Chapter Thirty Two

Raylan forced a breath past his lips, ignoring the way it made his chest burn like he'd been drinking fire. Another and the fire grew, trying to consume him. He forced the feeling to the back of his mind, locking it into a little box and throwing away the key like he had with so many other things. Another breath, and this time the pain didn't seem so bad. The air helped, a little. The red haze growing in his eyes thinned a little, letting him see the bed.

It looked impossibly far away. He gritted his teeth and tipped onto his side. The cold floor chilled his knees as he forced himself up onto all fours, crawling towards the bed. The motion sent pain roaring through his shoulder and wrist. Something warm and wet trickled down his side, leaving a trail on the floor as he inched forward.

He ignored the blood. It didn't matter. What mattered was reaching the bed, and the call button hanging next to it. The pain grew, bringing tears to eyes already burning from fighting for every precious breath. Darkness swirled around his sight, dimming the room to twilight.

Another breath tore through his chest like it was laced with broken glass. He licked his lips, tasting his own blood on them. He could take it. He'd learned how a long time ago... countless hours spent silent and hurting after a beating that he neither deserved or could prevent.

His head brushed against the sheet. Sweet relief sang through him as he knelt, feeling for the call button. The plastic felt hard and cold under his sweating hand. He held it to his heaving chest, hands shaking so much he had to steady the small box on the floor before he could depress the button.

It made no sound. He didn't know if it was working, but kept his thumb jammed on it anyway. Truth be told, he didn't have the energy to move.

The room tilted as he slumped sideways, crashing onto the floor. It hurt, in a distant, far off way. The tightness in his chest grew until it felt like it was crushing him. The part of him that would never give up dragged in another breath, forcing the air past the blood in his mouth. His ribs heaved, every movement more painful than the last.

A hand touched his neck. It made him want to jerk away, hide in the darkness where he felt safe.

"Raylan?" a distant voice asked. More words followed, but he didn't have the energy to figure them out. "Raylan!"

Darkness fell. The cold at his back went away as he moved, floating up onto something soft. Noises and feeling and smell all blurred into one jarring sensation. Words rumbled over him like wheels on a rutted track.

The distant sting of a needle sent sweet relief rushing through him. The pressure on his chest eased a little. It was enough for him to get a decent breath. Enough to quiet the rushing in his ears.

He forced his eyes open, realising he was laid on a bed. A nurse placed an oxygen mask on his face.

She saw he was awake and smiled. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."

He sucked in a deep breath, savouring the feeling and nodded. "Dark haired man. You see him?"

The nurse stared at him, bewildered. "There was no man, Raylan. Just you. Can you tell us what happened?"

He gritted his teeth. "Dark haired man. Came in. Injected me with something. Has Hope."

The effort left him spent and panting. Anger flared low in his chest at his own weakness. His body was letting him down again. It always did. It always would, when the abuse... when the damage got so bad there was no other option. That didn't make him any happier about it.

He reached out with an arm so weak that it shook and grabbed the doctor's sleeve. "Phone Art. Please." The words came out as a sigh.

She gave him a look like he wasn't making any sense. "Your boss?" she asked, making a note of something on her clipboard before adjusting his oxygen mask. "I'll get someone to call for you."

He coughed. It racked his wiry frame, making him shudder as he tried to draw a breath and couldn't. Living through that nightmare once had been bad enough. He wasn't sure if he could do it twice.

"Raylan. Listen to me," the doctor ordered, voice pitched low and calm. "You're fine. You can breathe. Just relax. Count with me. One, two, three..."

He closed his eyes, aching tension running through all of his muscles as he fought to do what she asked. Slowly, the iron bands around his ribs relaxed. He sucked in a careful breath, grateful when it didn't make his chest spasm.

A noise made him look up. The doctor came back into the room. "Your boss is on his way here now." She lifted an eyebrow. "He wanted me to remind you how much paperwork he has to fill in every time you get injured."

Raylan lifted both of his eyebrows, feeling exhaustion dragging at him. He lifted the mask off his face. "How can I forget?" he said faintly.

The doctor smiled and slid a fresh pair of gloves onto her hands. "We need to run some tests, find out what caused this attack." She picked up a needle and an elastic band. "I need to draw some blood. We'll also be doing some breathing tests on you."

"There was a man in here. He injected me with something," Raylan said and pulled up his sleeve to show her the injection site.

A large, vividly coloured bruise spread over most of his bicep. She probed it with gentle, professional hands, anger lighting her eyes.

"Guess we'd better check the security tapes," she muttered.

He tilted his head. "Guess you'd better."