by Lianne Simon
Cooper stands on our front porch, short-sleeved in the cold wind. Muscles stretch tight around weary eyes. The guy looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
My gut melts into nausea, but I stare at him like a total moron.
“Danièle’s gone missing. I was hoping you’d know where she is.”
I step out of the way and wave him in. “Not here. Last I heard from her was, um, Wednesday.”
“You spoke with her?”
“No.” I was never much good at lies, and Cooper probably wouldn’t believe me anyhow. “She sent me some text messages after she went back to school.”
“She was here?”
“Yeah. Last weekend. On her motorcycle.” Sorry, Dani. He was gonna find out anyhow.
“No!” The ex-Marine doesn’t even blink, but the tension in his voice reveals the depth of his anger. “How am I supposed to protect her if she doesn’t trust me?”
“She didn’t want her mom harassing her.”
“I’m not a spy for her mother. She should know that.”
“Yeah. Guess so.”
“How long has she been riding motorcycles?”
“A friend of mine taught her to ride his dirt bike last summer. The first time she drove on the streets, a cop nailed her—said she could go to jail. Her Uncle Randolph told her to get a license as soon as she got back home. So she bought a Shadow Spirit—a V-twin 750 that looks kinda like a Sportster.”
“Randolph Welles?” Cooper’s muscles wind so tight I think maybe the dude’s gonna explode. He whips out his cell phone, stabs at it with a finger, and stomps out the door. Even half a block away, I can hear the Marine swearing at somebody. Glad it isn’t me.
Five or six minutes later, he rings the bell again. “Can we speak in private?”
“Yeah. Guess so.” I lead him into my bedroom and pull the door closed.
Cooper perches on the edge of my bed. “You love her?”
“Well, yeah. As a friend anyhow.”
“And more.” Not a question.
“She’s gonna marry Ethan, and I’m okay with that.” I gotta be.
“Come back with me.”
“I don’t have any idea where she is.”
Somewhere in the back of his eyes the Marine begs me to tell him Dani is here in Atlanta—just out to buy tea. He’s failed somebody he dearly loves. And fears her dead. Or worse. His unshed tears flow down my cheeks and splash on the carpet. She’s gotta be okay. “What does Mrs. Welles think?”
“The Welles are vacationing in Scotland. Somewhere without cellular service. Randolph’s trying to reach them.”
And Ethan? “I’ll go pack, but we gotta wait till Fred and Beatrice get back. I promised to babysit so they could go out on a date.”
The Marine looks like he’s gonna sweat impatience, but he nods.
* * * *
Freezing rain beats syncopation against the metal roof. Sleet bounces off my window panes. A tree scrapes limbs along the wall outside. Gusts whistle through the garden. Somewhere in my sleep, my imagination hears faint cries for help. Dani’s broken body lies in a pool of blood.
Somewhere. Out there. In the cold darkness.
Days pass in silence while I wait. If Dani went somewhere for surgery, she’d have let somebody know by now.
In the den below my room, the ancient grandfather clock chimes the hour. One of my babies stretches and wakes the other. My stomach growls. A bead of sweat rolls down my nose. When will I ever sleep through the night again?
In silence I pad to the elevator, ride downstairs, and find my way to the kitchen. I find two scones and a cup of milk waiting for me on the counter.
A muted thumping drifts in from the great room—something soft against one of the glass panels.
Dani? I push my snack into the microwave and stab at the minute button. Warm milk and scones. Bless you, Jake. No question, but the old man creates the best pastries ever. My stomach content again, I turn off the lights and head toward the elevator.
Silence grips my robe and drags me to a stop. No rain. No wind. Not even a clock ticking. Only the throbbing of my heart in time with a soft bump in the night.
Can’t be the Welles—they’re still somewhere in Scotland. Jake and Cooper are probably asleep. So there’s only me. And whatever is making that sound.
One thing I learned from horror movies—never investigate anything strange alone. Ever. Besides, wouldn’t Cooper have searched out there?
But it might be Dani. I run to the garden door to find only a broken branch thumping against the glass.
She’s gotta be okay. But it’s been a week since her last text.
Maybe this is all a nightmare. Heart thumping, I ride the elevator up and walk down the hallway to the girl’s bedroom. A lamp stands on one of the tables in her sitting area, so I ease the bedroom door open, walk over to a chair, and turn on the light.
Her bed hasn’t been slept in. Well, duh.
I yank back the covers, grab one of her pillows and hug it close. Where are you, Dani?
Somewhere in the distance a banshee screams—death on the prowl. The chuff chuff chuff of its mighty wings passes low over the manor.
A helicopter! I run back toward my room, even though it’s probably only Dani’s parents.
Cooper meets me at the doorway. “Pack for an overnight stay,” he says. “Be in the car pool in five minutes.”
Please tell me she’s okay. I want to scream, but the air freezes in my lungs.
“She’s alive.” The pain flowing from his eyes says she might not be much longer. “Go,” he says and sprints away.
I dump the contents of my tote on the floor—all the stuff I’ll never use again, like Dani’s medical power of attorney. I stare at the envelope like a total moron for several heartbeats before packing it away with my clothes and the other junk I will need.
Bag over my shoulder, I stumble down the hallway to the elevator and pound on the call button. Downstairs finally, I rush—well, as fast as a pregnant woman ever goes—toward the car pool.
Cooper grabs my hand and hauls me outside, across the blacktop to the chopper. As soon as we’re buckled in, the blades spin up, and we take off.
An hour later, our ride lands in a well-lit parking lot, and we climb into the back of a limo. In the quiet darkness, Cooper closes his hand over mine. “Danièle’s at Virginia Commonwealth University Hospital. They’re the best in the state.”
“A motorcycle wreck?”
“Yes. Traumatic brain injury. Fractured ribs.”
Alive—I cling to that hope and plead with the God who took away my dad. And maybe my mom soon.
When the limo drops us off, I crane my neck to stare up at the building in front of us. Critical Care Hospital, the sign reads.
Cooper takes my bag, offers his hand, and leads me inside to the elevator. “Danièle’s on the eleventh floor—in Neuroscience Intensive Care—but I’m not certain they’ll let us see her until her parents arrive. And Randolph hasn’t been able to contact them.”
I grab my bag from him and rummage through the side pockets till I find Dani’s power of attorney. “Doesn’t this count for something?”
He gives the paper a quick scan and—for the first time in days—smiles.
Cooper shows the document to somebody at the nursing station. After a quiet conversation, a woman in blue scrubs leads us to a room in intensive care.
Chapter 23
Melanie
Dani lies on a bed in cold twilight, her back raised. White gauze wraps the girl’s head. A little clown hat perches there, tilted at a crazy angle, with a tube running out the top. Like they drilled a hole through her skull or something. Wires run from under the bandages to a monitor.
“I’ve seen worse. Much worse. She’ll be all right.” Cooper’s soft words hold no confidence.
“Yeah. Hope so.”
A display to the girl’s right lets out a comforting stream of clicks—one for every rise and fall of her chest—as the machine breat
hes for her. A smaller tube runs up her nose. Several burrow into her arms. One into her shoulder. Another couple go from under the sheets to containers hanging off the side of the bed.
Propofol 40, Fentanyl 2, Mannitol—half a dozen little pumps add some drug or whatever to her system. Bags and bottles hang above them all.
The screen on her left shows a graph of her heartbeat, and a new blood pressure every second. Who knows what all the other numbers mean? There’s even some little plastic gizmo clipped to her ear.
I walk to the girl’s side and squeeze her hand. Why are they so puffy? God, please. You gotta help the girl. I’ll die if I lose her.
When I try to brush a lock of hair from her face, I discover that it ends in a melted clump.
A tremor runs up my arm. Somewhere deep inside, a door snaps shut, blocking out all my emotions. I take the girl’s hand again. “Dani, it’s me, Melanie. Cooper’s here, too. Your mom and dad are on their way.”
Nobody answers, but the clicks and beeps and flashing LEDs of the machines that care for her drone on.
I kiss her on the forehead. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Weird bruises discolor her eyelids near her nose, kinda like little butterfly wings. You’re gonna need more makeup to cover those.
The quiet chatter of life-sustaining equipment whispers on in the twilight of intensive care. No day or night exists here. Only hope ticked out one heartbeat at a time. Days pass. Or only minutes. Who knows?
I jump when an alarm goes off. One of those stupid little pumps wails. In a few minutes, somebody ambles into the room, replaces the empty bag, and restores silence.
Cooper offers to get me bottled water and a candy bar, but my stomach won’t suffer them now.
I stand beside Dani—holding her hand—till my legs wobble.
An hour in a hard plastic chair leaves me squirming at the pain in my butt.
A muscle in my abdomen twitches. I pace till my bladder screams, and then walk out of the room. Down the hallway, bright daylight streams through tall windows. I find a bathroom, relieve myself, wash my face, and wander back to Dani’s room.
In the cool darkness of intensive care, nothing has changed. The girl’s chest still rises and falls in time with a graph on the ventilator display. Her heart beats a regular rhythm—too fast—her pressure way too high.
“Miss Fairbairn?” A woman stands in the doorway, wearing a white coat over her green scrubs.
“Yeah?”
“I’m Dr. Ganesh, a neurology resident here. It would be helpful to know Miss Welles’ medical history.”
“She’s intersex—but I’m sure you guys already got that part.”
“Yes. We noticed. Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome?”
“Yeah. Partial.”
“Does she still have her testes?”
“One. She got cancer in the other.”
“Has she had any surgeries recently?”
“Vaginoplasty, orchio—whatever you call moving her other testis.”
“Is she taking any medications?”
“No.”
“Does she have any drug allergies?”
“No.”
“Any other medical issues?”
“Not till now.”
Her face twitches into a grimace, but she nods. “I’m sorry. She hit the back of her head. The bruising around her eyes is typical of a basal skull fracture. Her brain bounced and the contrecoup bruised her frontal lobes.”
“Will she be okay?”
“Hard to say. Right now our primary concern is keeping her intracranial pressure down.”
Two men in scrubs appear at the door. Dr. Ganesh whispers with them for a moment before continuing. “Miss Welles has another CT scan. If you like, I’ll have someone call you when she gets back.”
“Yeah. Do that.”
Cooper puts an arm around my shoulders and urges me out of the room. “Let’s get something to eat.”
I shoot a glance over my shoulder at Dani’s still form. Would they tell me if she was dying? Let me say goodbye? I rush back into her room and kiss her on the nose. “Don’t you dare croak on me, girl. You hear?”
On the way out, we stop by the nursing station and leave them my cell number. One of the women hands me a plastic bag. “Her jewelry,” she says.
Brand new wedding bands—too creepy. Dani might be finicky about some things, but wouldn’t she let Ethan help pick them out? Or at least take him along?
She asked me to marry her. I promised I would. My heart flutters up into my throat.
Me and Daniel and our children.
The one with flowering vines and all fits perfect right where Daniel’s ring would go. I stick the other on my right hand.
The girl’s in a coma—maybe dying—and all you can think of is some boy?
Well, yeah. I’m messed up, okay? And I need Daniel bad right now.
* * * *
Cooper leads me down to the main floor and finds the cafeteria. He loads up on bacon and eggs and buys an extra large coffee. I get a bagel and cream cheese and a carton of milk. No caffeine for me; I’m already so wired I may never sleep again.
The reds and purples of sunset—or maybe dawn—filter through the windows. A surge of people in scrubs arrives, eats, and moves on while I stare at the crumbs on my plate.
Cooper takes away the remains of our breakfast. He returns with another cup of coffee, a packet of sugar, and one of those little stir sticks. Or maybe the thing is a straw.
Morning shines bright before my phone rings. “Yeah?”
“Miss Fairbairn? This is Dr. Ormond. Are you still at the hospital?”
“Yeah. In the cafeteria.”
“If you’ll wait there, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” They never tell you bad news over the phone.
Cooper lays a gentle hand on my arm. “What’s up?”
“The doctor’s on his way.”
Ten minutes later, some old guy in a white coat saunters into the cafeteria and scans the room. Gotta be him. I stand and wave a hand till he nods.
The doctor joins us at the table. “Good news. Danièle’s internal bleeding has stopped. Her intracranial pressure’s under control. She’s still in critical condition, mind you, but the scans don’t show any brain damage.”
Cooper’s muscles ripple, visibly releasing tension.
“She’s gonna be okay?” I ask.
“We’ll know more once she’s conscious. The next step is to get Ms. Welles off the ventilator.”
Dr. Ormond rides the elevator back up with us, but doesn’t go to Dani’s room.
Somebody removed the bandages around her head. Her clown hat—the Styrofoam cup wrapped in one of those stretch bandages—is gone. It covered the sensor they put through her skull to measure pressure in her brain. What remains now is a small bandage in the middle of an area they shaved.
The machine that watched her brainwaves is gone as well, along with all its wires.
But the breathing tube remains.
Cooper’s cell is on vibrate, but we both jump when it goes off. The Marine bids me farewell with a nod and disappears into the brightness of the outside world.
The bruising around Dani’s eyes has spread—a larger butterfly now, although not as dark. Her hands are no longer as puffy, so I slide the heart ring back on her finger. The other won’t come off mine.
“What are you doing?”
Ethan? His words mean nothing at first, beyond the obvious. “Dani,” is all my weary brain manages.
“Get out.” The boy grabs my arm, wrenches it behind me, and propels me across the room.
I yelp in pain and stumble to my knees as he shoves me through the doorway. And into Cooper. The way the Marine reacts makes me wonder if he ever really liked Dani’s boyfriend.
By the time I get to my feet, Cooper has Ethan’s face pressed hard against the wall. Security arrives ten minutes later and escorts the dude out of the hospital. My power of attorney trumps his claim t
o being Dani’s fiancé. Ethan says he’ll tell Mr. and Mrs. Welles. Like I care.
Cooper leads me down the hallway to some vending machines and buys me a hot chocolate. Coffee in hand, he gestures toward the visitors’ lounge. I sip at my cocoa. It’s probably nasty, but my taste buds are offline, and the warmth feels good.
The Marine sets down his cup and studies me with brown eyes that have already seen too much pain for a lifetime. “There’s a hotel fifteen minutes away. I’ll arrange a room for you.”
“I’m not leaving Dani.”
A quiet sigh lifts Cooper’s chest. His eyes wander away for a moment. “You need to get some rest. You’ve been up longer than forty-eight hours straight.”
I swirl around the sludge in the bottom of my cup. Sleep isn’t gonna happen. “What about you?”
“There’s a recliner just outside Danièle’s room. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”
“Then you sleep while I watch.” Even Marines gotta have down time.
Chapter 24
Danièle
The memory of drowning fades, but leaves my throat raw, my lungs congested, and my heart longing for sunshine. Shadows of pain lie dormant beneath the oily surface, their opaque eyes cast heavenward, eager to rise from the mire.
My lids snap open in the gloom. I cough the brown waters from my lungs and spew them into the darkness. Too weak to rise, I roll my head to the side to clear the noisome liquid from my mouth. At last my breaths flow cool and clear.
An unknown face hovers near me, full of tender concern.
So many questions—they emerge as a rasping hoarseness that becomes a hacking cough.
“Don’t try to talk. You’ve had a ventilator tube down your throat.” The apparition coaxes something into my mouth that sucks away the mucous. After that, she wipes my chin with a soft cloth.
More of the brown slime lies puddled across my gown and bedclothes.
I try to raise one leaden hand, but something restrains my arm.
The nurse disappears for a few minutes and returns with clean linens. She throws my soiled blanket and sheets into a hamper. Removing my gown proves more difficult. So many connections—an IV in my right arm, a second line in my left. Wires end in small pads on my chest and side. A subclavian line—like the one Mrs. Fairbairn had for her chemotherapy—enters my chest by my collar bone. Another tube comes out between my ribs on the left side. Mottled green bruises extend from my thigh up to my armpit.
