Unbroken Page 6

  And then, as she plunged into the darkness, the last thing she heard was a voice whispering to her. It, too, faded away before she could make sense of what it had said.

  5

  Am I dead?

  That was Kiera’s first thought as she regained consciousness. She had no idea where she was, but she didn’t dare to move. Keeping her eyes closed, she stared into a well of impenetrable darkness.

  Finally, when she tried to open her eyes, it was a long time before she realized where she was. She recognized the deck floor and the side of the house, but the angle was strange. The left side of her face was mashed flat against the deck, the rough wood sticking to her skin.

  She took a tiny breath, amazed to feel her chest expand as clean, fresh air filled her lungs. She felt dizzy and closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again.

  Finally, she realized she was lying facedown on the deck, her head cocked to one side, her arms and legs splayed. The sun was higher in the sky. Its warmth beat down on her back. She felt compelled to roll over and sit up, but she didn’t have the strength. Every muscle in her body felt as limp as old rope.

  What the hell happened to me? she wondered, but her memory was a complete blank.

  The last thing she remembered was walking out onto the deck to eat breakfast. That seemed like a long time ago and, judging by the angle of the sun, it had been.

  Did I fall down and bang my head?

  She raised her hand and touched her forehead, but she didn’t feel any bumps or dried blood.

  So what the hell . . . ?

  She had to get up off the deck. She didn’t have anything planned for the day, but her mind was so fogged she might be forgetting something important.

  Something’s seriously wrong with me . . .

  She knew that much. No one wakes up facedown on the deck without something being seriously wrong, but her memory was a blank. Groaning from the effort, she shifted around and somehow managed to get onto her hands and knees, but that was all. It would take too much to stand up, and she couldn’t stay like this for long. Every ounce of strength had drained from her, and a cold, hollow sourness filled her stomach.

  She knew she should ease herself back down onto the deck and gather her strength, but—somehow—she found the reserves to stagger to her feet. The effort was almost too much. At first, she just stood there, her feet planted wide, her head spinning as she took a few slow, even breaths. The morning air was thick with humidity. She glanced at the picnic table and saw her plate with a piece of toast on it, but that was all.

  Where’s my coffee? she wondered.

  In spite of the pain, she rotated her wrist and looked at her watch, surprised to see that it was a little after eight o’clock. It felt so much later. She had a vague memory that something weird had happened, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

  Even though it hurt like hell to move, she managed to get to the screen door and slide it open. When she stepped into the kitchen, she was surprised how cool it was inside the house. The sound of blood rushing in her ears made an audible whooshing sound she found distracting. Her vision—especially at the edges—kept clouding over and shifting out of focus.

  Taking short, jerky steps that made her feel like an old woman, Kiera walked over to the wall phone and picked up the receiver as if she had the clear purpose of making a call. Shaking her head to clear it, she watched with dispassionate detachment as she pressed the number on the speed dial marked with a red cross. Only when the phone started beeping as it dialed the numbers did she realize what she was doing.

  “Good morning,” said a voice that was entirely too chipper this early in the morning. “Dr. Schwartz’s office. This is Cheryl.”

  “Yes. Hi, Cheryl,” Kiera said, amazed that she could speak at all. He throat was parched. “I need to see Dr. Schwartz today.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Afterimage

  1

  “I’m not sure I could ever do this, even when I was young.”

  Kiera looked down at her feet and then back at Dr. Schwartz, who was standing off to one side. He had her medical chart in one hand and his arms folded across his chest. The rounded bulge of his paunch stuck out beneath his arms. A smile twitched the corners of his mouth.

  “Give it a try,” he said. “I’m not asking for an Olympic-level performance here.”

  Kiera nodded and placed the heel of her right foot in front of the toes of her left. She extended her arms to keep her balance as her weight shifted forward. With a little adjustment, she caught her balance and, leaning forward, brought her left foot around so the heel was in front of the right foot.

  “How far do I have to go?” she asked, not daring to look up, afraid to break her concentration.

  “Not far. Just down the street to the Dunkin’ Donuts. I’d like an iced mocha latte and two glazed donuts.”

  “This isn’t as easy as you’d think,” Kiera said, shooting him a mock-angry glance. She tried not to laugh at his wisecrack, but she and Dr. Schwartz had the kind of doctor-patient relationship where they could joke back and forth with each other. Usually, this put Kiera at ease, but today she wasn’t nearly as relaxed as she normally was—not after what had happened on the deck this morning.

  “You’re doing just fine,” Dr. Schwartz said. “A few more steps, and you’re done.”

  Kiera had to wave her arms a little to keep her balance. She wondered how well she would have done on this test if she hadn’t been so worried about what was happening to her. Once she got the hang of it, she kept walking heel to toe, heel to toe until she reached the wall.

  “Can I stop now?”

  “Sure,” Dr. Schwartz said. “Now, without repositioning your feet, I want you to jump into the air, turn around one hundred and eighty degrees, and then walk back to the exam table on tiptoes.”

  For a second, she thought he was serious. Kiera gave him a concerned look over her shoulder and then broke into a smile.

  “You’re a regular laugh riot, you know that?”

  “I missed my calling as a stand-up comedian.”

  Kiera walked back to the examination table and sat down. For the last thirty minutes or so, Dr. Schwartz had been putting her through the paces, asking her all sorts of questions and checking her visual and hearing acuity, reflexes, and sense of smell. She was still feeling a little light-headed.

  “You did just fine,” Dr. Schwartz said. “Your sense of smell seems a bit diminished, but that’s normal with age. You’re—” He glanced at her chart. “Forty-six?”

  Kiera nodded and said, “Stop reminding me.”

  Dr. Schwartz paused for a moment and looked at her like he had something he didn’t really want to say. Finally, he cleared his throat and added, “But to be honest, I don’t like the visual problems you’ve been experiencing.”

  “Believe me, they’re terrifying.”

  Just thinking about what she’d gone through the last few days made her fearful that the streak of light was going to return. It seemed always to be hovering just out of sight, waiting to strike without warning. She cringed, poised and waiting to see it now.

  “Seeing flashing lights or that ‘lightning streak,’ as you called it, is a classic precursor to a migraine. You say the headaches usually follow within fifteen minutes to half an hour?”

  “Yeah. I think so.” Kiera bit her lower lip. “This all started happening just over the last few days, so I’m not really sure I can see a pattern yet.” She chuckled. “I’m not sure I want to.”

  “But you absolutely have had no symptoms like this before? No headaches that didn’t go away? Dizziness? Vertigo?”

  “Not really.” Kiera shook her head.

  “You ever suffer any head injuries? Bang your head?”

  “Nothing I can remember other than the tennis ball whacking me on the side of the head yesterday. But that was after the migraines started.”

  Dr. Schwartz frowned as he opened her medical records and scanned them briefly.


  “How about when you were younger? Any instances of head trauma or injury?”

  Kiera swallowed hard before he finished the question, and she wondered if Dr. Schwartz caught her reaction. The blood rushed from her face as a chill spider-walked up her spine.

  Should I tell him about it?

  “Ever fall out of a tree or off a bicycle when you were a kid?”

  She regarded him with a blank stare and was struck by something odd. As he spoke, Dr. Schwartz’s lips seemed to move out of synch with his voice. It was like watching a poorly dubbed foreign movie. The feathery rushing sound in her head suddenly got louder until she could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck and wrists. It was so loud it almost blocked out what Dr. Schwartz was saying. She rubbed her hands together, feeling the slick, oily sheen of sweat.

  “No, I . . . Not that I recall.” She scrunched her eyes as though trying to remember, but she was certain Dr. Schwartz detected the lie in her voice. He could see it in her eyes.

  “Tell me, what does the expression ‘a stitch in time saves nine’ mean?”

  Kiera cocked her head back and looked at him, confused for a moment by this sudden shift in conversation.

  “What?”

  “What does that expression mean?”

  “‘A stitch in time saves nine’ . . . It means if you . . . if you take care of something before it’s a big problem, it won’t become a bigger problem and need more work and attention to fix.”

  “Good . . . good. And who is president?”

  “Of the U.S.? . . . Dick Cheney.”

  It was Dr. Schwartz’s turn to be taken aback for a moment, but then he smiled and said, “I didn’t vote for him, either. How about your appetite? Have you been eating normally?”

  In answer, Kiera cupped the small bulge of her belly and shook it. “A little too normally, I’m afraid.”

  “And your bowels have been normal?”

  Kiera nodded.

  “How about sleep? Are you sleeping through the night?”

  “Up until last night, yes. I mean . . . you know, the usual things bother me when I’m trying to get to sleep.”

  “‘Usual things’? . . . Like what?”

  Dr. Schwartz was leaning against the desk next to the examination table with his legs crossed. Kiera wondered why the examination had changed from physical to mental. She took a deep breath and dropped her shoulders, trying to relax.

  “Bills . . . money . . . and—you know, problems with Trista and—”

  “And?”

  Kiera shrugged. She and Dr. Schwartz had no secrets, but it was still difficult to admit.

  “And with Nate.”

  “You mean you still think he might be fooling around?”

  Kiera shrugged and shook her head, feeling really uncomfortable.

  “How about with Trista? Problem problems, or just the typical teenage stuff?”

  “What’s ‘typical’ about teenagers?”

  “Good point.”

  “I just don’t like the guy she’s seeing.”

  Kiera looked at Dr. Schwartz and told herself to relax. He was more than a doctor. He was a friend. She could—and had—told him just about everything.

  Everything except about the night Billy Carroll died, and I hurt my head so bad I thought I had a concussion.

  “She’s been dating an older man, and I’m—Nate and I aren’t so keen on him.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Robbie Townsend,” Kiera said, and she had to look away because of the rush of embarrassment she felt. Dr. Schwartz looked suddenly serious and nodded his understanding.

  “Between you and me? I agree Townsend wouldn’t be my first choice for a son-in-law, but teenagers have to rebel. Deep down, Trista’s a good kid. She’ll get past it.”

  “I just hope it’s before she—you know, does something stupid.”

  “You’ve talked to her about birth control and STDs?”

  “Of course,” Kiera said.

  “Anything else bothering you?”

  Once again, Dr. Schwartz changed the subject so fast Kiera found it disconcerting.

  “No . . . I—It’s just . . . I’m really worried about what’s been going on with me. I . . . Okay, I’ll admit it. I spent a little too much time on the Internet checking out medical symptoms, and I—”

  “And you have immediately jumped to worst-case scenario. You think this is a brain tumor, cancerous, no doubt, or something equally horrible.”

  Embarrassed, Kiera was silent for a moment. Then she nodded.

  “Well,” Dr. Schwartz said, “to tell you the truth, I’m also a little concerned.”

  His words were like a splash of ice water in the face. Kiera had been hoping he would say everything looked perfectly normal, and she would just have to medicate her migraines.

  “In most cases,” Dr. Schwartz continued, “symptoms like you’ve described are all migraine-related with no organic cause. We can treat the headaches with a prescription drug if they get severe.”

  “Believe me. They’re severe.” Kiera unconsciously raised her hand to her forehead and massaged the spot above her left eye.

  “There is some indication something may be pressing against the back of your retina or optic nerve.”

  Oh, no, Kiera thought, finding she suddenly couldn’t take a deep enough breath.

  “I want to make sure you understand,” Dr. Schwartz continued, “this is very inconclusive. I’ll give you a prescription to deal with the migraines if they come back and, to be honest, with menopause coming on, we might want to start thinking about hormone therapy. That might help with the migraines, but—”

  He hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation, Kiera experienced another frigid rush of panic. Her pulse thumped loudly in her ears as a dark wave swept across her vision.

  “And . . . ?” she said, her throat constricting.

  “What I’d like to do is schedule you for a CAT scan.”

  “A CAT scan . . .” she echoed.

  “Just so we can get a clearer picture what—if anything—is going on in that crazy little head of yours.”

  Kiera bristled, thinking he was patronizing her, but all she could say was, “You mean . . . like a tumor?”

  “Please, Kiera. Don’t make any more out of this than is necessary. I think it’s best to err on the side of caution. That’s all.”

  “Yeah, but—” Kiera heard her voice as if it was coming from far away. “So when do you want to do it?”

  “Sooner rather than later.”

  “So this could be really serious?” The blood in her veins seemed to have turned to water, and she was afraid she was going to cry. As far as she was concerned, he had just handed her a death sentence.

  “Are you listening to me?” Dr. Schwartz asked, leaning closer to get her attention. “At this point, my guess is it’s nothing serious. But that’s just a guess. I want to do the CAT scan as a precaution, and I want to do it soon so we can settle your mind about it. Honestly? I’d say there’s a ninety-nine percent chance nothing’s there. But I don’t like leaving anything—even that one percent—to chance.”

  “So when should I schedule it?” Kiera was all too aware of the tremor in her voice. She got off the examination table but had to lean against it for support.

  “See Cheryl on the way out. She’ll call the hospital and schedule it before you leave.”

  Dr. Schwartz walked over to Kiera and smiled as he placed his hand on her shoulder. The touch was supposed to be reassuring, but Kiera shrank away from it.

  “There is . . . well, one more thing I should tell you,” she said in a shaky voice.

  Dr. Schwartz’s left eyebrow shot up, and he looked at her with curious intensity. Before she spoke, Kiera took a deep breath that whistled in her nose. The room seemed to be pitching gently from side to side.

  “When you asked about head injuries . . . When I was in high school, I was in a car accident and banged my head.” Again, she unconsciously raised her hand to
the spot above her left eye and massaged it. “This was before seat belt laws. It hurt pretty badly. I think it might have been a concussion.”

  “Did you see your family doctor about it and get medical treatment?”

  Biting her lower lip, Kiera shook her head. The motion sent a splinter of pain shooting behind her left eye, making her wince.

  “No. It was—” She shrugged and smiled weakly. “My boyfriend and I didn’t want to get into trouble, so we didn’t report it.”

  “Was anyone else injured?”

  No one except Billy . . . who died, Kiera thought, but there was no way she could say that out loud.

  “No. We weren’t going very fast, and Jon O’Keefe—he was my boyfriend at the time—hit the brakes a little too hard. I was thrown forward and smacked my head on the dashboard.”

  She finally realized she was rubbing the spot above her left eyebrow and noticed that, even with that slight pressure, she was wincing. Dr. Schwartz seemed to catch her reaction.

  “Do you have a migraine coming on now?” he asked, his voice low with concern.

  Kiera closed her eyes and stared into the swelling darkness behind her eyelids. Dark red and blue afterimages swirled before her eyes, but—so far, anyway—there was no hint of the white lightning. But in the darkness of her closed eyes, she saw something else . . . something that froze her. It emerged from the swirling colors, blurry and out of focus, but it left her with the clear impression that she was looking at the distorted shape of a person.

  “Kiera?” Dr. Schwartz said.

  His voice echoed, sounding farther away than it should have; but no matter how much Kiera felt compelled to open her eyes and look at him, if only for reassurance, she was enthralled by the hazy silhouette that emerged from the light behind her closed eyes.

  “No, I . . . I’m just . . .” She motioned with her hand for him to be silent. “Give me a second.”

  The vision gradually resolved, seeming to both advance and retreat at the same time. It was an indistinct splotch with a pulsating red and violet glow behind it. Like looking at objects in the dark, it seemed clearest when she focused her attention to one side or the other, like looking out the corner of her eye. Only then did the figure look real, almost three-dimensional as it raised its arms out to her.