Whispers

Chapter nine

I got up from the floor and reach for the knob. I listen for any noise on the other side, any sign that I am not alone, and hear nothing. I twist the knob carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. 

The light from the hallway blinds me for a second but I recover quickly and look around, trying to figure out where, exactly, I was. To my left is a dead end, but to my right there is a staircase. More than likely it lead to the top floor. I close the door behind me and lock it, and then make my way to the stairs. I start up them slowly, straining my ears for any sort of sound. When I reach the top, I find that the door is locked. 

I curse at myself; Of course it's locked. Alpha Collins would have walked by this door and ensured it was locked before bed. I rattled the knob, frustrated. How am I supposed to get out now? 

I look around me for anything that could help me escape when my eye catches a glimpse of something barely peaking out from under the door. I kneel down and touch it, my heart skipping a beat. 

It feels like a key. I feel my insides jump for joy as I work to maneuver the key out from under the door. I laugh slightly when I finally get it free, and stand to unlock the door. A simple twist of the key and a turn of the knob, and I was out. 

The main floor is dark--a quick glance at the clock shows that it is past 10 PM. If anyone is awake, they're in their rooms. I tiptoe across the threshold and into the main floor, looking around carefully with every step. I sigh; No one is around. I'm safe for now. 

I close the door to the basement behind me and make sure it is locked. Out of spite, I stick the key in my jacket pocket and smile to myself. Carefully, and quietly, I make my way around the room, sticking to the walls. Eventually I will be guided to something I can open--a door or a window--and I will be able to run to my escape. Each step I take is followed by a minute of silence, just to be sure no one hears or senses my presence. 

Finally, I feel a frame. I feel around further and smile to myself--it's the front door. I'm making it out of here. 

I make quick work of unlocking the door and, gently, push it open. The door opens easily, and the cool night air hitting me in the face made me laugh out loud. I step out into the night, lock the door behind me, and shut the door as quietly as I can. 

Once I am down the front porch steps, I make a run for it.

I make a beeline for the woods, my vision still adjusting, and almost run head on into a tree. I catch myself just in time, and bend my, still, sore wrist out of place again. I groan slightly, but push on, not caring if I made any noise. 

I make it to the creek where I fought my dad--or whatever that was--and bent down to breathe. I cup my hands and take large gulps from the creek. I sigh with relief at the thought of my escape. I have no idea where I am going, but I will figure that out along the way. One step at a time. 

I am so caught up in my thoughts that I didn't notice the footsteps coming from behind me at first. By the time I hear them and their presence registers as an outlier, I am knocked off my feet and slammed right into a tree. 

I cough, hard, the taste of something metallic coating my tongue, but manage to pull myself up to my feet. I lean against the tree for support, my body protesting against me, while I look for the source of the blast. 

"Well well well," I wince as I try to move, to get away, to run, but my ankle is more than likely broken. Even if I am able to run, I'm not going to make it far. I, instead, look around for the voice that just spoke. 

My eyes land on a figure with red eyes, standing in front of me, on the other side of the creek, "Isn't it Gillian. Just the little mutt I was looking for," The figure's eyes shine in the pale light of the moon, and in that light I am able to make out who I am up against. 

The figure is obviously male, his voice further confirming that. He is well muscled and average height. As he came closer to me, I could make out other features; His skin is pale, and his head is shaved. His hands are shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, but he is shirtless. 

I go to move again, but my ankle screams at me to stop. I pant as the pain radiates up my leg. I can feel myself about to black out from it when I hear the guy in front of me getting closer. 

"Aw, the little baby is hurt," I look at him, trying my best to not show weakness, but it's impossible. My ankle is really messed up, "You know what we do with injured dogs?" He closes the gap between us and pins me against the tree by my throat. He, easily, lifts me off the ground, my back scraping against the coarse bark of the tree. I begin to struggle and claw against his hold to no avail. 

"Usually," He chuckles, "I would put it down. Out of it's misery," He looked at me sideways as I start to struggle more. I dig my nails into his hands and reach to claw at his face. He avoids my attacks and laughs at my struggles, "too bad I wasn't sent to kill you," He drops me to the ground. 

I land on my bad ankle, and scream. Tears stream down my face as I try to get up, but the man kicks me one good time in the ribs and I'm down.

"This is just sad," He bends down to where I am on the ground, "Master said you put up a fight earlier. I was kind of hoping I would have the same experience," He huffs, disappointed. 

"What do you want from me?" I ask, earning another kick, this time to the stomach. 

"I don't want s**t from you, but apparently you are useful to the Master and His plan. I've been sent to collect you," The guy grabs me by the hair and pulls me up to my knees. I gather enough blood soaked saliva to spit at the guy, which landed right in the center of his face. He lets go of my hair and backs up, yelling curses at me. 

Gingerly, I get back up to my feet, careful to not put much--if any--weight on my bad ankle. The woods around me swim, unable to focus. The only thing I can see clearly is the anger soaked into the red eye gaze of the man in front of me. 

"You're going to regret that," He whispers. 

Before he is able to make another move, something collides with him from the side, bringing him down to the ground. A flurry of movement and curses fills what little I can hear and see. I swallow the bile that has made it's way to my throat, and I am so focused on not passing out that I don't see the man coming at me again. When I do realize it, I plaster myself up against the tree, becoming one with the bark, and close my eyes.

That's when I hear the gunshot. 

My ears are ringing as I collapse to the ground. My other leg, the one not attached to the hurt ankle, is screaming in pain. I lightly touch it, and my entire hand comes back sticky and warm. My stomach launches itself into my throat, bringing with it whatever contents it had out. 

"Shitshitshit," says a hushed voice. I fall forward and I am caught by two arms, "Goddamn it," the person lays me down on the ground as I groan in pain. 

"I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. I thought you were in the same room as always, I didn't realize--," I hear the ripping of my pants and then feel something being tied tightly above the gunshot wound. It takes everything in me not to scream in absolute agony, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. This is going to hurt. I have to get it out," The person whispers. I hear something else being pulled and then feel fingers digging around in the hole of my leg. 

I turn my head, my stomach threatening to make me vomit again, when he finds what he is looking for. With my limited vision, I see them shove their bloody hand into the pocket of their pants. They take the rest of my ripped pants and wraps it around the bleeding hole in my leg. They tie it tightly, so tight that I almost pass out. I come to a second later, a think layer of sweat coating my forehead. 

"Don't die on me," they whisper, putting one arm under my back and the other under my knees. As carefully as they can, I am lifted off the ground and we begin walking further into the woods. 

My vision goes in and out, and every time it goes out I feel the pace of the person carrying me speed up. At one point, coming to after passing out, I hear them talking to someone. 

"Just meet me there!" They yell, their voice gruff. At this point, I assume the person carrying me is a guy, but I don't know for sure. As much as I try to speak, to get something out, all I am able to manage is a groan. I hear a soft sigh of relief coming from the guy--the groan was enough to tell them that I wasn't dead just yet, but that I am dying. 

I can feel it too; every time I pass out my body is numb and warm. I can feel my heart go back and forth between racing and barely beating. When I come to for the small amount of time that I am able, I am reminded of the pain in my ankle and leg. I let out a groan and struggle to breathe, and the pace quickens. 

The next time I wake up, my head is resting on the guys shoulder as someone else plays around with my leg. 

"Bane, I'm going to need you to speed up," Says the guy holding me. My ear is pressed against his chest, his heart racing.

"Jason I''m going as fast as the car will allow me," The driver says, annoyed. 

I swallow and cough, the taste of blood and bile prominent, I try to move my ankle to find that it is splinted, but it still hurt. I groan and lurch forward. 

"Jason--," 

"I'm f*****g trying, Doc," the grip around my shoulders becomes tighter, making me groan more. 

Everything hurts. I open my eyes to look around me and instantly get sick to my stomach. I start panting, trying to control the waves of nausea. 

"I'm going to be sick," I whisper, unsure if anyone heard me. 

"Doc, bag." The person messing with my leg--Doc?--stops and grabs, what sounds like, a plastic bag. Once they hand it off, there is pressure and pain on my leg again. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, when my stomach makes another appearance. Thankfully, the bag is in front of me, and the person holding me--Jason?--makes sure I make it to the bag. 

I lean back into the car door, the feeling of the guys arm against my back is comforting, and press me cheek against his chest. 

"We're here," Said the driver--Bane?--as I feel the car slow down.

From there, I remember being lifted out of the car, with much protest, and taken into somewhere cool. There was a staircase, which we went down, and a left turn before I have to squint from sudden light. I groan, and press my face closer to, I think, Jason's chest. 

"Careful, Jason," Whispered someone behind us. 

"I got it," He says, annoyed. I feel a slight laugh escape my throat, which earns me a chuckle from Jason, "She can't be too bad, she just laughed." 

"She is far from out of the woods," I open my eyes as I am being placed onto a soft surface, the light stinging my eyes. I blink a couple of times and swivel my head around to look around me. 

With my limited vision I am able to see someone sticking a needle into my hand long before I feel it. I flinch slightly, which makes the person look at me. He touches my forehead, "Well hello there," he whispers, his voice soft. 

"Hi," I breathe, "Where am I?" I try to look around, to find the person's heart beat that was now engraved in my memory, but any movement made my body scream in pain, which them made me feel sick. I close my eyes, trying to make sure my stomach contents did not come up again. 

The hand on my forehead moves away, and there is movement in the room. 

"Jason, you need to go shower, I'll take care of her," A voice sighs.

"I'll leave when she's stable," Jason argues. 

"You're covered in blood and mud, and you are no help to her at the moment. Go shower, and then come back," Argues the voice. At the same time I feel a pressure in my hand. Whatever is pushed into the IV relaxes me to the point where I can open my eyes and move my neck, carefully, to the side. 

Standing next to the bed are two guys. Both were dressed the same, in a simple shirt and pants, but one stood out as the person who went by the name Jason. He is tall, tan, short black hair, and a dead set look of worry mixed with anger. He is covered in blood--my blood--and mud, but his voice is calm and steady. 

"I'm not leaving," He says, his voice stern, "So give me something to do." 

The other guy pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily, "Wash your damn hands," He says, his jaw clenched. 

I watch as both guys walk around me, taking samples of blood, checking my leg and ankle, and taking swabs of my mouth. Every once in a while, I caught Jason's attention, the mixture of blue and purple in his eyes calming me. 

"I'm surprised you're not passed out, uhhh," says the doctor, sticking something cold on my chest.

"Gill," I say, closing my eyes. I am feeling sleepy, but I am afraid I won't wake up if I fall asleep. I can't tell if I'm still dying, but I'm so tired that I'm not sure if I care. I take a deep breath and open my eyes half way, fighting sleep. 

"Sleep, Gill. We will make sure nothing happens to you," I felt a cool rag drag softly across my face, taking the dirt with it. I look at the person taking care of me, and see Jason looking down at me with fear and concern, and laugh slightly. 

"You shot me in the leg, why should I believe you?" I chuckle out before closing my eyes all the way, allowing sleep--or death--take me down the rabbit hole of dreams. 

I am in and out of sleep for a while; I'm not even sure how much of that time I spent in the sanctuary of my own mind, but when every time I woke up, someone was sitting beside me. This doesn't alarm me, because the presence reminds me of laying underneath the window back at the pack house. For a second, I can feel the breeze on my cheek and I am able to pretend that I am still there, in that room, under the window. 

And then I wake up in pain, and I come to the harsh reality of being in an unknown place, surrounded by unknown people, with a bullet wound in one leg and the other with a broken ankle. My head pounds and my mouth tastes disgusting. I open my eyes slightly, light coming in from a small window in front of me. I try to sit up, but am forced back down by the unbearable pain in my legs. 

After blinking a couple of times, I see that the door to the room is open. I try to speak, but my throat is so dry; All that comes out is a pained squeak. Frustrated, I felt around for something to throw since I am unable to speak. I look to the side of my head and see some rectangular object, grab it, and throw it against the door, slamming it shut. 

"What the--," The door opens again, and in comes a guy, wearing a t-shirt, jeans and a lab coat, "Oh, Gill. You're awake! Why didn't you just say something?" 

I cough, and touch my throat. The guy, who I assume is a doctor, nods and leave the room for a second before coming back with a bottle of water and a straw. I take huge gulps of the water, thankful for the feeling of water on my throat. I cough again before taking a final gulp of the water bottle, finishing it off. 

"How are you feeling?" I look up at the ceiling and sigh. 

"Like I've been shot and thrown against a tree," I laugh in disbelief. 

"Well that's accurate," He walks around to the other side to grab a stethoscope, and uses it to take my vitals, "On a scale of 1 to 10, where is your pain?"

I groan and rub my face, "I say its a solid 8." He finishes what he is doing, and goes to a cabinet. He pulls out a vial and a syringe. 

"Alright, I'm going to give you something for the pain before looking at your leg and ankle," He pushes the needle into the IV port, and pushes the medicine inside me. It take a second for it to take effect, but when it does I am able to open my eyes fully. 

I watched the doctor go to my ankle, which was still splinted. Surprisingly, it looks almost normal. I guess I was expecting it to be swollen, but it is just mildly swollen. He changes the bandages quickly, with quick and confident movements. He then goes to my exposed thigh, where I was shot, and starts removing the bandages. 

"This might hurt. At the very least it will be uncomfortable," He says as he starts to peel the gauze off of my leg. 

The bandage is bloody, but the wound itself is closed. I sigh with relief, happy to see that my leg just might be okay, when it hits me. 

How long have I been out? 

I look around more, trying to see if can spot anything different than from the time I got here to now, but everything is the same--and I don't think I would be able to spot any difference if there is one anyways. I swallow hard and wince as the doctor pokes at my leg. 

"It's still pretty swollen. Probably won't be able to walk on it for another couple of days. Your ankle is healing really well though. Your wrist was sprained really bad, but that's healed up well. All of your tests came back normal after we got you stabilized," He took at breath and then looked to my face, "Bruising around your neck is gone," He lifts my shirt to look at my sides, "Ribs are healed, and the bruising is gone. I say you're doing pretty good as far as healing goes."

He looks back at my face and smiles, "Any questions?" 

I nod. I have so many questions. 

"Alright then, shoot. I'll answer them as best I can," He puts his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and waits. 

Where do I even start? I take a, slightly painful, breath. 

"How long have I been out?" 

"About a week," He says, looking away from me. I blink at him, taking in the information. 

"About a week?" I felt panic rise in my throat, but I swallow it down. This is not the time to panic. 

"Where am I?" 

"In the infirmary," 

"In whose infirmary?" 

"Mine," I shake my head, frustrated. 

"Duh, I get that." 

"You're safe. I'm not allowed to tell you where you are at this time because they are still trying to figure out what to do." I look back at him, confused. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, the Council and other leaders are still debating whether or not we did the right thing." I look at my leg.

"Well you shot me so--,"

"Jason shot you, but yeah. Basically. The Council and our Alpha have been waiting for you to wake up so they can get your story. They already have Jason's, mine and Bane's," I sigh, trying to figure out what else I can ask and get an answer for. I can't come up with anything. 

"So," The doctor rocks back on his heels, "What happened."

I scoff, "Shouldn't I tell your Alpha that?" He shrugs and adds in a nod.

"Probably," He sighs softly, "I don't want to overwhelm you though. If he comes in here, he's not going to stop until he has all the information he needs." 

How could this get any worse?

"Well," I breathe, "I guess you can go get him." The doctor nods and heads out the door. 

While leaving, he bumps into another person coming into the room, "Damn, sorry Jason. I'll be back," 

I rub my face, feeling gross and tired. I take my hands off my eyes and find a guy staring at me. 

"Gill?" I nod, relaxing at the sound of his voice. His voice is like honey, and is immediately soothing. 

"Yeah, that's me," I breathe, trying to figure out who this guy was. I know his voice, I've heard it before. He walks up to the side of my bed, not breaking eye contact with me. 

"I'm so glad you're okay. How's your leg?" He breaks eye contact for a second to look at my bare leg. 

"Still healing, but the other guy--,"

"Doc," I laugh slightly; So that was Doc.

"Doc," I smile, "said that I would still need more time to heal. My ankle is still sore, but he said it's healing fine," The guy smiles down at me, making my stomach do a tiny flip, "This is going to sound horrible, because I know you, but I can't remember your name?"

He chuckles and leans against the bed, "I'm Jason." He holds his hand out for me to shake, which I take and squeeze softly. 

"Jason," I sigh, "So you're the guy who shot me." 

He laughs and looks away, "I wasn't aiming for you, I was trying to get the person attacking you," 

"What were you doing there anyway?" Before he hand the chance to answer, Doc and another man walk into the room. The other guy is tall, bald, and a hulking man. I thought my dad was muscled, but this guy looks like he could be a body builder. 

I hear Jason swallow and watch as he stands up straight, "Gill, this is Dom. You've met Doc." Jason backs away from the bed, making way for Dom, but he only comes up to the end of the bed. 

"How you feeling, Gill?" I shrug. 

"I'm not dead, so I guess it could be worse," I look meet Dom's gaze and watch as he shakes his head.

"I see what you mean now," He says with a slight laugh,"Regardless, I'm glad you're okay and that you made it here. I want to personally apologize for what happened to you." 

"I mean, I was being attacked and I'm sure Jason didn't mean to shoot me, so," I cross my arms. Dom nods. 

"Well that's why I'm here because I want to get your side of the story. Doc, Jason. Give us some privacy, please?" Dom motions for them to leave, and, before closing the door behind him, Jason gives me a sad smile. 

"Now, tell me what happened,"