Deceived

Carson swaggers down the hotel hallway, his mind still on a million and one things. Looking up, he sees a weak form coming towards him and he stops, his eyes widening. What the…

Too surprised to see Misty there at all, he can’t form any words, even when she bumps into him. But his eyes spot the blood.

A chill runs down his spine as he stands, stunned. He looks down the hall, then back towards Misty walking away. What was going on? Dread shoots through his veins as assumptions being to pop up, his imagination taking him places he doesn’t want to go.

Sprinting from a standstill, he heads for Ashlyn’s room, spying the knife on the floor. He reaches down to pick it up. It was Misty’s. Fear hits him harder and he bursts into the room. “Ashlyn?”

She looks up, surprised from the bed. “Carson, what’s wrong?”

Not even answering her, he shuts the door again, folding the knife and putting it in his pocket. Spinning around, he bolts into a dead run back down the hall, skidding sideways past another person whose arms are full of luggage.

Ignoring the managers calls, asking him if everything is okay, he bursts outside, putting on the breaks to look around the parking lot. He spots Misty by her car. Without even thinking, he aims his sprint in her direction. Reaching her, he takes her by the shoulder and twists her around to face him.

He looks her in the eye with sternness. “Are you hurt?”

Looking down, he sees her hand pressed to herself where blood has soaked her shirt. Not waiting for her response, he takes her wrist out of the way and presses a hand to her stomach, searching for the injury. Realizing quickly that it’s not there, his eyes go to her hand and he turns it over, seeing the slices through her palm and fingers.

Without letting go of it, he stares back up at Misty’s face, his eyes narrowing, his voice rough. “What happened?”