Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
“Briella,” he goes on, “you’re readin’ me wrong.”
“I don’t see how,” I mutter, shoving his hands off me and scooting forward. “It’s fine, Flick. I’ll find what I need from someone that wants to fucking give it.”
I scoot again only this time I lose my balance and slip.
The fall is seemingly in slow motion. It’s as if I can recall every single second as I slide out of that tree. I feel my body slipping, I feel Flick try to reach forward and grab me, and then I feel myself hitting two branches on the way down to the ground.
Hitting the ground hurts the most.
My body twists beneath me and my head slams back onto the dirt. Every single thing hurts, and I open my mouth and let out a loud wail. I can’t stop it—it feels like someone has come along and snapped every bone in my body and then stomped angrily on my skull until it feels like it’s going to cave in.
Flick is by my side in seconds, on his knees, roaring out for help. He carefully straightens me out, and in between my wails, tries to soothe me. “It’s okay. We’re gettin’ help. It’s goin’ to be okay.”
He cradles my head in his lap and I hear the sounds of voices and footsteps.
I close my eyes, still sobbing uncontrollably. I’m certain I’ve got at least three broken bones, at least, that’s what it feels like.
Warm blood trickles down from my forehead and I panic.
Flick is fixing it before I even get the chance to cry harder. He presses a hand over whatever wound is causing the problem and then with his other hand, he brushes my bloodied hair from my forehead. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”
“What happened?”
I hear Aviana’s panicked voice, and then Cohen calling an ambulance.
“She fell out of the tree,” Flick tells Aviana, and she’s on her knees by my side in seconds.
“Honey, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
My wailing is now quiet but constant sobs.
It hurts so much.
“It hurts,” I cry, my voice crackly and soft.
“I know it does,” Avi says, taking my hand. “I know.”
“Ambulance is on its way,” Cohen says. “I’ll go and get her momma.”
He disappears, and I close my eyes, the pain almost too much to bear.
“Don’t close your eyes,” Flick says. “Stay awake, baby.”
Baby.
That’s nice.
So nice.
Why does it take me getting hurt for him to see that there is something here?
Why does he keep fighting it?
Fighting me?
Oh, look ... I’m drifting into darkness.
Bloody finally.
10
NOW – BRIELLA
“Could be an old key and someone else is stayin’ in the room,” Cohen murmurs as we walk up the steps of The Inn and toward the row of doors with numbers on them.
“If that’s the case we’ll just play dumb and pretend that we’re in the wrong place. Nobody will be any wiser.”
Cohen shrugs and we walk to the room number we found on the key. With trembling hands, I swipe it and the door unlocks. I look to Mykel who is standing to my left, his eyes scanning the area before coming back to mine. He nods and Cohen pulls out his gun, bringing it around to the front of his pants just in case he needs it quickly. Then we push the door open and step inside.
I flick on the light and at first glance, it looks as though nobody has been here. Though the bed isn’t made, the room is quite clean. Judging by the musky smell, it has been a few days, maybe a bit less, since the doors and windows have been opened which tells me that no one is staying here right now and we’re not about to walk in on someone in the toilet or something horrible.
“Do you think she was the last one to stay here?” I ask, walking into the room and over to the bed.
“Depends if that key is new or not. It’s possible,” Cohen murmurs, walking into the bathroom.
Mykel goes over to the television stand and starts rummaging through a heap of stuff that’s on there. I pull the covers back, but I don’t find anything. No clothing or anything to indicate anyone has been here for a bit.
“Recognize any of this?” Cohen asks coming out of the bathroom with a heap of toiletries in a bag.
He places the bag on the bed, and I rummage through it. Mostly, it’s just basics like soap and hair products, but there is something that catches my eye. A brush. I know that brush because I have the exact same one. Mom got them for us when we were teens and we both kept them after she died, sort of like we couldn’t part with that memory of her. I bring the brush out and my heart aches. “This is Magnolia’s.”