The shock of cold water splashing all over my body startled me awake. My eyes frantically scanned the room as I tried to remember what had happened.
I am definitely not in my room.
The black walls were splattered with blood stains. A dingy toilet squatted in the corner, and iron bars blocked the doorway. I shivered as another round of cold water hit me from the other side of the bars.
Friends and fans knew him as Nole the Mole. The internet knew him as a viral failure.
Last year, he dueled Herbert the Hammer at the Twenty-Second Whack-a-Mole International Championship for the title of Mallet Master. Herbert’s score reached previously unseen levels, but Nole knew he could’ve beaten him— had he not ignored a “wet floor” sign, slipped, and sprained his mallet hand catching his fall.
They are coming.
I process the screech of my alarm, my thoughts already running a thousand miles an hour.
My children are coming. The house is a mess. Sister-In-Law Who Can Do No Wrong Ever will be here with Perfect Daughter. If she sees the mess in this house, our next holiday together will be a bloodbath.
Though I was eager to rush into a burning building once, now I sit on the sidelines, watching friends risk their lives to quench the flames, knowing they will hate me if they discover the real reason I’m in this wheelchair.
Bill stumbles out of the building with a pale-faced boy in his arms.
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