There was silence.
“Rabbit, huh?” he asked, sounding amused. “First time I’ve been called a rabbit.”
“Shh. I’m sleeping.”
“Sorry, princess, please, go back to sleep.”
“I would if you’d stop with all your jibber-jabber.”
“I don’t think rabbits jibber-jabber,” the rabbit replied.
She drifted off.
* * *
Millie forced her way through the fog.
Help me, Millie. Help me.
“I’m so sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for, princess? Calling me a rabbit? I will accept bribes of beer and pot roast as an apology.”
She glared up at the giant rabbit. So annoying. “Are you still here? Shoo rabbit. Before Mr. Spain shoots you.”
“And why would he shoot me?”
“For getting into Mrs. Spain’s garden.” How did he not know this? “Silly rabbit.”
“Why is she talking like this?” a gravelly voice asked, one that sent a shiver along her skin.
“It’s the drugs. They affect people differently,” the rabbit said soothingly.
“Silly rabbit, thinks he’s a doctor.” She turned to the gravelly voice. “Shoot him.”
“So bloodthirsty,” the rabbit said. “I thought you said she likes animals.”
* * *
Millie woke up with a dry mouth and a need to move. Her entire body ached. She tried to sit up. She cried out in pain as she put weight on her arm. What the hell?
“What are you doing?” a deep voice barked. Then gentle hands eased her back onto the bed. “Easy, baby. Lie still.”
“W-what’s going on?” She blinked to clear her vision and stared up into Spike’s concerned face. “You look terrible.”
He had dark marks under his eyes. There was a few days growth on his cheeks and his clothes were rumpled. Glancing around the strange room, worry flooded her.
“This isn’t your bedroom. Where are we?”
“Hospital.”
“Hospital? Why are we in the hospital? Did I have a bad migraine?”
“Your migraines often get that bad?”
“It’s happened a few times,” she prevaricated. “What happened? Why can’t I move my arm? The last thing I remember . . .” she trailed off. “Leaving Pinkies and someone came screaming up in a black car . . .”
Her heart started to race and she whimpered.