Echo Prophecy Page 7

  “A statement about … about wh—” Without warning, a montage of images tumbled through my mind, coalescing into a horrid memory.

  Stumbling through the door with Mike. The wooden post at my back. The world spinning. His hands everywhere. Begging him to stop. Mike refusing. Mike shoving me. Hitting my head. The door crashing open. Golden fire.

  I burst into instantaneous and uncontrollable sobs.

  “Ms. Larson—”

  “Lex,” I corrected through heaving breaths.

  “Lex, I’m Dr. Isa,” she said grasping my nearest hand. “What that man did to you—and what he tried to do—is horrible … unforgivable. But,” she continued, “it could’ve been worse.”

  I looked into her sure, brown eyes, entranced.

  “He could have succeeded. He could have raped or even killed you, instead of simply assaulting you.”

  A bitter laugh escaped from my lips. “Simply?”

  “Yes, Lex, simply. Some women haven’t been as lucky as you. I wasn’t as lucky as you,” she explained calmly, releasing my hand.

  “You … you were raped?” I asked, suddenly abashed.

  “Yes. It was a long time ago, and it no longer has a hold over my life, but I understand the terror. Okay?”

  I wondered if she was the most honest person I’d ever met. I nodded, ignoring the pain in my head. “Okay.”

  “You were very lucky to have had someone nearby who responded so quickly. For many women, it’s the inaction of those around them that enables their rape … or murder.”

  “Who? The door … I heard the door crash open, but I don’t remember anything afterward. What happened?” I asked, completely confused. Who saved me?

  Smiling, Dr. Isa shook her head. “It’s quite amazing, actually. Almost like a superhero story. The nurses who were on duty when he brought you in said he was the most striking man they’d ever seen.” She sighed wistfully. “I wish I’d seen him. The police found the alleged assailant, Mike Hernandez, tied up in your apartment. He was in pretty bad shape when they arrived.” After only a brief hesitation, she added, “You should know, he’s on a different floor, but he is in the hospital.”

  I flinched and did my best to huddle into a ball.

  “Please don’t worry, Lex. He’s under guard. A police officer is watching his room at all times.”

  Slowly, I relaxed, stretching back out.

  Dr. Isa reached for my hand again, gripping it almost painfully. “There is something you must know …” She hesitated for the briefest moment. “Soon, other doctors in this hospital will begin approaching you with very intense questions about your medical history. You must not, under any circumstances, tell them of your unknown paternity.”

  I eyed her, taken aback. “How do you—”

  “It doesn’t matter. What’s important is your safety. They will ask you about your parentage, and you must say that Alice and Joe Larson are your parents … your biological parents. If you stay here too long, they will eventually ask you questions about your genetics and any differences or abnormalities you’ve noticed about yourself. You must tell them that everything is normal and as it has always been. If you don’t, your life and others will be at great risk. Do you understand?”

  I swallowed, shocked and confused by her words. “I think so … yes.” How does she know anything about me … about any of the weirdness that’s been going on in my life?

  Dr. Isa let out a relieved breath. “Good. There is one more thing. We found a very rare and little-known compound in both your and Mr. Hernandez’s systems. It doesn’t affect the average person—like Mr. Hernandez—but for a very few, unique people, it acts similar to Rohypnol, which you may know as the date-rape drug. If you hadn’t hit your head, you probably would have passed out within minutes anyway. I’m assuming you felt its effects before you lost consciousness?”

  Is she saying that Mike drugged me? Feeling numb, I nodded.

  Tilting her head to the side, Dr. Isa frowned. “This will be difficult, but you must not tell anyone about your reaction to the compound. Nobody else here knows about it, and it’s safest to keep it that way. Unfortunately, withholding that information may or may not affect the charges against Mr. Hernandez, since nobody else will be aware that you were drugged, but it will be essential to your well-being. Again, do you understand?”

  I licked my lips before responding. She is saying that Mike drugged me. My mind was whirling with questions. “Yes, I think so. How do you know all of this? You know things about me that I don’t even know.”

  She looked away. “I’m so sorry. I’m not permitted to answer any questions like that.”

  “Permitted by whom? I need more information!” I persisted.

  She looked conflicted, but the door opened, cutting her indecision short.

  “Lex? Are you okay, sweetie?” my mom asked, oozing gallons of concern. “When they called me … I’m sorry it took me so long to get here … the pass … I called your friends … I didn’t want you to be alone … I just …”

  I sighed, my frustration at being interrupted giving way to immense relief. I love you, Mom. “I’m okay.”

  She studied my blanket-covered body for a few seconds before turning to the doctor. Sniffling, she asked, “Well, what’s wrong? What happened?” Based on my mom’s tone, Dr. Isa might as well have been my attacker.

  “Mom,” I said, answering for the doctor. “Dr. Isa was just conferring with me about some of the less family-friendly details. I love you, but there are some things I don’t want you to hear, at least not from a doctor. I’ll fill you in later, okay?” I desperately hoped she would give me a few more minutes alone with the doctor.

  My mom frowned before she answered. “Dad will be here soon, he’s just parking the car. I’ll be right outside with your friends, okay, Lex?”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

  While we’d been talking, another doctor had joined Dr. Isa in my room. He politely shut the door as my Mom left. Dr. Isa gave me an apologetic smile before he began his questions. Once he began, it was a relentless waterfall.

  “Ms. Larson, are you aware that your body heals at an unheard-of rate?”

  “Have you noticed anything exceptionally different between you and your peers?”

  “Do you have any knowledge of allergies or an allergic history in your family?

  “Are you very similar to your parents?”

  And on. And on. And on.

  I listened to each of the questions carefully and answered based on the advice from Dr. Isa, leading the other doctor to believe there was nothing unusual about me and that I’d been unaware of the strange compound in my blood. More than an hour after the barrage began, Dr. Isa proclaimed that her patient needed rest and that I was to be left alone until breakfast.

  After the other doctor exited the room, Dr. Isa used the pretense of adjusting my blankets to whisper a few enlightening pieces of information. “You hit your head very hard. You should be in a coma, and nobody understands why you’re not. Your recovery is astounding. You must tell anyone who asks that you’ve always been a quick healer.” She glanced at the clock. “Make sure you leave before breakfast. It’s served between seven and nine, so you have a few hours. Your release orders are already signed.” She reached down to squeeze my hand. “I wish you luck, Alexandra Ivanov,” she said, using my mother’s maiden name.

  “That’s not my—”

  The door opened suddenly, cutting me off. As my parents and friends poured into the room, Dr. Isa checked my papers one last time and removed my IV. My head was reeling from her unbelievable revelations—not to mention her cryptic instructions—and a multitude of questions were sprouting in my thoughts. I vowed to return to the hospital for one specific reason: to talk to Dr. Isa.

  Putting on my cheeriest grin, I exclaimed, “They said I can go home! Who’s driving?”

  Everyone but Dr. Isa looked utterly confused as I hopped out of bed. The doctors had been correct about my body’s ability to
heal quickly—I felt a hundred times better than I had when I first woke. I’d always been a fast healer, a trait I attributed to having a strong immune system, but this was unbelievable.

  “Did someone bring me some clothes?” I asked, holding my peek-a-boo hospital gown closed as I checked the empty closet.

  “Lelee, I don’t know if you should be going home yet,” my dad said, concern etching his kindly face.

  My mom set a half-full duffel bag on the bed. “I brought you some clothes, Lex, but we didn’t expect you to be released so soon. When the hospital called, they made it sound like … like … well, like you might not …” Her chin quivered and tears welled in her eyes.

  “Just a little mistake, Mom,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. I couldn’t hug her—if I did, I’d break down. The hospital didn’t think I would make it? It explained why they were all staring at me like I’d sprouted an extra head.

  Rifling through the bag, I found a couple pairs of old sweatpants and a few Tshirts from high school. Not that I minded—anything was better than the drafty hospital gown. I pulled out a worn, gray T-shirt, some cotton boy shorts, and faded blue sweatpants, and disappeared into the bathroom. Again, everyone but Dr. Isa watched me with confused expressions; the good doctor simply smiled.

  ***

  Almost two hours later and after a lengthy chat with the Seattle police, I arrived home to find a brand-new door barring the entrance to my apartment. Man, my apartment manager works fast, I thought. Its pristine, polished wood looked odd next to the nicked door frame and smudged walls. One-hundred-year-old apartment buildings tended to accumulate more than their share of wear and tear.

  Using a shiny new key that had been stashed in my mailbox, I unlocked the door and let it swing open. My parents and friends stood behind me, holding their collective breath.

  Straight ahead was the wooden post Mike had held me against … had shoved me away from. I shuddered at the memory, practically able to feel his greedy, groping hands, but I refused to let my fear of something that happened in the past keep me out of my own home. With a shaky breath, I closed my eyes and stepped through the doorway. When I opened them again, I found that everything in the apartment was perfectly arranged … too perfectly, like the whole nightmarish encounter with Mike had never happened. But it did happen!

  I’d been gone for little more than a day, but it felt like weeks. Time wasn’t settling right with me, just like the pristine state of my apartment.

  Needing a distraction, I dropped my keys in an engraved metal bowl on the kitchen table and called out, “Thora? Where are you, little girl?” What if she got out while the door was broken? My breaths started coming faster as I imagined her wandering around outside, scared and alone. Oh God … she has to be here!

  My small entourage milled around in the kitchen and living room while I frantically searched the apartment, calling out Thora’s name. I retrieved a crinkly bag of cat treats and shook it, hoping the sound would draw her out. Finally, after minutes of searching, I heard a faint squeak come from under the bed. Kneeling on the floor, I lifted the bed skirt and peered into the darkness. Two glowing, green orbs floated just out of arm’s reach. Letting out a sigh, I righted myself and quieted my frantic thoughts. It’s okay … Thora’s okay … everything’s okay.

  When I emerged from my bedroom, I felt as though I was standing before a firing squad. Five pairs of eyes were lined up, each watching me attentively.

  “I’m fine,” I reassured them, my voice a little too high, and their expressions intensified. “Cara, Annie, Rick—thank you so much for everything you did at the hospital. I really, really mean it.” I bit my lip, feeling bad for completely hijacking the past twenty-six hours with the insanity that had become my life. “You guys must be exhausted. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

  Annie took a step forward, opened her mouth, and closed it again without saying anything. She studied me closely before nodding. “Okay, Lex. If you need us, just call. Any time, okay?” Her eyes seemed to add, but this isn’t over.

  I watched my three friends leave before turning my attention to my parents.

  My mom cut me off before I had the chance to open my mouth. “Don’t even think about it, Lex.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I’m staying here until the quarter starts,” she said, steamrolling my unsaid protests.

  “But—”

  She interrupted me again, somehow responding to my unspoken thoughts. “Dad can’t stay, so you don’t need to worry about where we’ll sleep. It’s just me, and I’ll make myself at home on the couch. He’ll pick me up when he’s here on business next week.”

  Though I’d planned to convince them to leave, a huge weight lifted from me at knowing my mom wouldn’t be budged. I really didn’t want to be alone. Even if having her stay with me postponed my intentions to question Dr. Isa further, I wanted my mom around, at least for a little while.

  I sighed. “Okay.”

  With two big steps, my dad wrapped me in a comforting bear hug. “Thank you, Lelee,” he whispered. “It’s as much for her as it is for you.”

  I squeezed him in response, then pulled away. With a yawn, I said, “I think I’m going to take a nap.”

  My parents both nodded encouragingly. It seemed that after attempted sexual assault and hospitalization, naps were a parent-approved coping mechanism. Marching out of the hospital, on the other hand, was not.

  Feeling far too exhausted for someone who’d spent most of the past day asleep, I smiled at my parents and trudged into my bedroom. After I shut the door, I collapsed onto the bed. I only had a few seconds to wonder about the man who’d crashed through my apartment door to save me before sleep whisked me away to the land of dreams.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Recollection & Recuperation

  My apartment door opened, admitting a familiar couple, stumbling and laughing.

  I was standing in the middle of the cramped living room, watching, helpless to stop what I knew would happen. Panic made my heart race and my breathing quicken. I closed my eyes, incapable of watching—experiencing—the horrible incident again. But I could still hear Mike whispering to me … the other me. Desperately, I wished for it to be over. I heard the other me scream, closely followed by the crack of her head striking the steamer trunk and the thud of her body hitting the floor.

  There was a crash, an explosive splintering and cracking of wood, and my eyes sprang open. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted into obscurity by the light from the hallway. The man who saved me, I realized. As he stepped out of the light and into my apartment, I noticed that the darkness surrounding him hadn’t only been due to backlighting. Shadows darker than the night cloaked him, seeming to emanate from him. To my eyes, he was a man composed of nothing but those impenetrable, pitch-black shadows. What the hell?

  The shadowed man paused after a few long strides, looking at the other, unconscious version of me before turning toward the shocked man cowering before him. At least, I thought he looked at the other me; I couldn’t actually see his face through the shadows he seemed to be wearing like a disguise.

  “You!” Mike howled in terror. Shocked, I realized that Mike knew my rescuer. “No, no, no—” Mike dropped to his knees, groveling. “She fell, I swear. I didn’t do anything.”

  Confusion and frustration displaced my earlier panic. Who is he? Why can’t I see him? It was pretty obvious that he didn’t walk around like that—all shadows and menace—outside of the dream, or memory, or whatever it was. Mike had seen him, as had the hospital staff. So why can’t I?

  The shadowed man’s steps devoured the distance to Mike in two long strides. His midnight-coated arm backhanded Mike, and the smaller man fell to the floor in a limp heap. Swiftly, the stranger moved to the sprawled form of the other me, hovering over her. His hands flew over her body.

  “Hey!” I shouted, forgetting that I was only watching something that had already happened … forgetting that I
couldn’t change it. “Keep your hands off her!”

  His hands gently pulled up her underwear, and from the way the shadows cloaking his face shifted, I thought he must have looked away as he did it. He arranged her black silk dress so she was decently covered before gently rolling her onto her back and touching her wrists. Abruptly, he leaned over her face like he was listening for something. When he sat back on his heels, he brushed a lock of hair out of her face and simply watched her.

  I moved closer, circling around the man. I searched for a crack in the dense blackness surrounding him but could find none.

  From the kitchen floor, Mike groaned, and the shadowed man glanced at him. Gracefully, my rescuer rose. He lurked toward my fallen attacker, spitting vicious, incomprehensible syllables along the way. But … something about the words, the language, sounded familiar.

  I hovered over the other, unconscious me while the shadowed man attended to Mike with sharp jabs and swift kicks. I despised Mike—thought I’d lost the capacity to feel pity for him completely—but seeing him being beaten so brutally awoke a sliver of sympathy in me. Did he really drug me? Part of me couldn’t accept Dr. Isa’s claim, and I was pretty sure it was the same part of me that felt bad for Mike as I watched.

  Eventually the shadowed man’s need for violence was expended. He sat Mike, head lolling forward, with his back against the wood post and quickly arranged him so his arms extended behind him. I moved closer. At some point, the shadowed man had produced a zip tie and secured it around Mike’s wrists, effectively binding him to the post. Both Dr. Isa and the police had mentioned that Mike had been tied up and in pretty bad shape when he’d been found, alone, in my apartment. In fact, I was pretty sure the police wanted to find my rescuer … to arrest him for what he’d done to Mike. The severity of his actions hadn’t really sunk in until now. He saved me—but he’s definitely dangerous.

  I returned my attention to the shadowed man, watching as he again approached the wounded version of me. Why had he been so enraged? Why had he beaten Mike into unconsciousness? His reaction seemed personal, like he knew me—cared for me—and couldn’t let Mike go unpunished for what he’d done … and for what he’d intended to do. But if that were true, why was he hiding from me? Why hadn’t he stayed at the hospital, or at least left contact information so I could thank him for rescuing me?