Soon she'd be able to type up her own nightmares. She wouldn't need my help and I'd have to ask her to tell me before she sent me away. Soon. I didn't know whether to be happy for her freedom or sad for mine.
"Here, I'll help you wash your hands," I heard Nurse Judith say, bringing my mind back to the two women in front of me.
The nurse carefully wiped Caitlin's hands with a face washer from the bathroom and helped her dry them on a towel. She threw them both into a bag for dirty linen in the corner and leaned in closer to Caitlin. "Do you want me to go see if I can get some bubbly from the kitchen?"
Caitlin shook her head. "I don't believe there's any alcohol for drinking in a hospital."
Nurse Judith winked. "There is – for the candlelight dinners in the maternity ward. I'll go get you some and you can toast having your hands back!"
She headed out of the room.
I shifted out of the visitor's chair and perched on the edge of Caitlin's bed. She had a big smile on her face as she looked down at her hands.
I couldn't help smiling – I'd never seen her look so happy. "Congratulations," I said.
She lifted her eyes so she smiled at me. She held out her hands as if she was drying nail polish. Her hands were trembling a little and I reached out to take hers in mine.
Words couldn't describe how relieved I was that her hands had healed okay. I wanted to shake her hand, but even the slightest pressure of my fingers had her trying to pull out of my grasp, so I stopped. Lightheaded, I did something silly. I touched my lips to the back of first one hand, then the other. Her hands were warm and moist, like I imagined her lips would feel after she'd just had a sip of coffee.
Caitlin laughed, breaking into my reverie, her eyes puzzled. "What was that for?" she asked.
I forced a smile, trying to make my tone light. "I'm not sure. It just seemed like the right thing to do."
And now what I wanted to do most was kiss her properly, but not on her hands. There's a stupid idea. I let go of her and turned away to look out of the window. I looked in vain for the spider in her corner web, but all I saw was the image of Caitlin's ghostly hands spread across my vision, finally free.
46
I remember waking up and it was dark.
Still groggy from the drugs, I couldn't see.
My head hurt.
I was tied up.
My body resting on cold concrete. I felt bruised, not knowing how long I'd lain there.
Shifting. Something harder by my hip.
They didn't. They did?
They missed it. Let me keep it.
Stupid.
Thank you.
Must reach it to free myself.
Painfully twisting, trying to reach my pocket. Need something sharp.
Shoulders burning, straining, reaching...
Fingertips found plastic.
Now for something sharp.
Tiny scissors, slow but safer than a knife. Didn't want to risk hurting my hands with the big blade.
Slicing strands, sawing... then my hands were free.
Slipping the card back into my pocket. Just in case.
Dizzy when I stood up.
Angry voices in the dark. Shouting at Chris.
A door opened and there was light.
I ran for it, trying to push past the standing shape in the doorway.
Room swirling into darkness again. I was falling.
His hands on me.
He caught me, so I didn't fall.
Helping.
He offered me food and water.
Something for the pain.
Help.
But not enough.
47
Caitlin sat at the window, her hand a pale spider on the glass, her eyes scanning the lake and the gardens below. She sat so long without moving that I thought she'd fallen asleep, until she spoke. "What's the date, Nathan? It's September, isn't it?" She didn't look away from the window.
I admitted that I didn't know the exact date, but that, yes, it was September.
"The last time I was outside in daylight it was still winter. Now it's spring." She heaved a big sigh and turned her dark eyes on me. "I want to see the flowers."
I'll bring you any flowers you want. I'll fill your room with them – as long as I can keep you safe.
I looked at the bin in the corner, which now held the remains of her birthday flowers. Mine had outlasted Jason's, but only by a day.
"I don't know if it's a good idea to leave the hospital yet," I hedged. "Maybe after you've been discharged – it can't be long."
"The gardens downstairs are still hospital grounds," she stated. "And I've seen at least two patients walking around in them. I think they were smoking."
"So you want to go downstairs and inhale lots of passive cigarette smoke?" That was the least of my concerns. I was worried about the difficulty of keeping her safe in the grounds, with their winding paths and spots where you were invisible to most eyes. "What if one of the smokers is actually one of your attackers waiting for a second chance?"
"Then I'll have to run them over," she said softly, her voice muffled. "Anyway, only one of them smoked and he's dead."
I lost interest in what she was saying, watching in fascination as she struggled out of the hospital gown and into her borrowed surgical scrubs. Her hands were paler than the rest of her skin between the dressings, but the dressings were far fewer than they'd initially been. Her back looked smooth, the curve of her shoulders down to her spine unmarred by any gauze now. There were scars, of course, but these were starting to fade. She let out a whimper as she pulled the V-necked shirt over her head. I tensed, waiting. I knew something must have hurt her, but she seemed determined not to ask for help.
I watched as she arched her back, pulling the pants on over the patch on her thigh where the stitches had been removed only yesterday. She whimpered a little more, then gritted her teeth and dragged the pants up to her waist.
She saw me watching, but didn't say anything until she'd finished. "You could have averted your eyes. It's considered polite."
"I could have, but you should have asked me for help," I returned, keeping my voice even. "If you'd wanted privacy, you could have changed in the bathroom, or closed the curtains around your bed." She wouldn't admit that she couldn't do either of those, I realised. Nor would she ask for help. I wished I'd done what any normal person would have and looked away, instead of waiting for her to stop and ask me for help. Then maybe I wouldn't have felt like such a pervert, watching an injured girl struggle to dress herself. I wanted to apologise.
Caitlin wasn't listening. She eyed the wheelchair outside her room, much further than she could walk unaided. She stood up carefully, clamping her mouth shut. She took a step, her face white from the effort, but her eyes spoke volumes about pain. My heart felt crushed like a Coke can – I could almost hear the sound of it crunching in her clenched fist.
Don't do this to yourself, angel – it's painful to watch.
I gave in, standing up and moving to bar her way before she took another step. For a moment, she looked up at me, determined not to be cowed, but the pain was too much for her and she closed her eyes as she crumpled. I was ready; I had my arms around her, supporting her weight, before she could hit the floor. I lifted her and carried her back to where she'd been sitting on the edge of her bed.
"You don't need to fight me," I said softly. "I'm not here to hurt you. Save your energy so you can recover for when you do need to fight."
She was still pale, shaking where she sat. Even as she opened her eyes, they looked down and wouldn't meet mine.
I sank to a crouch in front of her on the floor. "If you don't recover, they win."
She stared at me. "I'm getting better."
I dropped my voice lower, aiming to be persuasive. "If you let me help you, you'll get better faster. And it won't hurt as much, either."
"I'm not asking for your help. You know I won't." Stubbornly, she pressed her lips together and looked aw
ay.
I couldn't charm her. Maybe I could shock it out of her. Not like I'd get anything any other way.
"Who helped you before, Caitlin? Who brought you food, water, medicine? Someone helped you survive." I kept my voice low, so only she could hear me.
She looked back at me, shocked, swallowing convulsively, before closing her eyes. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Someone who didn't wait for me to ask. Someone kind. Someone... I haven't talked about."
Stubborn little thing, I thought, jubilant that she told me more than anyone else and uneasy that she could remember so much. How much more had she remembered that I didn't know? "It's polite to wait 'til you ask. But even if you're not going to ask, I'm still going to try to help you. I won't let them win."
Her eyes were still closed, so I couldn't tell what her reaction was. Yet my eyes never left her face.
"I want to go outside." Her voice surprised me. Something in her expression said I couldn't stop her.
"And how are you going to get there?" I asked.
She looked across the corridor. "I'm going to reach that wheelchair, then I'm going to use it to go down in the lift and outside."
"What if you fall again?" I asked her.
She bit her lip. "Then I'll crawl."
I believed her. But the mental image of her crawling commando-style across the floor was pretty damn funny.
"How will you push the wheelchair?" I struggled to keep a straight face.
She held out her hands, which shook slightly even as she tried to hold them still. "I can use my hands a little. It's downhill from the front entrance to the gardens, so that should be easy."
"How will you get back up the hill to the hospital?" I asked her.
She lifted her chin. "I'll wait until someone offers me a hand."
"What if no one else is out there to make the offer?"
She bit her lip again. "Then I'll wait for security to come looking for me."
At the thought of her waiting in the garden until security came looking for her, I laughed. I couldn't think of her doing anything more senseless when it came to her own safety – and Caitlin wasn't that stupid.
"Or you could ask me to come with you," I suggested as I lifted her from the bed and over to the wheelchair.
"Thank you," she said softly, looking down. Hesitantly, she placed her hands on the wheels and I held my breath. I didn't want her fragile fingers getting hurt all over again, struggling to handle a wheelchair. I couldn't keep up this show of indifference. If she went without me, I was damn well going to follow her to make sure she stayed safe.
Caitlin looked up at me, smiling impishly. "So, are you coming?"
My face lifted with a smile, taking my heart up with it. "Sure," I said. "The downhill path goes all the way through the garden to the lake. Someone's going to have to be there to fish you out."
She stared at me in disbelief.
"You'll see." I shrugged, starting to push her down the corridor to the lift.
I was bloody glad she couldn't see my face, because I couldn't keep the grin off it. She trusted me more than anyone else and she still wanted me around.
48
When we reached the lake, Caitlin started to laugh. I helped her sit on a bench by the edge of the water. She stretched her bare foot out but we were too far away for her toes to reach the murky brown surface. She pulled her foot back quickly, her toes lightly brushing the grass beneath the seat.
"So, are you going in?" I asked her, nodding at the water.
She laughed a little more. "No, it's cold and dirty. I'll leave the lake for the ducks and the fish." More soberly, she continued, "And I'm not sure if I should even consider swimming yet. I'd probably have to recover more before I could swim, or even go in the water." She stared out over the lake, her fingers resting on the cotton covering the transplanted skin on her thigh.
I sat beside her in silence, waiting for her to break it.
"Oh, look!" she cried suddenly, pointing across the lake.
I could see ripples on the surface, but nothing remarkable, and I said as much.
"Ducklings – look, four of them!" She pointed again, counting them for me. I could barely discern something small and brown on top of the ripples. She looked at me hopefully. "Can we go to the other side of the lake to see them better?"
I lifted her back into the wheelchair and pushed her to the paths on the other side of the lake, where they became the maze I'd been trying to avoid.
As we reached the far side, we could see the little ducks climbing up beside the waterfall that fed the lake, into the garden bed above. Full of misgivings, I took her further along one of the paths, into the gardens where the ducklings had disappeared.
Around a corner we found a small pond, hidden from view by manicured hedges, where an adult duck swam with a whole family of ducklings. There must have been at least ten of them.
Caitlin dropped to her knees beside the pond and sat motionless, entranced by the small fluffy things floating on the surface of the water. I stood near her, mesmerised by the smile on her face as she watched the ducks. I still had enough presence of mind to look around every few minutes, worried for her safety.
I heard their voices before I saw them.
"I give it another hour or two. Then it's pretty much getting dark – when I give up 'til tomorrow," one drawled.
"So if I stay five minutes longer than you and I spot her, I get her all to myself," the second taunted.
"If she comes out. All the hospital will say is that she's in a critical condition – no visitors – but it's been weeks. What makes you think it'll be today?"
"Why today or any other day? No one's critical for weeks. Either she's dead or she'll be discharged any day. Bet you a beer it's today." Two sounded bored. I heard the repeated scrape and click of a lighter, but he was too far away for me to smell the smoke from his cigarette.
"Okay. Bet you a coffee she's not as pretty as all the pictures..." One of the voices faded as he moved down the path away from us.
"Angel," I leaned down to say in a low voice beside her ear, "are you ready to give press interviews yet?"
"Hmm?" She looked up at me in surprise. "Interviews?"
"There's a press crew around, waiting for you. I heard them talking."
She went pale, her smile evaporating. "I don't want to, oh hell, not yet."
"Time to go back inside, then." I held out my arms, ready to help her up.
She looked wistful. "We're pretty well hidden here. We could stay and hope they'll just go away."
Against my better judgement, I gave in, with conditions. "If they do see us, I'll get you inside as fast as I can."
"Okay." She looked up at me with inviting eyes, her eager smile back. "Oh, come on, they're so cute. Take a look at the baby ducks. I've never seen ducklings this close before."
I watched the ducklings scoot around the pond for a few moments, before turning my attention back to her. She looked so happy, as if there were nothing else on her mind at all. As if none of this had ever happened.
I looked around again, more as a precaution than any feeling that it was necessary. Sunlight glinted off something. It took me a second to realise it was a camera lens.
"Time to go, angel," I told her. "Look, they're taking photos of us."
I lifted her back to the wheelchair and started to push her up the shortest path to the hospital entrance.
"Wait!" I heard the shout behind me. "Please, I just want to ask a few questions!"
"Do you want to answer them, angel?" I asked her, walking as fast as I could with her.
"No." She sounded scared.
I broke into a run as we approached the doors, trying to get her to the lifts before they could follow us. I caught the eye of the security guard as we sped past. I jerked my head in the direction of the reporters following us and he nodded, moving to the entrance to bar their way.
We made it into a lift just before the doors closed and travelled back up to her floo
r in silence. Too out of breath to say anything, I helped Caitlin back to her room and into her bed before I collapsed into the chair beside her.
I grabbed for the water jug, sloshing water into a glass and gulping most of it down as I struggled to catch my breath.
"Why would any reporter want to interview me?" Caitlin asked, bewildered.
I looked up from my glass to her, wondering if she was joking. "The missing girl back from the dead? When anyone else would have died? You're a real-life Harry Potter – look." I rummaged through the pocket of the laptop bag and pulled out the newspaper I'd kept from that first morning in hospital. An old photo of her, taken before she went missing, smiled from the front page, above the headline CAITLIN FOUND. The article itself was short, telling how her body had been discovered on a south-west beach early that morning where she'd been left to die, before she'd been transported to a hospital in Perth where she remained in a critical condition.
Caitlin looked at the article, still puzzled.
"This is all the press has on you," I told her. "The police won't tell them anything else. They want an interview with you, but the hospital won't give out any more information, either."
"But... I don't want to talk about it. Why would they care about me?"
I laughed. "Because you're news. They've had almost daily features with lots of pictures of you while you were missing, hoping someone would come out with information that would help the police find you. Now someone's found you and they want to know all about it." I paused. "It probably helps that you look good in photographs."
"What will they do now, when they took photos but didn't get any answers?"
"Print the pictures and make something up." I smiled broadly. "We should read the paper tomorrow." And I'll keep that one, too, I thought but didn't say. "I'll go speak to security and make sure you don't get any visitors or phone calls you don't want."
49
"Well that's fucking useless. You and her on the front cover of The West – what's the point trying to hide her now? And you've learned... what, exactly?"
Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer (Nightmares Trilogy) Page 9
