A Flare Of Hope (The Jaylior Series Book 1) Read online

  Standing on trembling feet, I grabbed the nightstand for support as little stars invaded my vision threatening to take me under once more. Shawna’s helpless face and her blood-soaked clothes kept crawling back into my mind suffocating me to the point of pain.

  I stumbled over clothes, shoes, and cables scattered on the floor. My room was a mess—as I was—but I didn’t care, not anymore…

  I finally made my way safely to the bathroom and turned on the light after feeling for the switch on the tiles. I trotted forward until I reached the sink, grabbing it when my stomach started to churn making me retch forcefully into the basin. There wasn’t much to get out of my body as I hadn’t eaten all day, but my weak stomach still heaved bile all the way up leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

  After my stomach had settled, I splashed cold water on my face and took deep breaths to calm my racing heart. I took a glimpse at the mirror for the first time that day.

  Jesus. I looked even worse than I felt. The nightmare had left its marks.

  My eyes were glazed over, bloodshot with red veins zigzagging through the whites, skin eerily pale combined with a sickly greenish tint, hair a tangled mass of unrestrainable strands, and lips so colorless they were barely visible.

  Four years…

  Four slow and agonizing years had passed since Shawna’s murder, and still, it didn’t seem to be enough time to ease the brutality of the recurring dreams. I’d visited Shawna’s grave the other day, so maybe that was why this dream, in particular, had shaken me to the core. It had revealed information I’d wanted so badly. Now, I was terrified knowing.

  How long would it take for my emotions to settle down? To make the pain bearable, allowing me something close to a normal life? Not even my parents’ death had left me so utterly broken.

  Maybe it was the combination of these two experiences which resulted in my breakdown. Maybe I’d never overcome the loss of my beloved family leaving a gaping hole in my heart and hurting with every beat. I just wanted these torturous feelings to go away. I’d rather feel numb and emotionless than live one more day through this hell that was called life.

  But I knew there was no way out. There was no one who could bring my family back. So, the only thing I could do was fight through one day and gather the strength to get through the next.

  Lauren wanted me to visit a shrink, but that was not an option. The idea of a stranger analyzing me, only to then give me ‘professional’ advice about a life they didn’t live was ludicrous. What Shawna meant to me, what a person she’d been—I couldn’t put into words. How would a stranger understand?

  Although I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep and shield my body from the outside world under warm blankets, I managed to step into the shower and give my body the hygienic care it needed. I let the warm water run over my face enjoying the soothing sensation.

  But then I made the mistake of opening my eyes which fell on the dark scars on my forearm, and I was unwillingly brought back to how they came to be…

  Four years ago

  I awoke to an annoying beeping sound making my already pounding head drum to the beat. Bright light flooded my eyelids prompting me to squint.

  A burst of pain shot through me. My bones, limbs, and head—everything hurt so much it was all I could do to suppress a scream. After I managed to open my eyes which felt glued shut, I instantly realized I wasn’t surrounded by the familiar furniture of my room. The sharp stench of bleach and other unidentifiable chemicals hit my nose. Sterile white walls, a TV, and a small table with two chairs decorated the space. The bed I lay in was surrounded by metal framework, making me feel as if I were trapped in a cage.

  Only one place would look like this—a hospital.

  Unfortunately, my brain didn’t take long to drag back the memories of why I was here in the first place. My pulse rate increased as did the beeping sound of the annoying machine next to me.

  Shawna…

  A second later, a nurse came rushing into my room. With a frown at the monitor, she stopped next to my bed giving me a concerned look.

  “My sister…” I croaked over my dry throat.

  “Miss, you should…”

  I tried to push myself up, but I didn’t get very far. Dipping my head, I realized I was handcuffed to the bed frame—shackles wrapped around my wrists and ankles to keep me in place. Panic rose, and although I knew it was in vain, I feebly tried to shake off the chains making the metal frame vibrate.

  “What’s this? Why…”

  “Miss, you need to calm down,” the nurse tried again to make me relax while the beeping sound increased in frequency. Black dots appeared in front of my vision before the door banged open, and a man burst into the room.

  “I’ve got this,” the man—apparently a doctor if his white coat was anything to go by—spoke to the nurse when he noticed me becoming hysterical.

  Before I could utter another word, he pulled a syringe from his pockets, snatched the cap with his teeth, and plunged the needle into my arm. While he pushed the liquid into my bloodstream, the beeping sound slowed down as did my heartbeat. A calmness settled over me making it impossible to form coherent thoughts. The doctor eyed me intensely.

  “Rest,” was all he said until the world disappeared again.

  The moment I awoke the second time, bright daylight shined through the window. My back ached from being immobile for so long, and my throat was so dry I couldn’t swallow. This time, it didn’t take me long to realize where I was and why I was here.

  Shawna. Killed. In front of my eyes.

  I’d been too late to save her…

  I squeezed my eyelids shut willing to turn back time and hoping that if I opened them again, everything would turn out as a cruel trick of my mind. But my wish wasn’t granted.

  The door silently opened, and the same nurse from before entered the room, her steps hesitant. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was afraid of me.

  “Hello, my dear. How are you feeling today?” she asked in a soothing voice. Today? That sounded like a lot longer than I’d expected to be here.

  The nurse’s eyes were tender as was the touch of her gentle hand, but I barely felt it. There was no energy left in me anymore.

  “My sister…” I mumbled.

  The nurse gave me an apologetic look turning my stomach upside down. Although I already knew the truth, it still felt like a ragged knife slicing my gut. The nurse squeezed my shoulder in sympathy, but she could have also slapped me, it wouldn’t have registered either. I exhaled slowly, the tranquilizers spreading numbness through my body and keeping my emotions in check.

  “I’ll get Dr. Simmons for you. He’ll answer all your questions.”

  I managed a feeble nod, the tubes wrapped around my head not allowing much more movement. Again, I tried to move my limbs despite the restraints—without success. Why was I tied down?

  The door to my room opened again, and a man in his forties came into view. He was the same one who’d forced the syringe into me. I should be angry with him, but the numbness kept me calm. He gave me a reassuring smile as he closed the distance between us.

  “Good morning, Miss Bryceland. You look well,” he complimented in a friendly voice while rummaging through several sheets on his clipboard.

  I didn’t know if he meant what he said, or if he just wanted me to feel better, but I was sure I looked exactly how I felt. I didn’t comment.

  The doctor took a seat on the chair beside my bed, and it didn’t escape my notice that he deliberately kept a certain distance between us. The smile on his face vanished, his expression growing serious.

  “Miss Bryceland, I’m Dr. Simmons, and I can assure you that you are in the best hands here. I’m glad you’re awake and sane again, it took you a long time…” he added with concern scrutinizing me.

  His words made me look at him in bewilderment. What was he implying? “Why? How long have I been here?” My voice sounded like sandpaper dragging over my vocal chords, and I whi
spered the last words to reduce the pain. It felt as if I’d been dehydrated for days.

  Dr. Simmons took a glass of water from my nightstand and brought it to my lips. I took a few careful sips, and after I was done, he gave me an answer.

  “For five days now.”

  I nearly choked on the liquid running down my throat. “Five days?” That couldn’t be, could it? “I’ve been here for five days lying in a coma or what?”

  Dr. Simmons looked uncomfortable before he answered. “Well, not exactly. You were in and out of consciousness most of the time.”

  Most of the time? I only remembered awakening once.

  “Miss Bryceland,” he started, leaning back in his chair and crossing one knee over the other, “You were unconscious when the ambulance brought you here, but since then, you were awake a few times. Don’t you remember?”

  He studied me carefully. His question sounded like a test—as if he already knew the answer. I racked my brain about what could have happened the last few days, but nothing clicked into place. I briefly considered lying, but it wouldn’t help me get answers.

  “Only the one time you injected me with something,” I replied in an uncertain tone making Dr. Simmons nod, and his expression told me he’d expected my answer.

  “Do you know why you’re here? Do you remember what happened?” he asked carefully as if approaching a frightened child. I merely nodded, unable to put it into words.

  “Miss Bryceland.” I became aware that he would start his sentences by addressing me personally whenever he was trying to gently break something to me. It didn’t make me feel any better. “The few times you were awake you had… well, how shall I put it… a few breakdowns,” Dr. Simmons finally answered my question.

  I blinked and waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t seem to have anything more to say. “What do you mean ‘breakdowns?’”

  “Well, you were lashing about furiously not allowing the nurses to tend to you, screaming your sister’s name over and over. We had to calm you, so we gave you tranquilizers and sleeping pills.”

  “Why don’t I remember any of this?”

  “I can’t say for sure. I assume you don’t remember because the rage was blocking out your surroundings. You couldn’t think rationally anymore. You didn’t react to your own or your sister’s name. Not even the pupillary reflex test was working. I already feared you had a cerebral hemorrhage.”

  Again, I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be struggling for words. Impatience got the better of me. “Dr. Simmons, I don’t understand any of this. Could you please tell me what’s going on?”

  He sighed and nodded. “I’ve checked your brain twice, but everything seems to be normal. Your X-ray, your CAT scan, your MRI—everything looks exactly how it should. You hit your head pretty hard and have a concussion, but aside from that and the obvious superficial wounds, you’re completely healthy.”

  I couldn’t remember hitting my head, and I lifted my hand as far as the restrictions would allow feeling a soft bandage wrapped around it. A spot on the back of my head felt particularly tender.

  Again, Dr. Simmons moved his gaze to the sheets of paper in front of him as if he was still trying to understand what was wrong with me. I tried to push myself up a little bit.

  “So, you’re telling me that I didn’t have a pupillary reflex, but you don’t know why—did I get that right?”

  He cleared his throat and answered in an apologetic voice, “Yes.”

  I wasn’t a professional in medicine, but I knew that was rather unusual. I directed the question to the doctor. “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it before, but well, we learn new things every day,” he added with a tight smile in a poor attempt to lighten the mood. It didn’t work.

  “And this is why you strapped me to the bed?” I wanted to know giving my wrists a little shake for emphasis.

  Dr. Simmons’ smile vanished. “Well, yes…”

  I had the feeling he was hiding something—something important—but the tranquilizers prevented me from digging deeper. They clouded my mind and made my eyelids heavy. I couldn’t concentrate for more than a few seconds before losing focus.

  “I should also inform you that you had blood poisoning caused by some serious cuts on the inner side of your right forearm.”

  I rummaged through my foggy brain as my gaze flickered to the bandages covering said body part. I remembered the pain and that I’d cut my skin with something sharp, but I didn’t know exactly how it happened.

  “There’s no need to worry. We disinfected the wound, and it should heal properly, although it might leave scars. The cuts were deep. Thankfully, the artery was still intact. Other than that, you have a cracked rib, so you’ll feel a stabbing pain the next few weeks, but it will heal just as well.”

  I absently nodded, not caring in the slightest about scars and a bruised bone. I swallowed around the lump in my throat before asking the question I feared most.

  “My sister?” My voice broke at the end. I already knew the answer, but I needed to be sure.

  The doctor’s face fell before he conceded in a low voice, “She didn’t survive. Her body is currently under observation in Pathology.” He stopped there to give me time to process, and I couldn’t manage anything more than a feeble nod. I grabbed the bed sheets so hard they started to tear at the seams.

  This couldn’t be real. No way was Shawna gone. She wouldn’t leave me. Never.

  “I’ve been told you had to witness it and were still there to give her first-aid. I’m sorry for what you had to go through, but although I know it’s not much comfort, I want to tell you it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have saved her. The knife punctured her lungs, and the wounds were too severe. Even if the ambulance had arrived earlier, she wouldn’t have made it to the hospital in time.”

  A dark veil of sadness crept over me. I fisted my hands harder, the chains holding me immobile and clinking as I attempted to get free. The doctor was right—it wasn’t much comfort. Those fearful eyes of my little sister and the blood drenching her clothes was a mental image that would haunt me for eternity.

  Maybe I hadn’t been able to do anything after they plunged a knife into my sister’s body, but maybe Shawna would have survived if I’d been faster getting to her. Her attackers had taken their time with her. If I hadn’t been so clumsy losing my footing all the time, I could have saved Shawna from the unimaginable pain, and my sister would still be alive.

  And Alice…

  “There was another girl, she was already dead when I arrived. Do her parents know?” I rasped, my throat closing again.

  Dr. Simmons sighed in empathy. “Yes. They are currently identifying her body.”

  I nodded. I was glad I didn’t have to be the messenger. I’d probably break down in front of Alice’s parents unable to bear the same pain reflecting in their eyes for losing their precious daughter.

  The doctor cleared his throat to hide his feeling of helplessness. “Well, then… I’d like to keep you here for another twenty-four hours, just long enough to push the tranquilizers out of your system. I have to contact the police… they’ll want to question you about what happened. I’ll also get the nurse to remove your restrictions, as I think we’re out of the danger zone now. Oh, and we couldn’t find any information about your next of kin in your personal belongings. Do you need us to call anyone?”

  A single, traitorous tear slid down my cheek, and I turned my head to look out of the window. The sun was showing its last rays before winter arrived, but as much as I loved to watch sunsets, I couldn’t find any pleasure in watching them now. The fact that the world was still spinning with Shawna gone made me angry. So fucking angry…

  “No.” My answer was clipped short. “There’s no one left to call,” I added mentally, but I must have spoken my thoughts out loud.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You should try to get some sleep. You need rest,” he advised and rose to
leave the room.

  “Wait!” I called out, recalling what he’d said only minutes before. “Do I have a pupillary reflex now?” I didn’t know why that piqued my curiosity, but somehow the information seemed important. I couldn’t shake off the feeling something was missing—a tiny piece of a puzzle that didn’t fit.

  He gave me a reassuring smile. “Let’s try, shall we?” He came toward my bed again and pulled a flashlight out swiping the light cone over my eyes. “Everything’s normal, which is why I think it was an extreme result from emotional overload. There’s no need to worry.”

  I felt a little disappointed, although I knew I was acting irrationally. Maybe I’d hoped to be different, hoped to get an answer to the question as to why I should continue with my life if there was no one left worth living for. How the hell would I get through the struggle of getting out of bed every morning from now on?

  The following days and weeks were pure torture. Police officers bombarded me with the same questions over and over, and I gave them the same answers every time. Shawna’s killers were never captured, and the knowledge kept an untamable fury trapped inside me. I knew revenge wouldn’t bring her back, but it would certainly give me a few more peaceful nights knowing they were buried six feet under.

  After I was free to go and returned to my apartment, I’d never felt so lonely in my entire life. It didn’t feel like home anymore. Home was Shawna’s presence with her painting equipment scattered everywhere, her laughter whenever she was watching her favorite TV show, her passion for playing video games, and the mess she always made whenever her baking experiences got out of control.

  But without her, the apartment was nothing more than empty walls with a roof on top. A building without meaning, without life, without soul, without purpose. Even the scent had changed to something unfamiliar.

  I didn’t eat or shower for five days losing weight rapidly. Time lost its meaning, and sleep became an everyday nuisance. I wouldn’t close my eyes for more than a few hours, but I wasn’t awake during the day, either. For weeks, I did nothing except lay in bed screaming, kicking, and hallucinating only to stand up for the mandatory walk to the toilet.