We both startle when my phone beeps. It’s Hannah. At last. A text message. ‘Hi Mom, I’m fine. Went home to sleep. I’ll be back later. Xox.’ The tension in my shoulders decreases a notch. That’s one thing less to worry about at least.
After two hours the doctor stops studying the screens and making notes and turns to us. I wait for him to speak – equally as desperate for him to open his mouth as I am dreading what he’s going to say.
‘There’s some very faint brainwave activity,’ he says.
I reach for Gene without thinking. He reaches for me at the same time and we grip each other, squeezing tight, clinging onto the words before the doctor can snatch them away from us.
‘What does that mean?’ I ask.
‘We need to wait for the PET scan and I don’t want to speculate about what it might mean in the long run, but I would say that turning off life support is premature.’ I look at Gene, who is beaming. ‘I don’t want to raise your hopes too far.’
‘But you think maybe she is OK? That she’s alive?’ Gene interrupts.
‘She’s alive. The question is whether she will ever regain consciousness or breathe on her own.’
‘Can she hear us, do you think?’ Gene asks.
The doctor shrugs. ‘Who knows? Some studies suggest talking to patients in comas helps. I’ve seen patients written off come out of vegetative states, but many more who have passed away, sometimes after months or even years of being kept on life support. So I’m telling you,’ and here he gives me a warning look, ‘don’t get your hopes up.’
‘Another doctor told us that same thing once upon a time,’ I tell him. ‘And she beat all those odds too.’
PART THREE
Chapter 47
Gene looks at me the moment Dr Philips leaves, and I nod. It’s now or never.
Dr Warier puts his head around the door a second later. ‘OK,’ he says to us. ‘We’re good to go.’
An orderly wheels June out of the MRI room. Gene, Dr Warier and I follow. By the elevators Dr Warier tells the orderly he can leave us, that he’ll take it from here, and once he’s out of sight, Dr Warier starts pushing the bed down a quiet hallway, through a set of double doors and down a second corridor, until we finally reach an empty ward that’s under some kind of refurbishment, plastic hanging from the ceiling and dust sheets covering the nurses’ station. Dr Warier opens the door to one of the rooms and we push in June and all the machines attached to her, sliding her bed in beside an empty one. There’s an en-suite bathroom, and a TV still plugged into the wall.
Dr Warier busies himself making sure June’s ventilator and IV are working properly and Gene paces nervously. Dr Warier wears a frown the entire time and I know this is going against all his better judgment.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
He gives me a curt nod, not taking his eyes off June, and I marvel at how I got him to go along with this. When he’s done with all the machines, he hands a scrap of paper to Gene. ‘If anything happens, anything at all, you dial this number. It’s my beeper. I’ll come straight away.’
Gene puts the number into his phone.
‘Don’t leave her, Gene, not even for a moment,’ I tell him.
He nods at me, solemn. ‘I won’t.
Dr Warier crosses over to me. ‘OK, your turn,’ he says.
I pull off my sweater and reach for the hospital gown lying on the empty bed.
The doctor and Gene turn their backs as I pull it on. I keep my jeans on, and on second thoughts my shoes too, and then I slip my hand into my bag, checking the gun is still there.
It turns out a gun, bought on the black market, costs a thousand dollars. Once Raul was over the surprise of me asking and understood I only wanted it for personal safety, he sent one of his men to get one and bring it to the bar.
I made him show me how to use it. Now I check that the safety is on before stuffing it and the bag beneath the bedsheet. Everything has taken on an unreal quality as if I’m watching myself from a vast distance.
I nod at Dr Warier and he starts attaching wires to my chest and then linking them to the ECG machine by the bed, which begins beeping loud and fast, out of time with June’s.
‘What’s the time?’ I ask.
Gene looks at his watch. ‘Four p.m.’ He reaches for the TV remote and flicks through the channels until he gets to the local news.
There I am on the screen, almost unrecognizable, so thin and old and tired that at first glance I could be my mother.
Gene cranks up the volume. I watch myself fidgeting on the TV studio sofa, trying not to look directly at the camera.
Chapter 48
11 HOURS AGO
‘Jesus, Ava, this is crazy,’ Gene mutters as Raul and James drive off.
‘Now give me the number.’
Gene glowers at me but I can tell he doesn’t dare argue. He can’t. ‘This is crazy,’ he mutters again as he pulls out his phone.
He scrolls through the contacts list and then reluctantly presses dial and hands it to me. I hand it back to him. ‘You need to set it up. He won’t trust me.’
Gene sighs loudly but puts the phone to his ear. ‘It’s late. He’s probably asleep,’ he grumbles.
It’s nearly five in the morning, it took longer to do business than I thought it would, but I’m betting on the fact Euan, the stringer, picks up the phone whenever it rings if he thinks there might be money involved.
The call connects. ‘It’s me,’ Gene says. He glances at me. ‘I have something might interest you.’ He starts pacing the alley – explaining what we need.
‘Maybe Santa Barbara – whichever news outlet can do it – but it needs to be one that can guarantee secrecy.’
Euan starts asking questions. ‘She needs the money to pay the lawyer for my dad,’ Gene explains. ‘So she’s offering an exclusive to the highest bidder. An interview where she’ll tell all.’
Gene hangs up shortly after.
‘Well?’ I say to him.
‘He’s calling back in five.’
We hurry to the car and get in. Gene glances at me, hope flaring in his eyes.
‘This doesn’t absolve you, Gene,’ I mutter, switching on the engine.
‘I know,’ he says quietly.
When Euan calls back five minutes later it’s with directions to a studio in Santa Barbara – a local TV station. I put the directions into the GPS and start driving. Gene tries to talk to me but I cut him off. ‘I need to concentrate,’ I tell him, thinking of the lies I’m about to tell.
Chapter 49
And here I am now, on screen, telling the lies to an audience of millions.
The presenter, whose immaculate makeup and hair is in marked contrast to my own, sits with her legs crossed and smiles at me. ‘So the doctors say that June is going to make a full recovery?’
I nod. ‘Yes. She’s awake and she’s starting to talk.’
Even I’m blown away by how convincing my smile is, by how true the words sound as they pour out of my mouth. I am indeed an amazing liar.
The presenter beams. ‘That’s wonderful news. What a miracle. And has she been able to remember anything at all about that night? Have the police talked to her yet?’
‘No, not yet. But soon. She’s starting to talk and she remembers . . .’ I glance quickly at the camera. ‘She’s remembering everything.’
I reach forwards and take a sip of water from a glass on the table beside me and the camera zooms in. Can everyone see the faint tremble in my hand? I watch myself rapt as the interview continues. It’s an out-of-body experience, as though I’m watching a stranger. I’m so convincing I start to believe my own lies about June being better and having woken up and it’s with a jolt that I remember the truth.
The scene cuts back to the newsroom and to a different presenter, who starts talking about a car accident on the 33 which is causing ten-mile tailbacks.
Gene switches off the television and silence falls like snow. There it is, it’s done.
; My phone rings almost instantly. It’s Nate. He must have seen the news. I don’t answer, just shove the phone in my bag.
‘Come on, let’s hurry,’ I say to Dr Warier, who has been patiently waiting this whole time.
With pursed lips Dr Warier fits a surgical cap on my head. I tuck my hair inside it, making sure all the blonde strands are out of sight.
‘OK, now the oxygen.’ He attaches a breathing mask over my mouth – helpfully obscuring half my face – and then presses a button on the ventilator machine. It starts to pump air. ‘Ready?’ he asks me.
I nod and he pushes the bed towards the door.
A hand grabs mine. It’s Gene. ‘Be careful,’ he says.
My instinct is to snatch my hand out of his, but then some reflex buried deep stirs to life, and before I can stop myself I roll my palm over, take his hand and squeeze it.
Dr Warier wheels me down the hallway towards the elevators. The only sound is the squeak of his shoes and the rapid beeping of my heart monitor.
I’m pushed into the elevator and after what feels like forever the doors shut and then open and we’re off again, bumping down a hallway. If anyone thinks it strange to see a doctor wheeling a patient through the hospital they don’t say anything, and I pray it stays that way.
‘Could you get the door?’ Dr Warier calls as we approach the ICU. I daren’t open my eyes. I just hope we don’t run into Nate or the administrator or a nurse who looks too closely. I wonder if Nate is on his way here – and how the hospital are responding to all the journalists calling up asking for news on June. They must all be so bewildered, but I only need the confusion to last for long enough to draw out the person who did this, the men who want June dead.
I know they’ll strike. I’m counting on it.
Dr Warier leans over me, obscuring my face, as he pushes the bed through the doors to the ICU and I hear a nurse offer to help but he waves them away, telling them it’s all under control. He pushes me into June’s room and I finally let out a breath and open my eyes.
‘OK,’ whispers Dr Warier as he hurriedly starts unplugging me from the machines, switching them off first so they don’t flatline and cause an army of medical staff to rush in. I pull off my oxygen mask and surgical cap and climb down from the bed and as I’m undoing my hospital gown Dr Warier’s beeper goes off. ‘They need me in the ER,’ he says, glancing at it.
He crosses to the door. ‘I’ll tell the nurses that the police have put the room on lockdown and that I’m the only person allowed in.’
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Thank you. I know this was a big ask.’
His hand is on the door. ‘I’ll check in on June as much as I can.’ And then he’s gone and I get dressed, sit back down on the bed, and reach for my bag.
Chapter 50
Fifteen minutes pass and I count each one down, my hands sweating so much I have to wipe my palms on my jeans. On the other side of the door I hear footsteps and I stare at the door handle.
There’s a voice. I crane to hear. It’s a woman. The hospital administrator, it sounds like. She’s arguing with the cop on the door.
‘Sorry ma’am, we’re under strict instructions,’ the cop says. ‘No one goes in.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ she says. ‘What about her doctors?’
‘Oh, they’re allowed in,’ he answers. ‘And family, but that’s it.’
She huffs loudly and then I hear her walking away. I relax back against the wall but then, after a few seconds, the footsteps return.
‘What are you—?’ the cop says, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Instead there’s a loud thud.
I flinch backwards in horror. What was that? Oh my God. Even though I’d instigated this, I realize in this nanosecond as I watch the door handle turn that I didn’t really believe it would work.
The door starts to open. Because I’m behind it, all I can see is an outstretched arm and a hand holding a gun. My heart gallops into my throat, I freeze in abject terror – I hadn’t thought this far, hadn’t truly considered this eventuality, even though I’d hoped for it.
And then a man enters the room, takes two quick steps towards the bed and, without even pausing, holds up a gun with a silencer on the end, and shoots twice into the pillows that I’ve stuffed beneath a sheet in a pretty useless attempt at faking a body.
Before the second bullet has even hit he’s turning – realizing that the bed is empty. Somehow I’ve brought my arm up and somehow it doesn’t shake. I don’t pause. I pull the trigger before he can, my brain registering just as I shoot that it’s Jonathan.
The bullet smacks into his chest below his right shoulder. He lets out a cry and his gun goes flying out of his hand as he crashes to his knees. He lunges sideways for his weapon, but I dive for it at the same time and kick it out of his reach.
It skitters across the floor and smacks into the wall and Jonathan makes a grab for my legs. I jump backwards, bringing my foot up and smashing it as hard as I can into his face. This time he goes down properly, grunting hard, blood streaming from his shoulder and from his nose.
I leap towards the bed, yank on the red emergency cord and start screaming for help.
Jonathan grimaces at me, one hand gripping his shoulder, blood seeping through his shirt and flooding down his arm. It was him. It was him all along. He was one of the men who broke into the house. Which one was he? How can I not have seen it? I’ve been so blind. He’s been standing guard on the door this whole time. He’s been hanging out with Hannah.
I train my gun on him. ‘Who else? Who else is involved?’ I shout.
He glares up at me, lips pulled back against his teeth, fighting the pain.
‘Tell me who else!’
I shove the muzzle of the gun into the bullet wound in his shoulder. He lets out a high-pitched scream. I press harder and sweat pours down his face. My free hand tears at the buttons on his shirt, ripping it open and pulling it away from his shoulder until I can see the top of his arm. It’s there. An angry red slash running the length of his arm. It was him I fought off in the kitchen.
‘Who was the other person?’ I ask. ‘Who else was involved?’ Was it Nate?
He grimaces, blood spilling down his lips, coating his teeth. He sinks to his knees. I sink with him. ‘My daughter. Hannah. Have you seen her? Where is she?’ Was she part of this? It’s impossible – another paranoid delusion.
‘Hannah,’ he grunts.
I squeeze his arm so hard his eyes fly open.
‘Where is she? Do you know?’
‘. . . Took her . . .’ he slurs.
‘Took her? What do you mean?’ I shake him. ‘Who took her? Where?’
In the background I hear an alarm start to blare, people starting to shout.
‘Where’s Hannah?’ I scream.
Jonathan’s eyes roll back in his head. His body slumps. I stare down at him and the spreading pool of blood around us. Is he dead? I shake him.
‘Wake up!’ I yell hysterically. ‘Tell me where my daughter is!’
The door crashes into the wall behind me and next thing I know I’m being shouldered roughly aside.
‘What the—?’ Nate, out of breath, looks at Jonathan on the floor and at me kneeling in front of him, holding the gun.
‘It’s him. It was him,’ I stammer, staggering to my feet.
Nate’s gaze flies from the gun in my hand to the bed, his eyes widening in surprise and shock at the situation he’s just walked into. ‘Where’s June?’ he shouts, noticing the empty bed.
‘She’s safe,’ I say. ‘But Hannah—’
Nate cuts me off. Striding over to Jonathan, he kneels down and checks his pulse. I’m about to ask if he’s dead when people flood into the room behind us, a swarm of them, police and nurses and doctors, uniforms everywhere, people yelling things, rushing to give aid to Jonathan, elbowing Nate out the way. Nate refuses to budge. He starts rooting through Jonathan’s pockets and finally pulls out his phone.
He rushes towards the door
and I rush after him, quickly stashing the gun back inside my bag. In the hallway outside it’s utter chaos. The downed cop who was guarding the door is lying in a lake of blood as nurses and a doctor tend to him. Someone yells for a crash cart.
‘Lock the fucking place down,’ Nate yells at two hospital security staff, who startle and then start shouting into their radios.
Nate grabs another man in a police uniform. He points through the doorway at Jonathan who’s now surrounded by doctors and nurses. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight,’ he shouts. ‘He’s under arrest.’ Then he takes off, running towards the elevator.
‘What for?’ the cop calls after him.
‘Attempted murder and that’s just for starters.’
Nate reaches the elevator and hits the button. I chase after him.
‘Nate!’ I shout, grabbing him by the arm. ‘Someone has Hannah.’
He spins to me, a look of alarm on his face. ‘What?’
‘That’s what I was trying to tell you. Jonathan said someone took her.’
Nate looks at me blankly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s missing. She’s been missing since last night. And—’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he interrupts.
I shake my head. ‘I didn’t know. She texted. I thought she was OK but—’
The doors to the elevator ping open and another wave of cops and doctors spill out and go swarming past us. I realize with a start that the cops will be wondering who shot one of their own. I need to get out of here. I can’t be arrested or held for questioning. Not now. Not with Hannah out there, God knows where. Nate darts into the elevator and I rush after him, jumping inside as the doors seal shut.
‘What are you doing?’ Nate asks.
‘Where are you going?’ I answer back.
‘To Jonathan’s place, to see if I can find anything there that might give us a clue as to who he was working with, or where Hannah might be.’ He has Jonathan’s phone in his hand and he tries to open it but it’s locked and he doesn’t know the code. Annoyed, he shoves it back in his pocket. ‘I need to find out who he’s working with. That’s our only shot right now.’
In Her Eyes Page 21
