Free What a Ghoul Wants by Victoria Laurie Page A

and one was pulled aside while I was swiveled
     180 degrees and backed against a wall. A woman in pink scrubs who’d walked alongside
     the stretcher as it was wheeled through the halls placed a thermometer into my ear.
     It beeped and she said, “Thirty-two-point-three.” I think she must have seen my fear
     and confusion because she added, “That’s ninety-point-three for you Americans. Far
     too cold for your own good, lass. But we’ll warm you up in a jiff, not to worry.”
    No wonder I was freezing. My temperature was crazy low. Or was it? What was it supposed
     to be again? I couldn’t remember.
    The three blankets covering me were lifted and several nurses and aides got to work
     pulling me out of my wet clothes. I clenched my teeth together to try to stop them
     from chattering, because even though my clothes had been wet, they were still something
     against my bare skin to help keep in what little heat I had left.
    At last I was naked and an odd sort of thin, aluminum-looking blanket with wires attached
     was placed over me. The blanket was very warm and I closed my eyes with relief. I
     ignored all the chatter going on around me, and allowed the doctors and nurses to
     do what they needed to do to warm me up without protest.
    An IV was placed into both of my arms and I felt the odd sensation of warm saline
     dripping into my veins. My body and sides were then lined with full bags of heated
     saline and slowly the violent shivers subsided. That foggy confused feeling I’d had
     in the ambulance also lessened and at last I could focus on the doctor hovering above
     me as he asked me my name.
    “M. J.,” I told him weakly. “Holliday.”
    “And what day is today?” he asked, reaching out to gently probe my head for bumps
     or abrasions.
    I sighed. “No idea.”
    He squinted down at me. “Did you knock your head when you went into the water?”
    “No,” I said, working hard to form the words because physically it was difficult to
     talk or even move. “Travel. Lots. Tuesday?”
    He smiled. “You’re either a very good guesser, Miss Holliday, or you’ve managed to
     work it out. Today is in fact Tuesday.”
    I nodded but the truth was that I didn’t give a damn what day of the week it was.
     “My boyfriend. Here?”
    “And where were you born?” the doctor said next, ignoring me.
    I wormed one arm out from under the blankets and warm saline to take hold of his wrist
     so that he could focus fully on what I was going to say, and the effort gave my mouth
     a little extra to form the words. “Will answer questions, but first. . . need to know. . .
     my boyfriend?”
    The good doctor’s gaze settled on the hand latched to his wrist. “That’s a strong
     grip you’ve got there, Miss Holliday.”
    I didn’t let go. “His name. . . is Heath. Whitefeather. Please?”
    The doctor leaned away from me to glance around the curtain before focusing on me
     again. “He’s being attended to by my colleague, Dr. Patel. But I believe Mr. Whitefeather
     is stable.”
    I let go of his wrist and closed my eyes. It was a moment before I could speak. “Valdosta,
     Georgia,” I said when I’d gotten hold of my emotions again.
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Where I was born. Sweet, beautiful Valdosta, Georgia. U.S.A.”
    An hour later the curtain to my little area was pulled back and in came my producer
     carrying a large paper sack. He took one stunned look at me and said, “Shit, M. J.!
     What the hell happened?”
    “Well, good morning, Gopher. Nice to see you too, but please, don’t worry yourself.
     I’m fine. Just a touch of hypothermia. Nothing too serious other than nearly dying
     and ending up here.”
    Gopher’s expression turned to one I’d never seen him wear before—contrite. “Sorry,”
     he apologized, setting down the sack on the end of my bed before stepping all the
     way forward to me. He then did something else that was most unusual; he took my hand
     and squeezed it. “Hospitals