Free Before I Wake by Anne Frasier Page B

away.
    Her foot caught on something and she tumbled backward, everything suddenly moving too fast.
    She reached out, trying to catch herself, stop herself, her hand making contact with a metal table. She pulled it down with her as she went, crashing to the floor at the same time her head struck concrete.

 
Chapter 9
    Pain knifed through Arden’s head.
    “In here!” someone shouted.
    She tried to get up; the movement sent a wave of dizziness washing over her.
    The shout from the hallway was followed by the sound of pounding feet.
    A door crashed open, slamming against a wall.
    “Come on!”
    Someone—Eli—grabbed Arden’s arm. “We found a way out!” He pulled her up from the floor.
    The pain in her head intensified. Sharp, white light strobed behind her pupils.
    The scene was delivered in choppy fragments.
    A dark room, with bits of gray seeping around corners and through cracks.
    A girl with a name Arden couldn’t remember.
    Noah. Where had he come from?
    An argument was going on between the girl and Noah.
    “Don’t make such a big deal out of this,” Noah pleaded. “I thought it would be funny.”
    “Funny if you get us kicked out of the study?” the girl asked.
    Can’t remember her name. What is her name?
    “It’s your fault. You were tormenting me,” Noah shot back.
    “I can’t talk about this now,” the girl said.
    “But I want to.”
    “Shut up. Just shut up.”
    Arden had to tell them something. Had to tell them about… what?
    Her head.
    Tell them that her head hurt.
    Hurt like hell. And they weren’t helping.
    From the edges of her pain came Eli’s impatient voice. “Hurry!” And, “Be quiet!”
    In an awkward cluster, they exited the room, Arden stumbling, trying to keep up, trying to ignore the throbbing in her skull.
    The girl grabbed Arden’s other arm, and then they were half dragging her, running and panting.
    “We have to get out of here before somebody comes,” the girl said, her voice breathless.
    Running is always a good choice. Can’t go wrong with running.
    “Left?” That was Eli.
    “No, right.”
    Noah? Was that Noah’s voice?
    “Here! Turn here!”
    Skid around a corner.
    Jerky images, everything coming too fast.
    Through a thick, institutional door, metal lock bar clanging heavily.
    Another corner and up a set of stairs.
    Burst outside.
    “Don’t stop,” the girl gasped.
    Everything—the brick buildings, the stand of evergreens in the distance, the grass—was washed in a predawn fog. Sharp rain pelted Arden’s face.
    Pasty, gaunt face framed by dark, stringy hair.
    They ran for the trees. Wet grass, soaking through shoes.
    Wet and cold.
    What am I doing here?
    She was finished. Done in. Couldn’t go another inch.
    Arden quit running, quit trying to keep up. “Stop.”
    The girl and Eli paused, still gripping her arms.
    “Let go.” Arden tugged her arms free. Her legs buckled, her knees sinking into the saturated ground.
    The girl and Eli tried to reattach themselves.
    “No.” Arden shooed them away with a sloppy sweep of her hand.
    Leave me alone . She’d had enough. Enough of their pulling and dragging and shouting.
    Her vision was blurred. She felt queasy. Her head hurt, hurt, hurt.
    Gaunt face. Stringy hair. Open eyes. Looking at her. Staring at her with accusation.
    “Oh, my God!”
    The girl’s voice seemed to come from the other end of a long tunnel. “She’s hurt! She’s bleeding!”
    Bleeding? Who were they talking about?
    Arden felt a finger poking gingerly at the back of her head.
    Her . They were talking about her .
    She didn’t know if it was the mental image of somebody sticking a finger in a cracked skull that did it, but the queasiness in Arden’s stomach intensified.
    She knocked the girl’s hand away, crawled a few feet, and threw up. When the most severe of the nausea faded, she shoved herself to her feet and began making her way to the trees.
    The ground tilted ninety degrees. She fell, her face slamming into the wet, muddy