Chapter 14:
SPENCER'S POV
The sterile, antiseptic smell of the hospital room was a stark contrast to the coppery scent of blood and chaos we'd left at Megan's apartment. Guilt was a lead weight in my stomach, heavier than any physical injury. I had stood over her, my voice a low, venomous growl I barely recognized as I confronted the spectral source of the nightmare.
"You touch her again," I had snarled at Wednesday, my hands balling into fists at my sides, "you so much as whisper in her direction, and our deal is ash. I will spend every last dollar I have finding a priest, a shaman, or a nuclear physicist to scrub you from this reality. You will never get your justice. Do you understand me?"
For the first time, Wednesday had looked genuinely taken aback, the smugness wiped from her face. She'd seen the line, and she'd finally crossed it. Without another word, I had scooped Megan's unconscious form into my arms, her head lolling against my shoulder, and carried her out to the car, driving to the hospital with a cold, focused fury that left no room for conversation.
Now, driving away from the hospital after ensuring Megan was stable and in good care, the silence in the car was a physical wall. Wednesday sat in the passenger seat, a picture of contrite stillness. The quiet was so absolute, so unlike her, that it was more unnerving than her usual taunts.
"Hey this ain't gonna help us both,the silence and malice," she finally said, her voice uncharacteristically small. "If you are expecting an apology about what happened at your girlfriend's house... then I'm totally sorry."
I glanced at her. Her spectral form seemed almost dimmer, her eyes wide and pleading. It was a masterful performance.
"Well, I wasn't needing your 'sorry'," I replied, the anger still a hot coal in my chest. My words were sharp, designed to cut.
"Okay," she murmured. "But you still need to get me my bucket of ice cream. Very, very necessary." She pouted, attempting to shift the mood back to our familiar, antagonistic banter.
It was the wrong move. "I'm getting no ice cream for nobody!" I snapped, my voice cracking like a whip in the confined space. "You are joking, right?"she asked
"I wish I am," I retorted, a flicker of my defiance returning.
"You totally almost killed Megan cuz you wanted to pull up some haunting skills! I ain't taking 'sorry' for that!" I emphasized, slamming my palm against the steering wheel. The car swerved slightly before I corrected it.
She exhaled, a long, dramatic sigh, and fell silent again. This time, the quiet was different. It was a calm so profound it felt predatory. It was the eye of the hurricane, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I could hardly focus on the dark road ahead.
"Are you seeing this?" she asked suddenly, her voice casual as she looked into the side mirror.
My own eyes flicked to the mirror. Three pairs of headlights, belonging to hulking black SUVs, maintained a steady, ominous distance behind us. My blood ran cold.
"I've noticed that they have been following us since," she said, her tone now all business.
I breathed out a curse. I knew that instant, with a sickening certainty, that these were not random vehicles. The killer's reach was longer than I'd feared. "Can this killer stop sending assassins? Is he that desperate?" I asked the empty car, my mind racing. We were on a long, high bridge now, with nowhere to turn. I weighed my options, my hand tightening on the gear shift, considering a risky, sharp turn to double back.
The decision was made for me.
A sudden, brutal impact jarred the entire frame of my car. The sickening sound of crumpling metal filled my ears as one of the SUVs executed a perfect PIT maneuver. "Oh, shit!" I muttered, fighting the steering wheel as it spun uselessly in my hands.
The world became a violent, disorienting kaleidoscope. My car, its tires screeching in protest, veered violently, hit the concrete parapet of the bridge with a deafening crunch, and somersaulted over the edge.
"WTF!" I began screaming, a raw, involuntary sound of pure terror as we became weightless, falling through the dark air towards the massive, black expanse of water far below.
My life didn't flash before my eyes. Instead, my gaze snapped to the passenger seat. Wednesday sat there, perfectly composed, as if we were on a leisurely drive. She was… putting on lip gloss?
…Huh?... Where on earth did she get that one from?
The absurdity of it was staggering. "Why isn't she screaming? Isn't she scared? Why is she not screaming?" I asked in my head, my own screams still tearing from my throat.
She smacked her lips together and smiled at my panic. "Duh…" she said, her voice cutting clearly through my terror. "Cuz you are the only one that's gonna die here."
And that's when I realized the core, fundamental truth I kept forgetting.
Oh. She's already dead.
"Or should I scream on your behalf?" she offered conversationally. "You refuse to get my ice cream, so I won't."
I continued screaming, the sound my only outlet for the sheer, primal fear of the great height. "You know what? I will just continue screaming myself! I don't need your Scream Assistant Agency.. I…."
My words were cut short by a cataclysmic, bone-jarring THUD. The world exploded in a fury of noise and pressure. The force of the impact shattered the windows, and the icy, black water hit me like a solid wall, instantly filling the cabin, burning my lungs, and pulling me into a violent, swirling darkness. The last thing I felt was a searing pain through my entire body before my consciousness was ripped away.
---
I was floating in a dark, warm sea. Distant echoes bounced around me, meaningless and distorted.
Spencer….. Spencer… wake up…
It was like I was in a tunnel, the voice a faint light at the end of it. I fought my way towards it, my limbs heavy, my mind shrouded in fog. I slowly opened my eyes, but my visuals were a blur of dim, shifting light.
Wake up, m***********.
That one, familiar voice. Wednesday. It was like a splash of cold water.
My visuals slowly swam into focus. The blurry shapes resolved into a sterile, white room. I was lying on a bed, surrounded by beeping monitors. My lips curved into a weak, insane smile. "We didn't die, did we?" I asked, as a sudden, pounding headache made me wince.
"You are lucky the ambulance came on time," she muttered. She stood beside my bed, her arms crossed, looking more solid than I'd ever seen her.
I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through my ribs. I looked down and realized a lot of strings—IV lines and monitor wires—were attached to my body. "Are we in a hospital?" I asked, stating the obvious.
She looked around with exaggerated slowness. "Isn't that obvious? "She asked "Just tell me you magically transported into this place."i said again
I managed a weak groan. "like I said the ambulance came just in time. But well… a dead girl just saved your ass. I went through stress pulling you and myself out of the water. How many buckets of ice cream do I get for that?"
I laughed, a dry, painful sound. "As much as that won't kill you the second time," I said, the memory of Megan's unconscious form flushing my anger back to the surface. But the anger was tempered now by a grudging acknowledgment. I was alive because of her. I should be thanking Wednesday than flaring up at her.
She gave me a small, genuine smile, but it vanished instantly. Her head snapped towards the door, her body tensing. "Someone is coming. Pretend to be asleep," she commanded.
I closed my eyes immediately, forcing my breathing to become slow and even. I heard the door open with a soft hiss and close again. Slow, steady footsteps approached my bed. They sounded cautious, deliberate… suspicious. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I remained perfectly still, projecting an aura of unconscious calm. I was curious, terrified, but not alone. Wednesday was here with me, which whosoever came in didn't know. I was 90% insured I'm safe. The remaining 10% was the fact that she could kill me herself.
I heard a soft, metallic slither, like a chain being uncoiled, followed by a faint click.
Then, a sickening thud and the sound of a body collapsing to the floor.
My eyes flew open.
I patiently and slowly turned my head. Wednesday stood at the foot of the bed, casually coiling a long, heavy chain that seemed to vanish into the air as it wrapped around her hand. On the floor lay a woman in a nurse's uniform, a strange, ornate dagger clutched in her limp hand. A single, neat hole was drilled into the center of her forehead.
"She came to kill you," Wednesday stated flatly.
I stared at the dead woman, then back at Wednesday. "You must be f****** kidding me, right?" I asked, my voice a hoarse whisper.
She shrugged. "I wish I was," Wednesday said, and with a final flick of her wrist, the chain vanished completely. "We need to get out of here. Because if anyone comes in…" She didn't finish the sentence. She just looked at me, and I understood immediately. It was a look of cold, hard practicality.
"They can't possibly think I'm the one who killed the lady! I'm attached to strings, for goodness sake!" I protested, gesturing at the IV in my arm.
She offered a thin, humorless smile. "They won't believe you either if you tell them it's a ghost who killed her."
I exhaled, the breath leaving my body as the truth settled in. "Right. One way or the other, I will still be going to jail."
Without another word, she began pulling the strings and wires from my body. I winced, a sharp "Ouch!" escaping my lips with every tug. Once she was done, I shoved her spectral hand away and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My body screamed in protest, every muscle and bone aching from the crash. "I really had a great fall," I grumbled, standing on shaky legs.
"You are about to have one more again," she replied, a familiar, mischievous smile returning to her lips as she nodded toward the room's window.
I hobbled over and looked down. We were three stories up. The ground below was a dark, concrete patch behind the hospital. "Why must I always jump from three-story buildings? You don't expect me to jum..."
I was still speaking when a firm, cold shove between my shoulder blades sent me pitching forward through the open window.
"You see this as minor? You love taking high risks, right?" she called after me as I began falling.
"ARRGGHHHHH!" I screamed, the wind whipping past me, the ground rushing up with terrifying speed. In my plummeting descent, I kinda saw a figure in what looked like a military uniform pushing a large, wheeled wastebin full of garbage bags directly into the path of my landing zone. I landed right inside the wastebin with a sickening, squelchy thump, the impact jarring my already bruised body but saving me from a far worse fate.
I gasped, popping my head up, covered in coffee grounds, banana peels, and unidentifiable, stinking slime. I looked up. Wednesday was already leaning over the wastebin edge and, smiling at me. "How do you feel now?" she asked.
"Much worse, thanks to you!" I yelled, climbing out of the bin, my patient wear now stained and reeking. "I'm never jumping again!"
I was standing there, shivering in the cold night air, naked but for the thin, flimsy hospital gown, covered in garbage. "Follow me," she said, standing beside me and soundlessly walking towards a dark corner of the parking lot. I did, my body protesting with every step.
"I have an idea of how to catch your killer," she said as we moved slowly down the walkway, sticking to the shadows.
"Spill it out," I replied, stretching my aching waist and arms.
"We wait for more killers. If they show up, I will kill the rest and leave one alive. We will torture him to speak and expose who sent him to kill you. And then we will go hunt that bastard."
Despite the grim content, a spark of hope ignited in me. It was brutal, direct, and had a chance of working. "You are dead, but your brain still works perfectly well," I complimented.
She smiled, a genuine, proud smile. "More perfectly when I'm licking ice cream," she replied, and for a moment, we shared a laugh in the dark, a brief moment of camaraderie forged in survival.
She suddenly stopped. Her entire posture stiffened. Her eyes dilated, and slowly, a visible, palpable anger and fury crept up her face, twisting her features.
"We are close," she muttered, her voice a low, dangerous growl.
I narrowed my gaze, looking around the quiet, suburban street we had emerged onto. "Close to where?" I asked, confused.
"I need your help. Now!" she said, the anger in her voice softening into a plea, though the rage was still visible in her eyes, a storm barely contained. She pointed a trembling finger at a well-kept, two-story house across the street. "We are close to Casrina McClair's residence."
I looked at the house, then back at her, utterly lost. "Who is Casrina McClair?"
Wednesday's form seemed to flicker, her rage and despair pouring off her in waves. "She is my sister," she said, her voice trembling with a many years-old pain. "One out of my four siblings who had her hand in my death."....
To be continued....