“He’s the fireman who pulled you out of the house,” the nurse said, excitement lacing her tone like this was some huge scene in one of the soap operas she likely watched.
The doctor cleared his throat and gave her a look full of reproach, and she glanced at the floor guiltily.
Images of the raging fire flashed before me. I felt the heat, the claws of death reaching for me… but then I saw the man—the one I thought had been nothing but a hallucination. He stepped through the flames. He literally walked through a wall of fire to pick me up and carry me to safety.
He was the one who threw me into the pool. While I was tied to a chair.
“You’re him,” I said, not asking because the nurse just said so. She was only too thrilled to spill the beans, so I knew it had to be true.
He nodded.
“Stay,” I heard myself saying. Wait, what?
He didn’t move back into the room. Instead, he leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. I mean, seriously, he looked like he could be in a magazine. Advertising some sexy cologne or perfume. Something by the name of Rogue.
Oh my God, the fire must have melted half my brain cells. I was daydreaming about perfume after waking up from attempted murder.
“Someone tried to kill me,” I told the doctor, looking him straight in the face. The stranger against the wall stiffened but otherwise said nothing, and I didn’t look his way.
“So you remember the fire,” he said, not directly avoiding my words.
“I remember someone trying to burn me alive.”
The doctor frowned and glanced at the nurse, who bustled out of the room quietly. “You can speak with the police about that,” he said. “I’m here to focus on your injuries.”
“How bad are the burns?”
“You have first and second-degree burns, Miss Parks. I would say you were actually very lucky. You have suffered moderate smoke inhalation. As I said, your throat and voice will be affected for a while. You were on oxygen for the first twenty-four hours that you were here, so breathing shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Wait,” I said, “how long have I been here?”
“Four days.”
“Four…” I lost four days. Almost an entire week. That was almost as scary as nearly dying. It was like I did die for four days… four days I would never remember. Four days of being immobile and lost.
“You were very lucky,” the doctor said, interrupting my momentary freak-out.
“Lucky?”
“Your injuries are not serious considering the extent of the fire.” He glanced at the stranger and then back at me. “You have first-degree burns in places on your hands and second-degree burns on your wrists. We kept you heavily sedated for the first couple days to keep you comfortable. But I’m afraid there is still going to be pain. Your skin is damaged. There may be scarring. We are keeping it clean and medicated with antibiotics to help with infection. The dressings must be changed every eight hours. Unfortunately, this will aggravate the pain. The burns on your hands are considerably less and should heal much faster. I’d like to keep you here for another day and, baring no complications or sign or infection, you can leave. I will prescribe you pain medicine for the pain and the nurse will go over how to change your dressings.” He paused with his bad news, then said, “Miss Parks, is there someone that we can contact for you? A relative, a spouse? Someone who will be able to help you during the next few weeks?”
I wanted to say yes. I didn’t want to see the flash of pity that would surely creep into his eyes when I said no. But there was no one. There hadn’t been for a very long time.
“No.”
“I see. Well, in that case, you can come by twice a day to have your bandages changed by the staff.”
“I can manage,” I said a little too harshly.
He nodded curtly. “I would like to examine you now, if that’s okay?”
I nodded.
“I’ll wait outside,” the stranger said and then disappeared.
I suffered through the exam, barely able to concentrate on the doctor or his invasive questions. I couldn’t help but keep glancing at the door, wondering if he had left. Wondering if I would see him again.
After the doctor finished torturing me and poking at the huge bruise covering my shoulder and upper arm (likely from when I fell over in the chair), he took his leave, but not before promising to come back later. Oh, joy.
I heard the deep baritone of a man talking and the doctor giving a short reply. Before the door could completely close, it was pushed open and a dark head appeared. “Can I come in?”