Chapter 12

She was floating in a dark abyss, circling in dizzying rotations. Stars blazed, piercing the darkness, and she reached for their fiery beauty, but grasped only emptiness. The pinpoints of light vanished, but still she spun, revolving in the endless void.

“Candace? Can you hear me? Wake up.”

She struggled to open her eyes, but her lids were weighted with stones. An incessant high-pitched beeping drilled like knives into her brain. A strong chemical smell stung her nostrils.

“Candace, come on, it’s time to wake up.”

Wake up? She wasn’t sleeping. She was…the thought faded, and once again she was floating, weightless, rising into the air, drifting through space.

And then she wasn’t.

Her eyelids popped open. She blinked under the burn of piercing light. The room spun, her stomach roiled, and she tasted bile.

“Candace, can you hear me?” A man leaned over her, his warm breath caressing her face.

“Wha…?” The word stuck in her throat, her tongue thick and furred.

“You’re in the hospital, but you’re going to be fine. You’re safe.”

Hospital? What was she doing in a hospital? Had she been in an accident? Was she injured? She couldn’t think past the fierce pounding in her head. A kaleidoscopic blur of terrifying images filled her vision—disabling terror, cruel, hurting hands, fighting for her life, a sharp sting on her neck, the metallic smell of blood, a pinprick of pain, loud voices, and then falling, more pain, darkness—

“Candace, stay with me. You’re safe. Do you hear me? You’re safe.”

A familiar voice broke through her panic, and she blinked away the gossamer threads of fear.

Aiden hovered over her. His handsome face was pale, his green eyes filled with concern.

She swallowed, her mouth desert dry, her tongue thick.

“That’s it. Breathe, slow and easy. The drug is still in your system, and it’s affecting you. That’s why you feel a bit strange.”

Drug? She fought the beckoning darkness and blinked to clear her blurred vision. The only drugs she used were her prescription antianxiety pills and the occasional over-the-counter analgesic. “I was drugged?” The words slipped from between her cracked lips, her voice a rough croak.

“Here.” He held a plastic glass with a bendable straw near her mouth. “Drink this.”

Lifting her head an inch or two from the pillow, she sipped, drawing cool water into her parched mouth. The moisture soothed her raw throat. “What—” She licked her lips. “—why are you here?”

His forehead furrowed. “You don’t remember what happened?”

“I worked late. It’s always busy at the end of term, but this year, I’m way behind.” The pounding in her head am ped up on the Richter scale. She couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. The blinding lights, the incessant, piercing beeping, brain fog. Her chest heaved as she struggled to draw in breath. Her body ached, and a bone-deep exhaustion dragged at her, pulling her down into the depths. “What…happened…to…me?”

“You were attacked.” Anger sparked in his light eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Attacked?” Why couldn’t she remember? “Who—” She swallowed. “—who attacked me?”

“We don’t know. The perp ran away, but we’ll find the bastard.” He bristled, his face tight, his eyes fierce. “You can count on that.”

An image of cruel hands grabbing her, fingers digging deep into her flesh flashed before her. She touched her neck and winced. The raised edges of a bandage, a sharp ache beneath. “Am I hurt?”

A thundercloud darkened his face. “You were injected with a strong dose of ketamine. The doctor says you’ll be fine once the drug clears your system. You also have a slight concussion and a cut on your neck.”

Her mind whirled, but she latched onto one word. “Ketamine?”

He nodded. “It’s a club drug. Sometimes called Special K or Vitamin K.”

“I’ve heard of it. Last year…one of my students was given some, and then…she was raped.” Her heart slammed in her chest. “Wait! Was I—” She licked her lips as she struggled to force out the terrifying words. “—was I raped?”

“No. You weren’t.” He sat on the edge of her narrow bed, his warm thigh brushing her leg. “Three frat boys scared off the attacker. You were lucky.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and smoothed her fingers over the dressing on her neck, trying to remember. Nothing, just a haunting black emptiness and the certainty there was something she was forgetting, something important. “A female student was attacked on campus a few weeks ago…one of my students. It was terrible.

“The university’s supposed to be beefing up security, but they haven’t received the funding yet.” The room wavered, the walls looming closer and then receding. Her head pounded with an unbearable ferocity.

The door burst open, and a tall, blonde woman in a multi-colored, floral top and matching scrub pants strode in followed by an older, dark-haired woman wearing a white lab coat.

The woman in the white coat spoke, “Glad to see you’re awake, Candace. I’m Dr. Young. You had us pretty worried.”

The crushing weight of exhaustion cascaded over her, and Candace closed her eyes. Refusing to give in to the drug, she dug deep, and using superhuman strength, she forced her eyelids open to narrow slits, unable to form words, her lips numb.

The doctor patted Candace’s arm. “It’s okay. Don’t try and talk. I know you’re tired.” She placed her warm fingers on Candace’s wrist and checked her pulse. “Your heart rate is better. That’s good.” She looked at the beeping machine. “Your blood pressure is down too.” She turned to Aiden. “Has she said anything?”

“She’s a bit confused. She doesn’t remember the attack.”

Candace fought the pull of blackness, struggling to keep awake, but her body sank deeper into the mattress, her arms leaden weights, her legs boneless. The darkness beckoned, and she fell into the void.

****

The second the doctor gave the okay, Candace dressed in her wrinkled-and-bloodstained clothes, called a ride share, and headed home. She hated hospitals—the chemical smells, the constant noise, the hard, uncomfortable bed, the bland food, the too-cheerful nurses—everything. They reminded her of the nightmare in the years after Charlene went missing and her parents’ health failed. She couldn’t count the number of hours she’d spent in the Intensive Care Unit, watching first her mother succumb to the cancer that was eating away at her, and then her father dying of a broken heart. Leaving Candace an orphan at nineteen.

Besides, she didn’t have time to lie around in a hospital bed being poked and prodded by a seemingly endless stream of nurses and doctors. She had exams to grade. Second-term marks were due at the end of the week. She’d never been late turning in her marks, and this wasn’t going to be the first time. If she allowed the trauma of the violent assault to change her routine, the attacker won. She wasn’t about to let that happen. He’d already taken so much from her.

Maybe it was because she was still reeling from the vicious attack, or the examine was lingering in her system, or maybe the fact every inch of her body ached, or she hadn’t slept in who knew how long, but every time she closed her eyes, a confusing blur of images of the terrifying assault flashed before her. Add in the onslaught of the decades-old guilt that washed over her, and she was a mess.

It should have been me.

The familiar refrain stabbed deep into her soul. Charlene was the good daughter, the responsible one. She made her bed every day, she never left wet towels heaped on the bathroom floor after her shower, never talked back to their parents, and was top of her class in academics, and a star athlete. Not like Candace, who left a mess wherever she’d been, argued with their parents over the house rules, and struggled with math.

Yes, it should have been me.

The condemning, yet all-too-familiar, words blazed through her brain as if lit by a neon light. She should've been the Cooper sister who was kidnapped. She should be missing and presumed dead.

Not Charlene.

Her.

A sob hitched in her throat, and she collapsed onto the couch and pressed her damp face into the soft cushions, giving in to the bottomless sea of swamping guilt.

The cushion was wet and her throat raw when she sat up and swiped tangled damp strands of hair off her face. Beating up on herself wouldn’t bring back Charlene. Crying wouldn’t change what happened. Nothing would. Her therapist had told her countless times she had to leave the past in the past and move on with her life. Like she hadn’t been trying to do that for the past twenty-two years.

She sniffled and grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and blew her nose. Was that why the man attacked her last night? A chill rippled through her. Was he somehow connected to Charlene’s abduction? A low moan escaped her mouth, and she collapsed once more on the cushions.

No!

The denial blazed through her. That wasn’t possible. No way. The man who attacked her and injected her with examine was the same person who’d assaulted Lori Ann Carson last month. He was lurking around the campus, looking for another victim. Candace had given him an easy target…walking alone late at night to her car parked in a secluded and poorly lighted parking lot. That’s why he’d chosen her. That was the only reason. To think otherwise was a possibility more frightening than the assault itself.

The doorbell pealed.

She jumped, and some of the papers she’d been planning to grade slipped off the couch onto the floor.

Aiden.

She’d forgotten he’d called and told her he was coming over. The thought of the handsome detective, with his tall, muscular body and comforting presence soothed her distress. She grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped her face. Balling up the damp mass, she shoved it under a couch cushion out of sight. Standing on shaky legs, she slipped her bare feet into her fuzzy slippers and shuffled to the door.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror, she frowned. When he’d phoned two hours ago and said he wanted to stop by and ask her a few questions, she’d agreed. She hadn’t wanted to be alone in her empty house, startling at every sound, terrified the man who’d attacked her had found out where she lived and would strike again.

She had it all planned. She’d work on correcting the term finals for an hour and then jump into the shower and dress in her nicest jeans and that pretty blue sweater she’d bought last week. She grimaced. So much for her plan. Now, instead of looking her best, she was wearing baggy pajama pants and an old, ratty T-shirt with stains of an undetermined origin spotting the front. Her hair was a mess. She hadn’t combed it in who knew how long, and the dark tangled strands fell about her blotchy, tearstained face. Add in a swollen bottom lip and the bandage wrapped around her neck, and she was a real piece of work.

Way to make an impression.

The doorbell pealed again.

Smoothing her hair as best she could, she straightened her top, and undid the security locks. She opened the door to a blast of cold air, gasped, and stumbled back a step.