Chapter Seven

This is the beginning of the worst hangover in the world.

My head throbbed, and there was a thick pit of nothing but nausea where my stomach should be.

I could hear voices again, and I mumbled at Blair to turn down the TV while mentally cursing her for feeding me such an excessive amount of alcohol. For a second, it got quiet, and I settled in thankfully, trying to go back to sleep. But the voices got louder once again, and I wondered why she would turn the program up when I asked her to turn it down.

Doesn’t she know I’m sick?

The television was so loud that it felt like the characters were in the room with me.

“What’s his plan, now?” said a gruff, male voice.

There was no response to the question, and I decided he was either talking to himself, or talking on the phone.

Weird, that the program isn’t playing both sides on the conversation.

“No, seriously,” the gruff voice continued after a moment. “Now that he’s got her here…It could jeopardize everything.”

The words should’ve meant something to me. I couldn’t quite remember why. Was it a movie I had seen? A program Blair had made me watch before? It didn’t sound like her usual reality TV show babble.

Someone leaned over me, and I tried to say my friend’s name. It came out as a gurgle. Or at least I thought it did.

Must still be drunk, I concluded.

But I felt so sick, and I had such a terrible taste in my mouth.

I can’t be drunk and hungover at the same time. Can I?

I heard paper shuffling and a car door slammed. The noise reverberated in my head and I thought I might throw up. I fought down the urge.

“Christ, Billy,” someone swore, and the voice was almost—but not quite—familiar. “What the hell is this?”

“The girl,” answered the gruff voice, presumably Billy.

“Yeah, I see that. But why is her stuff everywhere? Looks like a purse exploded in here.”

“Needed an ID,” Billy replied.

I must’ve watched this already, I thought drowsily.

“An ID? You kidding?”

“No.”

“Did you think about a little thing called the Internet, Billy? I got a hell of a lot more than an ID without doing this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t happen to have a Wifi connection here, all right? And I’ve been waiting for you for an hour.”

I tried to sort out what was going on as the men argued, but it was too hard for me to follow. Their voices blurred together and I really just wished Blair would turn it off.

“Wasn’t smart.”

“Suppose I just let them have her?”

“Really not our problem.”

“When did you become such an asshole?”

“I’m not an asshole. I’m the one who helped you. But this is business. And we’re not gonna be in business for long if we don’t get rid of her.”

“Where’s the Doc? Didn’t you call him?”

“Relax. He’s on his way back.”

“He was here already?”

“Well, I sure as shit didn’t put the hole in her hand.”

“The what?!”

“The IV port.”

“He wants to hydrate her.”

“No.”

There was silence then, except for the sound of someone tapping something, again and again.

Was it Blair? My friend wasn’t usually so noisy. Why is she doing that? I’d kill for some water.

The pause in the fighting continued, and then one of them asked, “So who did you ID her as?”

“I found her driver’s license. She’s Cass Sternlight.”

The sound of my name brought me to attention.

It’s not the TV, I realized with sudden apprehension as the events of the night surfaced in my groggy brain.

I clearly remembered Monato and the chemical-soaked towel. Everything after was more or less a blank. But my head hurt, and my lungs were sore. I had a strange, sharp pain in one of my hands, and I felt a bit like death warmed over.

The IV. I wanted to scream.. They put an IV in my hand!

I cringed involuntarily against whatever padding was beneath my body, trying to shrink into oblivion. Then I froze. I didn’t want them to realize I was awake.

Where am I? I need to figure it out.

I was afraid to open my eyes, so instead I tried to take careful inventory of what I could feel.

My back stung where the tattoo was, but aside from that and my pounding head, I wasn’t physically hurt. I could still taste the acetone-like inhalant that had knocked me out, and I wondered what it was they had used to soak the towel. I wiggled my fingers. They tingled ever so slightly, and so did my feet. But I was quite warm, and something soft covered most of my body.

A blanket, I decided, grasping to understand some part of my surroundings. I must be under a blanket. And I’m on a...What? A couch, maybe.

My stinging back was pressed against something firm, and I could feel the springs under the rest of my body.

I took a risk and opened my eyes ever so slightly.

It was almost dark, but I realized instantly that I wasn’t in a building and I wasn’t on a couch at all. I was in the backseat of a car. I could make out the outlines of the men who’d been discussing my fate. One of them was sitting in the driver’s seat, which he had tilted most of the way back. The other was in the passenger’s seat, and I was pretty sure he was drumming on the dashboard. From what I could see, neither of them looked—or sounded like—Monato or any of his friends.

A rush of cool air brushed my face as one of the rear doors opened, and I quickly closed my eyes. Someone shifted my body, and joined me in the backseat.

“Hey, Doc,” greeted the gruff-voiced man.

Billy, I reminded myself, trying to keep everything straight.

The sound of a lighter flicking echoed through the car, and a second or two later, the scent of cigarette smoke wafted through as well. I inhaled—subtly—because for just a moment, the smell of it relieved me of the acrid taste in my mouth.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that around my patient,” complained the doctor.

“Your patient?” Billy replied scornfully. “Didn’t they take away your license?”

“I surrendered it voluntarily,” the doctor stated calmly.

A cool hand rested on my forehead, and someone tugged at the back of my aching hand.

The IV port, I remembered, and tried to keep still as the unlicensed doctor adjusted it.

“I could hydrate her now,” he said. “But she’s still not going to feel very well when she comes to. I’d like to give her some anti-nauseant through the IV.”

“No.”

The disagreement came from the man in the passenger seat, and I really thought I should be able to place his voice.

“I can just put it right into the line, and it’ll probably keep her knocked out,” the doctor ventured.

“I said no.” The familiar-ish voice was impatient. “I want her lucid, and soon.”

“C’mon,” Billy said. “He went to the trouble of getting the IV in. And you called him.”

“To take a look. Nothing more.”

Both Billy and the Doc sighed.

There was another tug on my hand, and I kept very still.

“Let go,” commanded the man who wasn’t Billy or the doctor.

My hand dropped loosely back to my side. There was silence for a moment, and then the man sighed.

“I’ve got some dissolvable anti-nauseant in my first aid kit. I’ll give her some of that, okay?”

There was some shuffling, and I felt hands on my face. Soap-scented fingers pulled on my mouth very gently, and a pill landed on my tongue. I resisted the urge to spit it out as it dissolved.

“Do you think she’s actually connected to Monato?” the doctor asked.

“No,” the familiar-sounding man answered. “No way.”

“Why keep her here then?” the doctor wondered out loud.

“She’s just some goddamned chick John couldn’t live without,” replied Billy with more than a hint of frustration. “Chivalry’s not fucking dead, I guess.”

“What is wrong with you guys? Have you been doing this so long that…” The familiar voice—John—trailed off, exasperated.

“Doing what?” Billy asked coldly at the same time as the doctor said, “Of course not.”

“You don’t sound like yourself,” Billy added.

“Look, she’s not a coincidence. She’s not a chick. She’s a person. Who needed our help. And if she’s awake, she now knows your name, Billy, and mine. Might as well add yours to the mix.” Even in my increasingly hazy state, I could tell that he sounded awfully pissed off. “Cass Sternlight, I’d like to formally introduce you to the doctor formerly known as Ramirez.”

“Either way, John, she’s your problem now,” Billy said, and his cigarette sizzled as he butted it out. “This is as far as I’m going. I’m not sticking around to see the shit hit the fan. I’m out.”

I was getting really sleepy again, but I forced my eyes open, just a sliver.

From underneath my lashes, I watched the gruff man move his seat up and toss a set of keys to John before climbing out. The car door slammed shut.

“Stay with her,” John commanded to the Doc after a moment, and he followed Billy out.

My eyes didn’t want to stay open, and I sighed audibly.

“You there, miss?” the doctor asked.

He sounded very nearly kind, but I couldn’t have answered him, even if I’d been inclined to do so. He sighed, too, and placed a gentle hand on my forehead once again.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said, then I drifted off.

There was a loud screech, and I heard John’s voice again, tense and hurried.

“Pack it in, Doc,” he ordered. “And take out that damned needle. We’ve got a problem.”

I tried desperately to keep conscious, but even as I felt the IV yanked out of my hand, and sensed that blood was dripping from the wound there, I couldn’t hold on.