Roses for Layla (The Sweetheart Series Book 1)

by Ash Night

  When I went into Layla’s room the next day, she was sitting up and staring out the window. I pulled a chair a little closer to the bed and sat down without saying a word. She finally looked at me and I was shocked. The circles under her eyes were darker and she looked like she hadn’t eaten since being admitted. Her eyes were hollow, like she was seeing something else when she looked at me.

  “Layla, are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed an unused pad of paper and a pen off the small adjustable table beside her. She clicked the pen. I was thrilled she was communicating. The police had said she wasn’t talking to anyone and hadn’t made any attempt to communicate in days.

  Quickly, she wrote something down and handed the notepad to me without looking at me.

  I killed him

  That was news to me. No wonder she was freaking out. I smiled gently. “Layla, it was self-defense. That bastard, he did terrible things to you, things I can’t even imagine. You were protecting yourself. You saved the other girls he was hurting. You also saved me. I owe you my life. If you hadn’t-”

  A flash of fear crossed her face and she started shaking, hugging herself. Tears ran down her cheeks as she continued to shiver. I reached out to comfort her and she flinched. Withdrawing my hand, I tried not to take it personally. She had had a thing about touching when I met her. It wasn’t much of a surprise that it was back, given what had happened.

  “Did he hurt you?” I asked. “After I got shot, what did he do to you?”

  Layla started vehemently shaking her head. I was scared. She wouldn’t talk, she wouldn’t tell me what happened, and she wouldn’t even let me touch her. How could I help her?

  “Hey, hey, okay, we won’t talk about that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Sweetheart. How about I get you something to eat? You look like you could use something in your stomach. How about some waffles? I’ll get you the happiest waffles in the whole hospital.”

  Not even a smile.

  I sighed. After a deep breath, she picked up the notebook again. Her hands were shaking as she wrote:

  He can’t hurt me anymore.

  The period in that statement spoke volumes.

  “No, no one will ever hurt you again. I promise. I swear on my life that no one will ever touch you again if you don’t want them to.”

  “Has she said anything?” A female police officer walked in. She smiled. “I’m Officer Keller. I’ve been assigned to Layla’s case.”

  I shook her hand. “No, Layla hasn’t said anything, but she did write a couple of things. Layla, can I show her?” Layla nodded and handed me the pad. I passed it to Officer Keller. She glanced at both lines.

  “We are aware of the situation. Kristen Alice filled us in on how Devin McDermott has treated you girls over the past few years. All five of the girls’ stories matched up with what she had stated, leading us to believe it as truth. Since that’s the case, we believe charges will be minimum.”

  “Charges?” I exclaimed. “What charges? Layla was protecting everyone! We would be dead right now if she hadn’t killed him!”

  “Mr. Daniels, please calm down. We understand that Layla’s actions were in self-defense, but the fact is the victim was stabbed exactly thirty-seven times.” Officer Keller said in a monotone voice. “That indicates rage, and, therefore, excessive force.”

  “The bastard was trying to kill us! Excessive force was necessary!” My wound throbbed as anger swelled in my chest. I winced.

  “In the eyes of the law, a statement is not enough. There will need to be a trial. Now, I won’t repeat myself again, please calm down or I will have you removed from the room.”

  “I’m sorry.” I said, trying to relax. “We…we’ve been through a lot. It’s just frustrating to think someone would say we’re not telling the truth. We wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

  “I understand. It can be frustrating and seem very insensitive. But it’s how the justice system works. However, if you’re absolutely honest, you have nothing to worry about.” She smiled. “Believe me, it will be okay. I understand how Layla feels.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, when I was eleven I was swept up into a child prostitution ring. We needed the money and my father saw an opportunity to get his family out of the ghetto. I was the one who paid the price. Thankfully, I got in touch with a trusted adult when I was nineteen and I went back to school, got my GED, and went on to get a job putting away people like my father.” She told her story without flinching. That surprised me. “I promise you, Layla is in good hands, Ryder.”

  “Th-thank you so much,” I stammered. Her story had taken me by surprise. She told it with passion. She obviously was extremely passionate about her job.

  She smiled. “You’re very welcome.”

  After another few days in the hospital, I was allowed to go home. The bullet hadn’t hit anything that wouldn’t heal on its own so I was given a prescription for painkillers and orders to take it easy. No heavy lifting for at least a few weeks so I’d get a vacation from the gym for a while. I wasn’t complaining for now. My stomach was sore enough that even the thought of lifting a two-hundred-and-twenty-pound dumbbell hurt.

  Layla was staying in the local psych ward. She still wasn’t talking, but at least she was communicating through writing what she wanted to say in a notebook. Officer Keller had even gone out and bought her a special purple hardcover journal to write in for her own personal use. The journal was on Layla’s bed. She would be allowed to use it only after the trial was over. Officer Keller had told me it wasn’t uncommon for a person to become selectively mute after a mental trauma.

  But that wasn’t why the state put her in a ward. The reason Layla was put in the psych ward was because she was considered a threat to others. I didn’t understand how. For the past six days, she’d been drinking water, but that was it. I’d be surprised if she could hurt anyone, much less get up out of bed fast enough to even hurt anyone. Regardless, she had to stay in the ward for three days.

  I talked to her before she left. With tears in her eyes, and on the hospital notepad, she wrote, asking if she was allowed back at my house. I told her that of course she was. She could stay as long as she wanted. I was a bit disappointed when I didn’t get a hug good bye, but I had to remind myself that Layla wasn’t herself. It would take time until she was comfortable with even holding my hand. It was a bummer, but I had to be patient.

  I was back on my meds again so hopefully my brain would hold off on exploding. I was tempted to go see Layla, but I knew she needed time. Smothering her wouldn’t do any good, and I could feel something was wrong with my mood. I was running on a short fuse these days.

  Officer Keller gave me her number so I could call her if I needed to talk. I’d asked her about possibly finding Lilly. She said a small handmade teddy bear had been found and was being held as evidence but that she would see about getting it to Layla.

  Seeing Layla happy again was my top priority.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Ryder

  The first night back in my bed was the worst feeling of dread that I’d had since I found out Layla had OD’d in that house. Every little noise caused me to jump out of my skin. My shoulders hurt from being so tense. I barely slept at all.

  Coffee was my best friend the next morning. I drank three cups before ten. To take my mind off things for a little while, I turned on the TV. Every station I turned to had the news on or commercials for it. Pictures of that damned house were splashed across the screen every few minutes.

  The incident and death of infamous drug lord and alleged rapist Devin McDermott was front page news. Seeing his mugshot from a prior arrest made my blood boil and I had to restrain myself from throwing the remote through the TV. The sudden rush of anger scared me. Deep breaths. I couldn’t afford to lose it. Now when Layla needed all my attention.

  I thought about turning the TV off but paused when the news anchor went to an on-scene reporter who I no
ticed was female.

  I wondered if they had done that on purpose to make the girls feel safer. I smiled. Everyone at the hospital had been so accommodating of the fact Layla was having a hard time being around strange men. It was nice to see the news was being respectful of the other girls as well. I only hoped the psych ward was aware of it.

  “Thanks, Tim. I’m here at a press conference with a few of the survivors of Devin McDermott’s unthinkable plot. Sources say, he had planned to kill everyone in the house that night, and then presumably himself. Kristen Alice has bravely chosen to speak out on behalf of her friend and fellow captive, Layla Saunders.”

  The camera focused on Kristen. The other girls, none of whom I had met, were gathered behind her. They all looked alert, almost as if they expected to be kidnapped at any moment. Kristen looked nervous but spoke with determination.

  “I was abused, raped, and forced to sell my body to other men for Devin McDermott for two years. Layla was brought into the house about six months after I was. While there, we each saw things that our worst nightmares had nightmares about.”

  Hand after hand went up as reporters started excitedly asking questions, talking over one another to their rush to get the story. Kristen suddenly looked like a deer caught in the headlights and she froze. A man dressed in a suit leaned in to talk into one of the microphones on the podium.

  “Questions will be answered afterward, so please be respectful and hold all questions. Miss Alice, please continue.”

  Kristen looked extremely relieved. “Th-thank you, Mr. Taylor. Um, the-the girls behind me…um, I’m so sorry…” Kristen closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths in through her nose. When she opened her eyes, she looked much calmer.

  “The girls behind me all suffered at the cruel hands of Devin McDermott, along with countless others who didn’t make it to see the day he was no longer alive, the day we gained back our freedom. My friend, Macy Collins, was one of those girls. She was nineteen and enrolled in college to be a medical tech. She was only with us a few weeks when she was badly scarred in a drug-making accident. A few months after that, she was accused by Devin of stealing drugs and dragged outside, a bag over her head, where she was shot in the back of the head.”

  Two of the girls started crying and the other two comforted them with hugs and whispered words. Kristen looked back at them and offered a sad smile. She turned back to the podium and took a few seconds to compose herself.

  I was ready to march over there and stop that stupid press conference. It was torture to watch. Couldn’t they see how much these poor girls were suffering? Being the center of attention like this was only making it worse.

  “Truthfully speaking, I honestly don’t know if Macy and I had crossed paths under different circumstances that we would have become friends. That any of the girls I had encountered in the Room would be friends under different circumstances. But now I can say without hesitation that the girls are my family. Each and every one of them.”

  One of the girls pulled Kristen into a hug and the others gathered in a group hug. Mr. Taylor smiled and took over the podium. “Thank you, Miss Alice, for your inspiring words and immense bravery in coming forward. I will now take any questions.”

  Switching off the TV, I wiped a couple of tears from my eyes. Kristen, Layla, and those girls were the bravest women I’d ever met. All my other problems seemed extremely small in comparison.

  My phone vibrated. I’d gotten a new one after I’d been released from the hospital. I’d asked Dave to drive a county over to get it. Logically, I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with the phone store nearby, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  My heart froze as I saw who it was. This was it. No more excuses. No more reasons why I couldn’t answer. No more running.

  I’m at the door.

  Her knock reverberated in my soul. I wasn’t ready for this.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Layla

  It had been five days, two hours, and twenty-nine minutes since I had last spoken a word to anyone. I had never been this aware of time before, but you’d be surprised how aware of time one became when they stopped speaking.

  Being locked up in a mental institution didn’t help with my need to obsessively stare at the clock. I had nothing but time here. What was I waiting for? Because I had to be waiting for something. After all, you didn’t become obsessed with time unless you were waiting for something, right?

  I sat up on the small bed in my room as I watched the doorknob turn. “How are you today, Layla?” An old man came in and sat down in a wooden chair that had been bolted to the floor. I wasn’t allowed shoes with laces, but I guess they didn’t think I was able to hurt myself with a chair that was bolted to the floor.

  I shrugged and rolled my eyes at his question. How did he think I was? I was locked up against my will for another forty-two hours and eleven minutes. My stomach growled embarrassingly loud. I kept a straight face while the doctor raised an eyebrow.

  “Still not eating, huh? Would you like to tell me why that is? I understand you’re under a lot of stress. I’m hoping we can alleviate some of that stress, Layla.” The doctor handed me a notepad and a pen. I wrote without further prompting.

  I hate it here. I’m sure you’re good at what you do, but this isn’t going to work. Please…just let me go home.

  No snark. No sarcastic remarks. I didn’t have it in me. I was tired. Exhausted beyond words. I wanted Ryder. I wanted my bed in his house. I wanted the damn tears to stop. Wiping at my eyes like a stubborn child, I gave him the pad. He read it without making an expression. That pissed me off.

  “I’m sorry Layla. I’m afraid the answer is the same as when you were admitted last night. You have to wait seventy-two hours to leave.”

  My hand twitched. I wanted to throw the notepad at him. The security guard moved slowly toward me. They knew I had killed someone. They didn’t care that it had been in self-defense. They didn’t care that the person I had killed had abused me. Broken me in ways I hadn’t even known were possible.

  All they saw was a murderer who didn’t talk and hadn’t eaten in days. They didn’t care about me. They were just getting paid to babysit me until they could throw me in jail and throw away the key.

  It wouldn’t do any good. I was already dead. There wasn’t anything more they could do to me. I was already living my own life sentence.

  The doctor just smiled. “Would you like some water? You’re still drinking that, aren’t you? I could get you something more nutritious. Milk? Juice? Coffee?”

  Coffee isn’t nutritious doc

  He laughed. “I suppose you’re right. It has more flavor than water, at least. Would you like some?”

  I thought for a moment. I hadn’t had coffee in days. The sugar might help me with feeling so tired. I didn’t deserve to eat, but surely coffee was okay.

  Two sugars

  He smiled. “Jerome, would you get Layla some coffee, please? Two sugars. Thank you so much.”

  Jerome, the security guard, eyed me cautiously. “Are you sure, Dr. Marston?”

  “Yes, I believe Layla will be fine alone with me for a few minutes.” Translation: I can handle a few minutes alone with the crazy girl who hasn’t eaten in five days.

  Jerome shrugged and left the room. I rested my head on the pillow on the cot I was given. I’d been feeling light-headed lately. Probably due to not eating.

  “Layla, not eating isn’t going to help whatever it is that is bothering you. If you told someone, it might help. Get the weight off your chest. I know you’ve gone through things I couldn’t possibly imagine, but just because I don’t understand doesn’t mean talking won’t help.”

  I shot him a glare. He just kept smiling. I wanted to rip that chair out of its bolts and hit him with it. Never mind that I probably didn’t have the strength.

  He adjusted his glasses. His glasses were sleek black frames. They made him look smart. He’d probably be cute too, if he was twenty years younger. He was
cute. But older men creeped me out. It wouldn’t matter how nice he was. “How about your parents? Were they aware of what went on? Or did this start after they died?”

  I sat up so fast I almost passed out. The doctor got up quickly and stood by me, his hands out, probably in case I fell.

  “If you don’t eat soon, you’ll end up with a feeding tube,” he warned, his voice firm. “You don’t want that, I assure you.”

  If you’re the expert, what do I want?

  “You want help. You want someone to listen to you without judging you, without pitying you.”

  Damn, he was good. My stomach growled again, making me wince in pain.

  “We have chicken sandwiches, mashed potatoes, peanut butter and jelly, yogurt, apples, carrot sticks, pizza…” He trailed off. “That’s about it, I’m afraid. Tight budget.”

  I sighed, thinking it over. The thought of food was making my mouth water. My mind kept telling me I didn’t deserve it, but I ignored it. My stomach was too insistent.

  Peanut butter and jelly?

  “That’s better. One peanut butter and jelly coming up. I’ll be right back.”

  Setting the notepad down on the floor, I lay down. I just needed to rest my eyes for a few minutes.

  “I reheated your coffee and kept the peanut butter and jelly in a plastic bag so it wouldn’t dry out.” The doctor was sitting in the chair in my room.

  Reheated? I sat up and glanced at the clock. It was twenty minutes later. I must have fallen asleep. Dammit.

  “Good, at least you’re sleeping. I was afraid you had been denying yourself that too,” he said as he handed me a plate. Opening the plastic bag, I wolfed down the sandwich. It tasted so good! The coffee was just the way I liked it and I almost downed the cup in one gulp.

  “Would you like another? Or more coffee?”

  No but thank you

  He smiled. “Feel like talking? Or writing, in your case?”