Fake Game (The System #3)

Chapter Thrity-Three

THIRTY-THREE

DEER

S omeone is using my brain as a gong, hitting it over and over so the pain reverberates through my entire skull, bouncing off the bone and turning everything inside to mush.

Using all the energy I can muster, I force my eyes to open.

Why is everything blurry?

I frown, trying to make sense of my surroundings. It’s pretty dim. I can gauge what seem like two lamps lighting up the darkness.

When I shift my arm, a heavy weight in my hand stops me. Squinting, I make out Jackson’s palm gripping mine as he hunches over, asleep by my knees. I don’t recognize these bed sheets. I continue tracing a path up my body, clocking an IV poking out of my elbow before catching the light blue gown that covers me.

A hospital?

Why am I at the hospital?

My brain is all foggy. I don’t remember anything to do with the hospital.

Why can’t I remember?

The monitor next to me starts beeping faster.

“Deer? Are you awake?”

“Parker?” I can’t keep the panic out of my voice.

I look toward the voice, but I can’t fucking see anything but blurry shapes. I could see earlier. What happened to my contacts? Oh my Gods. My eyes. They can all see my eyes.

I pull out of Jackson’s hold, gripping my head. My breathing comes faster. I don’t even know who is in this room. I can’t see them. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. It doesn’t feel safe. I’m not safe.

“Deer,” Jackson’s gravelly voice blasts through the ringing in my mind.

But I can’t stop the panic that is causing my lungs to constrict.

His strong hands grip my face, and he brings himself into focus. His black eyes are bloodshot, and for the first time, I can read his emotions clear as day. Worry and relief twine together, rippling over his features. Jackson’s thumbs rub over my cheeks affectionately, the motion centering me.

My hands drop, releasing their grip on my hair, as I automatically reach out for him.

The bed dips with his weight as he settles next to me and pulls me gently into a hug. I might not understand anything that is going on, but I do understand him. I know that Jackson is safety. As long as he is here, it can’t be that bad.

“Shh, I’ve got you.”

My face is wet with tears that don’t make any sense.

“I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.”

I shove my face farther into the crook of his neck, letting his scent drown out the antiseptic smell of the room.

My breathing starts to even out, and I relax into his body.

“I heard the patient is awake?”

I still at the foreign voice.

“It’s fine,” Jackson soothes, pulling away and rubbing my shoulders. “It’s the doctor.”

I look past him and can kind of make out the white coat on the person standing at the foot of the bed.

“I can’t see,” I whisper to him.

He frowns before understanding dawns. “Shit.”

I reach out and squeeze his forearm. “Who else is in the room?”

“Just Parker. Sydney took Aleks and Lee back to the hotel for the night. I’ll get her to bring your contacts when she comes back.”

“What happened?”

Jackson’s lips turn into a thin line. “You should speak with the doctor first.”

My lower lip trembles. “Okay.”

The man asks me a few simple questions, checking that I’m cognitive and that my reactions are fine. When he shines the light in my eyes, I wince a bit because it makes that pounding headache feel so much worse.

“Am I okay?”

“Your symptoms are what we would expect after what you’ve been through. That headache should clear in the next day or so, but you can take pain relievers to deal with the worst of it.”

“And what did I go through?”

He pauses for a beat before answering, “One moment, let me get the officer so she can hear your statement.”

“Officer?”

The nausea returns like a whirlpool in my stomach as the doctor quickly shuffles out of the room. I try not to let the panic resurface, focusing on breathing steady inhales. My hands seek out Jackson’s again, and he cups them together, steadying the sea inside me. The doctor returns with a fuzzy blob next to him, and I’m starting to get seriously frustrated that I can’t fucking see them properly.

“Hi, Deirdre, I’m Detective Layton.”

I stiffen at my name.

How many people know?

“Hi.”

“Can I ask what the last thing you remember before waking up is?”

I squeeze Jackson’s hands, running my fingers over them nervously. “I went back to the green room after the meet and greet, and then Jackson and I went to explore the show floor.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

I frown, trying to remember what happened, but there’s a giant hole. I can see myself leaving the green room, but that’s it. I try to focus. I can see myself holding Jackson’s hand but…

I groan, bringing my fingers up to my eyebrows, and begin massaging them. “That’s it. That’s the last thing I remember—going onto the show floor.”

Why is my brain blanking?

“Really?” Concern laces Jackson’s voice.

“Mr. Lau,” the detective reprimands.

“Sorry.”

“What did you consume today, food- and beverage-wise?”

That’s an easier question. “Rick, my mod—well, PA—set Lee and me up with bagels and coffee for breakfast. I didn’t have lunch because I was too nervous between the competition and the meet and greet.”

“Nothing else to snack on or drink at all?”

“No. No snacks.” I almost had some gummy worms but… “Oh. I had an energy drink after the meet and greet. Although, Parker drank, like, half of it.” I wave a hand in Parker’s general direction; I wasn’t sure where he was sitting.

Somehow, the room gets even more silent. It’s like I can feel it, crawling along my skin.

I said something wrong.

“Where did you get the drink?”

“The meet and greet.” My words are hesitant; I feel like a kid who’s been brought into the principal’s office.

“Did someone hand it to you?”

“One of the volunteers.”

“Did you recognize them at all? Do you remember what they looked like?”

“No, I—I’d never met them before. And kind of? I mean, I saw a lot of people today, so I don’t really remember.”

“Male? Female?”

“Female. White. She had brown hair.” But I can’t picture her face or anything else. “Why? What’s this have to do with everything?”

“Deirdre, it appears you were roofied.”

My stomach bottoms out.

“What? Why?”

“That’s what we will try to find out. From this conversation, we can confirm that it was from the contents of the sports drink, as that is something you and Mr. Covington shared in common.”

“What do you mean? What does Parker have to do with this?”

“Mr. Covington was also roofied.”

My head snaps to Parker, and—Gods fucking dammit—I’m going to cry again because I can’t even make out his face. Is he mad at me? Does he blame me? It’s all my fault. Of course, he would blame me. He drank my drink.

“Parker?” My voice cracks as I desperately search him out.

“I’m fine, Deer. Just feels like I went on the piss.” His voice is gentle in response.

“But—”

“Really, it’s okay.”

“I’m going to be sick. Like, now.”

There’s a bunch of shuffling, and by the time I get to the bathroom, I’m just dry heaving. Makes sense. There’s nothing in my body except the fucking drugs.

“We’ll let you get some rest.” The detective stands awkwardly in the doorframe. “We’re going to continue running down leads and will look into the woman you mentioned, see if she has any connections to you or your recent incidents.” She means the swatting. It always comes back to haunt me. “We will be in contact if anything comes up.”

The doctor and detective leave the room, and I just slump against the toilet. I don’t feel well enough to risk abandoning it yet.

Jackson runs his hand up and down my arm. I’m not sure he knows it, but his constant contact is my lifeline. He’s my lighthouse, keeping me steady throughout the storm, letting me know that I’m safe and that he’s here.

I hear the door creak open and let out a pitiful groan. I don’t want to deal with more people.

“Thank God, you’re awake.”

Unless it’s Sydney.

She crouches down on the bathroom tiles and gives me a hug. I feel bad; it’s definitely not the best position to be in nor the most ideal location.

“Oh.” She blinks at me, and I see the surprise when she takes in my noticeably brown eyes. “I thought it was weird I could only find colored contacts in your toiletry bag. I figured maybe you’d run out of normal ones, so I brought your glasses.”

Ugh. I hate these things. I never wear them unless I am feeling seriously lazy, but I don’t have much of a choice now.

Everything just keeps getting worse.

Sydney holds out my designer black frames, and I reluctantly slide them on. My surroundings come into focus, and I startle when I notice a woman standing behind Sydney and Jackson. She looks familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

“Jesus, Phoebe.” Jackson follows my gaze. “Give us a heart attack, why don’t you?”

Ah. She’s one of Parker’s older sisters.

I saw her…

Last time I was at the hospital…

Wow.

My luck has not been good these last few months.

“This is some déjà vu, shit,” I mumble.

“That’s what I said!” Parker yells.

Phoebe tilts her head, her short blonde hair dusting over her shoulders with the movement. Her crystal blue gaze runs over me like she is analyzing every inch of my body and using it to connect dots on a map I can’t see.

“Let’s talk, Miss Malloy.”