“Promise?” She looked at him with those piercing dark eyes.
“I promise.” He took her hand and folded it over his.
“That’s what all the men say.” Lauren winced, a pained cry escaping her lips.
“I’m not most men,” he said. “Let’s see about getting you out of here.”
Lauren later told him it wasn’t his dimples, his bright smile, or even his charming bedside manner that had won her heart that night, but those deep-set green eyes. He had made her feel safe, and not quite so scared anymore.
Now he felt helpless, and he hated it. Despite his medical training, he could do nothing but sit and watch as the ER team worked on her. They had confirmed that her shoulder was dislocated and were studying the x-rays on a light board as he watched through the window. He knew they were discussing their strategy for resetting it, until they noticed the spiral fracture in her humerus.
He’d only seen a fracture like that once in his career. When he was in basic training, his unit had a couple of recruits that had played college baseball. They challenged another unit to a friendly game one hot afternoon outside of Bagdad. His buddy had a mean pitching arm and had thrown a wild screwball with such force that he’d broken the bone in his upper arm, just like Lauren’s was broken now.
One of the doctors glanced up from the chart and looked at Rowan. He looked familiar and the same sense of recognition passed over his face. He came out into the hallway.
“Pierce?” He asked. “Lt. Bennett McGuinness. Do you remember me?”
“Ben?” Rowan recognized the man from basic training. “Ben McGuinness! God! Yeah! It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah it has,” he said, shaking his hand vigorously. “I watch your show. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”
“How’s Lauren?”
Ben glanced over his shoulder, his friendly countenance turning sober. “Someone’s beaten the hell out of her,” he said. “She has a couple of bruised ribs and her arm nearly got ripped off. Other than that, she’s lucky to be alive. Who sewed her head up anyway?”
“That was me,” Rowen said. “Is she going to make it?” He blanched, and Ben caught his arm, steadying him.
“She’s in bad shape, but she’s not that bad off,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you like that.” Ben studied him for a moment. “Come here, I want to show you something.”
Rowan followed the doctor into the exam room, his fingers brushing along the old scar on Lauren’s bared leg as he passed. Ben turned to his patient. He lifted her arm and turned it enough for Rowan to see the bruise that spread from elbow to wrist. It was dark, angry and the exact shape of a massively large hand.
“This is a classic example of an injury we see in abused children.”
Rowan wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out. He forced himself to stay conscious as he studied the bruises on her arm and face.
“Whatever happened, she put up one hell of a fight.”
Rowan rubbed his face.
“I need to know who did this. I have to file a report. It’s standard procedure when we see signs of abuse.”
“Not who,” Rowan said. His eyes were fixed on her. “What.”
“What do you mean?” Ben knitted his brow.
“You’re never going to believe it, even if I tell you.”
Ben locked eyes with him. “Is there something I need to know? Are you and this woman involved? Did you ...?”
“No. Ben, I would never!” Rowan realized what he was implying. “I guess you haven’t been watching the news the past week or so.”
“I’ve been on call for the past week.”
“We better get a cup of coffee. It’s a long story.”
“Condense it for me.” Ben folded his arms over his chest.
“It wasn’t someone who did that to Lauren,” Rowan said. He laughed, tears welling in his eyes at the same moment. “I’m still not so sure what it was. I can tell you what I think it was.”
“What the hell was it then, Rowan?”
“Bigfoot,” he said. “It was a Bigfoot. Okay?”
“Oh Jeez, Rowan! Is that the best you can do?” Ben scoffed, his brow furrowing even deeper.
“You have to believe me. You said you watched my show.”
“I don’t get to watch it all that much.” Ben softened his gaze. “But I know you, Rowan. I know your character. I’m just having a hard time buying into the whole Sasquatch business.”
“At the moment, so am I.”
* * *
While Lauren was in surgery they sat down and Rowan told Ben the whole story, from start to finish. He was finally able to convince the doctor he hadn’t gone completely insane. Their search for the truth had led them to an even greater mystery, one only Lauren could answer now. Where had she been for the past ten days?
“This has to be a hoax. Someone’s playing you, at her expense,” Ben said. “Her injuries could just as easily have been caused by a man. The Bigfoot legend has persisted for centuries, but there have been more documented hoaxes than rational explanation. Everyone likes a good monster story.”
“I saw something I can’t explain. Without further proof, I’m inclined to believe it was a hoax, provisionally,” Rowan said.
“You just said it yourself though. You don’t have any proof.”
“Not yet,” Rowan said. “But the truth is out there, and I intend to find it.”
“Oh, now you sound like Mulder on the X-Files.” Ben shook his head.
“That’s not the first time someone’s said that to me.” Rowan sniffed. “Meanwhile, Lauren’s upstairs fighting for her life. I can’t let this all be in vain.” He crushed his empty coffee cup in his trembling hand. “I owe her that much.”
Chapter 13
Rowan was given the bag containing Lauren’s personal effects after Ben left him in the waiting room. He sat going through it. He inspected the pair of flannel lined blue jeans, the silk undershirt, and the navy-blue flannel shirt he’d bought her for Christmas last year. The vest she’d gotten from REI was tattered, the fluffy insulation ripped to shreds. She also had a pair of thick wool socks, and her black hiking boots. He examined the damaged seam on the shoulder of the flannel shirt. The pocket was ripped, and several buttons were missing. Her bra was damaged too, one strap completely torn away from the cup, and the center clasp had been broken. Her underwear was torn, and the jeans were ripped on the right knee. The left hip pocket was gone, leaving the denim frayed beneath it.
Blood stained the shoulder of the silk shirt. He found the corresponding spot on the flannel shirt. Bloodstains spattered on her jeans were consistent with the bleeding he’d seen. He buried his face in the silk top, inhaling the unnatural smell of her clothes as he sat back and completely fell apart.
* * *
The team arrived a few hours later. They found Rowan pacing in the waiting room. He was a mess, but having the team together again seemed to fortify him. “The doctors say her prognosis is good.” He tried to remain positive. “She should be out of surgery any time now.” Bahati wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly.
Jean-René reached down and took her arm. “Come sit down over here,” he said. He took her to a chair, and she complied numbly. “I’ll get us some tea.” She nodded, drying her eyes on a tissue.
“She’s been inconsolable,” Jean-René said to Rowan. “We had to wait for a snowplow to get through before we could drive here. I thought she was going to have a nervous breakdown in the Jeep.”
“We’re all on pins and needles.” Rowan nodded. “But Lauren’s safe. That’s what we were praying for.”
“Is it as bad as it looked?” Jean-René asked.
“It’s pretty bad,” Rowan said. He recapped the doctor’s report. “She’s going to need at least twelve weeks to mend. Lots of physical therapy. It looks like the damned thing beat the daylights out of her.”
Jean-René put a hand on his arm. “She’s a strong woman. If anyone can s
urvive this, Lauren can.”
* * *
Normally, Rowan would have agreed with Jean-René, but he wasn’t sure. She didn’t seem so strong now. In fact, she looked almost childlike in that hospital bed. Her dark, tangled hair fanned out over the white pillowcase. Her pallor had gone from copper to ashen. Ben explained they were keeping her sedated.
He took a seat on a stool, gently taking her uninjured hand, running a thumb over the finger where he’d planned to put his ring. He drew it from his pocket and slid it on, pleased it still fit. It seemed so small against her bruised knuckles.
He turned her hand over to study her palm and noticed it was bruised where her fingernails had dug into it, as if she’d made a fist and hit something hard, the force of her own nails damaging her flesh in the process.
A mottling of bruises colored her arm from where he held her hand, until they disappeared beneath the gown that was loosely draped over her shoulders. He could only imagine what she’d been through. His imagination was quite vivid.
He realized she was trembling. She stirred slightly, rolling her head away from him, a low moan reverberating from the back of her throat.
A nurse came in to check on her, resting a hand on her leg, “Are you in any pain?” The moan repeated itself. “I’ll get you something, okay? Just give me a second.” He quickly retrieved the ring and put it back in his pocket.
The nurse nodded in greeting but went about her business of drawing the medication into a syringe before injecting it into the IV line. “Okay, Lauren,” she said, raising her voice. “You should start to feel that in just a few seconds. Just keep breathing for me, okay? Deep breaths.” Lauren didn’t answer, but Rowan could feel the trembling ebb away. She seemed to melt back into a relaxed state of oblivion.
Only when she had been moved from ICU did Rowan leave and get checked into the nearby hotel. He showered and changed into clean clothes Jean-René had brought him. Lauren was still sleeping when he returned.
Bahati sat with her, filing the broken nails on her uninjured hand.
“She stirred a few minutes ago, muttered something I couldn’t understand and then went back to sleep,” she said.
“I know she needs her rest, but ... I have so many questions.”
“We all do,” Bahati said, standing. “But mine can wait. I need a shower.”
He handed her a card key. “Room 247 at the Holiday Inn. The address is programmed into the GPS on your rental car,” he said. “I figured I’d be here most of the time, so I only got one room. I put your bags in the corner by the television.”
“Makes sense to me,” she said. “I’m going to grab a few hours of sleep in a real bed after my shower. Call if you need anything?”
“I will.”
“Let me know if she wakes up?” Bahati’s dark eyebrows arched hopefully.
“I will,” he said, putting an arm around her. “She’ll want you here, I’m sure of it.”
Bahati nodded and took the key, collecting her jacket and purse from the chair in the corner. Her hand brushed along Lauren’s leg as a fond farewell.
Rowan sat in the chair beside her bed, his mind racing. He had done everything he could think of to get through to her. He needed her to understand how much he loved her. She made him feel like he was nothing more than a friend with benefits, and he wanted to be so much more.
Lauren didn’t let her emotions show. That was one of the reasons she was such a good paranormal researcher. She was objective. She didn’t give into flights of fancy and she didn’t need anyone to do the field work for her. She was stoic and strong, yet open to new ideas.
He liked all those things about her, but it also made her headstrong and stubborn. Once she set a goal, she didn’t quit until she achieved it. She’d attack with a bulldog’s tenacity and tear into a challenge without fear of the repercussions.
Usually, they weren’t this severe. They might find evidence of a hoax or leave with more questions than answers. So far, this year, they were on a roll. The last three expeditions had put someone in the hospital, and it wasn’t a record Rowan was especially happy about. One of the camera technicians tripped over a loose cobblestone and hit his head in China on the search for the ghosts of Tiananmen Square. Then the whole affair in Peru, and now this.
He didn’t even want to think about what this was going to do to their production schedule. Initially, the Exploration Channel held them to a contract for ten episodes this season and they’d only finished six. They might not be able to do four more before the end of the production year.
Rowan was startled out of his thoughts when Lauren bolted up in bed and let out a blood-curdling cry. He caught her, eliciting another yelp as he removed his hand and put it on her chest to calm her and keep her from flailing out of bed. “A-gi...hna...sv...” she panted, her voice raspy and desperate. He recognized a bad dream when he saw one. “A-ga...yv-li...ge...gi no...”
Rowan searched her wild eyes for the fire he knew should be there. Her gaze was distant and empty. “Shhh ... just relax. Tell me what you need.”
“U-ni ... hna ... lv’...” she panted, grasping his sleeve with her free hand. “E qua ... tsu na ... tsv-s-gi-no.”
Rowan had a flash of inspiration, reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew his digital recorder. As a paranormal investigator, it was a habit to keep one handy. He clicked it on. “Lauren, it’s Rowan...tell me what happened.”
“U-ni ... hna ... lv’...” She melted back into the bed, gasping for breath, wincing at the pain in her arm and body. “E qua ... tsu na ... tsv-s-gi-no.”
The nurse rushed in and looked her over. “What happened?”
“She bolted up in bed and started babbling,” he said, as the nurse prepared a sedative.
“A-ga-yv-li-ge a-yo-hu-hi-s-di....a-ya...a-ya u-na-sti-sgi...” She panted weakly as the medicine ran down the IV tube to her arm.
“Sounds like Russian,” the nurse said. “Or Inuit. We get a lot of the indigenous peoples from Alaska here for treatment.”
“Do you think there’s someone here that could translate that?” Rowan asked, holding up the tape recorder.
“A-tsa s-gi-li ...” Lauren’s voice trailed off as the medication did its job. “Tsul’Kalu ...”
Chapter 14
Several hours later, the nurse met Rowan in the lobby with a frail old man in a wheelchair. He might have been 100. A toothless grin brightened his face as the nurse brought him in.
“Rowan, this is John Seawolf.” A little more loudly, she spoke to the old man. “Mr. Seawolf, Mr. Pierce has some questions for you.”
“I understand you can speak Inuit, Mr. Seawolf.” Rowan raised his voice too.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” His voice was deep and hoarse. His thin, white hair floated around his head like wisps of smoke. “I was a Code Talker once, when I was a younger man. I speak many languages.”
“If I played a tape for you, could you try to make it out? We’re not sure what language it is. Maybe you could point us in the right direction.”
“Yes, I will try. You must play it loud. I’m an old man and my ears are not as good as they used to be.”
Rowan did just that. The old man leaned closer, listening to the ranting of a delirious woman. Rowan played it a second time, and then a third. “Not Inuit,” he said. “Iroquoian, perhaps.” He nodded. “Play it again?” he asked, leaning even closer. He furrowed his brow as he folded his hands in his lap. Rowan set it to loop. He let him listen to it over and over.
Finally, the old man perked up. “Cherokee, maybe. Yes, Cherokee ... western dialect.”
“Lauren’s family is Cherokee,” Rowan said, more to himself. “Do you know what she is saying?”
“Some of it,” he nodded. “There are many words here that I cannot remember,” he said. “Ancient ... evil ... devil ... witch...” he said. “I am crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, Mr. Seawolf.” Rowan said, trying to make sense of it.
“No. That is what this woman say
s. I am gone crazy...” He tapped a gnarled finger on the recorder.
“Ancient evil?” Rowan scratched his head.
“Tall man. I think she says something about a tall man,” said the translator. “Her words are not clear, like a baby who doesn’t know syntax. She speaks as a child speaks. Frightened words, as if wakening from a nightmare.”
“Thank you, Mister Seawolf,” Rowan said. “This has been very helpful.”
* * *
Rowan paced, listening to the digital recorder over and over again. He had even more questions now than answers. “Ancient evil ... devil ... witch ...a tall man.” What was she trying to tell him? He struggled to put the pieces together. He read over the Iroquoian legends of the Bigfoot online, disappointed that none of them referred to the creature as ancient evil, devil or witch. Some of the Cherokee legends called him Ot-ne-yar-hed ... Stonish Giant. Yet in those legends, the creature was small, about 4-foot tall and more man-like than ape. The Algonquin called him Yeahoh ... the Aztec-Ianoan called him Tse’nahaha but Lauren wasn’t from an Algonquin tribe or Aztec-Ianoan. Some tribes called him a Mountain Protector, or Tree Man, Char Man ... others called him Hidden Spirit.
“It is said the creature moves silently and swiftly through the undergrowth, towering over everything it passes. It strides in the woods as little more than a shadow. It has exceptionally large shoulders and moves like a heavily muscled beast, leaving just its massive footprints.” Rowan read from a webpage on his iPhone, holding the recorder near his mouth, collecting his thoughts and documenting his research. “Over the last two centuries, there have been thousands of people who have claimed to see a giant hairy beast lurking in the forests of North America. The phantom creature has been known by many names, Hairy Ghost, Indian Devil.” He lingered on this one a moment. “Sasquatch .... Bigfoot.” He breathed heavily. “And now, our own investigator, Lauren Grayson, may be among those who have not only encountered the beast, but possibly been its prisoner. Was she held captive for ten days in the lair of the beast? At this point, it’s too soon to know exactly what Lauren experienced. We can only wait until she can tell us for herself.”
The Veritas Codex Series, #1 Page 8
