by Jewel, Bella
“You’re here,” I croak, trying to sit up but the medication is kicking in, making my body weak.
“I had to see if you were okay,” he murmurs, leaning down and stroking a stray piece of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
His touch brings me instant comfort—a comfort I haven’t felt in days. Not since he left. I want to reach out and throw myself into his arms, to surround myself in the warmth he’s bringing, the relief, the contentment.
“I-I-I . . . they told me you weren’t there and—”
“Hush,” he says, sitting on the bed beside me. “Tell me you’re okay?”
“I’m not,” I sob. “I’m not okay. I can’t get the thoughts out of my head. I can’t stop seeing those people dying, hearing them scream . . .” My sobbing gets so intense my words are cut off.
He moves slowly, gently lifting me from the bed and pulling me into his lap. He’s so big, so strong, and I curl into him like a child, letting his strength engulf me, letting it wrap around me until I feel the pressure easing from my chest, until the sobs subside, until the tears begin to dry up.
He makes me feel okay again. Like the strongest drug, like the most beautiful lie.
“Let me tell you something that works for me—that helps me live with the images.”
“I don’t w-w-w-want to live with them. I want them to go away.”
“You can’t make them go away, honey,” he says, his voice low. “They’re yours now, and you have to work out how to accept them into your life. The more you fight them, the more they’ll haunt you.”
“You want me to accept the horror?”
He falls silent for a minute. “Can you take it back?”
I have no answer to that, because no, it doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t unsee it or take it back. I wish with everything inside myself that I could, but I can’t.
“Next time those images come into your mind, I want you to redirect them. They’re yours now, which means you can control them. You can choose where they go. I want you to say to them, ‘You do not get to live here anymore, and I will not let you in.’ Say that over and over, even if it means doing it a hundred times a minute. Every single time they’re there, instruct them. Eventually, they’ll stop coming.”
“Does that really work?”
He gently hugs me. “Yeah, it does. You have to accept what happened. You have to understand you cannot change it, that there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. Accept it, mourn the loss of those lives, be grateful you still have yours, and then let it go. Don’t let it control your life, Lucy. Promise me that?”
“I’ll t-t-t-try.”
My body is getting lighter and lighter, and I can feel myself growing heavy in his arms, at ease for the first time in days. His muscles flex around me, such a powerful man. So big and strong, yet so careful, handling me like fine china.
“W-w-w-will you keep coming to see me, Hunter?” I whisper as my eyelids grow heavy.
“I can’t do that, Lucy.”
My chest clenches and I clutch him tighter, my fingers tangling in his shirt. “Please don’t go away again. Please. You’re the only person who understands.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hunter,” I groan as my eyelids flutter shut. “Please stay.”
He holds me tightly as my body slips further and further into the darkness, where it’s warm and safe. I don’t want to slip; I want to stay right here, awake in his arms, I want to talk to him. I want him to tell me it’ll be okay. I just want him to stay with me for a little bit longer.
“My name isn’t Hunter,” I hear whispered, or maybe I imagine it. “It’s Heath.”
I think I’m dreaming, because something grazes across my lips, so soft and so warm. I imagine that’s how his kiss would feel, soft, warm, and gentle. I try to reach for it when it’s gone, to seek it, but I can’t move. My body feels as if it’s floating.
“Rest easy, Lucy girl.”
I don’t think I’m awake anymore.
And I want to be. I really, really want to be.
Hunter.
Don’t leave.
Chapter Five
“Lucy, wake up.”
I shift and groan, letting my eyelids flutter open. Gerard leans over me, his hand against my cheek. I jerk awake and look beneath me, then around the room. We’re the only two people in here.
But he was here. He came to see me. I swear I can still feel the warmth of him against my skin, hear the beating of his heart as I rested against his chest. He came here, and now he’s gone.
Again.
“Can you get my nurse?” I ask.
Gerard’s face twists with worry. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I just need to ask her something.”
“Okay. She’s just about to leave, but I’ll catch her.”
He rushes out and returns a minute later with the nurse who was on shift last night. “What’s the matter, love?” she asks, coming over and studying me.
“Did you see anyone come in here last night?”
Her face contorts in what looks like confusion. “No, I’m sorry. I was at the desk most of the night; nobody came in.”
“Not even just after you gave me the pain medication?”
“No,” she says, glancing at Gerard with a sympathetic expression. “I was at the desk for a few hours right after that. Nobody was around.”
“They did,” I say, studying her. “He came in here.”
“Who?” Gerard demands.
“Hunter.”
The name Heath flashes in my mind and I try to focus on the memory, but it’s distant. Did he tell me that was his real name? Is that his name?
“What do you mean he came in here?” Gerard asks, glaring at the nurse.
“I can assure you that nobody came in, Mr. Jacobson. I was outside the entire time. I did give her some medication and sleeping pills. Perhaps she imagined it.”
No. I didn’t.
“He was here,” I snap.
“A word outside?” the nurse says to Gerard, completely ignoring me.
He nods and they disappear to the hall. I stare down at myself, trying to find any trace that he was here. I lift my gown and inhale, and I can smell the faint scent of him. I cling to that. I’m not crazy, or drugged; he was here, and he’s a real person. So why are they trying to tell me he’s not?
Gerard returns a minute later, smiling wearily at me.
“Lucy, can we talk?” He sits on the edge of my bed and studies me.
“Sure,” I say, crossing my legs and shifting uncomfortably.
“The nurse assures me nobody was here last night, but she is concerned for your wellbeing. She informed me you’re speaking about this Hunter man quite a bit. She’s worried you may be suffering PTSD. She wants to bring a counselor to speak to you today.”
I blink. “What?” I whisper.
“Nobody seems to know who this man is, but you’re obsessing over him, and it’s getting a little concerning. I think you need to talk to someone. You’ve been through so much. I’ll be right there by your side the entire time.”
“I’m not crazy,” I say, my voice trembling with rage. “I saw something horrific, yes, but I didn’t make him up, Gerard. Go and look for yourself; surely there are records of ticket sales. He was there. He visited me last night.”
“Lucy,” he says carefully.
“No. I don’t need to speak to a counselor. I know he is out there.”
He looks down at his hands, then towards the door. “I’m only trying to help.”
“If you want to help, please stop making me out to be crazy. I’m not.”
He nods. “I’m going to phone your mom, tell her you’re up for visitors today. I’ll be back soon.”
He kisses my head and leaves.
My chest remains heavy.
He is a real person.
He is.
Isn’t he?
* * *
FIVE DAYS LATER
“Lucy, you n
eed to be resting. Your body is still trying to repair itself,” my mother says, flitting around my sofa, taking my empty cup of tea and replacing it with a new one.
I don’t want tea. I’ve had so much tea since I got home from the hospital. I had to have a procedure before I left, because my body didn’t do what it needed to and I was getting an infection. It was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. I came home a few days later, and it’s been hell ever since—everyone tiptoeing around me, Gerard not knowing how to speak to me and becoming distant. We are arguing more than we’ve ever argued.
It’s the same fight.
Heath. Hunter. Whoever he is.
They don’t believe me; they refuse to talk about it. Everyone just wants it all to go away and for me to get better. To forget it ever happened. But it did happen.
I can’t forget that. He’s tormenting my mind.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I say, my voice quiet. “I can’t sit here forever. I have to go back to work. Gerard has to go back to work. It’s been over a week since it all happened; you don’t need to be here every day.”
“Luc,” she says, stopping and giving me her stern face. “You just experienced something very traumatic, and because of it, you lost your baby. Don’t rush this.”
I flinch. My baby. A reminder of the painful experience that forever changed me. The very thought makes my chest clench, and I look away.
“When can I watch more of the news reports about it?” I say, still staring at a blank wall.
I can hear her audible sigh from across the room. They have tried to keep as much information from me as possible. They believe me watching the news after it happened made things worse, and the doctors told them it wouldn’t help with my recovery. I know they think it’ll only feed my obsession, or my PTSD, or whatever it is they think is wrong with me, and so they’ve been practically guarding me for the last few days, never leaving me alone long enough to attempt to turn on a television or open my laptop. When my mom ran out to the store this morning, I took the laptop sitting next to me and hid it in the drawers beside my bed.
They haven’t noticed. Yet.
“They don’t really know much more about what happened. There really isn’t much information.”
“You’re lying to me; you all can’t keep protecting me. I need to see it.”
She steps into my line of sight and crosses her arms. “You don’t need to see it. You want to see it, but you don’t need to. You’ve seen enough. You have made your statement, and you told the police what they needed to know. Now you need to recover.”
She’s wrong.
I need to know.
“I will watch them,” I say, standing. “Nothing you can say will stop that from happening.”
“Lucy!” she yells as I disappear down the hall.
I slide into the bedroom where Gerard is still sleeping. He’s been so good to me; I feel guilty that I haven’t given him what he deserves. I walk over to the bed and stare down at him. He’s so handsome, so perfect, but everything has changed. He hasn’t, but I have, and I don’t know who I am anymore. He deserves a lot; he’s a good man.
Am I still enough to give him what he deserves?
Do I even want to?
That thought terrifies me, and I walk away from the bed and into the bathroom to have a shower. It’s the only time I can be alone; it’s the only time when no one can bother me and ask questions and flutter around trying to make things better. I know they’re only trying to help, but it’s not working. Nothing is. I feel so empty, so desperate, so damned alone.
And the one person who understands has disappeared as if he never existed. I just want to talk to him. I just want him to tell me it wasn’t all in my mind. I need to see him and just . . . know. But I wouldn’t even know where to start. I don’t know how to find him, I don’t know where he works—hell, I don’t even know if he lives around here.
Heath. Hunter.
What’s real?
I step into the shower and let the warm water run over me, trying to remember when he came into my hospital room. Did I imagine it? Was it the pain medication? I don’t even know if I’m losing my mind. Maybe I am imagining the whole thing. Perhaps Hunter, or Heath, never existed. Could a situation truly be so traumatic that it actually made you imagine something so momentous? He was so real to me.
I have to know if he exists; I just have to find my closure, and he’s the only way I can do that. I don’t know how I’m going to find what I need, but I will.
“Morning.”
I spin around to see Gerard walking in, shirtless, giving me a weary smile. He doesn’t deserve this. He loves me so much. I need to try and get my life back in order. I need to move on from this, even if it means keeping my search for my mystery man a secret. I have to, for him, for me, for everyone.
“Morning.” I smile. It’s hard and my lips protest, but I keep it planted on my face.
And I watch his face relax, relief flooding his beautiful features. “I thought you’d never smile like that again.”
I scream inside.
I keep the smile.
It takes a few seconds before I can muster up a response. “I’m trying. It might take some time, but I’m working on getting better.”
He walks in a little farther, leaning against the towel railing and watching as I get out and dry myself.
“How are you feeling?”
“I don’t honestly know. A little lost, very empty, confused. . .”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re not still confused about that man, are you?”
For a few minutes, I just wanted to try, and then he asks about the one thing I’m fighting against and all my effort just goes running out the door. My body goes into instant defense mode, my muscles tightening, my back going straight.
Gerard knows. The second he says it he knows, and his face pales a little. “Please don’t get upset,” he says quickly. “I just want you to move on, to help yourself.”
“I didn’t imagine him, Gerard,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m tired of you implying that I did. I’ll stop talking about it if it makes you happy, but you need to stop saying things like that.”
“I know you think you didn’t—”
Here we go again. The same fight over and over. “I don’t think,” I snap, losing my control. “I know.”
“You had a traumatic experience. The doctor said it can be normal to create things that aren’t real. I asked the police, everyone that I could, and nobody knows the man you’re talking about.”
“He was probably working a secret case or . . .” I trail off because the look on Gerard’s face makes me want to scream and cry at the same time. He looks worried, but mostly, he looks at me as if I’m losing my mind and I hate that. He has that expression more and more these days.
I’m not going crazy.
“I’m going to go back to bed and get some rest,” I mutter, brushing past him and walking into the room.
“I’m worried about you,” he says, slowly, turning and following me in. “I just don’t know how to help you.”
“You can help me by not saying he didn’t exist. I was there, Gerard. That man saved my life, and I’m going to find him and thank him.”
God dammit, why did I say that? I just vowed to myself to stop talking about it with Gerard.
He looks like he feels sorry for me. “Lucy . . .”
“Just get out,” I say. “I’m tired.”
“Lucy, please . . .”
I turn my back to him, pulling on a pair of cotton shorts and a top, then I climb into the bed. “Bye, Gerard.”
He sighs and stares at me for a few minutes, before saying softly, “I’ll be in the kitchen when you wake.”
Then he’s gone.
The second the door shuts I slide out of the bed and jerk the laptop out, opening it. I can’t move on until I know. I just can’t. It’s time I face it all, whether they like it or not. I open a search bar, and I type.
&
nbsp; Baseball stadium hostage.
Then I read.
* * *
I sit in the bedroom for three solid hours, pretending to be sleeping but devouring every article I can find. They’re saying it’s believed to be a religious group who came in because they were protesting against the city for not giving them the land. Apparently the stadium is on some sacred ground that they believe they need in order to carry out whatever sick things they’re planning. The group is called Heaven’s Temple.
The persons involved were interviewed and told police that they would sacrifice many more lives for the greater good, and that without the land their souls cannot be saved and neither can anyone else’s. They want to create a fully secured sacred ground that only the followers can enter into. It has to be that ground because God told them it has to be, and if they don’t get it, the world will be taken in flames and so will their souls. Watching them speak in the online videos is more than a little terrifying, because they truly believe everything they’re saying.
The news reports don’t go into a great deal more detail, just that they’ve arrested the people involved in the shooting and are ‘working’ on shutting the rest of the group down, but without proof of involvement, that is proving to be hard. I’ve read about cults before; they’re as crazy as they are warped and will stop at nothing to carry out what they believe is right.
I keep reading, but I don’t find anything else. My chest is heavy by the time I’m done—heavy with dread and pain. Seeing photos of those who lost their lives, seeing the victims’ families speak, makes me want to curl up and cry until there are no tears left. I feel so alone, so helpless, and so damned afraid. I want comfort, but I can’t find it. I want to be the girl I was before, but she’s gone. I don’t honestly know how I’ll get through this.
Well, I think I do, but he’s nowhere to be found.
I open up another search and type in his first name and the name of the police station the cops that were there that night are from. Nothing comes up. I try Heath; nothing comes up either. I search until my fingers hurt from typing, but I can’t find anything about the mysterious man who saved my life. I even resort to looking on Facebook and other social media platforms. It’s as if he truly doesn’t exist. I find the baseball stadium website and open the contact page, sending off an email as a desperate last resort.
