“I’m not saying I want to split up. It’s just that I can’t handle this at the same time as everything else.”
“Don’t worry. I understand.”
“So you’re not going to dump me or anything?”
Annalise sensed the smile down the telephone line.
“Not just yet,” Mark said. “I still have some uses for you, and not all of them honourable. That is, if you don’t run off with one of those good-looking doctors.”
“I don’t think they’d be interested in a pathetic specimen like me, somebody who can’t even stand a bit of physiotherapy without bursting into tears.”
“Try to be a brave girl. I’ll pop in after I get the papering done. See you later.”
“Bye.”
Annalise pressed the button to end the call. She blew out her cheeks. That had gone far better than she expected. Mark didn’t seem too upset by her rejection. It was almost as if he sounded relieved. Had he put forward the offer of marriage out of some false sense of obligation, or did he really care about her? She tried to place herself in his shoes. The girlfriend who doctors predicted would never recover suddenly comes back to life. Even if he had been planning to marry her beforehand, would he still feel the same a year later? The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became she had made the right decision.
Chapter 15
Annalise was still thinking about the telephone call with Mark when her mother stuck her head around the door.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
“Oh, you know, my muscles are aching from the physio—but apart from that, fine. By the way, I just spoke to Mark and said no.”
The smile dropped from Sophie’s face. “How did he take it?”
“Pretty well, considering. He didn’t seem that upset at all.”
“That’s good news, then. Are you still going out together?”
Annalise shrugged. “As far as I can tell. He said he’d visit this afternoon.”
“I know it’s nothing to do with me, but for what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Oh, he had a few jobs to do. He said he’d be in to see you later. Anyway, I brought you these grapes. I’m just going to run them under the tap.”
Sophie moved to the small sink.
“Look, Mum, there’s only the two of us for the moment. Can we talk?”
Sophie stiffened. She continued to rinse a bunch in the stream of water. “What did you want to talk about?” she asked, her back to Annalise.
“Mum, can you stop that? You know what I want to discuss.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
With slow, deliberate movements, Sophie grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at the remaining droplets. She handed the fruit to Annalise then sank into the chair bedside the bed. Her gaze darted about the room but refused to settle on her daughter. Finally, a shiver ran through her, and their eyes locked together.
“You want to know why I felt guilty.”
Annalise tilted her head away. The ring around her mother’s head pulsed in a slowly repeating pattern of blue and grey. The colours seemed to have taken on a darker tinge from the previous day.
“That’s right, Mum. When you first said that, I thought for a horrible moment you were the one who did something to my drip. So what was it?”
“I might as well have done,” Sophie muttered. A tear welled in her eye, and she brushed it away with the irritated sweep of a finger. “This is really hard for me.”
Annalise extended an arm and placed a hand on her mother’s knee. “I know you only want what’s best for me. I’m sure I’ll understand.”
Sophie sniffed and blew her nose. “You’d been in a coma for nearly a year. I even took a secretarial job here at the hospital so I could spend time with you whenever I wanted. I used to come and sit by your bed and just talk. You know I’m not religious, but I prayed to God. You wouldn’t believe the deals I made. I told Him he could strike me down there and then if He would wake you up. It almost drove me mad, seeing you so helpless and not being able to do anything about it.”
Annalise sensed what was coming but waited for her mother to say it.
“The specialists told us there was very little chance of you ever waking up. All the signs indicated you were brain dead. I wasn’t talking to the real part of you. I thought you’d moved on to ... I don’t know ... a better place.”
“I don’t blame you, Mum.”
Sophie continued as if Annalise hadn’t spoken. “It must be about a month ago, the doctors called your father and me in for a chat. They spelled it out. They didn’t think there was any chance you would ever recover. I demanded a second opinion. A different set of experts examined you and came to the same conclusions. It finally sank in. The body lying there was no longer my daughter. I mean it was no longer you.”
“I know what you’re going to say, Mum. Anybody would have done the same.”
The tears streamed down Sophie’s face. “Not your father, though. He insisted that while you were breathing, there was still hope. He spent hours on the Internet researching similar cases. He’d print them out and bring them to me to read.
“To my great shame, I sided with the doctors against him. They suggested we stop your life support, and I agreed. He was the one who refused to give in. He showed them the articles he found. They practically laughed in his face. We needed to agree before they could do anything, but he was adamant. Under no circumstances would he allow them to disconnect the equipment.
“The hospital even discussed the possibility of taking it to court. Luckily, you woke up before it ever came to that. So there you have it. Now you know my secret, why my aura is so dark. I wanted to kill my own daughter.”
“It’s not your fault, Mum. If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s down to the doctors for saying there was no hope.”
“That may be the case, but I can never forgive myself.”
Sophie covered her face with her hands. Huge, wracking sobs convulsed her body. Annalise pulled her close, no longer able to hold back her own tears. Mother and daughter clung to each other in an intense bubble of emotion.
“It’s not your fault,” Annalise whispered repeatedly in her mother’s ear. “You couldn’t have known.”
Chapter 16
Annalise turned on her side and tried to make herself comfortable. The rubber coating of the mattress creaked as she moved. She was looking forward to sleeping in her own bed. Her muscles still ached, but she was regaining her strength after a week of physiotherapy.
The two therapists kept telling her she was making a remarkable recovery. They supplied her with a pair of crutches and encouraged her to exercise her legs by exploring the hospital. There was nothing else to do, so Annalise followed their advice. At first, the effort had exhausted her, but after three days of practice, she could move about without pausing for breath every few steps. That afternoon, she had even covered the length of the ward totally unaided.
When the consultant had visited that morning, he announced he was pleased with her progress. His one remaining area of concern was the continued distortion of her vision. Annalise had played down the symptoms and reassured him the colours were fading. It was a lie, but she had endured the confines of the small room for far too long.
Mark had visited at least once a day. He didn’t seem adversely affected by her rejection of his marriage proposal, laughing and joking with her as he had done before the accident. Annalise didn’t raise the subject of the crash with him, although it was never far from her thoughts.
There were still no developments on the investigation into the contamination of her drip. Nick, the guard, continued to spend long periods of time seated outside her door. She had overheard a whispered conversation between him and the nurse; it seemed the security team had decided she was no longer at risk and were planning to cancel the arrangement.
Annalise was on the verge of drifting off when an electro
nic squawk drew her back to full wakefulness. The characteristic crackle of a walkie-talkie followed soon after. A man—presumably Nick—said a few words. The scrape of chair legs suggested he was about to leave his post.
She swung her feet off the bed and crept to the door. She opened it a crack and scanned the quiet ward. As expected, the seat was empty. Her attention focused on movement to her left. The swing doors leading to the corridor bumped together. Grabbing the crutches, she hobbled across the cold floor and eased through. She peered around the corner. Nick had his back to her and was jogging with the walkie-talkie held to his mouth. The voice emanating from the speaker echoed as it punched through the silence, but the distortion made it impossible to distinguish the individual words. He slowed to a walk and muttered something into the handset.
For a moment, Annalise debated whether to follow. Could this be a plan to distract her chaperone and leave her unguarded? In that case, staying close was the safer option. Glad that she had rationalised her decision, she tagged after him. She hung back to avoid detection, sure that in the quiet of the hospital she could track him by the echo of his footsteps.
The corridor turned through ninety degrees. She watched Nick disappear from view as he followed the passageway. Despite the intensive exercise regime, she still found herself panting for breath. Glancing up at the direction signs, she realised the guard was retracing the route to the room where she had woken from the coma. He pushed through another set of swing doors. The sign hanging from the ceiling read, Brain Injury Ward. As the door slowly swung back, the buzz of raised voices spilled through.
This couldn’t be a coincidence. What were the odds of security being called to the same place where she had spent the last eleven months of her life? Annalise limped forwards and jammed a crutch in the gap before it closed completely. Now that she was closer, she picked up the low rumble of a man talking in calm, persuasive tones. A woman’s agitated, high-pitched voice cut through his words. Annalise’s eyes adapted to the dim lighting, and she crept nearer. Nick and another guard stood with their backs to her. A woman in a nurse’s uniform paced backwards and forwards by one of the beds. Something glinted in her hand as she waved it around.
“It’s not right,” the nurse shrieked. “These people should be allowed to die. Why do we keep them here? How can they move on if they’re being kept alive by machines?”
“Alright,” said the taller of the two guards, raising both his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You just need to remain calm. I’m Colin. What’s your name?”
“Fiona,” the nurse replied, “but what the hell’s that got to do with anything? I’m working on God’s behalf. That’s the important thing.”
The smaller man took a pace forwards. “I’m Nick.”
“Watch out, she’s holding a syringe,” Colin murmured, barely moving his lips. “I don’t know what’s in it, but it can’t be good.”
“You stay back,” the woman yelled, brandishing the needle like a dagger.
“I want you to calm down, Fiona,” Colin said, showing her his empty palms. “We can sort all of this out, but you have to put the syringe down.”
“The only way to sort this out is to release these poor people from this never-ending twilight, stuck between life and death. They should be allowed to stand by God’s side. Can’t you see? I’m doing them a favour.”
“There’s a process to go through. The doctors may decide to let them die eventually, but only after all the proper procedures have been followed.”
“God doesn’t care about procedures. All he wants is for these souls to be set free so they can join him. He told me to do this.”
Annalise inched closer. As she did so, the handle of the crutch slipped from her grasp. It clattered to the floor.
The two men whirled around.
“What are you doing here?” Nick asked.
Annalise placed a hand against the wall to support herself. “I followed you. I—”
“Who the hell is this?” Colin interrupted.
“She’s the girl I’ve been guarding.”
“Is that you, Annalise?” the woman called. A look of pure ecstasy spread across her face. “It is, isn’t it? God gave you a second chance. What I did brought you back to life. Come closer so I can see you better.”
Annalise edged forwards until she was standing between the pair of guards.
“You may say thank you if you like.”
Annalise shrugged. She didn’t want to inflame the situation. “Um ... thank you.”
The sound of running footsteps echoed down the corridor. The swing doors burst open. A man in a brown security uniform entered, followed by two men in white doctor’s coats.
The first newcomer gestured towards the nurse. “Is she the one?”
“Yeah,” Colin replied.
The man raised a small black and yellow pistol, pointed it at the woman and pulled the trigger. At the same time, somebody turned on the main lights. Annalise shielded her eyes from the sudden glare. When she lowered her hand, the target was convulsing on the ground.
“Quick, get the needle off her,” the man with the Taser barked.
Annalise spotted two thin wires leading from the weapon to the prostrate woman. Nick bent down and snatched the syringe from the floor. Colin retrieved a tie-wrap from his jacket, leaned over the nurse, and bound her wrists behind her back.
“This might sting a bit,” he said, extracting one of the small silver darts from where it protruded just below her rib cage. The woman groaned. The man repeated the process on the second dart, drawing another moan of pain.
He hauled the prisoner to her feet. She staggered, her head held down. The man who had fired the device returned it to its carry case. He strapped the bag to his waist then strolled over to stand beside the woman.
“Stupid bitch,” he muttered.
The captive raised her eyes from her hunched over position. She glared at him but said nothing in reply. The two men stood, one on either side, hands firmly grasping her upper arm.
“You’re coming with us,” Colin growled.
Meanwhile, the doctor checked the status of the patients. He moved to a wall-mounted telephone, dialled a number and spoke in a hushed voice.
Nick deposited the syringe on top of a cabinet and turned to Annalise. “I better get you back to your room.”
As the prisoner drew alongside, she resisted the two guards and twisted her head to the side. Her gaze locked onto Annalise. “You’d still be asleep if I hadn’t done what God asked. I’ll pray for you.”
“Bloody nutter,” the Taser man murmured, prodding her forwards
As they reached the swing door, the nurse glanced back again. “God chose you to live. Use your second chance well.”
Annalise turned away. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the light surrounding the would-be murderer. A disc of swirling white brightness spun around her head.
Chapter 17
Two weeks to the day after regaining consciousness, Annalise sat in the back seat as the car drew to a halt on the driveway. Everything about the house looked almost exactly as she remembered it. The red brick structure with its leaded, white plastic windows overlooked the small patch of neatly trimmed front lawn. The wisteria curling around the entrance was perhaps a little bushier than when she had last seen it.
She opened the door and pulled the carryall out.
“I’ll close the gate,” Sophie said.
Annalise watched as her mother swung the barrier closed and dropped the latch. “You never used to close it.”
“Oh, you know. We’ve just got into the habit. Do you want me to carry the bag?”
“I can manage,” Annalise said. “It’s not exactly heavy, is it?”
She followed her mother to the open front door and entered, pulling it shut behind her. She surveyed the compact hallway. The carpet was now dark green instead of the familiar maroon colour from her memory. The wooden table on which the whole family normally dumped their keys was
on the opposite side of the passageway. It was devoid of any clutter.
“Why did you change the carpet, Mum?”
The same uncomfortable look from her mother. “Well ... we had a spillage and couldn’t get the stain out, so we replaced it. It was just after the accident.”
“Okay. Don’t you put the keys on the table anymore?”
“The police ... we decided it wasn’t a secure place to leave them.”
Annalise placed her hands on her hips. “Mum, I’m not stupid. What’s been going on?”
“I think you should ask your father.”
“Well, I’m asking you instead.”
Sophie was spared from having to answer by a whining sound. The white wooden door leading to the kitchen opened. A set of claws scrabbled against the cream tiles, and a boisterous tan-coloured German Shepherd bounded out.
“You never told me you got a dog.”
The animal pranced about, wagging its tail excitedly.
“A fine guard dog you make,” Dan said, watching from the doorway. “Annalise, meet Bisto.”
Annalise bent down to stroke the pet. It immediately rolled onto its back waiting for its stomach to be tickled. She knelt down to oblige. “You always used to tell us they were dirty, filthy creatures that would destroy the place and knock thousands off the value of the property.”
“All true,” her father said, smiling.
“So what made you get one?”
The smile dropped from his face. “Well, we didn’t want to say anything.”
“Come on, Dad. What the hell’s going on?”
“Shortly after the accident, we had some trouble.”
“Do you mean my accident? What sort of trouble?”
“Yeah, it started about a week after the crash. It was all over the local papers. Everybody around here knew you were driving the car. At first, it was just the odd comment. Then one night, a brick came through the lounge window.”
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Sophie said, frowning. “Does anybody fancy a cup of tea?”
“Were any of you hurt?” Annalise asked.
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