Chapter 16 - Waking Up in St. Bartholomew's
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I woke up three days later in a private, highly secured room at St. Bartholomew’s Medical Center.
My body felt as though it had been run over by a freight train. Thick, sterile bandages covered the severe burns across my collarbone and chest. My throat felt raw and swollen, making swallowing agonizing. Dark, ugly bruises mottled my shoulder where I had hit the hardwood floor, and a constant, thudding headache made the room feel as though it were slowly spinning every time I opened my eyes.
The very first person I saw when I blinked away the haze was Damon.
He stood near the hospital window, looking out at the city traffic. He held a paper cup of terrible hospital coffee in one hand and a thick, heavily tabbed legal case file under his arm. He looked exhausted, older than he had during the raid. The dark circles under his eyes made it clear that the last three days had not included much sleep.
“You look absolutely terrible, Damon,” I croaked, my voice sounding like gravel.
He turned quickly, startled, then a massive smile broke across his tired face.
“Good morning to you too, counselor,” he chuckled, walking over to the bed.
“How long have I been out?”
“Three days. They kept you sedated to manage the pain from the burns and allow your airway to heal properly.”
“Did they get bail?” I asked, getting straight to the point.
“No,” Damon said, his smile widening. “The judge denied bail for both of them, citing extreme flight risk and the overwhelming video evidence. They are sitting in county lockup.”
The answer brought a profound, cooling wave of relief over my burning chest.
Damon pulled a plastic chair close to the bed and sat down, dropping the massive case file onto the mattress.
“Constance has already hired one of the most expensive, aggressive defense firms in the city,” he reported. “Graham’s father hired another one for him. They are immediately trying to separate their cases. Graham is claiming that he panicked and froze during a medical emergency. Constance is claiming she was trying to administer a holistic tea remedy to help you, and spilled it by accident.”
I laughed once, a harsh, bitter sound, and immediately winced as my burns stretched.
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“She poured boiling hot tea directly onto my chest while telling me to die quickly,” I reminded him.
“Yes,” Damon nodded, tapping the file. “And your brilliant little camera system captured the audio perfectly from three different angles in the room.”
