Waking Up in a Strange Place- Forward Dated to Monday [ota, tag Martha]
The surgery had taken a long time. Three bullets in total, the nurses told her. One in her shoulder, one in her hip, and the last in her head. A bullet in the head and she was still alive. She was either lucky or just too damn stubborn to die. She had dug her way out of her own shallow grave, so perhaps it was the latter.
Lisbeth was heavily medicated, but mostly lucid now after two days of being unconscious. They'd told her very strange things, but the most important being that she wasn't even in Sweden anymore. And therefore not a woman wanted for questioning in the deaths of three people. Three murders she had no part in. Not that she'd been horribly sad to hear of Advokat Bjurman's passing. He'd deserved his fate. Just like she'd tattooed on his belly, he was a sadistic pig and a rapist. The other two, the writers, though, she'd had no problem with them. In fact she had appreciated their desire to out sex trafficking. Not that she could say she mourned them. She hardly even mourned the deaths of those she knew well.
She held the messenger in her hands that the nurses had given her as she lay slightly inclined on her hospital bed. It was hers, they'd said. It was no smart phone, unfortunately, so she couldn't check if what these people here had told her was true. But she looked it over anyway, trying to see if she could gather any information about this 'village' on it despite it's technical lacking.
Lisbeth was heavily medicated, but mostly lucid now after two days of being unconscious. They'd told her very strange things, but the most important being that she wasn't even in Sweden anymore. And therefore not a woman wanted for questioning in the deaths of three people. Three murders she had no part in. Not that she'd been horribly sad to hear of Advokat Bjurman's passing. He'd deserved his fate. Just like she'd tattooed on his belly, he was a sadistic pig and a rapist. The other two, the writers, though, she'd had no problem with them. In fact she had appreciated their desire to out sex trafficking. Not that she could say she mourned them. She hardly even mourned the deaths of those she knew well.
She held the messenger in her hands that the nurses had given her as she lay slightly inclined on her hospital bed. It was hers, they'd said. It was no smart phone, unfortunately, so she couldn't check if what these people here had told her was true. But she looked it over anyway, trying to see if she could gather any information about this 'village' on it despite it's technical lacking.