Part 7
Dark – Chris – Mike – Awake – Card
Angry voices in the dark. No…one angry voice, one petulant one.
The angry one shouted commands. "You are not to talk to her, except to give orders or ask questions." Even at a distance, the bastard's voice hurt my pounding head.
The petulant one sounded almost whiny. "Mike, she'll be scared and not feeling well, with the aftereffects of the drugs. I want her lying down…"
You can want me all you like. Get close to me and I’ll kick your balls backwards through your teeth.
"Of course you do. It's easier to fuck her lying down than standing up."
My blood ran cold and I missed whatever the angry prick said next.
"But she’s not a threat," the petulant voice whined.
Sure, mate, you believe that until I get close enough to bite something off.
"You don’t need to have her tied up like this," he continued.
Fucking right you don’t.
I twisted my wrists within the rope – it was a little loose. Not loose enough to pull out of, but I could still move my hands a bit. The rope didn't restrict my circulation. I shifted, rolling on the concrete like an overturned turtle. I still had my clothes, but no shoes. More rope on my ankles.
I have to get rid of the rope. I need to find a sharp edge to cut it, so I can get free. I squirmed, wondering what in hell was in my jeans pocket. It felt like a really thick credit card.
"Please. I don't think I can…" the petulant voice begged.
Mike said, "Sure you can. Nothing to it. She's tied up so she can't escape. You don't need to say a word to her. If you're lucky, she might still be unconscious. You can stick it in and be done before she wakes up to think about fighting you. Easiest lay of your life."
I heard the smack of flesh on flesh. Did Mike just slap Chris on the back? Or did Chris slap Mike for saying what he did? Shit, who cares?
I managed to get two fingers into my pocket, almost dislocating my shoulder in the process. Wincing, I pinched the strange card between my fingers. Slowly, I edged it out, wishing my hands weren't tied behind my back. I wasn't sure how to bring it to my face so I could see it. I explored the edges with my fingers, trying to work out what it was.
I heard something scrape across concrete.
"What the hell is that for?" Mike sneered.
It's the Swiss Card I bought Jason for his birthday. This was in my bag – one of them must have stuck it in my pocket. Someone's trying to help me.
"In case I get hungry or thirsty. You said she's mine all night." Chris sounded uncertain.
Mike laughed. "Yeah, you would need a snack to keep your stamina up for more than a minute. Have fun with her. Tell me about it tomorrow."
I heard heavy footsteps leaving.
I desperately tried to pull a blade out of the card, but I couldn't seem to find one. Oh shit, oh shit…
Part 8
Strange hands touching me again. This didn’t hurt yet, but I called for him in panic.
I heard his voice clearly this time. "It’s okay, Caitlin. You’ve been hurt and we’re trying to help you get better."
A woman’s voice, closer than his. It must be her hands on me. "You’re in hospital as a patient now and all of us on the clinical team here are doing our best to help you get better." She knows me. She knows I'm not usually a patient in hospital. "Your roommate is sleazy and, if I were you, I’d wake up fast so you can ask for a room transfer."
Inwardly, I laughed. No matter how sleazy, there was no way I'd give in to anyone’s amorous advances for a very long time. Mr Sleazy Roommate would give up long before that.
I could smell disinfectant now. Faint, but it was there. They were both quiet, so I heard the crackle of ripping paper and plastic, interspersed with the feeling of tugging on my skin, then something soft being smoothed back over it again. Changing my dressings? I was aware of the edge of pain now, as feeling returned to my body.
The woman’s voice was low and kind. "I’ll get you some more medicine for the pain. That'll help." Another crackle nearby, but I couldn’t feel anything touch me. "There, all done. Sleep well."
I felt my body fade away until I was just a consciousness in the dark again. Then even that slipped away as I fell asleep once more.
Part 9
"Pregnant."
"Rape."
I heard the words and struggled to focus. I could feel my body faintly, so I tried to move my fingers, but it was too much for me yet.
The calm voice sighed, sounding sad. "If she was awake, I could ask her. But she’s a seventeen-year-old girl who’s been through hell and a lot of pain, given how long she was missing and the state she’s in now."
I found I could hold my breath. A seventeen- year-old girl who’s been through hell. That’s me, all right. But pregnant? NO!
"I’ve left a note in her file and I’m leaving it at that. There’s no need to ask her, or even mention it. She’s definitely not pregnant."
I let out my held breath in a sigh of relief, but it was only loud in my ears. Too intent on their own conversation, they didn’t hear me.
The second voice belonged to a young woman, who sounded very serious. "I’d ask, Dr Lannon, just to be thorough. What if..."
I stopped trying to move and stayed as still as I could. Even knowing the man was Dr Lannon didn’t reassure me. I’m not awake. Don’t ask me. I don’t want to tell you.
His normally calm and patient voice sounded irritated, louder than before. "Did you see her when she came in? Have you been here when she has nightmares?"
"No, I’ve just read her file because she was on my patient list today."
"This girl was beaten and raped repeatedly for weeks then left on a beach to die. It’s been all over the news. Do you want to be the one to remind her and make her relive all the gory details?"
I could hear footsteps leaving – her reply sounded further away. "No."
Their conversation drifted away as they left, my thoughts stirring sluggishly.
Beaten. Raped. Left on a beach to die. I remembered pain. I remembered sand. Left to die?
No. My death was meant to be sudden and witnessed. Never alone.
My body slipped away again – did that mean they'd given me more pain medication? I struggled to hold onto my thoughts of sand...beach...as I sank into oblivion and what I can only describe as the arms of a nightmare.
Part 10
Dark – Chris – Awake – Card – Headache – Stab – Free
The door cracked open, without a clichéd creak. Dim light spilled into the room. Feverishly, I kept digging my nails into the card, trying to find something to cut my bonds. I closed my eyes, trying to visualise the card I held.
"Hey." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Are you awake yet?"
No. I'm busy sleeping, so fuck off, I thought but didn't say.
I found the scissors. Trying not to move too much, I dug the blades into the rope.
"Awake?" he said again. He shone a torch into my face.
I opened my eyes slowly. My head ached horribly and I couldn’t see clearly. He loomed like a blurry shadow above me, between me and my escape.
Chris help up his hands, surrendering – just like he had in the car.
I wondered if he knew what I held in my hands.
He shook his head convulsively. "I'm not going to hurt you." He sounded like he was begging, but that made no sense. Begging me to believe him, maybe. "How are you feeling?"
I tried to talk but nothing came out. I sawed furiously at the rope.
He crouched on the floor near me, but not near enough to touch me. "Would you like some Panadol for the headache?" He sounded kind. Perhaps he could see my panic and mistook it for fear.
I remember he waited a moment, like he wanted to say something else, but he seemed to change his mind. He moved from a crouch to his full height, leaving the room as quickly as he'd come.
I felt something snap and kept slicing
at that rope, desperately trying to free myself before he returned.
The rope gave, loosening around my wrists. Carefully, I tried to pull my hand out.
Yes!
Feverishly, I untied my legs. I tried to find a knife in the card – something, anything I could threaten Chris with to make him let me go. I pulled it out a tiny bit, so I'd be able to find it again when I needed it, and stuck the card back in my pocket.
My feet tingled as I wiggled my toes, trying to relieve the numbness. Whoever had tied my feet had done a better job than they had with the restraints around my wrists.
Cautiously, I stood up, my toes curling and refusing to cooperate as circulation returned. I tried to take a shuffling step, but the whirling dizziness in my head almost made me fall.
I have to get to the door so I can get out. Hide somewhere so I can get between him and the door when he comes in. Shut him in here and run.
I couldn't see, but I continued to drag my feet across the floor until my outstretched fingers touched the wall. I almost cried as I slumped against it.
No. Can't cry. No matter how scared, I have to keep it inside if I want to escape and live. Can't hesitate.
"You can do this. You can do this," I heard Chris's voice murmur from the other side of the door.
You can do what? Rape me? FUCK YOU. I pulled the card out of my pocket and extracted the knife.
The door started to open. Chris had his back to it, shouldering his way into the room, carrying something.
He's going to see me as soon as he gets the door open far enough. I need to get the knife to his throat while his hands are full.
I straightened up, trying to ignore the blinding pain in my head, as I threw myself forward, blade out.
I felt it sink in, with a strange ease. Not like cutting up meat. Baked potato, maybe.
Blackness descended.
Part 11
When I was aware of my surroundings again, I found I couldn’t hear anything. It was too quiet. I opened my eyes in shock, blinking to make sure I’d really, finally opened them.
I looked up at a white ceiling with an institutional fluorescent light. The light was dim, leaving shadows on the ceiling, but it felt too bright to me after so much darkness.
Focussing on trying to keep my eyes open, I experimented with moving my toes, then my fingers. My toes moved fine, but my fingers felt like they were tangled in the sheet. I could certainly feel them, but they barely moved through the resistance of whatever wrapped them.
I tried to lift my arms so that I could see my hands. I managed to bring them into my field of vision, before I tried to move my fingers again. It took me a few moments to realise that the white swathing my hands wasn't a pair of weird, white gloves. They’ve bandaged my hands and all of my fingers. No wonder I can’t move them.
It occurred to me that I was pretty useless with my hands disabled.
I shouldn’t be alone. He promised he’d be here. Does that mean they killed him?
I called for him, irritated that I didn’t know his name.
I tried to sit up, but I was afraid to put any weight on my evidently injured hands. Crunches were never my strong point, but this was the first time I’d regretted avoiding them. Everyone should do daily crunches, just in case their hands are disabled and they need those tummy muscles to sit up.
I heard his voice nearby and I struggled to focus on his words before I saw his face above me, looking exhausted. He wore a shirt now and he looked fine, as if he’d never been shot.
He touched his fingers to mine and I felt the heat of his hand through the bandage before he ripped his hand away as if he’d been burned.
I didn’t feel burned. I couldn’t feel any pain in my hands or anywhere else. Stunned, I tried to process this and came up with two options – either we were both dead and he’d waited for me in the afterlife, or I’d been given so much pain medication I just felt like I was made of cloud.
I hesitated, feeling it would be rude to ask if he was dead. He didn’t look it. "I’m not dead, am I?" I asked instead, wishing to be right. My voice felt weak from lack of use and my throat was dry, so the words were much quieter than I expected.
He smiled broadly, his eyes laughing.
Is it funny because the answer's no or yes? Worried, my eyes fixed on his face. Please, don’t let me be dead!
I sighed in relief as he told me I was in hospital and on strong pain medication.
Medication I don’t remember being given, I realised. "What happened?" I demanded in my weak voice.
He looked bewildered. "You were hurt." I don’t think he wanted to explain how badly I’d been hurt – thought the strong drugs were a pretty good indication. As for how I’d been hurt...shit, even I didn’t want to think about that.
I tried to explain to him what I remembered of the last things I'd seen, before waking up here. Nurses and scissors, syringes and simpering cartoon characters. How do I describe there’s a huge gaping hole in my memory and I’m asking him to fill it? How do you describe a huge gaping hole, except that it’s dark? I shook my head, trying not to think of the dark again. I swallowed. "What happened?" I asked him again, my voice louder this time.
His words came out in a rush. "You fought the nurses. You were so scared. I think they gave you something to make you sleep – you’ve been asleep for a while."
I’d fought the nurses? Why? All I’d wanted to do was find out if he was okay. Haltingly, I told him what I remembered – trying to get up and not being able to – but he interrupted me.
He sounded horrified. "You did too much as it was – if you'd done any more, we might have lost you. You came so close, Caitlin…hell, I was scared." His eyes held mine for a second before he looked away.
I almost died? When I find out who’s responsible, I’m going to hunt them down and kill them slowly. Why don’t I remember? I came that close to death and I didn’t even know? My eyes filled with tears that I couldn’t wipe away with my useless hands. I tried furiously to blink them away, but what he said next turned the waterworks tap on full.
"It’s over."
The shock, the relief, all of it just gushed out of me as I bawled. His hands hesitantly patted my back as he helped me cry into his shirt.
It felt like the tears would never end, but they did. Realisation came that if he was telling the truth and I’d nearly died, I owed him.
I chose my words carefully. "Thank you. I think…you saved my life." I tried to find a nice way to phrase what I wanted to ask next, but I just couldn’t. "Who are you? I barely know you."
"My name is Nathan Miller. I found you lying on the beach. I just brought you in to the hospital," he rattled off, as if by rote.
So that’s his story. And he’s Nathan Miller. His sister was Alanna Miller. He’d be a prime candidate for Mr Sleazy Roommate. I found I was looking at my hands, now sedately placed in my lap. For the first time, I noticed the IV line into my right hand and the pain relief mystery was solved. Focus.
"Nathan Miller," I repeated carefully, as I tried to find the words to express what I was thinking.
Nervously, I licked my dry, cracked lips and made an effort to smile, though my cheeks felt too heavy to do it. "Thank you. You chose to keep your promise...Nathan."
I watched him carefully for his reaction. First he opened his mouth, as if he had a burning question to ask, but his mouth stayed open as he stared at me. He looked wistful.
I dropped my gaze to my lap, counting the seconds slowly before lifting my eyes to meet his again. Contact made. Nathan began to apologise.
I started to say that he hadn’t hurt me, when I remembered that he’d been hurt. The blood on his shirt and the dressing on his chest. The memory on the dark road was slow to surface. "You were shot," I said slowly, reaching up to place my hand over where I remembered the blood, the dressing. I could feel a dressing there still, or at least the roughness of fabric sliding over gauze instead of skin under his shirt. He jumped at my touch, as if even the light co
ntact from my hand hurt him. I drew my hand back.
His answer shocked me. "Yes. So were you."
I was shot? That’s how I nearly died? My thoughts whirled in my head, water down a plughole, taking me with it.
I could hear his voice continue, but I couldn’t make out the words any more. I tried to open my mouth to ask one of the million swirling questions and choked, coughing so hard I couldn’t get a word out.
Worn out with coughing, I fought to keep my eyes open. Will he stay, to make sure I wake up again?
Somehow he understood. "I’ll be here," he promised, a reassuring smile on his face.
I floated away again.
Part 12
When I awoke next, it was daylight. Last night’s dark window showed sunlight and blue sky. I stretched and saw the IV was no longer connected to my arm, though the needle was still taped to my hand.
Time for a walk, I thought. Let’s see which hospital this is and what ward. Is there a guard outside my room or is Nathan all the protection I have? If he is and they come looking for me...I’m going to die.
Carefully, I sat up and dangled my legs off the side of the bed nearest the door. The bed was too high up for my feet to reach the floor. I looked for the buttons to control the bed so that I could move it lower, then realised that I couldn’t press them.
I poised myself on the edge of the bed, hesitating a second because of the half-metre drop. I almost put my hands on the mattress beside me to take my weight as I slid off the bed, but then I remembered that my hands were damaged. So, with my hands up as if to demonstrate how defenceless I was, I gave a little jump and my feet hit the floor. The impact set my legs on fire, the muscles turned from ordinary tissue to white-hot molten metal.
Blinded by pain, I swore through gritted teeth as I felt myself falling forward with fuck-all I could do about it. I instinctively stuck my hands out to break my fall. The bones in my hands caught the same agonising fire before the rest of my body hit the floor heavily. Tears sprang to my eyes, but they burned away on my hot cheeks.
Necessary Evil of Nathan Miller Page 2
