I heard Wilbert shout my name in panic, but it was too late.
My world went white the second the car hit me. I felt my waist slam, something inside snap, and then hot blood sprayed into my mouth. I tasted iron and panic and everything went fuzzy.
“Anika!” Wilbert’s voice sounded far away as he grabbed me and pressed his fingers at the corner of my mouth, wiping blood like it would fix what was broken. He kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like a prayer.
Then the secretary burst in, breathless and puckered, all business and show. “Sir, we found her,” she said, like it was a gift. “She’s out in the suburbs, hurt and scared. No one can get near her, but she called your name.” Wilbert froze, like someone had flipped a switch.
They loaded me and Mark into the ambulance and we screamed to the hospital. Halfway there the doors burst open and chaos exploded at the ER entrance. People shouting. A doctor pulled at a gurney. Every alarm sounded like a countdown.