He’s short and thick, with blue eyes and a shaved face, his hair buzzed short like a soldier. There’s a gun on his hip, black and huge.He talks loud, his words hammering at my sore head. “Hey! You awake?”My right eye won’t open at all. My left, only a little. I shut it tight, praying he didn’t see me move.“Hey,” he says again. “Time to get up.”The lights blast on above my bed, the whiteness screaming at my fat eyelids.Don’t move. Stay still. Just breathe real slow and he’ll think you’re still asleep.Where are you, Daniela Cespedes, CSW?Click. The mattress groans to life beneath me, pushing me upright. I peek out from my bandages. He’s holding a large remote in his hand, making the bed move. There’s a second cop now—a woman—standing by the window. Watching me.“Hey,” he says a little softer. “It’s okay.”My heart bangs underneath the skin-thin hospital blankets, blood shooting to my cheeks, my raw gums, my lips that feel like ground-up bloodred meat, down into my stomach like a sick stew.“My name’s Mike.
