The Set Up (52 page)

UNDER THE HOOD

Charlotte

THE RIDE TO
the top always takes the longest. The slow climb. The sun on your face. The nerves that are aflutter. The anticipation of the fall.

Once at the top there’s no backing out. Hands raised, you wait for the downward swoop. As soon as it happens you start to soar. You scream with laughter. Twist and turn. Breathless, your stomach sinks, but it’s okay because just like that you get a jolt of an adrenaline rush that keeps you wanting more.

Dizzy. Trembling. Unsteady and so unsure. You’re full of fear. And then it ends and the exhilaration you’re feeling validates what you already know—that the ride is always worth it. In fact, despite your apprehension, you want to do it again and again.

Beep. Beep. Beep . . . Beep. Beep. Beep.

Deep in my dream-like state, it’s a steady rhythmic sound that nonetheless wakes me.

Beep. Beep. Beep . . . Beep. Beep. Beep.

On the brink of consciousness, the quiet, unfamiliar noise alarms me.
Is something wrong?
My eyes fly open. I’m still on that rollercoaster but this time it’s going way too fast. It won’t stop. Up. Down. Twist. Turn. Everything around me is spinning. I grab hold with the only hand I can and will the world to steady.

It doesn’t.

Instead it continues to reel and whirl so fast I feel like I’m on a never-ending ride. I want so desperately to get off. Wishing. Hoping. Even praying it will end does nothing. It just won’t stop. I have to squeeze my eyes closed to shut out the blurring colors.

Slowly, very slowly, I become aware of my body. My head pounds, my limbs ache, and I feel confused. I pull in a deep breath and let it out, forcing all the air from my lungs before I draw another. Breath by breath, the ride seems to be slowing and the spinning sensation starts to fade.

It’s then I notice the air around me smells like rain in the morning.

No, sweeter than that. More like candy or strawberries. There’s also a hint of honey and warm citrus in the air. The scent is unique. I know what it is.

Where I am.

I’m not at an amusement park. I’m on Mackinac Island in the middle of summer, and I’m walking through the wildflowers in the meadow on the bluff with a breeze ruffling my dress, blowing my hair, and whispering across the soft grass beneath my feet. That so-familiar scented breeze carries the lovely aroma of lilacs, honeysuckle, and freesia with it, and it wafts through the air as it wraps itself around me like a warm blanket.

Beep. Beep. Beep . . . Beep. Beep. Beep.

But wait. I’m not warm.

In fact, I feel cold.

I toss.

I turn.

The bright sunshine feels more like the glow of the moon in the winter.

It’s dark.

I toss.

I turn.

I’m wrong. I’m not in a meadow. I’m in a closet.

My mother told me I was too needy.

That’s why I’m here.

It’s dark.

It’s cold.

I’m scared.

And alone.

I’m always alone.

Beep. Beep. Beep . . . Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pain sears the fringes of my consciousness, but it is eased by the smell of a berry-like fragrance and its delightful lemony undertones.

Where am I?

Beep. Beep. Beep . . . Beep. Beep. Beep.

Flashes scamper through my thoughts. The memory of a dark figure. Of a mask that hid the monster’s face. The eyes that stared down at me. The hands that slapped me and punched me until I could no longer see without the fuzziness of unconsciousness threatening to take over.

Trying to push the dark thoughts away, I keep focusing on the smell of fresh-cut flowers.

Warm and inviting.

Beep. Beep. Beep . . . Beep. Beep. Beep.

That noise. What is it?

I breathe in the comforting scent as I force myself to once again open my eyes. Red blinking lights. A pole with a machine attached to it. It’s a heart rate monitor. Glancing around, I finally understand that I’m in a hospital room surrounded by a rainbow of color.

Purple.

Yellow.

Red.

Pink.

And green.

Honeysuckle. Geraniums. Lilacs. Wildflowers—they’re everywhere.

It’s hard to keep my eyes open, but this time I force myself to do so. The flowers are real and they help me find focus in the middle of my uncertainty. I’m having trouble thinking. My head is pounding. My lips feel swollen and so do my eyes. I feel battered. Bruised. A mess.

There’s another noise in the room. People talking—the television is turned on.

Slowly, I prop myself up on my forearms and try to study the screen to see if I can glimpse what day it is. As I do, agonizing pain rips through me from my head to my toes. Bringing my hands to my face, I discover my left hand is bound. I stare at it. No, it’s not bound, it is covered in plaster from my knuckles to just above my wrist.

Uncertain if I should move it, with my right hand I touch my face and gently feel my bruised, swollen features. All of a sudden, flashes of terror speed through my mind—the break in, the key, the attack, the monster.

Trembling with fear, I look around. There’s a figure in the corner hunched in the chair watching the television in deep concentration.

My throat is so dry. “Jasper?” I manage.

Jasper.

Long, lean, with a touch that sends me to another level.

Jasper.

Hard.

Soft.

Fast.

Slow.

With a heart that closed long ago, but opened for me.

“Jasper,” I say again longing to see him, touch him, feel his body against mine, smell his skin, hear the grit in his voice when he says my name.

Yet as the body unfolds, I know right away, even in the dark, that it isn’t Jasper. The figure points the remote toward the television in order to turn it down and then slowly opens the blinds. I can tell as soon as the light shines in through the window that the pretty face looking at me isn’t Jasper. “Jake?” I rasp in surprise.

Jake. Jasper’s friend. Jake.

Jake’s voice outside my door. He was there when I was being attacked.

Almost gravely, he steps forward.

“Did you . . . save me?”

“I’m not sure you could call it that.”

“I am. You did, didn’t you?”

Sorrowful eyes blink and he gives me a slight nod. “I made sure you got the medical attention you needed.”

I look around but see no one else. My heart sinks. “Where’s Jasper?”

The carefully plastered look on his face gives me cause for concern.

His silence is alarming.

My mind is spinning.

And then, just like that, the small flashes of memory are gone and everything comes rushing back. Jake’s plea from my nightmare hits me like a sledgehammer. “Charlotte, open up. Tory Worth’s body was found and Jasper’s been arrested,” he’d called out from the other side of the door.

Tightness around my legs prevents me from moving anything but my upper body. “Jake, where’s Jasper?” I ask again, this time in alarm, as the full magnitude of what he’d said hits me.

Jake comes a little closer. “Charlotte, I think I should call for the nurse,” he remarks with a shaky voice, ignoring my question.

Clarity sets upon me as the fog in my brain lifts. I look around again—at all the flowers. At a room without Jasper
.
“How long have I been in here?”

It feels like forever.

“Since last night.”

Okay. Not forever.

Feeling too warm, I struggle to kick the tight white sheet off one of my legs. “Jake, where’s Jasper?” I ask for a third time, this time trying to sound steadier so that maybe he’ll answer me without worry of my possible ill reaction. Even though I already know in my heart where Jasper is, I need to hear him say it—to hear the awful truth before I can truly believe it.

Jake’s eyes shift toward the television and I allow my gaze to follow. Now able to see more clearly, I scan the bottom of the screen and read it out loud. “Breaking news. While Jasper Storm is still being held in custody for the murders of both Eve Hepburn and Tory Worth, an all-out manhunt is underway for an unidentified man believed to be his accomplice. Details to come as the story unfolds.”

“No!” I scream as the stark-cold reality hits me. He’s in jail. Still in jail. Suddenly, I’m back on that roller coaster, but this time the drop is endless and I’m plummeting into the unknown darkness where blue and green coat my vision.

Beep. Beep. Beep . . . Beep. Beep. Beep . . . Beep. Beep. Beep . . . Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Charlotte!” Jake gasps while jabbing at the call button beside my bed.

I try to stop him, but the room is spinning again and I can’t reach my hand out to push him away.

Within seconds a nurse comes rushing in.

Jake takes a hurried step back.

The nurse says something to him, but I’m not sure what.

Once the initial shock subsides, I sit up as if a bolt of lightning has struck. “Jake!” I call out needing to know who the police think is Jasper’s accomplice.

“Lie back, Charlotte, the doctor is on his way,” the nurse insists.

“But I need to tell Jake something.”

“You can talk to him once you’ve been examined.”

I can’t see Jake and I’m pretty certain she’s made him leave the room.

A moment later, the doctor is hovering over me with a light shining in my eyes. “Charlotte, it’s Dr. Nelson, can you hear me?”

Unable to speak with the knot of concern wedged in my throat about Jasper, I nod.

“You’re one lucky girl.”

I blink.

“Your friend’s quick response to get you medical attention prevented you from going into shock. As it was, your blood pressure was extremely low and your heartbeat very shallow when the EMT’s arrived.”

I gulp. Swallow. Try to wet my lips. Anything to stop from thinking about the fact that he is telling me I could have died. What he doesn’t know is I think I would have been strangled if it weren’t for Jake.

“Let me take a look at you. See how you’re doing. Do you think you’re up to that?”

I give him another nod.

I.

Almost.

Died.

And Jake saved me.

Jake saved me. His knock. His voice. His words. They all saved me.

The doctor moves the light to the right and then to the left. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks.

“Two.”

“And now?”

“Three.” I’m feeling agitated. I want him to leave so I can talk to Jake. Thank him and find out what is going on with Jasper.

“Good. Very good.”

With a blunt instrument, he draws a line down my calf.

My leg twitches.

“Can you feel this?”

I nod again while licking my dry lips.

The nurse notices and offers me water. I drink it with a ravaged thirst and then set my attention back to the doctor letting him know it’s okay to continue. I want to ask him to hurry, but I know that medicine doesn’t work that way.

Torn between my own health and Jasper’s well being, I draw in a breath and focus on getting this over with.

I need to get out of here.

I need to go see Jasper.

To make certain he’s okay, tell him he will get out of this, and to be honest, to make certain I’m okay too. I feel lost without him. A feeling I don’t understand. I’ve been alone my whole life, but right now I’ve never felt so isolated.

I also know him. He’s the same as he was when we were eight. Strong. Brooding. Selfless. And when backed against a wall—standoffish, or worse, temperamental.

I need him.

He needs me.

The connection that formed so long ago is stronger than ever, and I just want to remind him of that.

The examination goes on for another ten minutes. In the end, I learn the extent of my injuries. The blunt-force trauma I suffered caused only a mild concussion. That my wrist is broken and must remain in a cast for six weeks. And that all of my cuts and bruises are minor; therefore, although painful, they should heal without any scarring.

“I’ll be by tomorrow to check on you,” the doctor tells me as he opens the door.

Sitting up too quickly, the room spins slightly and I grip the bars on the bed. “Tomorrow? I can’t stay here until then.”