Flashes of memory assaulted her. She could hear the high, desperate scream of sirens, see the red lights pulsing and spinning. She was eight years old again, and the dull throb deep inside her ached like a wound. And blood—she could smell it.
Not hers. Or very little of her blood. She'd barely had a scratch. Contusions, they had called them. Minor lacerations. A mild concussion. Nothing life-threatening. Nothing life-altering.
But they had wheeled her parents away, even while she'd screamed for her mother. And they had never come back.
"It's your lucky night," Byron said when he came back to her. "Not much going on. They're going to take a look at you now."
"I can't be here," she murmured. "I can't be in a hospital."
"That's the breaks, kid. This is where the doctors are." He lifted her to her feet, surprised when she went along like an obedient puppy. He passed her off to a nurse, then settled down to wait.
Kate told herself the more she cooperated, the quicker they would let her go. And they had to let her go. She wasn't a child now who had no choice. She stepped into the narrow examining area, shuddering once at the sound of the curtain being drawn closed behind her.
"Let's see what we've got here."
The doctor on duty was young and pretty. A round face, narrow eyes behind wire-framed glasses, dark hair scooped back at the si
de with simple bobby pins;
It had been a man before, Kate remembered. He'd been young, too, but his eyes had been exhausted and old. Mechanically, Kate answered the standard questions. No, she didn't have any allergies, she'd had no surgery, she was taking no medication.
"Why don't you lie back, Ms. Powell? I'm Dr. Hudd. I'm going to check you out. Are you having pain now?"
"No, not really."
The doctor lifted an eyebrow. "No or not really?"
Kate closed her eyes and struggled to steep herself in the here and now. "Some."
"Tell me when it increases."
Soft hands, Kate thought as they began to probe her. Doctors always seemed to have soft hands. Then she hissed as the doctor applied pressure under her breastbone.
"That's the spot, huh? How often does this happen?"
"It happens."
"Do you find the discomfort occurs after a meal, say, an hour or so after a meal?"
"Sometimes." She sighed. "Yes."
"And when you drink alcohol?"
"Yes."
"Is there any vomiting?"
"No." Kate swiped a hand over her clammy face. "No."
"Dizziness?"
"No. Well, not really."
Dr. Hudd's unpainted mouth pursed as she pressed her fingers to Kate's wrist. "Your pulse is a little fast."
"I don't want to be here," Kate said flatly. "I hate hospitals."
"Yeah, I know the feeling." The doctor continued as she made notations on a chart, "Describe the pain for me."