Saving Avery

by Angela Snyder

  The sound of the glass breaking resonates through me to my very soul. My head pounds as the memory comes flooding back to me. I wasn't awake at the time, but I heard everything even if I didn't see it happening.

  And the memory plays out in my mind like watching a movie with no picture, just sound. Max crashed through the window and attacked Nathan. There was a struggle. Gunshots. I remember Max holding my hand and talking to me.

  My knees give out as I crumble to the floor. A strangled cry rips from my throat as I grab onto the bed for support. My hands twist in the sheets tightly as I sob. He saved me, but almost got himself killed in the process.

  "It's okay, Avery," Rosie says in an attempt to calm me. "He'll make it. He'll pull through. You'll see."

  But her words don't help me. I need to see him. I need to hold his hand and comfort him like he did with me. I grab the stupid board and scrawl on it. Take me to Max.

  "Avery, I can't. The doctor said ---."

  I shake the board at her with tears spilling down my cheeks. I have to go to him. I have to see Max.

  "Okay. Let me get a wheelchair," Rosie concedes.

  *

  The ICU is only fifty feet from my room, but it feels like miles. I am so close, and yet so far away from Max. Rosie hasn't said a word since she agreed to take me to him. I know she's breaking rules and could get in trouble, but I'm prepared to take all of the blame. If she wouldn't have helped me, I would have found another way anyhow.

  We enter the room, and I can instantly feel my breathing pick up as I try not to panic. I should have expected the worst, but I was hoping for the best. I'm not prepared for Max's condition when we enter his room. Rosie parks the wheelchair by his bedside, and I silently sit there, my eyes wide and unblinking. Tears steam down my face, but I don't make a sound.

  He looks so pale and fragile, and it makes my chest ache for him. There is a breathing tube in his throat, and the ventilator hisses as it forces air into his lungs. His chest and shoulder are wrapped in bandages, and gauze. He has an IV and tubes everywhere, so I'm extremely careful when I reach to take his hand into mine. His skin feels cool to the touch, and it takes everything in me not to breakdown.

  This was my worst nightmare. Deep down I knew I would be putting him in danger if he helped me, but I let him help anyway. I feel so much guilt it almost feels overwhelming. This is all my fault. It's all my fault.

  I grasp his hand. I can't even tell him I love him. I can't speak the words I so desperately want to tell him. My forehead presses against his hand, and I sob silently. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I repeat the words over and over and over in my head.

  After a while, Rosie says, "That’s enough for one day, Avery. You can come back later when you feel better."

  I'm hit with the realization that there might not be a later. Max could die while I'm down the hallway, and he would be all alone. I have every intention of coming to see him as often as I can. And when I feel well enough to walk, I will be by his side every minute of every day until he gets better. And he will get better. I won't let him leave me like this. I need him. I love him.

  I kiss his hand and, reluctantly, let Rosie wheel me out of the room. I look back at him one last time, and my heart shatters into a million pieces all over again.

  Over the next few days, I will myself to get stronger, to fight harder. And it's all because of Max and my need to see him and be there for him. My throat eventually heals well enough to allow me to talk in a whisper, and I sneak off to Max's room as often as I can. The nurses learned quickly that if I'm not in my room, I'm with Max. I've been reprimanded and brought back to my room more times than I can count, but I don't care. Nothing can stop me from going to see him.

  It's in the afternoon the next day when Dr. Benson goes over my x-rays with me. "There isn't as much damage to your cervical spine as I once thought, which is a good thing." He holds the films up to the light once more. "I still want you to wear the neck brace as a precaution for a few more days. After that, I'll reassess your condition and any damage to your vocal chords."

  "When am I going to get out of this bed?" I ask him in a hoarse whisper.

  "From the nurses' notes, I would say that you've barely been in it," he says with a grin.

  "Sorry," I mutter.

  He pats my hand reassuringly. "We're all worried about Dr. Harrison. And I know you're worried most of all." He tucks the x-ray films into a folder and says, "As long as all the test results come back okay, I should be able to discharge you tomorrow." He holds his finger up, and I can feel a big but to his statement coming on. "But I want you to go home and rest. You can't do anything here for Max, and I know he would want me telling you the same exact thing."

  I nod in agreement, but I have no intention of going home and resting. When Dr. Benson sighs, I know he knows exactly what my intentions are. "Thank you," I tell him.

  "You're welcome. I'll see you tomorrow, Avery."

  A few minutes after he leaves the room, my father enters the room. My father has been by my side almost twenty-four seven the past few days. He had been in another part of the state when he received news that I was hurt and in the hospital. He immediately dropped everything and came to see me, much to my surprise.

  He's holding a cup of coffee in his hand, and I frown at the bags under his eyes. He's barely slept, and even though I want to tell him to go home, it's been so nice having him here. "Dad, you look tired."

  He waves his hand dismissively and shakes his head. "I can sleep when I'm dead," he remarks. He sits down in a chair beside my bed. "What did the doctor say?"

  "He said there isn't as much damage to my neck as they thought, but I have to continue wearing my lovely new necklace," I say, indicating to the hideous neck brace.

  Dad flashes me a lopsided grin. "I'm just glad you're all right, sweetheart."

  A knock on the door has us both turning our attention towards it. A woman in a black pantsuit sporting a police badge clipped on her pocket stands in the doorway. "Hello. I'm Detective Sheila Waters. May I speak to you, Avery?" When I motion for her to come in, she says, "Thank you." She walks to my bedside and turns her attention to my dad. "You must be Avery's father."

  "Yes. Andrew Bennett," my dad answers as he shakes the detective's hand.

  "I would like to ask Avery some questions about the events that took place a few days ago."

  My father glances at me with a raised brow, and I nod in approval. I'm willing to do anything to keep Nathan locked away for a long time. My trembling hands reach for a cup of ice water, and I slurp noisily through the straw. It's still very difficult to drink and swallow. Water dribbles down my chin, and I fail miserably at trying to prevent it. My father is quick to wipe up my mess with a napkin. I look up at him with an appreciative gaze, and he gives me a small smile.

  I push the button to move the bed into a better sitting position as the detective opens up her briefcase and pulls out a recorder, a notepad and a pen. "Is it okay to record our conversation, Avery?"

  I nod, wanting to save my voice for the more important answers.

  The detective eyes my father and then glances back at me. "Are you comfortable with your father being here?"

  I turn to my father. "You can stay," I whisper. My voice still sounds like I swallowed gravel. "Just leave if it gets to be too much."

  He nods solemnly, squeezes my hand gently and then goes to take a seat by the door.

  Sheila takes his vacated seat, presses the record button and readies her pen. She spouts off the date, time, location and hospital room number. Then she asks me, "What is your name?"

  "Avery Mason." I cringe at my last name. I have every intention of changing it as soon as I'm discharged. I don't want to be associated with that name ever again. "Please just call me Avery," I suggest.

  Sheila nods and gives me a sympathetic smile. "Avery, we're here to talk about the events that occurred between Saturday the 27th and Tuesday the 30th, when you were found by police. Were you at the cabin
by your own free will?"

  "No."

  "Did your husband Nathan Mason kidnap you?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he abuse you in the past?"

  "Yes."

  "Was that the first time he ever hit you?"

  I swallow hard and pinch my eyes closed. It seems like forever ago that he first hit me, and my mind is cloudy from the drugs. I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

  "Do you remember the first time he ever laid a hand on you?" the detective prompts.

  "Before we were engaged." I hear my father take a sharp intake of breath, but I don't dare look at him.

  "You were married two and a half years ago. So the abuse has been going on for years?"

  "Yes."

  "Physical and mental?" she asks.

  I nod, and then realize I have to answer for the recording. "Yes."

  She pulls a camera out of a bag, and I swallow thickly as I eye the piece of equipment. Sheila, perhaps sensing my apprehension, says, "We need to document the abuse to build a case against your husband. I'll be snapping some photos while I ask you questions, if that's all right."

  "Okay," I agree quietly.

  The questioning continues, and I can almost feel the tension in the room from my father's discomfort. He truly had no idea what I was going through. Nobody did. Except for Max. Tears form in my eyes when I think of him struggling to live right down the hall from me.

  The flash from the camera brings me back to the present. Detective Sheila looks at me expectantly. "I'm sorry. What was the question?" I ask.

  "I asked if you ever tried to get help. Did you ever try to leave him, Avery?"

  The question has me flustered. At that moment I wish I had asked my father to leave earlier. "I tried to leave many times. I tried to ask people for help…but nobody would listen." I ramble through the countless times I tried to leave, the shelters and hotels I stayed in, the bus incident, even the suicide attempt, everything. It's all out in the open now.

  "She asked me for help," my father says distantly. "I didn't help her." He stands and looks at me. "I'm sorry, Avery. I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he says, his voice breaking on a sob.

  "You didn't know," I tell him. "Dad. You didn't know."

  He shakes his head. "I should have listened to you. I didn't listen." He continues to shake his head in a daze.

  "He would have just hurt you too." Then I realize he did try to hurt my dad. The drugs fogging my mind almost made me forget about the shooting incident entirely. I turn to the detective. "Nathan paid someone to shoot my father. He told me about it the morning it happened. It was just another one of his tactics to get me to comply, to get me to stay."

  My father stares at me in disbelief, and then he hangs his head in shame. "I had no idea what kind of sick monster Nathan was. I was so blind," he mutters.

  Detective Walters makes some notes and nods. "I'll need to look into this further. I might be able to book Mason on a conspiracy for murder charge." She pushes a button on the recorder and stands, slowly packing her things away into the briefcase. "I think that's all we need for today, Avery. I'm going to need a statement on that hit for hire when you're feeling up to it."

  "Sure. Whatever I can do to help the investigation," I say softly.

  "I'll be in touch."

  After the detective leaves, my father walks over to my bedside. "Avery," he says, but he can't finish what he was going to say.

  I've never seen my father cry before this moment. He never even shed a tear at my mother's funeral. I understand now as an adult that he had to be strong for Allison and me. "It's okay, Dad," I say reassuringly.

  "No. No, it's not."

  He takes my hand in his and pulls it to his face. He rests his forehead against my hand as he sobs. "I didn't know. I didn't know," he repeats over and over. "I'm sorry, Avery. I'm so sorry."

  A soft knock breaks through my father's sobs. We both turn to see Allison in the doorway. She has a big smile plastered on her face, but it quickly falters when she sees me. "Oh, my God. Avery," she says. Her fingers cover her mouth in shock as she stares at my battered body.

  "Get out," I say through clenched teeth.

  Allison takes a few steps into the room. "Avery," she starts.

  My hands curl into fists as I tremble with rage. "Get the hell out of here!" I yell.

  My father glances back and forth between the two of us with a confused look on his face. "What's going on?" he asks my sister.

  Allison has the nerve to shrug her shoulders as if she doesn't know, as if she didn't sleep with my husband and refuse to help me when I needed her the most. As if she wasn't sending him text messages and pictures while I was being beaten and tortured by the man she was sleeping with. She has the nerve to pretend like she didn't choose Nathan over me. Her eyes slowly fill with tears. "Avery, please," she sobs.

  "GET OUT!" I scream at the top of my lungs. A burning pain runs through my throat, but I ignore it. I want her gone. Now. I can't bear to even look at her.

  My father steps towards Allison. "Maybe you should just come back later, Allison."

  She stares at our father and then at me with tears falling down her cheeks. "Avery, I didn't know. You have to believe me. I didn't now what Nathan was doing to you!"

  I grab the nearby eraser board tightly in my hands. I watch her crocodile tears, and it makes me sick that she is the one who is upset right now. She has no right to be upset. Angrily, I chuck the board at her. It hits the door right beside her head, and I am infuriated that I missed. A loud sob emits from Allison's mouth before she flees the room.

  My dad looks down at me and raises a brow as if to ask what was that about. I just shake my head; and, thankfully, he doesn't try to broach the subject. As far as I'm concerned, Allison is dead to me just like Nathan. My father and Max are the only family I need. And I pray that Max gets better so that I can be there for him just as he's been there for me all this time.

  CHAPTER 19

  AVERY

  Dr. Benson stays true to his word and discharges me the next day with a two-page list of restrictions and medications. I ignore the pieces of paper entirely and make my way to Max's room once I'd changed out of my gown and into some clothes my father had bought for me.

  A nurse is changing the bandages on Max's shoulder. Anthony looks up and smiles as I enter the room. He's been one of my co-conspirators in the hospital, not telling on me when I snuck into Max's room so many times this past week. "You're not rocking the gown anymore, Avery. Does that mean you're officially out?"

  I nod and give him a small smile. I immediately go to Max's bedside and gently kiss his cheek. "Hi, Max. I'm here." I glance up at Anthony and ask, "Do you…do you think he can hear me?"

  Anthony nods. "I like to think so. I mean it can't hurt. Right?"

  "Right," I say before turning my attention back to Max.

  After Anthony leaves the room, I settle into the chair next to Max's bed. The beeping of the machines is hypnotic, but I refuse to fall asleep. My body aches with pain, and I know that eventually I will have to leave and fill a bunch of prescriptions, but right now I just want to be with Max.

  Pulling Max's hand into mine, I say, "I love you, Max. I never got the chance to tell you that. I should have said it back that night. I shouldn't have held my true feelings for you inside. It wasn't fair." I swallow hard. "And now you might never get the chance to hear them." I grasp his hand tightly between mine. "I can't lose you. I just…I can't. I need you, Max. Please. Please come back to me." I place a soft kiss on his hand.

  I look up just as an older woman and an older version of Max walk into the room. I've never met Max's parents before, and I actually never thought I would get the chance to. I stand as quickly as my body allows, and I make a futile attempt to make myself presentable, which proves to be impossible. I'm covered in cuts and bruises and I'm wearing a neck brace. Not much room for improvement here.

  I take my mother's advice to heart and put the biggest smile I can on my face.
She always told me the most beautiful thing I could wear was a smile, and so I wear it proudly and hope that it diverts some of their attention away from my appearance.

  His mother's eyes are fixated on Max for a few moments before she even realizes I'm in the room. When our eyes meet, hers instantly become glassy. I wish we could have met under other circumstances, in a setting that wasn't so dire. But it is what it is. Her lips turn up into a smile to match my expression. "You must be Avery," she says in a soft voice. "I'm Caroline, and this is my husband Daniel." Her petite legs carry her over to me, and she outstretches her arms. Hugging me tight, she says in my ear, "Max told us so much about you." She pulls back and holds my face gently in her hands. "You poor girl. How are you? How are you feeling?"

  "I'm doing better now," I respond. "Thanks to your son," I add quickly.

  Caroline nods and looks over at Max with adoration in her gaze. "We're so proud of him for what he did." Her hands fall from my face and grasp my hands tightly in hers. "We're just hoping for the best possible outcome now. We just want him to come back to us."

  I nod as tears fill my eyes. "I want that too."

  I spend the next few hours talking with Max's parents about his childhood. I find out firsthand what a daredevil he was, riding his bike down a set of stairs when he was only four and breaking his arm from jumping too high from a swing when he was eight. The stories make us all laugh. But after the laughter dies down, the sadness creeps back in.

  My father appears in the doorway and smiles when he spots me. "I thought I'd find you in here. The doctor told me you were released hours ago, but you never came to the house. I got worried."

  Frowning, I say, "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to worry you."

  I make introductions for Max's parents, and my father shakes hands with them both. Then his eyes settle on me, and he frowns. "Avery, you look like you're in pain. Let me take you home."

  Slowly and carefully, I stand from my chair. I am in desperate need of pain medicine, but I was enjoying the time with Max's parents so much that I pushed the pain aside. My father extends his elbow, and I hook my arm around it. I look at the Harrisons and say, "It was so nice to finally meet you."