attached to his pen as best as I can, considering my condition.
“Good, very good,” he praises, pocketing the tool in his coat. “I have some officers here on behalf of the Humboldt County Sheriff. I know this isn’t ideal, but they need a statement from you about the night of the accident. You’ve been in a medically induced coma for the past five days to relieve the swelling in your brain. It’s okay if you can’t remember what happened; the brain is complex, and yours has been through quite a bit. But can you try to tell us what you remember about the accident?”
I lick my dry, cracked lips and open my mouth, but no words come. Because truth be told, I don’t remember what happened. I remember yelling, and the car going off the rails, but I don’t remember why. The only thing I’m remotely sure of is Madison. She saved my life.
My gaze flits around the room in search of her. I don’t know how she managed to do it, but she was there. I felt her. I felt the warmth of her hand through my clothes, seeping into my skin. During that time, I felt like she was alive and well.
She was there.
I work a thick swallow and force my lips to move. “I-I don’t remember,” I rasp. “I just remember being in a car…and there was fighting. Someone was yelling at me.” I pause, slamming my eyes shut, as more images come in flashes, but they don’t make sense. Just trees, so much dirt, and the car. The sound of metal crunching. I pry my eyes back open, trying to think clearly. “Then the next second, we were rolling.”
The doctor nods, a crease forming between his brows, as he waits for me to put the pieces of my jumbled mind together. I close my eyes, and the flashes come faster. Faces, pain, blood, Madison’s shirt, Vincent, the disgust on Baz’s face. It all comes rushing back, and tears leak down my cheeks.
“He stabbed me with something,” I whisper, bringing my trembling hand toward the searing pang radiating in my abdomen. I hiss out a curse, forgetting my injuries for a split second. “I don’t know what happened after. He was there one second, then he was gone.”
The doctor nods, concern written in the lines on his face. “Do you remember how you got out of the car? Did this other person help you out?”
“No.” I shake my head adamantly, even though it hurts to do so. “He left me there for dead. I think we…we were arguing…then the car crashed. I was…” I pause, choking on a sudden wave of emotion, as the memory slams into me. “I was in so much pain I couldn’t stop him when he stabbed me. She helped me. I heard her voice, and she helped me.”
The look of concern on the doctor’s face at this moment should be alarming, but I’m so caught up in the memories and the pain currently swarming my body like a hive of angry bees that I don’t pay it any mind. “Who did?”
“Madison. My sister. She helped me out of the car. She told me everything would be okay. I…I don’t know how she did it, but she dragged me out, and not long after, the car rolled. I would’ve died if it wasn’t for her.”
I hear someone’s sharp intake of breath, and when I look, I realize it’s my mother. My father has her wrapped in a tight embrace, and her head is nestled in his chest. It’s a protective embrace, but one I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing from the man in question. The disapproval in his eyes is like a shock to the system and a slap back to reality.
The doctor clears his throat, glancing at the officers. One of them is rubbing at his temples, and the other is scribbling something down on a pad of paper. “Ms. Wright, you’re aware that your sister passed away years ago, correct?” The way the doctor asks the question—slowly and softly, as though he doesn’t want to rattle me—leaves the hairs at my nape standing at attention.
“Yes, I’m aware,” I grit. A sweltering wave of pain rolls through me, making it hard to breathe. If they don’t give me pain meds soon, I’m going to pass out. “But she was there. I saw her. She pulled me out of that car.” The words spew from my lips like projectile vomit, only I’m