Deadly Awakening, Melissa Willingham [best fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

I awakened suddenly, as if from the deepest dream. The rain poured down, pelting droplets against my frigid skin; saturating my cotton dress. The fabric billowed about like an alabaster sheet. I shivered violently, unable to still the racing heart inside my bosom. There were only dark skies above and creepy woods surrounding the muddy field, where I found myself.

I struggled to my feet, desperate to gain leverage. A slimy wetness covered my hands. I peered down uncertainly to see the red clay streaking them. I felt something trickling down the side of my face. I reached up to swipe it and found that it was blood. The top of my head began to ache. What had happened to me? How had I gotten to this eerie place? I couldn't even remember my name.

As if in answer, the wind howled with ferocity, like a widow mourning her lost husband. The frenzied moans seemed to emanate from everywhere. Thunder unleashed a tantrum as lightning offered a glimpse of daylight. I trudged forward, hurrying to escape the evil I sensed. I knew I had to get away from there.

My life was still in grave danger. Yet my feet wouldn't move quickly enough to suit my intent. An immediate compulsion overtook me and I spun around, urgent to discover what I was leaving behind. A feeling of terror I'd never known befell me, when I saw a shallow grave. It was then that I realized I'd been buried alive. But by whom and why would they target me?

That was precisely what I intended to find out. But first I had to have medical attention. With an intense storm brewing, seeking shelter was of utmost importance. A swift perusal of my environment revealed nothing in the way of a safe, warm dwelling. I trudged along further, willing my aching and tired limbs to operate functionally.

***

After what seemed like hours, I finally found a path leading up through the woods. With little alternatives at my disposal, I decided to follow the trail to see where it led. The distance proved to be about a half mile and to my surprise, it ended on a dirt road.

Tears formed in my eyes at the sight. Maybe I’d be able to get some help from someone. If only a driver would chance to come past at this early hour. Although I wore no watch, I could tell that it was almost dawn by the hue of the sky.

I didn’t know how long I’d been in that cold, wet, muddy grave before waking up. Obviously, I’d been knocked unconscious and the rain had revived me. The person who’d left me there must’ve thought they’d killed me. Well, they hadn’t and whoever they were, they’d pay for what they did to me.

As if in response to my prayers, I heard the sound of an engine approaching. Part of me grew excited at the idea of a Good Samaritan. However, I felt a bit apprehensive that it might be my assailant returning to try and finish me off. It was a risk I had to take, because I couldn’t remain in that dismal place any longer than necessary.

I peered hopefully at the headlights as they appeared. The windshield wipers sloshed back and forth rapidly across the glass. When the car drew closer, I ran out to the road and began to wave my arms frantically, signaling the occupant. A man pulled to a sudden stop and rolled down the window.

“Please, help me!” I cried desperately. “Someone tried to kill me. I’m injured and I need to get to a doctor.”

The driver nodded and rolled the window back up. He climbed out and said, “Goodness, ma’am! You’re bleeding pretty badly. Come on, get in. I’ll take you to the nearest hospital.”

He gently grasped my elbow and led me around his Honda Accord. He then helped me into the passenger side and shut the door. Soon, we were on our way, leaving the spooky wooded field far behind. Noticing my coughing spell and case of the shivers, my rescuer turned the heater up. As I slowly began to unthaw, I felt molded against the seat.

“My name’s Dalton Henley. What’s your name?” my companion asked, glancing over at me.

My lips trembled uncontrollably as another bout of shivers wracked my exhausted body. “I d-don’t r-remember. “I’m n-not even sure h-how I ended up back there.”

I could see a quizzical expression on Dalton’s face, but he didn’t press me further. Gesturing towards the glove compartment, he said, “There’s a box of tissues in there. Why don’t you apply those to your wounds and try to stop the bleeding?”

“Okay, good idea,” I agreed, wondering why I hadn’t thought of that. My brain felt all fuzzy and jumbled up inside. I figured I should probably make small talk. But under the circumstances, I couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to say.

Dalton concentrated on the road as we zipped into the big city of Athens. “You know, I was heading out to my cabin in the woods, when I saw you by the roadside.”

“How far is your cabin from where you picked me up?” I wondered.

“Oh, it’s about two miles, I guess. I actually live in Athens, but I keep a weekend retreat in Blairsville. It makes for a nice getaway from the rat race.”

“That sounds nice. Say, what day is it? I can’t seem to recall.”

“Today is Saturday,” he informed me, wheeling into the hospital parking lot. He turned to look at me. “Listen, lady, I’m really sorry this happened to you and I hope you’ll be okay. I’m just glad I came along when I did.”

“So am I, Dalton. Thank you for your kindness.” I winced as I attempted to open the car door.

“You’re welcome. Here, let me help you out.”

He came around to my side and escorted me from his vehicle. I assumed he’d leave me behind,  at that point, without another glance. However, he insisted on accompanying me inside the building. “I know we don’t know one another. But I want to wait here and make sure you’re going to be okay.”

His concern surprised me. Although I couldn’t remember who I was, I felt I’d once possessed a rather cynical view of the world.

“Thanks,” I managed to mutter.

***

As soon as we entered the ER and the staff took one look at me, they immediately ushered me back to an examining room. One nurse started an IV in my hand, while another hooked me up to an oxygen saturation machine. They hovered about, fussing over me with trained precision and skill.

The bleeding from my head wounds had mostly stopped by then. However, they applied pressure to the area until the crimson oozing ceased. Soon after, the doctor, who introduced himself as Blakely, came in to thoroughly examine me.

He offered me some pain medication and asked me several questions, which I answered to the best of my ability. He then told one of the nurses to alert the police of my attack.

Eventually, I found myself alone in the room. The sheer reality of what had happened to me overcame me and I began to shake. Tears poured forth, sliding down my face. I felt embarrassed, lest anyone walk in to witness my emotional breakdown.

In the back of my mind, I sensed that I’d been a strong-willed person, who held her emotions tightly in check around others. This slight recollection had me wiping at my cheeks, desperate to remove all traces of my sudden outburst.

I waited by myself for what seemed like hours, before the doctor and one of his nurses finally returned. He asked the nurse to gently shave the hair surrounding my injury. By this time, the pain medicine had kicked in, so I barely felt anything, as the doctor tediously stitched up the gashes on the top of my head. I could only imagine how ghastly they looked.

“Dr. Blakely, please tell me what kind of shape I’m in? How serious is the damage?” I asked.

His hands paused in midair for a moment. I heard a sigh escape his lips. I grew nervous, afraid the news would not bode well for me. His hesitancy sounded like a bad omen.

“Well, Miss, you were very lucky,” he said at last. “I’m going to be frank with you. If you hadn’t awoken in that field when you did, you might’ve slowly bled to death. It appears that you were struck twice with a blunt instrument, judging from the wounds. This has resulted in a mild concussion.”

“What does this mean for me, doctor? Will I be okay?”

“You should be fine in a few days. I’ll want to keep you here for a night or so, in the hospital, for observation.”

“And my memory; will it ever return?”

“Yes, I believe it will. You have what is known as traumatic amnesia. So, your memory recovery is based upon severity of injury. I’d say, you should recall everything eventually.”

“Thank you, Dr. Blakely. At least there’s hope,” I responded gratefully.

He exited the room upon finishing up the stitches. Before long, I was moved into a private room, where I could relax. They wanted me to remain awake for several hours, as a precaution. So, I busied myself with the TV, surfing through various channels.

There was a knock on the door and two men walked into the room. They introduced themselves as police detectives. The tall, stocky one, called Nicholson, took a seat beside my bed. He flipped open a notepad, proceeding to pepper me with a series of questions. The short, thin man identified himself as Colby. He just stood by the door, keeping watch.

For the next hour, I described the events pertaining to my assault. The details were limited and sketchy at best. However, I cooperated with him the best I could. I wanted to find out who tried to end my life and why.

Nicholson promised to come back and follow up. He also snapped a photo of me, saying he’d circulate it to see if anyone would come forward. He would make sure the exact details of my ordeal were left out. That way, maybe we’d learn my identity and hopefully catch my assailant. He stationed an officer outside my door, in case the perpetrator showed up to finish what he’d started.  I felt safer; knowing protection was only a yell away.

***

The next afternoon, Nicholson and Colby returned to visit me. We went over all the information I’d previously shared. They wanted to ascertain if my memory had been jogged overnight, but it hadn’t. While we discussed my case, someone knocked and the door opened. An officer announced my visitor, Dalton Henley, looking to me and the detectives for approval.

I was surprised when my rescuer from the previous morning, waltzed into the room. I smiled warmly, motioning for him to stand by my bedside. Nicholson eyed Dalton warily, so I explained. “This is the man I told you about, detective; the one who brought me here yesterday.”

“We’ll need to ask him some questions,” he informed me, matter-of-factly.

I nodded and turned my attention to Dalton, who peered down at me. “It’s so good of you to come back to see me,” I told him.

He reached for my hands and grasped them gently in his own. “I had to know that you’re all right. I was concerned about you.” His hazel eyes held tenderness towards me.

“The doctor said I’ll be fine, in a few days. There was no serious harm done.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” he replied, sounding sincere and grinning in apparent relief.

Before we could continue our chat, Nicholson cleared his throat. “Um, excuse me. But I must speak with Mr. Henley at once,” he insisted.

“Certainly, I’ll be glad to help in any way that I can,” Dalton assured him.

Over the course of half an hour, the two men addressed the