Free The Thirteen Hallows by Michael Scott, Colette Freedman Page B

white.
    There was blood.
    So much blood.
    She had never seen so much blood before in her life….

14
     
    Ms. Miller?…Ms. Miller?…Sarah?”
    The voice was male. Bright and chirpy. More mature than her brother Martin’s voice— bright hair black with blood —but younger than James— blue eyes missing from their sockets.
    Sarah Miller bolted upright with a scream that tore the lining of her throat. She screamed again and again, breathing in uncontrollable gasps, blood pounding in her temples, heart hammering in her chest, tasting metal in her mouth, the same meaty, metallic odor that had permeated the house.
    There were voices all around, officious-looking people in white coats, concerned faces, bright lights. Sarah was only vaguely aware of them. There was a sting in the crook of her arm and she looked down to see that one of the white-coated figures had pushed a needle into her arm.
    She was unaware of them, conscious only of the dark images, the terrible vision of her mother splayed across the kitchen table, little Freddie broken and butchered on the stairs, Martin hanging from the chandelier in the foyer…and James, dear God, what had they done to James? There had been so much blood. So much blood. She had never seen so much blood before in her life.
    And then the needle worked its magic and she slept.

 

Thursday, October 29

15
     
    How do you feel?”
    The face swam into focus, an earnest young man with a kind smile, who showed a little more than just professional concern.
    Sarah’s eyes slowly focused as they followed the young man in blue scrubs. As the male nurse moved around the bed, she gradually became aware of her surroundings. She was in a hospital, in a private room. There must have been an accident, but she couldn’t recall anything. She didn’t seem to be in any pain, and there were no tubes in her, no plaster casts.
    Sarah licked her dry, swollen lips. “What happened?” she attempted to say, but it came out in a scratchy whisper.
    “You’re going to be just fine,” the nurse said, not answering her question as he brought her a cup of water with a straw. She drank gratefully while he lifted her left arm and applied a blood pressure cuff. When he had finished taking her temperature and blood pressure, he tilted the back of the bed upward, raising her to a sitting position.
    “What happened?”
    Still not answering her, he said, “There are some people who want to talk to you. Do you feel like talking to them now?”
    Sarah struggled to straighten up, but the nurse gently pushed her back onto the pillows. “How long have I been here?”
    “Sixteen hours.”
    “What happened?” she asked a third time.
    The nurse wouldn’t meet her eyes. “There was an accident in your home,” he said eventually. “Some sort of gas leak, they said. That’s all I know,” he added quickly, turning away before she could ask any more questions. Sarah stared at the door. A gas leak? She didn’t remember a gas leak…but then again, she couldn’t even remember how she got here. She lifted her hands and touched her face: It was soft and damp. No cuts, no bruises, no marks. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to remember…but the images that flickered at the edges of her consciousness darted and twisted away, leaving only the impression of dark shadows.
    “Ms. Miller?”
    Sarah opened her eyes and knew instinctively that the butch young woman with the close-cropped platinum hair standing at the end of the bed was a police officer. Behind her, a craggy-faced older man perched on the window ledge, watching her intently.
    The woman indicated the older man. “This is Detective Inspector Fowler and I am Sergeant Heath, London Metropolitan Police—”
    “What happened?” Sarah interrupted. Her voice cracked with the effort, and she started coughing.
    Sergeant Heath came around the bed to pour her some more water.
    “Please. What happened at my house? No one will tell me anything.”
    “We were hoping you