Last Kiss
Chapter Twenty
I only remember flashes of what happened next, the intermittent darkness being my only solace from the stabbing pain that seemed to course through every fiber of my being.
I didn’t remember my knees giving way, causing me to crumple to a heap on the hallway’s floor. But after my initial brief loss of consciousness, I did remember Kris being crouched at my side. One of his hands was holding mine, while the other was pressed tightly against my abdomen. I vaguely remember the panic in his expression as he called out frantically in French to the neighbors I had never even met. One word was repeated over and over: l'hôpital. Even in my muddled state, I easily knew what he meant, and I contemplated calmly about how bad my wound actually was. Then I wondered if anyone here would even understand him. I tried to chuckle, but the action caused my already intense pain to reach a level of sheer agony that I didn’t even believe to be possible. Seconds later, the room began to fade into the blackness once again.
The next thing I could recall was Kris’s hands being torn from mine as I was loaded into an ambulance. I heard an almost inhuman voice screeching at him to stay with me, and I was about to agree with whoever it was when I realized it was myself. The paramedics tried to calm me, but I refused to listen. I couldn’t tear my gaze from Kris’s. I could see a wide range of emotions reflected in his eyes—helplessness, anxiety, fear, and sheer torture. I needed him with me. I didn’t want to be alone. I reached out one arm vainly towards him, and he took a step closer to grab it, but a paramedic stopped him. I couldn’t refrain from shrieking in disdain as unconsciousness once more overtook me.
The next thing I remembered was waking up in the ambulance with Kris by my side. I don’t know if they couldn’t get me to co-operate without him, or if they simply figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring him, but I wasn’t going to stop to question it. Kris gently stroked my cheek and muttered to me softly in French while the doctors worked to staunch my wound. But…I was confused. His hands were bright red. Had he gotten a sunburn? Had he scraped them on the ice?
“No…it’s my blood,” I silently reminded myself. “You’re hurt, remember?”
But the truth was that it was getting harder and harder to remember things. My thoughts felt muddled together, and it took a lot of effort to keep them straight. Frowning a little in concentration, I tried to lift my hand to brush a lock of hair from Kris’s eyes, but was surprised to find my arm uncooperating. Confused, I glanced down to find myself unrestrained. If that was the case…why couldn’t I move?
But everything was hazy, and I could feel the darkness once again creeping up on the edges of my vision. I was so incredibly tired, too. All I wanted to do was shut my eyes and take a nap, and at first, I fought it. But soon, I couldn’t entirely remember why going to sleep was such a bad idea. In fact, maybe sleep was the best decision of all. When you’re asleep, you don’t feel pain…maybe if I slept, I wouldn’t have to deal with whatever had happened.
My eyes fluttered shut, and with a sigh of relief, I fell into a fitful slumber.
I wasn’t sure how long I had been sleeping. All I knew was that my dreams weren’t reassuring, and I think I might have woken up screaming a time or two before instantly falling asleep again. I dreamed of Max, that wicked smile gracing his lips, before he plunged his knife into me over and over. I dreamed that he went after Kris, then Violet, then Amanda, stabbing each of them in turn. I watched them lie on the ground, their sticky, warm blood pooling onto the floor, the dark red contrasting starkly with the white tiling. I watched their eyes glaze over in what was certainly death, their faces paling and contorting beyond recognition.
Then the dream shattered and I was at the stable I ride at. As I walked down the narrow hallway, I was struck by how silent it was. I couldn’t smell the hay, manure, and leather that I’d grown to love. I couldn’t hear the sleepy whickers of the horses as they greeted me. Everything was silent and dark, and I slowly made my way to Buck’s stall in confusion.
My favorite horse was lying on the ground, his head severed from his neck. Even though he would ordinarily be dead, the two parts of his twisted neck turned, and his panicked eyes met mine. You did this to me, his eyes screamed. I am dead because of you.
I took a step back, gagging in sheer horror at the sight before me. My emotions were a turmoil of guilt, pain, and shock, and I knew instantly that I had to get out of there immediately. My foot, however, got trapped in a bridle that I didn’t know what there, and I felt myself falling to the concrete ground beneath. But the odd thing was that I never hit; I just kept falling and falling and falling with absolutely nobody there to catch me.
Suddenly, there was ground underneath my feet, and I found myself at Consol. For some reason, I was on the ice, which made absolutely no sense. I had never been great at skating, and I was even less skilled at stopping. The irony of dating an NHL hockey player didn’t escape me.
But in my subconscious, I was able to skate, and I found myself lazily making serpentines around the ice. That’s when I saw Kris sitting in the stands to my right. I couldn’t contain the smile from overtaking my face as I sped over to him, stopping right in front of the glass and waving like a fool.
Kris’s expression didn’t change. He just stared blankly at me, not even a flicker of recognition registering in his eyes. Unnerved, I turned around to skate to the penalty bench when I saw Max. He was skating towards me, stark naked, a knife in his hand. In sheer panic, I turned around, slamming my hands into the glass to beg for Kris’s help, but he didn’t even flinch. Giving up, I turned to skate away, but found myself unable to move.
Max caught me within seconds.
The strange thing about nightmares is that you never know they’re imaginary while you’re having them. Even in those dreams where reality is twisted beyond recognition, it’s impossible to take a step back and question what is actually happening. So the only thing to do is endure the horrors that your subconscious brings and pray desperately that the morning will eventually come.
When I finally woke up, truly woke up, I didn’t entirely know where I was. The slow, rhythmic beeping that implied I was on a heart monitor was my first indication that I was in a hospital. As I slowly opened my eyes, the white, sterile bed, walls, and floor confirmed it. At first, it was nearly impossible to determine what had actually happened and what had happened in my dreams. But memories slowly came back to me, one after another, and I began to reconstruct my reality.
What confused me the most was why Kris wasn’t with me. I could now distinctly remember clinging frantically to his hand en route to the hospital, begging him to not leave me alone. He had leaned close to my ear, his lips gently brushing my cheek, and whispered that he wouldn’t dream of it. I had believed him, and it had calmed me down. But as I glanced around the room, I realized that I was entirely by myself.
But, no, that wasn’t entirely right either. Sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, a familiar figure was studying me quizzically. I couldn’t entirely place how I knew her, but I knew that the blonde girl was definitely familiar. Still, the fact that she said nothing unnerved me, and I shifted uncomfortably in my bed.
It wasn’t my smartest decision. Pain ripped through my abdomen at the small movement, and I couldn’t refrain from crying out in agony, my hands flying to clutch at my wound. Within seconds, the blonde was at my side, softly whispering reassurances in French, gently drawing my hands back to my sides. That’s when I recognized her.
“Megan,” I stated simply, a vivid flashback of that day at Commonplace Coffee ringing through my head. Kris’s cousin was here, but Kris wasn’t. My mind screamed in protest at this simple fact. Where was he?
Megan didn’t respond, lightly pressing her own hands against my bandages to ensure the knife wound hadn’t broken open once again. Satisfied that I wasn’t dying, she glanced up at me with a tired smile. “Hi Audrey. Good to have you with us again,” she said quietly, leaning against the edge of my bed. I noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and wondered briefly how long she had been here. And more importantly, I wondered again why Kris wasn’t here.
Megan seemed to be reading my mind. “Kris sends his regards,” she sighed before looking away. “He wishes he could be here. He sent me in his place until he can come back.” Her fingers absently trailed once more over the bandage, smoothing it back into place, before she pulled the blanket back over my body.
I shuddered lightly, the warmth more welcome than I had realized. I realized with a jolt that my toes and fingers were like popsicles, and I vowed to ask for another blanket soon. But more pressing matters consumed my thoughts, and I managed to croak out, “Where is he?”
She considered me for a long moment, apparently deciding on what to say. Finally, something within her must have given in, because she let out a long sigh. “He’s in jail,” she said with a small shrug. “He went after Max last night.”
I didn’t remember my knees giving way, causing me to crumple to a heap on the hallway’s floor. But after my initial brief loss of consciousness, I did remember Kris being crouched at my side. One of his hands was holding mine, while the other was pressed tightly against my abdomen. I vaguely remember the panic in his expression as he called out frantically in French to the neighbors I had never even met. One word was repeated over and over: l'hôpital. Even in my muddled state, I easily knew what he meant, and I contemplated calmly about how bad my wound actually was. Then I wondered if anyone here would even understand him. I tried to chuckle, but the action caused my already intense pain to reach a level of sheer agony that I didn’t even believe to be possible. Seconds later, the room began to fade into the blackness once again.
The next thing I could recall was Kris’s hands being torn from mine as I was loaded into an ambulance. I heard an almost inhuman voice screeching at him to stay with me, and I was about to agree with whoever it was when I realized it was myself. The paramedics tried to calm me, but I refused to listen. I couldn’t tear my gaze from Kris’s. I could see a wide range of emotions reflected in his eyes—helplessness, anxiety, fear, and sheer torture. I needed him with me. I didn’t want to be alone. I reached out one arm vainly towards him, and he took a step closer to grab it, but a paramedic stopped him. I couldn’t refrain from shrieking in disdain as unconsciousness once more overtook me.
The next thing I remembered was waking up in the ambulance with Kris by my side. I don’t know if they couldn’t get me to co-operate without him, or if they simply figured it wouldn’t hurt to bring him, but I wasn’t going to stop to question it. Kris gently stroked my cheek and muttered to me softly in French while the doctors worked to staunch my wound. But…I was confused. His hands were bright red. Had he gotten a sunburn? Had he scraped them on the ice?
“No…it’s my blood,” I silently reminded myself. “You’re hurt, remember?”
But the truth was that it was getting harder and harder to remember things. My thoughts felt muddled together, and it took a lot of effort to keep them straight. Frowning a little in concentration, I tried to lift my hand to brush a lock of hair from Kris’s eyes, but was surprised to find my arm uncooperating. Confused, I glanced down to find myself unrestrained. If that was the case…why couldn’t I move?
But everything was hazy, and I could feel the darkness once again creeping up on the edges of my vision. I was so incredibly tired, too. All I wanted to do was shut my eyes and take a nap, and at first, I fought it. But soon, I couldn’t entirely remember why going to sleep was such a bad idea. In fact, maybe sleep was the best decision of all. When you’re asleep, you don’t feel pain…maybe if I slept, I wouldn’t have to deal with whatever had happened.
My eyes fluttered shut, and with a sigh of relief, I fell into a fitful slumber.
I wasn’t sure how long I had been sleeping. All I knew was that my dreams weren’t reassuring, and I think I might have woken up screaming a time or two before instantly falling asleep again. I dreamed of Max, that wicked smile gracing his lips, before he plunged his knife into me over and over. I dreamed that he went after Kris, then Violet, then Amanda, stabbing each of them in turn. I watched them lie on the ground, their sticky, warm blood pooling onto the floor, the dark red contrasting starkly with the white tiling. I watched their eyes glaze over in what was certainly death, their faces paling and contorting beyond recognition.
Then the dream shattered and I was at the stable I ride at. As I walked down the narrow hallway, I was struck by how silent it was. I couldn’t smell the hay, manure, and leather that I’d grown to love. I couldn’t hear the sleepy whickers of the horses as they greeted me. Everything was silent and dark, and I slowly made my way to Buck’s stall in confusion.
My favorite horse was lying on the ground, his head severed from his neck. Even though he would ordinarily be dead, the two parts of his twisted neck turned, and his panicked eyes met mine. You did this to me, his eyes screamed. I am dead because of you.
I took a step back, gagging in sheer horror at the sight before me. My emotions were a turmoil of guilt, pain, and shock, and I knew instantly that I had to get out of there immediately. My foot, however, got trapped in a bridle that I didn’t know what there, and I felt myself falling to the concrete ground beneath. But the odd thing was that I never hit; I just kept falling and falling and falling with absolutely nobody there to catch me.
Suddenly, there was ground underneath my feet, and I found myself at Consol. For some reason, I was on the ice, which made absolutely no sense. I had never been great at skating, and I was even less skilled at stopping. The irony of dating an NHL hockey player didn’t escape me.
But in my subconscious, I was able to skate, and I found myself lazily making serpentines around the ice. That’s when I saw Kris sitting in the stands to my right. I couldn’t contain the smile from overtaking my face as I sped over to him, stopping right in front of the glass and waving like a fool.
Kris’s expression didn’t change. He just stared blankly at me, not even a flicker of recognition registering in his eyes. Unnerved, I turned around to skate to the penalty bench when I saw Max. He was skating towards me, stark naked, a knife in his hand. In sheer panic, I turned around, slamming my hands into the glass to beg for Kris’s help, but he didn’t even flinch. Giving up, I turned to skate away, but found myself unable to move.
Max caught me within seconds.
The strange thing about nightmares is that you never know they’re imaginary while you’re having them. Even in those dreams where reality is twisted beyond recognition, it’s impossible to take a step back and question what is actually happening. So the only thing to do is endure the horrors that your subconscious brings and pray desperately that the morning will eventually come.
When I finally woke up, truly woke up, I didn’t entirely know where I was. The slow, rhythmic beeping that implied I was on a heart monitor was my first indication that I was in a hospital. As I slowly opened my eyes, the white, sterile bed, walls, and floor confirmed it. At first, it was nearly impossible to determine what had actually happened and what had happened in my dreams. But memories slowly came back to me, one after another, and I began to reconstruct my reality.
What confused me the most was why Kris wasn’t with me. I could now distinctly remember clinging frantically to his hand en route to the hospital, begging him to not leave me alone. He had leaned close to my ear, his lips gently brushing my cheek, and whispered that he wouldn’t dream of it. I had believed him, and it had calmed me down. But as I glanced around the room, I realized that I was entirely by myself.
But, no, that wasn’t entirely right either. Sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, a familiar figure was studying me quizzically. I couldn’t entirely place how I knew her, but I knew that the blonde girl was definitely familiar. Still, the fact that she said nothing unnerved me, and I shifted uncomfortably in my bed.
It wasn’t my smartest decision. Pain ripped through my abdomen at the small movement, and I couldn’t refrain from crying out in agony, my hands flying to clutch at my wound. Within seconds, the blonde was at my side, softly whispering reassurances in French, gently drawing my hands back to my sides. That’s when I recognized her.
“Megan,” I stated simply, a vivid flashback of that day at Commonplace Coffee ringing through my head. Kris’s cousin was here, but Kris wasn’t. My mind screamed in protest at this simple fact. Where was he?
Megan didn’t respond, lightly pressing her own hands against my bandages to ensure the knife wound hadn’t broken open once again. Satisfied that I wasn’t dying, she glanced up at me with a tired smile. “Hi Audrey. Good to have you with us again,” she said quietly, leaning against the edge of my bed. I noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and wondered briefly how long she had been here. And more importantly, I wondered again why Kris wasn’t here.
Megan seemed to be reading my mind. “Kris sends his regards,” she sighed before looking away. “He wishes he could be here. He sent me in his place until he can come back.” Her fingers absently trailed once more over the bandage, smoothing it back into place, before she pulled the blanket back over my body.
I shuddered lightly, the warmth more welcome than I had realized. I realized with a jolt that my toes and fingers were like popsicles, and I vowed to ask for another blanket soon. But more pressing matters consumed my thoughts, and I managed to croak out, “Where is he?”
She considered me for a long moment, apparently deciding on what to say. Finally, something within her must have given in, because she let out a long sigh. “He’s in jail,” she said with a small shrug. “He went after Max last night.”