Deathtrap (Broslin Creek) by Marton Dana

Author:Marton, Dana [Marton, Dana]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Dana Marton
Published: 2013-05-31T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Sophie walked up to her front door with tears in her eyes, her vision so blurry she could barely fit her key into the lock. She glanced behind her before she opened her front door, relieved that Bing wasn’t coming after her. She couldn’t talk to him right now, not about this.

She collapsed onto the rug in her living room, her back braced against the couch as she sat. Peaches immediately lay next to her and put his head on her lap. This was what unconditional support felt like. She’d always been too sick to have a pet of her own, so she hadn’t really understood that—the kind of love that was possible. Now she soaked up every bit of it.

“Every day I live only happens because someone else died.” She voiced the sadness that sometimes kept her up at night.

She was grateful to her donor, beyond words, but at times she also felt incredibly guilty, as if she’d stolen someone else’s life.

And with the whole body-memories thing, she felt as if someone was trying to take away her true identity.

She had feelings for Bing. She wanted them to be true and real.

The attraction had happened so fast, and it was so exciting. He was a great guy. They had chemistry. And even if he wasn’t so damn hot, just the way he’d been with Peaches would have made her fall half in love with him.

“Except, whatever attraction I feel isn’t coming from me,” she told Peaches. “And whatever he feels…” What if he’d just sensed his wife’s heart in her and that was it? There’d been movies like that. She’d seen them, and they’d given her the heebie-jeebies.

What she wanted most was to be loved for herself. Not because she needed to be taken care of, and not because she reminded someone of their past great love. She couldn’t compete with a ghost. She didn’t want to.

The support group flyer on the side table caught her eye. She wasn’t a great fan of the group, but it was the only place where people would actually understand her. Stress was the worst possible thing for someone in her condition, according to Dr. Pratt. Support was essential.

The next meeting was Monday night, two days away. She put the flyer back down. Maybe she could pop in for a few minutes. She could sit in the back, and if the stories bothered her, she could always leave.

Since she was thinking about Dr. Pratt, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed his office. The receptionist put her through.

“Are you experiencing any difficulties?” he asked immediately, his warm voice full of concern.

“I’m good. Thanks to you. I was just wondering if maybe you could help me speed up the unsealing of those donor records. It’s really bothering me more and more. I need to know this.”

“I’ll do what I can. I’m actually heading off to a meeting with hospital administration. I’ll see what I can find out.” He paused. “In the meanwhile, what do we do?” he stretched out the last few words.

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