powerful, menacing silhouette. A shadow.

Her heart hammered and she couldn't draw a breath. It was more than fear she felt. It was stark terror. He would hurt her, she was sure of it. He would kill her. He kept coming, closer, closer.

She screamed. It was a shriek of unbridled horror, and it froze the shadow-man in his tracks. Again, she turned to run blindly. The paramedics were in her path, hands held out as if to gentle a frightened pony, voices soft. "Easy now, just calm down. We're here to help you. Easy."

She shook her head, pressing her hands to the sides of it. One came away dripping crimson and her throat closed off. She backed away from them, turning again only to find the shadow-man there, so close she could smell the rain on his skin.

She screamed again when he lunged closer and his arms closed around her like a steel trap. She fought, thrashing in his grip, kicking, pounding him with her fists.

"Dammit, Caitlin, that’s enough!"

His voice was deep, frightening. But it wasn't his voice that made her stop her struggling. She blinked the rain and blood from her eyes, looking up into a face that was no more than a grouping of angles and planes in various shades of gray. A square, wide jaw. Full lips. Heavy brows.

Her voice a croak, she whispered, "What did you call me?"

His grip on her eased. She felt, rather than saw, the shock that rippled through him. "Caitlin." His arms freed her, but his large, hard hands gripped her shoulders. "Caitlin," he said again.

She was aware of the others closing in behind her. She shook her head, and dizziness swamped her like a small boat in a hurricane. "That's not my name." Her legs seemed to dissolve and her upper body sagged. She fought the sensation and managed to remain standing.

"Then what is?" It was nearly whispered, but there was a coarseness to the words that rubbed at all her nerve endings.

She closed her eyes, searched her mind. It was a simple enough question. What was her name? She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to extract the information from her mind like juice from an orange. Nothing came. Her answer was an empty hole. A dark, empty hole in her mind where her identity should have been.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" He seemed to be searching her face but she could barely see his. All crags and harsh lines and beaded droplets of rain. Deep-set eyes. Wet hair that looked like a windstorm. No colors. Only shadows.

Fear closed her throat. She didn't know who she was. She didn't know where she was. But she did know that she was afraid, terribly, paralyzingly afraid. Of what, or whom, she had no clue. Right now, it was of everyone, everything. Most of all, this hard-faced man. She tried to pull free of him, but he wouldn't release her.

"Let me go!" She twisted her shoulders back and forth, heedless now of the icy rain pelting her, the streams of it running between her shoulder blades and soaking her clothes. "Let me go!" Again and again she screamed the words until the dizziness returned. The varying grays around her lost their form and blended into one cold, dark color. And then, even the pain in her head drowned in the gray sea.

>New York Times bestselling author Maggie Shayne has published more than 60 novels and 23 novellas. She has written for 7 publishers and 2 soap operas, has racked up 15 Rita Award nominations and actually, finally, won the damn thing in 2005.

Maggie lives in a beautiful, century old, happily haunted farmhouse named “Serenity” in the wildest wilds of Cortland County, NY, with her husband and soul mate, Lance. They share a pair of English Mastiffs, Dozer & Daisy, and a little English Bulldog, Niblet, and the wise guardian and guru of them all, the feline Glory, who keeps the dogs firmly in their places. Maggie’s a Wiccan high priestess (legal clergy even) and an avid follower of the Law of Attraction

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