It’s worse when I hear a laugh that sounds like Liam’s. When I glimpse a tall, suited man with auburn hair. When I feel a phantom touch on my neck only to realize it’s my own hand. And it’s worst of all when my boyfriend and I are having sex and his fingers clench hard on my skin—not hard enough to leave bruises, but hard enough that I wish he would.
I’ve come to accept that I’ll never be free of Liam. Nor will I be free of Alexis. She has her own set of triggers: pedicures and massages, blonde hair, the beach. I can’t even stand being around women who talk too much, too fast, or with effusive energy.
I’m a haunted woman. Hard to like, a horrible friend. My fellow residents have called me cold, calculating, and self-centered. But I’m an exceptional doctor. No one denies it. Nor can they deny that I’m different with patients—warm, gentle, and almost inhumanly calm.
My chosen specialty of pediatrics gives me brief periods of relief from my ghosts. Neither my patients nor their parents have control over diagnoses and very little over treatment options. They are powerless—a state I understand well—and so as much as I can, I become the power they’ve lost. I take control because they need me to.
Outside of work, it’s harder, my own powerlessness more apparent. Caught between an interrupted past and a future that feels vague and illusory, I feel like a watercolor woman. Diluted and dreamy. But I continue. I move forward.
One step at a time.
51
When I get home from the hospital Thursday night, there’s a vase of a dozen red roses on the kitchen counter. Smiling through my exhaustion, I drop my purse on the floor and reach for the little card.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Soft footsteps approach me from behind, and seconds later strong arms wrap around my waist. “Do you like them?”
I nod, still smiling as I turn and lift my face for a kiss. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”
Grant grins, dimpling beneath blond scruff. “You’re welcome. How was work?”
“The usual chaos. I’m dead on my feet.” Slipping from his embrace, I head for the fridge. “Have you eaten?”
“Yep. There’s leftovers in there. Want me to heat them up for you?”
“Nah, I got it.” I pull out several Tupperware containers. As I pop lids, I glance over my shoulder and frown. “I thought you weren’t working tonight.”
He gives me a sheepish look. “Rich begged me to cover. It’s his ten-year anniversary with his wife. I’m sorry, honey. Can we do the Valentine’s thing Saturday night?”
I sigh. “I work Saturday night. It’s on the calendar. You know, the one we swore we’d look at every week?”
Grant blinks his big brown eyes in a highly effective puppy-dog impression. Coming into the kitchen, he tugs the end of my dark ponytail. “I know. I’m an idiot. How about I make it up to you Saturday afternoon? I’ll even do that thing you like…” He trails off expectantly, eyebrows wiggling.
I surrender with a laugh. “Fine. Saturday afternoon is officially our Valentine’s date.” I point at him. “I’m putting it on the calendar. Don’t forget.”
He kisses the tip of my finger. “I won’t.” Taking my face in his hands, he presses his lips to mine. “I love you, Eden.”
“Love you, too,” I mumble against his mouth.
He releases me and grabs his keys from the counter. “See you in the morning.”
“Be careful out there.”
He winks. “Cops deal with the bad guys. I just save lives.”
I smirk. “No, you just keep them alive until the doctors save them.”
He laughs, knowing full well that I’m joking. Without paramedics, a good number of people wouldn’t even make it to the hospital alive.
“Whatever, doc.”
The door closes softly behind him.
Being with Grant is easy. We’re both dedicated to our careers. Neither of us want children or marriage. He’s respectful and kind. Steady and strong. Most days, I can lose myself in the fantasy of this life. I can forget, just like everyone told me to. I can be a committed doctor and girlfriend.
Sometimes, though—especially when my nerves are frayed from a long day—it’s harder to pretend. Harder to resist sensory triggers. Today it was an elderly patient singing “Galway Girl.” Liam loved that damn song. He sang it in the shower, while cooking, while getting dressed for the day. He sang it softly in my ear as we slow danced around the living room.
“When I woke up I was all alone, with a broken heart and a ticket home…”
The lyrics play through my mind as I do dishes and wipe down the kitchen counters. And I can’t help thinking of the day when the song became my life. When I woke up alone, with a broken heart and a plane ticket home.
I pour a little more water in the vase of roses. I don’t actually like roses, but Grant does. They remind him of his mother, who passed away last year after a long battle with breast cancer. For him—for the woman I’m trying to be—I pretend.
I pretend elsewhere, too. Out of necessity. For my peace of mind and his. My orgasms are few and far between, but Grant believes what I’ve told him, that it’s always been difficult for me to climax. He’ll never know the truth, not if I can help it.
Even if it means I smother a part of myself, I’ll never allow another man to become what Liam was to me. My sun. My dom. My master.
Humming the melody of “Galway Girl,” I walk into the bedroom Grant and I have shared for a year. I don’t bother with the lights. My clothes hit the floor piece by piece. I crawl under the covers, sighing at the sensation of cool sheets on my flushed skin. Rain patters against the bedroom windows, a fitting backdrop for my shifting self.
Against the edges of my tired mind, memories stir and rise. My belly tightens. My thighs clench. My breasts grow heavy and tight. I ignore it all. The arousal. The temptation to touch myself, to tug and pinch and hold my breath. Just as I ignore the echoes of Liam’s voice in my ear.
“No matter how far you fly, little dove, you’ll always come home to me.”
I pray for sleep.
52
I’m not quite two hours into my rounds Friday morning when the phone rings at the nearby nurses’ station. Paused outside a patient’s room reviewing a file, I don’t notice the ringing stop, the following words. I don’t hear rapid footsteps approaching until someone touches my shoulder.
“Dr. Sumner,” gasps a nurse, “you’re needed in the ER immediately.”
I turn, frowning. “What? Why?”
Her eyes are a little wild behind her glasses. “There’s someone asking for you. Um… I guess they’re being pretty adamant. Psych was called. Security doesn’t think she’s dangerous, but she’s pretty upset.”
The back of my scalp tightens. “Does she have a name?”
She shakes her head. “They didn’t say.”
I nod, handing her my current file. “See if Dr. Ling will take this? Patient is stable.”
“Yes, of course.”
I thank her and walk quickly to the elevator, my white coat fluttering gently against my legs. Figuring it must be a former patient—or more likely, a former patient’s mother—I pick up my pace, bypassing the elevator for the stairs. Three floors down, I push through a door and jog toward the ER.
As I round the final corner, I hear an unfamiliar female voice yelling.
“Eden! Dr. Eden Sumner! Get off me—don’t fucking touch me—Eden!”
I push into a small crowd gathered on the side of the waiting room. “Get out of the way, please,” I say tightly. “Move, move.”
I finally get through and see the woman.
Shoulder-length brown hair. Mid-forties and petite. Pale skin that showcases bruising on her jaw and temple. Wearing jeans, rain boots, and a winter coat. I don’t recognize her. Two security guards flank her, their expressions wary.
Stopping uncertainly, I watch her scan the room. Her head turns in my direction and her eyes find me. They widen.
“Eden,” she gasps.
She moves like lightning, darting outside the guards’ reach and running to me.
I’m so surprised I don’t move, just stiffen as she hugs me tightly. She pulls back, her hands moving to cup my face.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” My voice is thin and high. Somewhere in my mind an alarm is sounding. Not a mild beeping, either. A full-blown emergency wail.
“We have to go,” says the woman, eyes darting between mine. “You need to come with me right now.”
White noise fills my ears.
“Dr. Sumner?” asks a guard tightly. “Psych’s on the way.”
I glance at him, then look at the crowd surrounding us. “Okay, thanks.” My voice sounds weirdly robotic, my limbs tingling as I turn to the woman. “You’ve come to the right place. We’ll get you help.”
She steps back, expression falling into determined lines. “I’m sorry, Eden. But I have no choice.”
With a smooth movement, she reaches into her coat and pulls something out.
“Gun!” yells a security guard.
There’s immediate pandemonium. The formerly curious crowd goes berserk, screaming, shoving, and running toward the exit. A silent alarm goes off, sensors over doors flashing white and red. Hospital personnel shout orders as they frantically follow procedures for lockdown on other floors.
As the space around us clears, the guards—their own guns drawn—order the woman to drop her weapon. They also tell me to get away, to run, but I can’t move.
All I can do is stare. Past the dark barrel of the gun aimed at me. Into cracked-marble eyes.
“They found me,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, but they’ll be coming for you, too.”
Four police officers burst through the main doors. More yelling, radios crackling. A tornado of action happens outside the eye of the storm. I glance at the nearby guards, see a decision crystallizing in their eyes. She’s not dropping the weapon.
They’re going to shoot her.
I don’t think. Throwing myself forward, I spread my arms, my back between the guards and her. “No, no!”
“Get out of the way, doctor!” shouts the man on the right.
“No!” I stare down into the woman’s eyes. “She won’t hurt me. She’s not going to hurt me. Are you?”
Her lower lip trembles as she lowers the gun. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. We have to go. We’re not safe.”
I shake my head, scrambling for reason in a world gone mad. “Why now? It’s been years. There’s been no sign of him. I get routine updates from the FBI—Maddoc is gone. Moved on. He’s not even in the country.”
Distant sirens wail. Real ones, this time.
“My sweet girl, there’s no such thing as moving on. Not for Maddoc. He doesn’t forget. And he knows about the USB drive.” She sighs, shaking her head a little. “I told you not to trust anyone.”
The words pull the blood from my head to my belly, where it vortexes into a maelstrom of dread. If he knows where I am, then he knows where I work. Where I live. He knows about Grant. My parents.
Liam, where are you?
“Okay,” I whisper, nodding. Turning to face the array of men, I lift my hands. “Officers, I’m going to accompany this woman from the hospital of my own free will. She will not hurt me.”
“Doctor! We can’t let you do that!”
I find the speaker—the nearest police officer. In my eyes, I see his certainty that I’m going to die.
But I won’t. Not right now, at least.
Over my shoulder, I murmur, “Keep me between them and you. Walk backward down the hallway behind you.”
She doesn’t hesitate, one hand fisting in my white coat and pulling me slowly backward. The line of officers advances. I hear my breath, harsh and loud.
My eyes stay fixed on the officer who fears for me. “I’m going voluntarily,” I repeat. “She will not hurt me.”
There’s a question in his eyes, one with an answer that I can hardly believe.
“She’s my mother,” I tell him. “My mother.”
He pauses, shaking his head. “We can’t just let you go, doctor, regardless of who she is. Tell her to surrender her gun. Every exit is covered. There’s nowhere to go.”
He’s right. I know he is. But my rational mind is no longer in control—or maybe the world has turned upside down and I’m finally rational. Either way, I believe Elizabeth. If I don’t go with her, people—including us—are going to die. And it’s more than the evidence of her split lip and slowly purpling jaw that point to a very real confrontation. I saw the truth in her eyes.
Maddoc found her. She escaped. She came for me.
I hear Liam’s voice in my memory. There’s no escape from men like your father.
“Don’t do this,” says the officer, correctly reading the intent in my eyes.
“You don’t understand,” I whisper.
We’re halfway down the hallway when three figures move into the space behind the officers. I see them first, then Elizabeth does. She curses. Before I can comprehend why they look wrong—no uniforms, sunglasses—they lift guns.
Motherfucking machine guns.
Elizabeth yanks me bodily down the hall, my feet scrambling to keep up with her sudden sprint. I scream, “Behind you!” but it’s too late.
It was always too late.
Gunfire erupts, bullets mowing through police and security guards alike. Blood sprays against the walls, the floor. Several fallen officers manage to get some rounds off.
That’s all I see before daylight blinds me.
53
The officer lied. No one waits for us outside this particular exit, though we aren’t alone. Throngs of frantic people continue streaming out of the hospital. Elizabeth pulls me along until we’re lost in the crowds. Sirens blare as police cruisers speed down side streets toward the ER.
My brain is mush from having processed too much in too brief a period. The shock, the terror, the displaced sorrow. Those men died for us—because of us.
As chaos continues to reign behind us, Elizabeth pauses to rip off my white coat. She tosses the blood-spattered fabric behind a bush, then grabs my hand again.
Past a parking structure. Across a street. Down an alley. She finally stops at a dark SUV, shoving me into the passenger seat before running around to the other side. The car starts.
She glances at me. “Seatbelt, Eden.”
I croak a harsh laugh but do as she says. It’s a good thing, too—the tires squeal as she accelerates fast. The alley isn’t that narrow, but there are doors lining it. If someone walks out of one…
“Will you slow down?”
Her eyes stay on the alley. “Not until we’re safe.”
The four-lane cross street approaches. Cars whiz past the alley. She doesn’t slow.
“Holy shit! Stop!”
She accelerates even more. When our front tires clear the last building, she cranks the wheel hard. The heavy car slides, screeching in protest. More tires squeal as cars break in a panic, swerving to miss us. Elizabeth’s foot stays pressed on the accelerator. Her hands fly with the steering wheel, correcting until we stop fishtailing.
Within minutes we’re entering a freeway onramp. The traffic is light; she moves to the carpool lane and matches the speed of the car in front of us.
Then, finally, she glances my way. “Are you okay? You didn’t get hit, did you?”
“What? No.” I touch my numb face with numb fingers. “I feel like I’m underwater.”
“It’s the shock,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Yes, I know.”
“Of course you do,” she says softly, with a touch of wistfulness. “You’re a doctor.”
I stare out the window. Time bends and stretches, slows and speeds. Faces, cars, signs… they freeze for an eternal moment in my mind, then blur as they pass.
“Shouldn’t we be going north? Into Canada or something?”
“That’s what he’ll think we’ll do. Besides, do you have a passport on yo
u?”
I have nothing. No phone. No wallet. I don’t answer, staring stiffly out the window. Seeing everything. Seeing nothing.
“I’m sorry,” says Elizabeth mutedly. “I’ve lived this life for so long, sometimes I forget what a shock it is initially.”
I close my eyes—see blood spraying, a brain exposed—and open them quickly. Thoughts clash in my head, old ones and new ones colliding.
Does Alexis know what’s happening? Is she alive? Where’s Maddoc? Does Liam know?
I have so many questions. Too many.
“They found me yesterday,” begins Elizabeth softly. “I made a mistake. A terrible one. I was here in Seattle because I wanted to see you. Just once. I wasn’t going to talk to you, but I just wanted…” She sighs, shaking her head. “I went to the hospital yesterday. Maddoc must have had someone watching you. They ID’d me, followed me back to my hotel.”
“Is that how you got the…” I wave at her bruised face.
She nods. “These men, they never expect a woman to know how to defend herself. Even less so to go on the offensive. When I got away this morning, I came straight to the hospital. I was going to try to find you before you went into work, but there’s too many parking lots for staff, and I didn’t know what kind of car you drive.”
Delayed synapses fire in my brain. “I was under surveillance? For how long?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know about the FBI leak until yesterday. Men like those who work for your father will think they can say whatever they want in front of you. It makes them feel powerful. Gives them a false sense of control.”
I barely hear her as a singular need overtakes my thoughts. “Did the man who took you—did he say anything about Alexis?”
Lips thinning, she shakes her head. “No.” She pauses, fingers tightening on the wheel. “After the manhunt four years ago, I lost track of her. She’s gone underground. My only hope is that she broke free from the life, that she didn’t rejoin Maddoc.”
Double Vision Page 15
