Page 1 of Mr. Wilde

PROLOGUE

CASSIDY

Two Years Earlier

Beep.

Beep.

Beep beep.

The mechanical sound bleeps constantly. Like a flat, robotic heartbeat. It’s not particularly loud. In fact, it often appears to echo as if I’m hearing it from under water.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep beep.

A hollow synthetic chirp slices through the room at steady intervals. A relentless metronome inside my skull. Is it trying to reassure me that something is still ticking? Is that noise attached to someone I care about?

Or is it me?

I try to open my eyes to no avail. My lids feel glued shut, as if weighing a thousand pounds. I manage a twitch, and light leaks in around the edges. It’s too bright. The pain with it too sharp, causing my eyes to burn.

I flinch, or at least I think I do. My body doesn’t respond the way I expect it to. However, the beeping stutters. Then speeds up.

Oh. That is me.

I grasp this fact slowly, like the thought has to swim through a dense fog in order to reach me. Yet I’m almost certain. That beeping sound is connected to me. To whatever is inside my chest.

I try to breathe deeper and something tightens around my ribs. Pain pierces, sudden and vicious, radiating outward like shattered glass. A whimper escapes my throat before I can stop it.

Or at least I think it does. But it could be all in my mind. I don’t know for certain that any sound leaves my mouth.

What is happening?

Attempting to slow my breathing, I make a mental note of my surroundings. Beyond that incessant beeping anyway. The air smells odd. It’s cool. Slightly pungent. My mind sorts through various settings where I might recognize such an aroma until a vague memory matches.

This scent feels distinctive. It’s not like when I’m outside. Not like a car or a subway. My apartment doesn’t seem to fit. It’s sterile and cold and faintly metallic, layered with a chemical odor that stings the back of my nose. Bleach maybe? Plastic? Is it alcohol wipes? Yes. That makes more sense. Like a hospital. The word drifts up through the fog.

That’s a hospital smell.

Panic begins to surge, but it’s trapped within my body. Like the fear has been wrapped in protective layers of itchy wool. My heart beat speeds up. And instantaneously, that persistent beeping responds.

Beep beep beep.

“Easy,” a voice murmurs.

Or am I imagining it?

It sounds far away, distorted, again like I’m hearing sounds below sea level. A woman, I think. Her voice soft but firm. I can’t make out the words that follow. Only a reverberation that floats above me without meaning.

I try to focus on them. But I can’t. My head throbs, a deep ache behind my eyes. When I attempt to turn my face toward the voice, pain lances through my neck and shoulder so sharply it steals what little breath I have.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” my inner monologue shouts. Yet this is in response to the pain, rather than a memory. My body knows something my mind doesn’t.

Something bad happened.