“Will he die?” I asked An for the hundredth time that night.
Phong came out with a cup of tea, set it front of me, and sat next to An. I didn’t touch the cup, too keyed up.
“I don’t know, Finley,” she told me, not looking to sugarcoat anything, which I appreciated and hated.
Tears gathered in my stinging eyes.
“God, just send me some sort of signal,” I asked Him out loud. “I’m tormented.”
A bus arriving from Hanoi came bustling down the narrow street. It’s normal route called for a stop right in front of An’s father’s tea shop. I stood when it made its regular stop and watched as the doors opened.
I followed the steps up, expecting random patrons to come down, but instead was met with children huddled together. They looked burdened by something, their arms lifted at shoulder level.
Phong noticed the oddity that was that bus and stood as well. “What in the world?” he asked no one.
An followed suit and stood as well. “They’re children,” she observed, the tone of her voice leading from curiosity to bewilderment in one phrase.
They were chattering in Vietnamese as they awkwardly descended from the bus and onto the sidewalk. There was a line of children five deep and maybe four or five wide packed together. They were struggling with something. A few more children piled off, running around the group as if they could try to help as the bus tore off.
I took a closer look at them, studying them in the moonlight.
“It’s a man,” I realized out loud. My heart jumped into my throat. “It’s a man,” I whispered, turning my chair over, and ran, knocking a few more out of my way, eager to get to the group.
I rushed over to them and peered over their shoulders.
There, on their laboring shoulders, laid Ethan Moonsong. Bleeding. Eyes gone to black.
I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“Jesus! Ethan! Ethan! Oh my God, Ethan!”
I grabbed him from them and fell to the concrete walk. I laid him down as gently as I could, tears dripping down my face.
I brushed back his hair and with shaking hands leaned over his body to check for a pulse. I found one, but it was faint, making me queasy. I leaned over his face to check if he was breathing. He was but, again, faintly.
“Oh, Jesus! Ethan!” I cried. “An! Call Father! Get Dr. Nguyen! Phong! Come help me!”
An ran inside and Phong met me on the ground.
“Do you have a knife? A-a-a pocketknife, maybe?”
He handed me his pocketknife and I opened it. I tore Ethan’s shirt off his body, laying it at his sides and examining his torso. Large purple, hideous bruises tainted the skin there, making me cry out in agony.
Carefully, but with trembling fingers, I slowly cut down his soaked-in-blood jeans, laying the fabric aside. His legs were so bloody I couldn’t find whatever wounds were doing the bleeding.
“Phong,” I said, frantic, “I-I need, uh, water, lots of water and, uh, towels.”
He ran without hesitation to gather what I’d asked for.
I moved up Ethan’s body, nearer to his face, his broken face, and soothed into his ear, “Come back to me, Ethan,” I said, laying my hands over his forehead, neck, and shoulders. I ran my skin over his again and again and again. “Please, my love. Please come back to me.”
Phong hovered over me in that moment, his eyes wide in terror.
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it now. Tend to Ethan,” he said, handing me the water and towels.
I ran the water over Ethan’s legs, using the towel to clean as much of it off as possible. I’d gotten it just clear enough to recognize bullet wounds. Seven total. One awfully close to the femoral artery.
“Phong, apply pressure to the obvious wounds on that leg,” I told him and did the same for my side. “An! Bring me a few chairs!”
She did and we elevated his legs while I took the towels and tied them around his legs near each wound as pressure bandages. I did the same for the one near the femoral, but the towel filled too quickly with blood, making my own run cold. I shredded another towel into strips and twisted two until I had a tourniquet, wrapping it around his leg, and coiling it to keep the bleeding at bay.
“Is Dr. Nguyen coming?” I asked An.
“I’m here!” Dr. Nguyen answered for her.
She bent at his side and looked him over.
“I have to take him to my office. He needs surgery,” she said.
Detective Tran arrived in a compact car soon after, and I watched helplessly as they loaded him inside. I tried to jump into the front, but they insisted I follow them instead, which I didn’t understand at the time. It wasn’t until later I discovered they were trying to prevent me from getting killed just in case someone attacked their car.
I stood on the curb, decimated, and unaware of what I was supposed to do. The tears came more freely then, wracking sobs spilled from my chest and lips.
“Come with me,” An said, leading me to her bike.
She got on and I sat behind her, hugging my friend. We sped through the streets of Hạ Long Bay to Dr. Nguyen’s surgical office. My life seemed to speed past me as we rode along in vivid, striking memories—some horrifying and some extraordinary. The extraordinary painted the most beautiful images I’d ever seen, and they’d all involved Ethan in some way or another.
Swimming at Hungry Horse with our class from school. Ethan there, always in the background, jumping from the cliffs, or swimming alongside us all. High school football games with Holly Raye on the bleachers with a blanket and a bucket of popcorn made all the more sweet by Ethan’s phenomenal abilities. Holly Raye and me at the eighth grade dance, brace-faced, and huddled in the corner commiserating over how lame eighth grade dances were, yet secretly dying of happiness inside. Wild, silly sleepovers with Holly Raye. Daydreams of sleepovers with Ethan Moonsong. Chemistry class with Ethan. Conversations with Ethan. Falling in “love” with Ethan. Falling out of “love” with Ethan. Befriending Ethan. Ethan saving me. Falling recklessly, deliriously, intensely in love with Ethan Moonsong. Kissing Ethan. Wanting Ethan. Owning Ethan. Loving Ethan.
The tears clouded my eyes, so I closed them to rid myself of the pain, but it would not stop coming, would not stop hurting.
When I thought I couldn’t take much more, we pulled up a sharp incline and made our way through the winding slope until we reached Dr. Nguyen’s office. I tore off the bike before An had really gotten a chance to slow down. I ran, abandoning my flip-flops as I did, and rushed into the building.
Tran was there, sitting in a chair outside of the operating room.
“Is he already in?” I asked.
“He’s in. The nurses were already here, waiting.”
I sank into a chair next to Tran, sitting right on the edge. My legs bounced with nervous energy.
“Can’t sit,” I said, standing and pacing outside the operating room. I looked up when An entered.
“Phong took the girls and the boys to Father and Sister,” An said, holding up her phone.
“Where will they put them all?” I asked, thinking of Slánaigh’s already cramped quarters.
“The girls are bunking with the others. The boys will be sleeping in the common room.”
“Are they okay?” I asked.
“They seem fine, brave.”
“Did-did they say anything about what happened?”
“I guess one of the older girls said Ethan just showed up on their floor and insisted to the three men watching over them that Khanh was looking for them. They didn’t question him, and when they entered the elevator, he… uh, well, he killed them.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered, sitting down out of necessity instead of restlessness.
“I guess he told them to stay where they were and that he would return to them later. He promised to protect them.”
“I believe he did,” I said, unaware what it all really meant for Ethan.
“Did she know what happen
ed while he’d been gone?”
An cleared her throat and looked at Tran. “Um, she said that he left for two to three hours and returned to them a bloody mess.” I gulped. “The girl said there were many guards there that night but that none ever took the elevator down to get them, not even to escape.”
My body shivered.
“How many?” I whispered.
“She thought at least fifty.”
I felt faint. Sick, really.
Tran stood quickly and left the building. An and I listened for his car’s engine and when it turned over, we both jumped. We heard him back the car out of his space then pull forward before the sound disappeared. He’d left.
I wanted to vomit. “What does that mean for Ethan?”
“I think it means you and Ethan need to get the hell out of Vietnam, Finley. And you need to do it fast.”
“How can I do that if he’s recovering from surgery?” I asked.
A loud shout came from the operating room, and my stomach dropped to my feet. Unable to help myself, I plastered my ear to the door. Clipped Vietnamese words were exchanged in rising octaves.
“What are they saying, An?”
She leaned in and stuck her ear to the door, facing me.
Her brows furrowed in concentration for a few moments before they shot up in alarm.
“What?” I spit out. “What?”
An swallowed.
“An, I swear to God. I swear to God, An! What is going on!”
“Sit down,” she said, gently prodding me.
I yanked my body back.
“Tell me what’s going on, An.”
“They-he had lost a lot of blood, Fin. I guess his blood pressure was dropping and they couldn’t get it back up.”
“You say he had. What do you mean he had?”
“Come sit down with me.”
“No. No, An. Don’t just sit there and tell me what I think you’re going to tell me, An. Don’t just sit there, An!” I screamed. Tears streamed down my face, gathered beneath my chin and neck.
An’s face had turned white as a sheet. “The nurses called time of death.”
I fell to the ground, my backside landing with a hard thud. “What?” I asked in disbelief. “What?”
“I’m so sorry, Finley,” she added quietly.
“No! No!” I said, standing and pointing accusingly at her.
I slammed through the operating room door and took in the pools of blood beneath Ethan’s operating table. The nurses stood around, doing nothing, their arms tucked into their sides.
Dr. Nguyen placed a defibrillator at Ethan’s chest, screaming at him to come back. She shocked him, but he wasn’t responding. I ran to his other side. His eyes were dull, lifeless. His mouth slack. Blood and bruises covered the entire length of his beaten body. “Jesus!” I said, my body shivering where I stood. “Jesus! Tell me what to do! Tell me what to do!” I demanded, frantic.
Dr. Nguyen looked up at me, her eyes crazed. Something dawned on her.
“I have one epinephrine shot left in one of the exam rooms. Room three. It’s in a drawer. Long needle.”
I tore through the operating room.
“Four. Three!”
I yanked open a drawer. It was there, sitting on top.
I grabbed the plastic sealed package and ran back to the operating room.
“I have it!”
“It’s okay,” Dr. Nguyen replied. “It’s okay. He-it’s a miracle but the defibrillator worked. It worked. His heart is beating. He’s breathing.”
I leaned against the nearest tile-covered wall and sank down onto the floor, my hand still gripping the adrenaline shot. Without thought, I started praying, thanking, praying, thanking.
When Dr. Nguyen got Ethan stabilized, she sank back from the table. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I can’t believe it. He was dead. I saw it. He was dead.” She looked at me and smiled the most gloriously infectious smile. “He was dead, Finley. It’s a miracle.”
Pent-up anxiety, nerves, and emotions came flooding out all at once for me as my body came back down. My body shook with the final acceptance that I’d almost lost him, that I’d almost been forced to return to Montana with Ethan in a box.
I cried for the millionth time that night, but it had never been as sweet as the release that came with knowing that Ethan Moonsong was alive.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Ethan
When I woke, there were two things I was very aware of. Suffering. Acute suffering. And suffering’s direct counter. Finley.
“Your. Hands.” I was able to say but with great effort.
I heard a sharp intake before her hands found my arm.
I exhaled. “Finally.”
“Finally,” she repeated aloud, making me want to smile but couldn’t.
She ran her hands up and down my arm, warming me up from the inside. My lungs filled with air. I’d found I could breathe easier when she was touching me.
After a few minutes, I pried my eyes open.
She was blurry at first, but she came in true after a few blinks. I tried to raise my hand toward her face but my arms were too heavy.
“Why do you look so tired, my love?”
She laughed, but her eyes filled with tears. “Because you died, came back to life, and have been in a coma for ten days.”
My eyes opened a little wider. “Are you okay? Is everyone okay? Are the children okay? Father? Sister?”
She smiled a watery smile. “They’re all fine. Many of the children have been placed back in their loving family homes. For those whose families couldn’t be found or for those whose families were unsuitable, they’ve placed in Slánaigh. The boys have been moved to another home about an hour away.”
“That’s good.” I swallowed or tried to anyway. My throat was so dry and scratchy, it felt like nails scraping down the sides. “Water?”
Finley jumped up and poured water into a glass. She stuck a straw in the cup and brought it to my lips. I took a drink and although it didn’t cure the pain, it did soothe it.
“Better?” she asked.
I nodded, my neck screaming in pain. I gritted through it.
“Have—” I began, but had to clear my throat. “Has anyone come after you or anyone at Slánaigh?”
Finley sighed. “That’s the thing, Ethan. No one from Khanh’s group has done anything to us or the girls, they have been actively hunting you down, though. I guess a few of Khanh’s men were eager to take his place and a new organization has come up already, but they still want your head on a platter.” She shivered. “They will stop at nothing to find you. We’re hidden here at Dr. Nguyen’s, but I don’t know what we’re going to have to do to escape.”
This shamed me. Everything I’d done, every body I was responsible for draining the life from, every violent effort, every single move I’d made, every risk to Slánaigh…
And the traffickers still continued. They were a house of cockroaches. See one and there were a thousand more hidden behind them. Kill one and those thousands were ready to fall into their empty place.
The guilt was sudden and overwhelming. The faces of each I’d killed revolved in my head at a rapid rate. I sat up, grabbed the ice bucket near my bed, but could only dry heave. There was nothing in my stomach to purge.
My body shook. “Finley,” I told her beautiful face, “I’ve done awful things, terrible things.”
She swallowed. “I-I know,” she breathed.
Her admittance, her awareness of what I’d done, was like a burning hot knife to my gut. I threw my legs over the side of the bed. They were screaming at me to lay back down. I cried out in pain, almost passing out from the effort.
“Ethan,” she said anxiously and stood, “sit back.”
I looked at her as my body trembled. A result of the cumbersome remorse, the devastating, crushing strain of irrevocable choices so final, so concluding I was in utter shock.
“Take me to Slánaigh, Finley.”
She he
lped me stand and dress. My legs were so swollen I could barely fit them into my jeans. We walked out of Dr. Nguyen’s small hospital, me leaning on Fin, and Fin, I was certain, leaning toward leaving me when all was said and done.
Because who could ever love someone like me?
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Ethan
We made it to Slánaigh. I’d only sucked in a breath twice in pain when we’d hit unexpected dips. As gently as I could, I got off the bike. I turned around to face Slánaigh but was greeted instead by the sight of Father Connolly, his cassock billowing in the ocean wind, his white hair whipping about his face. He looked beaten down, utterly beaten down.
“Finley,” I said. She turned to me. “Go on up to the house. I’ll meet you there soon.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” she said, her hand in mine.
“You don’t?” I asked, just to hear her confirm it.
“No,” she answered.
“I promise I’ll come find you soon.”
“Of course,” she said, kissing my hand and heading toward the house. On her way, she placed a hand on Father’s shoulder. His own found hers briefly before she bounded toward the winding staircase.
When the door shut behind her, I faced Father head-on.
“Confessor.”
“Aye, son,” he said, walking toward me. With glassy eyes, he hugged me. “I know it all.”
“You do?” I asked, scared I’d ruined our friendship.
“Aye.”
“I’m… Are you disappointed in me?”
“Aye,” he said, nodding his head once. “I’m gutted, me.”
I started to break down but sucked it back in. “Father, I,” I began, but he held a hand to stay me.
“Tell me true. Ya did it for the youngins, ye did?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are ye sorry, son?”
“More than you could possibly imagine,” I admitted, a single tear treading down my cheek. I shoved it away with the fabric at my shoulder.
He nodded his head. “Ye understan’ why ’tis wrong, Ethan?”
“I know, sir.”
“Ya stole them men’s souls ’fore they could find absolution. Ya stole the possibility, Ethan.”
Fury Page 29
