Escaping Elysia

Chapter 2 - Cherry Pie

Evita

I shot someone. And probably killed him. The memories confront me as I come back to consciousness in a hospital bed. His body, falling to the ground. His blood, slowly spreading outward from the hole in his stomach. The blood made it real. It was when I saw the red, bright against his dull gray shirt, that I began to feel dizzy. My head hurt when it smacked into the ground, but it was a dull pain. I was already far away.

Now, harsh light filters through my eyelids. I open my eyes, which makes the pain worse. Duh. My head pounds. Groaning, I gently prod my scalp. My fingers brush over a large bump, but that isn't the worst pain. The worst pain is my ears, which feel like someone's hammered an ice pick into them. I'd heard a gunshot will do that to you, though I never expected to find out for myself. The hospital provided blanket tucking me into the bed is rough against my arms, and a chair sits empty to my right.

My hands are free, which surprises me. I expected to be handcuffed to the bed. After all, I shot someone.

I grab the remote from the bedside table and turn on the screen that's mounted to the wall, flipping to a news station. I have to know what happened. The video feed shows the street on campus where the shooting took place. I can see the bench I hid behind, and not far from it something lies in the street, covered by a white sheet. A wave of cold washes over me, and my legs feel weak and numb.

The video changes to a man speaking into a microphone. I sit up quickly, and the throbbing in my head intensifies. Grabbing the remote I start to turn up the volume, but a nurse enters the room and shakes her head.

"There will be plenty of time for that later." She takes the remote and turns off the screen. "Right now you need to focus on resting. You hit the ground pretty hard."

She doesn't understand. I need to know what happened. "Is he dead?" I ask.

She pauses, and in her hesitation I know he is. He's dead. I killed someone today. My stomach turns and I feel sick, like I might throw up.

"Rest," she says. Her voice firm, she puts the remote out of my reach. The room spins. I ease my head back onto the pillow, and am about to close my eyes when the door opens. I turn to see Grandfather in the doorframe.

His back stiffens when he sees that I'm awake, and I half expect him to turn around and leave, pretend he wasn't here. He stands with the door half open, but after a moment he comes into the room. His hair, or what little he has left of it, sticks up from his head in short tufts, the color of falling ash. He sits in the chair by the bed, rigid, then clears his throat. If he's waiting for me to speak first, then we're going to sit in silence for the duration of his visit. He lifts his hand and it hovers in the air above mine. His tattoo of a sun wrapped in an American flag, from his time in the war, peeks out from under his sleeve. I freeze. Is he going to take my hand? But no, he wipes his palm on his pants instead and rests his hand in his lap. It is the closest he's gotten to touching me in years.

He clears his throat again. "How are you?"

"My head hurts," I answer, and he nods. He opens his mouth again, but doesn't speak. Outside a bird lands on the windowsill. It pecks at the dirt and bugs, and we both watch. The windowsill must not have much to offer because the bird takes off again. I look at Grandfather, but he keeps his eyes on the window, pretending not to notice. His skin is thin, showing the cool blue undertones, and deeply wrinkled around his eyes and mouth. They're the wrinkles of a man who spent a lot of time laughing in his youth, though it's hard to believe now.

The door opens, and Grandfather lets out a breath, turning to look at the door. I recognize the ashy blonde bob instantly; it's Secretary Evelyn Sheer. Maybe she's here to fire me from the internship.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Creedy," she says, reaching for my hand. I shake it and her grip is firm, though her fingers are slender. Her skin is pink, like rose quartz, and flawless. "It seems like you've had quite the morning."

"That's one way of putting it," I mumble, and she laughs, the noise bouncing off the walls in the small room.

"You've managed to become the top story on every news channel." She raises one eyebrow. "They're calling you a hero." A hero? But I shot someone. I killed him.

"I'm not a-" I start to say, but Sheer holds her hand out.

"No need to be modest. Sneaking into Caine's bag like that and stealing one of his guns was certainly a heroic act, no question about it."

I frown. What is she talking about?

"Imagine if you hadn't been there. Who knows what that...that psychopath would have done?" She closes her eyes and shudders.

"Caine?" I ask, temporarily distracted by the name.

"The shooter. Trenton Caine."

Trenton Caine. That was the name of the man I killed. I killed Trenton Caine. No matter how I thought about it, it still sounded strange. I killed someone. And he had a name. Trenton. How could I be a hero for killing someone? They all think I stole the gun from his bag, but that would have been impossible. If they knew the truth...

"Why aren't the police here?" I ask. "Shouldn't they be questioning me?"

"I told them I would talk to you. Enough witnesses came forward that they can figure out what happened without stressing you out more than you already are."

I let out a breath, relieved that I won't be spending the night interrogated at the police station. Still, I'm unsettled. Secretary Sheer is one of the most powerful people in Sanzha, second only to President Charlize, but Sheer has nothing to do with law enforcement.

Secretary Sheer continues. "You need your rest. I only came to make sure my top intern was alright." Top intern? I didn't think Sheer knew my name before today. I have some classmates that would kill for an in with Evelyn Sheer. I cringe. Maybe kill isn't the best word.

"Should you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to call. I've already sent my contact information to your phone." Secretary Sheer goes to the door, but turns before leaving. "Oh, Evita?" Her eyes, hazel and heavily lidded, are sharp. "Take some time to rest before coming back to work, understand? I want you to forget this whole thing ever happened."

Not likely. I smile and wave as she leaves the room. Soon I'll be well enough to go home. Then, as long as I keep the truth about the gun to myself, everything can go back to normal.

"I'll just, uh, let you get some sleep." Grandfather walks to the door, his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, okay," I say. I thought he might stay and sit by the bed while I slept, but I'll probably get more rest without him in the room. He nods goodbye before leaving, but his eyes don't reach mine.

Yeah. Everything will go right back to normal.

***

Author's note: Thank you for reading! Please don't forget to vote if you liked this chapter :).