The Gift: The Butterfly Effect, Book 1. Read online

  “We had a girl rushed in with appendicitis, she . . .” The image is ripped away from me, as the nurse takes her hand off me. I stare blankly up at her, and she keeps going about her duties. She touches my hand again, and I’m instantly thrust back in the living room. “Tonight’s shift was hard,” she says to the guy rubbing her feet.

  “How so, Doris?” he asks.

  “Why am I here?” I ask them. Neither respond, they just keep talking like I’m not even here.

  “We had a girl rushed in with appendicitis, she . . .” The phone rings, and Doris stops talking.

  “Can anyone hear me?” I loudly say, hoping the louder volume of my voice gets their attention.

  The nurse looks over her shoulder toward the ringing phone, and her husband stands and walks out of the room. The woman reaches out to grab a mug from the table beside her rocker, blows on it, and takes a sip. I try to walk over to her, but my feet won’t move. I look around to find something to pick up and throw at her, but there’s nothing within arm’s reach.

  “That was Jeremy. He said he’s coming home for the weekend,” the smiling old man says as he re-enters into the living room and sits in front of the nurse.

  Her face lights up at the news. “Oh, I’m so happy! Jeremy hasn’t been home in such a long time.” Her elated expression is enough to make the old man smile.

  “You know how he is. He’s a New Yorker now, high flier and all that.” The old man chuckles. “You were telling me about today.”

  I’m forced back into the present as the nurse releases my arm and moves to grab the chart from the foot of my bed to write something down. I stare at her, wondering how she’s remaining so calm while my heart beats so forcefully that I can hear it loudly pounding in my ears. How did she not see that?

  “Do you need to go to the bathroom?” she asks me in a hushed tone.

  I look over to Dad, who’s now snoring even louder. I shake my head at her. I’m too terrified to open my mouth and say anything, because whatever happened seems one-sided. I’m part of her world, but she’s not a part of mine.

  What a damn nightmare.

  “I’ll be back in when the doctor makes his rounds in the morning. Okay?” I nod my head, but inside I’m still freaking out. “If you need anything, press the buzzer and one of us will come in.” She places the buzzer beside me, and I nod my head again. “Goodnight, sugar.”

  “’Night,” I say in a small voice.

  She leaves my room, and I’m left with only my own thoughts, and absolutely terrifying images of what’s happening inside my head.

  I clasp my eyes tightly shut and try to ignore the videos playing in my mind. I’ll try to get some sleep, and when I wake in the morning, hopefully all this crap going on will be gone, nothing more than a temporary glitch with my head. A drug-induced malfunction.

  Yep, that’s got to be it.

  I was given something that didn’t agree with me, and it’s making me hallucinate. It’s got to be that, just a stupid hallucination. Damned drugs.

  In an effort to turn, I once again feel the stabbing pain in my side. Damn it, I can’t even get comfortable.

  I finally manage to close my eyes, and find solace in the dark . . . for now.

  “Alexa, wake up,” a gentle voice rouses me from my sleep.

  “Huh?” I mumble as I bring my hand up to run over my face.

  “Wake up.”

  I look for Dad, but he’s no longer in the room. The sun breaking in through the window tells me it’s early morning, and the raw ache in my side immediately reminds me where I am.

  “Where’s Dad?” I ask the woman standing beside my bed.

  “He stepped out to get a coffee.” I try to sit up in bed, but wince in pain as a shard of what feels like glass stabs me in my side. “Don’t try to get up yet.”

  I lay back down, and take in the appearance of the nurse. She has the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen and her long black hair is pulled back into a severe ponytail. She has square framed glasses, and her face is impeccably made up. She’s youngish, maybe mid-thirties.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks while she looks down at her watch.

  I have a strong feeling she’s not really interested in the answer, more like making small talk. How weird. “I’m okay.” Her eyes dart to the door, then back to me. She plasters a fake smile on her face and looks at her watch again. “Are you waiting for someone?” My eyes move to the door then back to her.

  “Dr. Smith, who performed the operation, will be in very soon.” Her eyebrows tighten close together, and the fake smile stiffens even further.

  Something’s not quite right.

  My gaze inconspicuously drags down her body. She’s wearing a hospital uniform and looks like everyone else I’ve seen. Nothing seems out of place, but then again, the operation and hallucinations have exhausted me.

  The door opens, and an older man walks in carrying a clipboard. He’s got a white doctor’s coat on, and a stethoscope around his neck. He’s quite fit for his age, his upper body bulk a dead giveaway that he spends a lot of time in the gym. Beneath his doctor’s coat, I can see hints of the designer suit hugging his body perfectly. His thick, dark hair is impeccably combed to the side, and his face has a full, manicured beard. “Alexa, how are you feeling this morning?” he asks as he stops beside the bed.

  “Okay.” I don’t offer him anything else. There’s something really off about this entire situation. I can’t quite place it, but something is . . . weird.

  “Can I have a look at your incision?”

  “You operated on me?” I’m eager to know if anything happened during surgery, but I don’t dare raise the question. Something about these two has me feeling very uneasy. My stomach roils with nerves and my skin pebbles with anxiety.

  “I did. You were unconscious when you arrived.”

  “I was?” I stare at his coat and notice that neither he nor the nurse have name badges. Maybe I watch too much TV, but I thought all hospital staff wore them.

  “You were. Your appendix had ruptured on the way here. So your timeframe for recovery is slightly different, as was your operation.”

  My operation was different. “How was it different, Doctor . . .” I pause and wait for his name.

  “Smith. Dr. Smith.” He takes a breath and starts telling me about the operation. “Because it had ruptured, it means we had to do open surgery and where the incision is, there’s packing around it.”

  I shake my head and scrunch my mouth at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, still confused by the description. I’m clueless, but it just sounds icky.

  “First, you need to take a course of antibiotics to make sure you don’t develop an infection.”

  “Okay.” I blink and hold my hand up to the doctor to stop him talking. “Can you wait for my Dad to come back? He’ll understand all this better.”

  “I’m on my rounds, so I’ll come back later. I just want to see how the wound is healing. May I?” He takes a pair of surgical gloves out of his pocket and puts them on, and the nurse does the same thing.

  “Um, yeah, sure.”

  The nurse pulls down the blanket, and Dr. Smith moves my clothes and takes the bandage off to look. “It’s healing nicely. The packing around the wound needs to be changed, and you need to keep the area dry. Now, tell me something.” He takes his gloves off and steps back. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore,” I automatically reply.

  “Is that all?”

  The question is innocent enough, but the hard tone behind his words tells me he’s asking something much more involved. “What do you mean?” I finally answer, trying to formulate the words in my mind before I tell him about my bizarre hallucinations.

  “Are you feeling dizzy, or seeing black dots or maybe hearing things?”

  “Hearing things?” I say way too eagerly. “Like what?” Hell, I’m not telling him anything. I’m shutting my mouth.

  He shrugs casually, but his cold eye
s stay glued to me. “Anything. Anything at all.” It sounds like he’s fishing for answers.

  My brain tells me to not say anything. And I like listening to my brain; it’s usually right. “Nah.” I shake my head at him.

  He steps closer to the bed, and reaches for my hand. “If there’s anything we can do for you.” As soon as his skin connects with mine I’m swept away.

  I’m in a car with him and his nurse. There’s no conversation between them, just complete quiet. And as quickly as I was sitting in his car, I’m back in the hospital room.

  I look to him, and notice his eyes are wide as he gives a small nod to the nurse.

  “Okay,” I say trying to sound normal, like nothing happened.

  “I’ll be in touch, Alexa.” He looks to the nurse and nods again, they both turn to leave.

  The door closes behind them, and I let out a ragged breath. What’s going on? Truth be told, I have no idea and I’m scared to death.

  Within a few minutes, Dad enters the room carrying a paper coffee cup and a brown paper bag. “You’re awake?” he asks in surprise. “Your mother is on her way back. She wanted to be here when the doctor comes in to see you.”

  “They just left.” I gesture toward the door. “You probably passed him and his nurse in the hall.”

  “I think we missed each other, because the only doctor I saw wasn’t the one who talked to your mother and me after surgery.”

  “Okay,” I say again. None of this makes any sense.

  The smell of something delicious wafts through the room the moment Dad opens the paper bag. As he eats it, my stomach growls with hunger. “So, what did the doctor say?” He takes a bite and my stomach grumbles again.

  “He was saying something about packing the wound, I really don’t know, I kinda wasn’t listening.”

  “Lexi, this is about your health.” He pointedly looks at me.

  I know, but I can’t tell him I’m freaking out because something’s going on with my head. “Sorry, Dad, I’m still kinda . . . hazy, you know?” Dad nods and shoves the last bite into his mouth. “Can you do something for me?”

  “What do you need?” he walks over to the small trash can in my room, and throws out the empty brown bag.

  “Can you hold my hand, please?”

  “Um, sure.” Dad takes a seat beside me, and grabs onto my hand. He gently rubs his thumb over the tender skin. I feel . . . nothing.

  I squint at his hand and make sure he’s actually touching me. And he is, but I’m getting no image, no hallucination . . . nothing. “You okay?” he asks with worry.

  “Yeah, I’m great. I’m just sore.” And completely weirded out.

  “Hey, here’s my girl.” Mom opens the door, and enters my room. She’s still got dark circles beneath her eyes, but at least she’s looking a lot more like Mom than she did last night. She leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek, then gives Dad a kiss too.

  No hallucination.

  “I just saw Dr. Smith and he said he’ll be in to check you out in a few minutes.”

  “Dr. Smith, the guy who was just in here?” I look between my parents in question.

  “The doctor who operated on you.”

  “Okay.” Man, how annoying, it seems that’s all I can say. But, at least when he comes in he can tell my parents what he was telling me and hopefully all this will make sense. Maybe the drugs they gave me have side effects, and my side effect is hallucinations.

  My mom had to have her tonsils out a couple of years ago, and they gave her these really strong pain killers to help her through the first few days after the surgery. Mom said they were so strong they were causing her to see things. So, I bet they pumped my body with heaps of those pain killers, which is why I’m seeing things.

  Yeah, that’s got to be it.

  Mom starts telling us something when the door opens, and a man and a young nurse enter. “Hi there, Alexa. I was the doctor who operated on you yesterday. How are you feeling?”

  What the hell is happening? I dart my eyes to the four other people in the room, and bring my hand up to scratch my head. “Who are you?”

  “Dr. Smith, and this is one of the nurses who assisted me, Katie.”

  “Hi,” she warmly says and steps forward.

  “You’re not Dr. Smith,” I say as I try to readjust myself in the bed. But the biting pain in my side prevents me from moving too much.

  “Yes, he is,” Mom says coming to stand beside my bed.

  “Yeah, he’s the one who operated,” Dad adds.

  My brows scrunch together, and I notice the obvious differences between this Dr. Smith, and the one who was in here not even half an hour ago. “Are there two Dr. Smiths?”

  “There are two more in this hospital. But neither of them are working this week.” Dr. Smith steps forward, worry carved on his face. “Are you okay, Alexa? You’ve gone quite pale.” He sweeps his hand to my forehead and I’m sucked away from this room into a broom closet. Dr. Smith and his very pretty nurse are in there together ‘enjoying’ each other’s company. He’s devouring her mouth while his hands are all over her breasts. He growls and she lets out a breathy moan.

  “Oh God,” I say to myself and try to look away from the illicit tryst going on in the broom closet.

  I’m torn away from the torrid scene between the doctor and nurse when Dr. Smith removes his hand. Thank God. I’m transported back to my hospital room, where Dr. Smith is now standing a foot from my bed.

  My hands begin to shake and my palms sweat as I keep an eye on the doctor and his nurse. “Would either of the other two doctors have come in this morning?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady so I don’t give anything away.

  “I doubt it, both are out of town.” Dr. Smith draws his brows together. “What’s happening, Alexa?”

  The concern in the room is all focused on me. The doctor looks worried, and even though his nurse has said nothing since she’s been in here, the look on her face screams volumes.

  She thinks I’m losing my mind. Maybe I am.

  “Didn’t you say the doctor already came in and was going to come back to talk to us?” Dad says, crossing his arms in front of his puffed-out chest.

  “Yeah, but the doctor who came in wasn’t him.” I jerk my thumb toward the young doctor. “It was someone else. I swear he said his name was Dr. Smith.” I run my hand through my hair, and the pain in my side pinches at the movement. “Ugh,” I groan in discomfort.

  “Are you sure they said their name was Smith?” Dr. Smith questions me again.

  I have no idea. With the crap going on in my head, I have no idea if I’m imagining it or if it’s real. “Maybe I dreamed it.” It’s the safest option for me. If I insist on it being true, then they may think I’ve lost my mind.

  “Okay, well let’s look at my handiwork,” the doctor proudly announces.

  I cringe, because I know he’s going to touch me, but thankfully he grabs a pair of gloves from the dispenser in the room and puts them on.

  As I lie back and let him look, feel, prod and touch, I tune out to whatever they’re all talking about. I can hear words like, ‘aftercare,’ ‘antibiotics’ and ‘surgery’ being thrown around, but I’m not really listening.

  Instead, I replay the dreams I’ve been having. The ones that seem so real. As a timeline plays in my head, I watch as the other doctor and his nurse talk to me in my room; as they exchange glances and as they leave. The squeaking sound of her shoes on the tiled floor draws me to look at the current nurse’s footwear.

  She’s wearing black, clunky, though comfortable-looking footwear. The other Dr. Smith’s nurse was wearing stiletto heels. How did I not notice them when they were in here?

  My brain hurts. My heart is torn because I want to tell them the things I’ve been seeing. But maybe I’ve been dreaming them. They’re so vivid, so realistic. What is going on with my head?

  This is beyond frustrating. I’m afraid to say anything, but at the same time, it’s going to drive me crazy
if I don’t tell someone.

  I decide it’s best if I say nothing. I’ll keep it to myself until whatever this is wears off. I mean, it’s got to end soon. I’m probably only seeing and feeling these things because of whatever they gave me while they operated on me, or the pain killers they’ve given me since.

  Yeah, that’s it.

  It has to be.

  I’m going home today, as long as I can go to the bathroom without difficulty and I can keep my food down. I’ve been up and walking around since yesterday, but only small trips to the nurse’s station and back.

  “I’m going for a walk,” I say to my Mom.

  “I’ll come with you.” She places her Kindle on my bed, and comes over to help me up.

  “I’ve got to do it myself. You heard what Dr. Smith said, the more I move, the better it is for me.” Slowly I swing my legs out of the bed, and drag my butt to the edge of the mattress. Taking a few deep breaths, I stand and find my balance. “I know he said it will get easier, but it doesn’t feel like it.” I wince as I take a small step forward.

  But I can do this. I can make it out.

  Shuffling toward the door, Mom rushes ahead and holds it open for me. “You okay?” I nod my head and keep going.

  The doctor is right, the more I move, the better it feels. As I walk toward the nurses’ station, I see a few nurses huddled together, some with their hands to their mouths, all watching the TV. “Oh, my God,” one gasps.

  I shuffle faster, and freeze when the television hits my line of sight.

  “Oh shit,” I mumble. My mouth opens in shock, and my heart thumps hard inside my chest.

  “What is it?” Mom asks and follows my gaze.

  On the TV, a reporter is standing in front of police tape. A train whizzes past her in the background. There’s something covered in the middle of the car park. An image of a woman is superimposed on the screen beside the reporter. The picture is of a pretty young nurse.

  I can’t hear what’s being said, but there are subtitles down at the bottom of the screen as the reporter tells the world how Hayley Jones, a nurse at the local hospital was found dead. She’d been shot twice and they’re considering her murder to be premediated because nothing had been stolen from her.