Page 8 of Every Single Broken Piece
“Kelcie,” Dad groans, “run!”
The urgency in his tone has me shooting to my feet and running past the dining room and formal sitting room to get to the front door. Before I can reach for the doorknob, a gunshot rings through the open-plan living space, and pain slams into my back.
Shock ravages me once again, my entire torso consumed by severe pain. Somehow, I’m able to get the front door open, and I stagger out onto the porch.
Blue and red lights flash over me as my legs give way, and I sink down to my knees.
“Kelcie!” I hear Sheriff Williams shout. “Jesus.”
I slump to my side, and my vision goes in and out of focus. Here and there, I make out the sounds of the sheriff’s department moving into the house.
I hear two gunshots and a lot of shouting.
Slowly, everything fades away, and the last thing I see are the peonies Mom planted a week ago. Even though they always die, she keeps buying a bunch every year in the hopes that she can get them to grow.
“Hang in there.” I hear a woman’s voice beside me.
“Kelcie!”
Is that Colby?
“Keep everyone back,” Sheriff Wilson orders, his tone grim, then he asks someone, “How’s she doing?”
“We have to get her to the hospital,” the woman beside me replies.
Their voices are swallowed by a thick darkness, and I’m bombarded with flashes of Mom, Dad, and Sage being attacked.
The blood. The devastation. The brutality.
I fight to open my eyes, but all I see are blurring bright lights.
Then everything fades to black.
A few days later . . .
Sluggish and disoriented, it takes a few seconds before my sight focuses on a machine, and I watch as my heartbeat and vitals reflect on the screen.
“Kelcie.” I hear Jordan’s voice, then I feel his hand as he grips mine tightly.
I become aware of a dull pain in my back and midsection, and I feel too hot. My mind is a jumbled mess, and I struggle to focus on a single thought.
A cool hand settles against my cheek, and only then do I see my brother as he leans over me. His eyes are rimmed red, and he looks haggard. His skin is grayish, and his hair’s a mess.
“Jordan?” I whisper, my voice hoarse as if I haven’t used it for a while.
A trembling smile forms on his face, and a tear escapes. “Hi.” He clears his throat, then asks, “How are you feeling?”
“Sore.” My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and I taste something bitter.Antiseptic fluid?My mouth feels impossibly dry, and I add, “Thirsty.”
Jordan lets go of my hand, and I watch as he picks up a glass from the cabinet beside the bed. When he brings it to my mouth, I’m able to lift my head and take a few sips before dropping back against the pillows.
As the water hits my stomach, I begin to feel queasy, and a second later, I’m hit with one horrible memory after another.
“Mom! Dad!” My eyes fly to Jordan’s. “Sage?”
He sits down on the side of the bed and leans over me while gripping my hand in one of his. “Sheriff Williams told me three men broke into the house.”
My lips part, but no sound comes out as the flashes of the nightmarish memories begin to torture me.
