Fluttering her eyes open, the vague but soft golden twinkle of a bedside nightlamp caught the corner her chestnut-coloured eye, her headache increasing with each harsh inhalation, measurless clamour filling her ears.
Feeling a small needle stuck in the inside of her elbow and a plastic inhaler covering her mouth and runny nose, the little girl instantly turned into a panic mode.
It can't be.
Her eyelids began flickering in alert, her gaze darting through dimly lit room, glazed with teardrops and perplexion she tried to blink off.
She couldn't remember.
Eerie breeze swayed the dark curtains, revealing the mysteries of a picturesque night sky sprinkled with multitude of stars whose ethereal glow couldn't subside chestnut brunette's rapid sharp breaths, her palm reaching for her own trachea.
Deep inhale. What's going on? One second. Remember. Exhale. Eavesdrop to the voices. Two seconds. Remember, remember, remember...Where am I? Feel his presence. Whose presence? Three seconds. Remember, Isabella. Remember what happened, remember what happened to her. To you. What?
Don't let your subconscious fool you.
Remember.
Ambulance sirens piercingly echoed—not just through Beacon Hills' Memorial Hospital—but the entire town, engulfing it with steely sincerity in which no one had the intention of believing in due to false shred of hope citizens have been holding onto for past months.
It can't be.
Eight year old girl's intimidated frame was trembling, her gaze still fuzzy and blurry. Every raindrop of hope turned into a downpour, every insect that crossed the road turned into monster.
Every suspicious passer-by seemed guilty of such a horrendous crime.
In the corridors of Beacon Hills' Memorial Hospital—paramedics and patients slowly tiptoed towards the sobs that echoed through the hallways, not single one of them convinced in the rumors.
