Jennifer Lynne is a homicide detective working on one of the most horrific serial killing cases New York has seen in the last decade. When she and her partner get a lead on the suspect, they catch him with his seventh victim. But things go south and...
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The steady melody of beeping coaxes me awake. It flutters over me, at first too quiet to understand what it is. But it gradually becomes louder, and the darkness around me filters in light. It becomes too bright for me to keep my eyes closed. I slowly open them and blink through teary vision.
Out the corner of my eye, I see quick movement. I flinch away and turn my head. A figure hovers over me, but they're blurry. I squint harder while trying to move away. My arm restricts. I wiggle it and hear the sound of chains clanking.
"Jenny," the person beside me says softly. Their shadow comes into focus and I breathe a relieved sigh. Drake's frazzled face is leaning close.
I whip my head around, seeing the painful white walls and clinical machinery. Deja vu washes over me. "H-How...?" I meet his eyes again. "What happened?"
Drake shakes his head. He doesn't want to say it. Instead, he sits down in the chair close to my bedside. He puts his hand over my arm. "How do you feel?"
"I..." I pause, trying to reach inside myself and feel around.
Truth be told, I feel different. I feel...better. Before then, there was this overwhelming claustrophobia like I was sharing a body with someone else — granted, I kind of was. But it's gone now.
Now, I feel empty. Like something was here but is missing now.
I feel weak. Vulnerable. Like the inner layer of my skin has been ripped, shredded. That wall I built up over the years to keep me tough and guarded is no longer there. I haven't felt this way since the night I was arrested. Since I disappointed my father.
Am I even the same person anymore? Do I even know who I am?
My eyes snap to his. They begin to water. From what? I don't know. Maybe I'm anxious. Or just fragile. Ugh, I hate that word.
"I think..." I catch myself. I'm too afraid to say it. "I think it's gone." I snake my hand down to my gut. "But how?" I shake my head. No. "It doesn't make sense." I don't believe it.
There's only one way to prove it. A nurse enters the room. I sit up straight as I turn to her. "I need a rosary," I demand. "Bring me a rosary."
She looks back at me with wide eyes. "Do you not have a rosary in this damn place!?" I snap when she doesn't respond. She looks questioningly at Drake, who nods.
"Can you find us one, please?" He asks.
After what feels like forever, she returns with one. She gives it to Drake before hurrying off. I turn to him. "Put it against my hand," I tell him, holding out my palm.
He presses the crucifix into my skin. It's so cold. I tighten my grip around it and clench my eyes shut. My heart beats like a drum, but nothing happens. I don't feel any heat or pressure other than the edges of the cross digging into my palm.
