Chapter 7 No.7

The VIP room at Mount Sinai was quiet, but Barrett couldn't sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.

Not the Anaya who pushed Adele. But a different Anaya. Thinner. Her hair lackluster. Wearing an orange jumpsuit.

The Dream:

She was standing behind bars. She turned to look at him. Her eyes were empty sockets.

"You promised," she whispered. "You said twenty million dollars."

Then, she coughed. Blood splattered onto his hands. Warm, sticky blood.

Barrett jerked awake, gasping.

The heart monitor beeped rapidly. Beep-beep-beep.

Dr. Evans rushed in. "Mr. Meyers? Are you in pain?"

Barrett looked at his hands. They were clean. But he could feel the phantom warmth of the blood.

"Doctor," Barrett said, his voice shaking. "Is it possible for a concussion to cause... incredibly vivid nightmares? Nightmares that feel like memories?"

Dr. Evans checked his pupils. "You have a mild concussion, Barrett. And you're under immense stress. The brain plays tricks."

The door opened. Adele walked in. She was carrying an Hermès bag and a thermos.

"Barrett, darling," she said, her voice grating on his nerves like sandpaper. "The board is panicking. The stock dropped two points because of the accident. We need to post a selfie. Show them you're strong."

Barrett looked at her. Really looked at her.

In his nightmare, just before Anaya died, he had heard Adele laughing in the background.

"Is that all you care about?" Barrett asked. " The stock price?"

Adele blinked. "It's our future, Barrett. Don't be naive."

"Get out," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"I said get out! Leave me alone!"

Adele huffed, grabbed her bag, and stormed out.

Barrett ripped the IV tape off his hand. He ignored the sting. He grabbed his phone.

He dialed Anaya.

Call failed. Blocked.

He threw the phone across the room. It cracked against the wall.

"Marcus!" he yelled.

His assistant ran in.

"Get me a burner phone. Now. And find out where she is."

Ten minutes later, Marcus handed him a cheap prepaid phone. "She's in New Jersey, sir. At her grandmother's house. But... there was a search history on her work laptop before she wiped it. 'Investment Visas for Portugal'."

"She's leaving the country?" Barrett felt a spike of pure terror.

He dialed her number on the burner phone. His fingers trembled.

Ring... Ring...

"Hello?"

Her voice was cool, calm. Like water.

Barrett let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Anaya."

Silence on the other end.

"Why did you block me?" he asked. It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it instantly. He sounded possessive, controlling. But he couldn't help it.

"Mr. Meyers," she said.

The formality was a slap in the face.