OF COURSE, I WAS AWARE OF NONE OF THAT. I HEARD ABOUT Kevin Ferguson later, when they told me that Phillip Woods had escaped. Wounded, his pink sweater sliced and blood-soaked, he’d left a trail of blood from Evie’s room through the hall, down the back stairs, and out into the snow. There, like the man who’d spilled it, the trail had disappeared. So had Rupert’s car, although it had been found hours later, empty, crashed into a telephone pole on South Street near the Schuylkill River. But I didn’t know any of that. Not yet.
The first thing I really remembered was surprise at opening my eyes. Convinced that I’d died, I was amazed that pain still seared my ribs. And I was indignant that death should hurt.
Then, looking around, I realized that, unless heaven or hell was an emergency room, I hadn’t died, at least not yet. There were tubes in my nostrils, and some green-masked person was leaning over behind me, hurting me. I protested, pulling away, emitting something between a yelp and a groan. More eyes, another green mask darted above my head. A voice muffled through the mask welcomed me back, apologizing because I’d felt that.
“Tell her I’m almost through,” said a voice, and the second mask reported that the doctor was almost through. Another jab, stab, searing scrape, and tug. My nails dug into my palms, but I couldn’t move. My arms, apparently, had been strapped down. I looked around. Iv bottle, green masks, green walls. This was not hell, I told myself. I was in a hospital because I’d been stabbed by Woods, and because I’d survived. And Molly? Where was Molly?
I struggled to turn over and sit up. Was she okay? I’d left her with Evie. I tried to speak, but no one was listening. Hands, and now one, two, a third green body held on to me. I squirmed to get their attention, tried to tell them to listen to me. I needed to find out where Molly was.
“Wait,” I said. “just a second—”
“Hold her still. Don’t let her move.”
The hands tightened, pressing me down. I struggled and shouted, but they seemed not to hear. The more I tried to talk, the more they resisted listening.
“Relax, Zoe,” a mask said. It sounded female, soothing. “Everything’s going to be okay.” Why wouldn’t she answer me? Had something happened to Molly?
Another stab, this time in my arm, and a moment later I decided to lie back and rest. Still, I fought to stay awake, my ears straining to hear Molly’s voice. In seconds, though, the pain lifted and my thoughts muddled. My questions became less urgent. Fading, I couldn’t manage to study the eyes above the masks, couldn’t be sure none of them was Phillip Woods wearing a new disguise.