Miss No One, Mark Ayre [romantic love story reading .TXT] 📗

was centred, back to the wall. It was a single, mounted on hydraulics. It looked less comfortable than the hallway floor where Abbie had slept a few hours ago, not that the bed's occupant would notice.

There was a heart-monitor beside the bed. The beat was steady, not too fast, not too slow. Next to the machine was an IV line and a couple of bits Abbie didn't recognise. There was a tube in Bobby's throat. Abbie didn't know much about smoke inhalation other than that it was the primary cause of death when it came to house fires. The doctor had said Bobby was on oxygen. The smoke had damaged his throat and lungs. The machine was breathing for him because Bobby wasn't up to the job for the time being.

There was a chair beside the bed. Abbie had closed the door upon entering but glanced back anyway. She could hear people moving outside, but she claimed the seat and scraped closer to the bed when no one entered.

Bobby looked peaceful. Other than the tube, looking above the neck, he might have been sleeping. His eyes were closed, and there were no burns. His hair looked messy, but so had it when Abbie left him in the middle of the night yesterday. Below the neck, a sheet and gown covered Bobby, but the doctor had told Abbie there was no severe external damage. If Bobby's insides recovered, there was no reason anyone would know he'd been in a fire. There might be a little scarring, but nothing more.

Leaning in, Abbie clasped one of Bobby's hands.

"What happened?" she whispered, although she knew he couldn't hear or answer. When he woke (she refused to use the word if), he would explain how the fire had started. It was probably an accident. Could it have been arson?

Abbie closed her eyes. Now was not the time to consider that, but it was impossible not to be dragged to the previous summer, her first brush with the Beckers. There had been a house fire then. A residence far larger than Abbie's had burned to the ground. A couple had been dragged out beneath sheets. The fire had reduced their adult bodies to skeletons and reduced the skeletons to the size of children.

But the Beckers hadn't been responsible for that fire, and there was no reason to believe they'd been responsible for this one. Orion didn't know who Abbie was, and even if he had, what was there to gain by burning down her house?

No. It wasn't the Beckers, so it wasn't relevant to Isabella. That meant Abbie had to disregard the cause for now. Had to push it away.

She also had to go.

"You're going to be okay," she said to Bobby. "I promise you will, and when you wake, I'll make this up to you. I lo... I can't wait to see you again."

Rising, she leaned over the unconscious Bobby. She placed a kiss on his forehead, and when she pulled away, she noticed something.

On the other side of the bed was a side table. On top of the table was a plastic bag.

Abbie's breath caught. Moving slowly away from Bobby, she made her way around the bed. Reaching the other side, she stretched for the bag with a trembling hand. From within, she pulled a bundle—something wrapped in soft fabric.

"The fire started in the dead of night."

Abbie jumped. Despite how worried she'd been about someone catching her, she hadn't heard the door open, nor the doctor walk in. Now she turned towards a woman with short grey hair and a long white coat. Doctor Taylor.

"The smoke alarm must have woken Bobby, and he was able to get outside. As you know, he suffered smoke damage but was lucky to avoid burns for the most part."

Doctor Taylor looked at the bundle in Abbie's hands.

"The advise when there's a fire in your home is to get out immediately, without stopping to take anything, but of course, people are seldom able to follow that advise. Rarely do we hear of someone escaping a house fire without at least one item of sentimental value."

Abbie unwrapped the soft fabric, which was a pillowcase, and slipped her hand inside.

"Escaping the house, Bobby collapsed on the lawn," said Taylor. "That was all he'd taken, and we weren't able to remove it from his grasp until he passed out. It must mean a great deal to him."

"Not him," said Abbie, removing her sister's battered copy of The Stand from the bag and holding it on her palm like a waiter's tray.

"Then it means a great deal to someone who means a great deal to Bobby," said the doctor. "You're Abbie King, I take it? The homeowner? We spoke on the phone.”

Abbie didn't know if Taylor had spoken to the police. If she had, had they warned her they were seeking Abbie in connection to an attempted murder? If they'd gone that far, had they also shown the doctor a picture of Abbie, in case this fugitive should show? All possible, but Abbie decided it was worth the risk.

"Abbie can't make it yet," she said, forcing herself to take her eyes from The Stand. "She sent me to check on Bobby. Has there been any updates since you phoned?"

Taylor seemed to consider Abbie, unsure whether to believe the story. At last, she answered, but Abbie wasn't convinced this meant she'd bought Abbie's lie.

"No. We're still positive Bobby will make a full recovery, but it's early days. Rest assured, he’s receiving the best treatment. We’re doing everything we can to ensure Bobby will be okay." She pursed her lips and examined Abbie. "Will you stick around? You may not be Abbie, but I believe the police will still want to speak with you."

"Of course," said Abbie. "I'm not going anywhere."

Taylor examined Abbie for a few more seconds, then departed. She left Abbie with an uneasy feeling. A feeling that the doctor was heading to the nearest phone to call the police. To tell them someone was visiting the man