In Her Eyes

by Sarah Alderson

  June is on her knees.

  He’s standing in front of her.

  I don’t think. I just aim.

  Chapter 6

  Lightning jolts through me and the reverberating shock of it disperses the fog. I can breathe again. Light pours in. Color too. A UFO of dazzling, spinning flashbulbs hovers above me. The voice calling my name is no longer muffled but crystal clear, and a face emerges to go with it – a man, in his thirties or thereabouts, Asian, clean-shaven.

  ‘Ava, can you hear me?’ he shouts right by my ear.

  Yes, I want to shout back, I can hear you, but the words won’t come.

  ‘I’ve got a pulse. Blood pressure seventy over forty,’ he calls.

  ‘What have we got here?’ A woman’s voice this time. Out of breath, clipped, professional. She reminds me of Laurie.

  ‘Female, forty-one years old, brought in by paramedics,’ the other doctor tells her.

  Are they talking about me? They must be. But how did I get here? Why am I here?

  ‘Head wound, possible fractured skull.’

  Skull? And like that, I remember. The images pop fast and furious on the back of my eyelids. The gun in his hand. The blast of it. The bullet slamming home. The look on June’s face; her eyes widening in horror, her mouth opening in surprise.

  ‘She’s losing pressure.’

  ‘What happened?’ someone asks.

  What did happen? I can only recall snatches. Remember, Ava, remember! There were men. Masks. They were wearing masks. The house. They were in the house. They had guns. Robert. Oh God. Robert. What happened to him? Where is he?

  ‘Burglary went wrong,’ someone says.

  The beeping right by my ear gets louder and more urgent.

  ‘Blood pressure’s falling. Possible intercranial bleed.’

  ‘Prep for an MRI,’ the doctor shouts. He seems to have lost some of his calm. ‘Let’s get her sedated.’

  No. No. I need to know what’s happening. June. I whisper her name, murmur it like a prayer, but no one seems to hear me, they’re too busy yelling over the top of me. Where’s June? Where’s my daughter? And my husband? Where’s Robert?

  ‘OK, on three.’

  They count down. Three. Two. One. I’m lifted, suspended, dropped and now I’m moving again, flying down a brightly lit corridor, people in blue scrubs flanking me on all sides.

  There’s a sudden blast of cold air. I twist my head. Paramedics are rushing through a set of doors, pushing a gurney ahead of them. Doctors in white coats descend on them, calling out a barrage of questions. The flashing lights of an ambulance illuminate them in bright Fourth of July colors. I catch a brief glimpse of the body on the gurney, lying on crimson-soaked sheets. A face, pulped and unrecognizable; a mound of glossy, matted dark hair. Then we’re gone, away, banging through another set of doors. We stop. There are more UFO lights spinning above me, and faces pulling in and out of focus as though someone is twisting a camera lens. A young woman leans over me, not much older than Hannah. She lays a cool hand on my forehead and gives me a reassuring smile.

  And then there’s a sharp sting in the back of my hand and the darkness comes again, but this time it’s instant, like someone flicking off a light switch.

  I’m there one moment and gone the next.

  Chapter 7

  DAY 2

  The sound of a car reversing. I wish it would stop. Surely you can only reverse for so long before you have to go forwards?

  ‘Ava?’

  A beam of light spears my brain. It’s an ice-cream headache times a thousand. I wince and try to squeeze my eyes shut but I can’t get away from it. Someone is prizing open my eyelids and stabbing my eyeballs with an electrified fork.

  ‘Mrs Walker?’

  A brown blur swims in front of me. Slowly he comes into focus. It’s the doctor from before. ‘Hi,’ he says.

  ‘June,’ I say. My lips are dry, my throat so sore it feels as if it’s been sandpapered, but I force the word out.

  ‘Let’s get you some water,’ the doctor says, and places a plastic straw between my lips.

  Frustrated, I try to push it away, but my arms are heavy and tangled up. Wires holding me down; wires and tubes leading to machines that beep. Not cars reversing. The straw is forced between my lips again and this time I sip. It feels like the only way I’ll get an answer, and the water is so good, so cold and pure that it cuts through the fuzziness in my head.

  ‘I’m Dr Warier,’ the man says. ‘I’m an ICU physician. You had us worried for a moment there.’

  ‘June,’ I say again, making sure I enunciate the word properly. ‘Robert.’

  A shadow passes over his face. He swallows. ‘I’m sorry . . .’

  Sorry? What does that mean? Oh God. Please not both. Please not either of them. The beeping sound to the left crescendos. Dr Warier is on his feet.

  ‘Ava? Ava?’

  He punches a button on the wall behind the bed and suddenly people wearing scrubs rush into the room. Dr Warier starts rattling off some numbers and words I don’t understand. Why can’t they speak in English?

  A man’s voice cuts through it all. ‘Is everything OK? Can we speak to her?’ It’s a voice I recognize. A man’s voice. Not Robert’s.

  ‘Sir, if you could just leave the room,’ someone says to him.

  Darkness starts to blot the edges of my vision. A shadow looms over me.

  ‘Ava.’

  I’m falling backwards, slipping off the deck of a ship into icy waters below, nothing to grip on to. I don’t even try.

  ‘Ava?’

  Gone.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Ava.’

  Nate? I wake, confused. Where am I? I turn my head. Robert is sitting in the hospital chair beside my bed. His face is puffy and shiny, like an overripe eggplant that’s on the verge of splitting its skin. One eye bulges obscenely as though an egg has been laid beneath the lid.

  ‘Oh God,’ he says the moment he sees my eyes flicker open. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  ‘You were hit around the head. You lost a lot of blood and they were worried about the possibility of a cranial bleed, but it’s OK. You’re going to be OK. How are you feeling?’

  I groan. It hurts to open my eyes. My head pounds. I try to remember what happened. My hand creeps upwards to the back of my head where I feel a strange tingling and tightness on the scalp right where the painful throbbing is worst. My fingers brush a bandage of some kind, about an inch behind my ear.

  Robert snatches my hand away. ‘Don’t touch,’ he says. ‘They had to give you stitches. After the MRI. Do you remember what happened? They think he must have hit you with the barrel of the gun.’

  Gun. Everything rushes in as though a dam has been blown, images piling on top of one another, clamoring to be the first I see. The house. The men. Those masks. June walking up the stairs. June on her knees. The man in the skull mask turning to me with the gun in his hand.

  It’s a silent question. There’s no way I can voice it. But he hears it anyway. Is she alive?

  His one good eye is shining – but not with excitement or happiness. With pain. It’s bright with it, alive with it. His hand is squeezing mine so hard the bones crunch. He bows his head. His shoulders shake.

  I know what he’s going to say before he says it and I don’t want to hear it so I turn my head away, wishing I could slip overboard, fall back into the ice-cold water again and this time let it pull me under forever.

  June’s face in my head. That look in her eyes when she turned and saw me standing in the doorway with the gun. I was going to save her. I didn’t. I failed her. It’s my fault. I remember the man’s gun going off. I remember June’s eyes widening and the frown passing over her face, a question forming on her lips that I never got to hear because a red rose was blooming rapidly across her chest.

  Pain blindsides me. It comes out of nowhere – a thousand punches landing on my body at once – and a scream bui
lds inside my chest, so immense I think it might rip a hole on its way out.

  ‘She’s out of surgery,’ I hear Robert say.

  I jerk towards him, eyes flying open. What’s he saying? She’s alive?

  ‘But,’ his voice cracks, ‘she’s critical. The doctors say we just have to wait . . . wait and see . . .’ He stares down at our interlinked hands, then up at me, his eyes bloodshot. ‘They don’t know if she’s going to pull through, Ava.’ A choked sob erupts out of him and he starts to cry. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  I lift a hand and stroke the back of his head. She’s alive. That’s all I can think. She’s alive. And she’s a fighter. We know that. She’ll make it through. She has to.

  ‘What about Gene?’ I whisper. ‘Is Gene OK?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Robert says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. ‘He’s with June. Hannah’s on her way home. Dave and Laurie have gone to pick her up from the airport.’

  I swallow, feeling the reverberation through my bones as I recall the thwack of the chopping board as I smashed it into the man’s head. Did I kill him?

  ‘Did . . .’ I start to ask, then stop. How do you ask that question? Did I kill someone?

  ‘They got away,’ Robert says, intuiting what I was about to ask.

  I blink and stare at him. What? Panic starts to build – tiny bubbles of it trapped in my bloodstream, making their way to my heart. What does that mean? Are they still out there? They must be. What if they come back? What if . . . ‘I need to see June,’ I say, trying to swing my legs out of the bed. Robert stops me.

  ‘No, you can’t get up.’

  ‘But I have to see her,’ I shout. ‘I need to see her.’

  Robert pushes me back into bed. ‘I know. I’ll talk to the doctor.’

  ‘What time is it?’ I ask, looking around for a clock.

  ‘It’s two in the afternoon.’

  I blink, trying to put it all together. It must have been around eleven o’clock last night that it happened. I’ve been unconscious for over twelve hours.

  ‘When can I get out of here?’ I ask, struggling to sit up. I can’t stay here in this bed while June needs me.

  ‘The doctor said you’d be on your feet in a day or two. But you should try and rest—’

  A soft knock makes me jump. The door opens and a man puts his head around it. ‘Can I come in?’ he asks.

  Robert nods and the man enters the room. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and startling blue eyes, the color of a summer sky.

  ‘Hi,’ he says.

  I knew I recognized that voice earlier. My heart stumbles into my mouth. What’s he doing here?

  ‘This is the Sheriff,’ Robert explains to me. ‘He’s in charge of the investigation. I’m sorry,’ he says, turning to the man, ‘I forget your name.’

  ‘Nate. Nate Carmichael,’ he answers, not taking his eyes off me.

  Chapter 9

  ‘Nate,’ I say, in shock. My voice is a rasp and my heart rate has jumped into the stratosphere, a fact recorded by the beeping machine to my left.

  ‘Ava,’ Nate answers.

  ‘You two know each other?’ Robert asks, looking between us and frowning.

  ‘Nate and I went to school together,’ I explain, feeling the blood rush to my face.

  ‘It’s been a while,’ Nate says with a warm smile as he walks towards me.

  I nod, but actually it hasn’t been that long at all and I know he’s only saying it to protect me.

  ‘You’re in charge of the investigation?’ I ask, eyeing his uniform in confusion.

  Nate rocks back on his heels and points to the silver star pinned to his shirt. ‘Yep. Sheriff’s department’s got jurisdiction on this one.’ His expression turns serious all of a sudden, businesslike. He gestures at a chair and I nod. He pulls it over so he’s sitting on the opposite side of the bed to Robert and I’m sandwiched uncomfortably between them.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to do this now,’ Nate says, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his knees, ‘but the quicker we can get statements, the greater the chance we have of finding the men who did this to you and your family.’ He glances at Robert and I’m probably imagining it but it feels as if there’s an atmosphere brewing between them. Does Robert know? I swallow drily at the thought. No, how could he? I’m being paranoid. But, oh dear God, why is Nate the one in charge? Why couldn’t it be someone else? Anyone else?

  ‘I’ve already taken a statement from your husband,’ Nate says, ‘but I really need to get your version of events too.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say, though panic sweeps through me at the thought.

  ‘I’m not sure this is a good time,’ Robert interrupts, his voice rising. ‘My wife’s in a lot of pain. She has a head injury. And our daughter is currently fighting for her life.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I interrupt, squeezing Robert’s hand. ‘I want to help.’ I can’t just lie here and do nothing. Robert glances down at my hand and then pulls his out from under it.

  ‘Great,’ says Nate, who’s noticed and is looking between us curiously. ‘Thank you. I’ll try to keep it short.’

  I nod and Nate turns to Robert. ‘If you could just step out of the room please, sir.’

  ‘What?’ Robert asks.

  ‘We like to take statements with witnesses on their own,’ Nate explains. ‘It’s standard procedure.’

  Robert starts to protest but I cut him off. ‘It’s fine, Robert,’ I say, nodding at him. ‘Go be with June.’

  Reluctantly, Robert gets to his feet. He kisses me on the forehead but I don’t miss the glance he throws Nate’s way and the suspicious look he gives me before he walks out.

  There’s a silence after the door bangs shut.

  ‘How are you doing?’ Nate asks softly.

  Tears spring to my eyes and I try to blink them away, though even blinking feels like an axe chopping through my skull. ‘I don’t know,’ I tell him, because it’s the truth. I can’t stop worrying about June, thinking about what happened. I look at Nate, jarred by the sight of him sitting by the bed. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. That you’re in charge of the investigation.’

  ‘I’m glad I am. I was worried about you—’ He breaks off before adding, ‘When I heard.’ His hand brushes the back of mine. I draw in a sharp breath at the unexpected yet familiar touch. ‘I swear to God I’m going to find the people who did this to you.’

  My lip trembles and all I can do is nod. He smiles at me reassuringly then withdraws his hand to pull a small notebook and a pencil from his pocket. I feel the loss of his touch keenly. I’ve missed it. I study his face as he flips pages in his notebook. Things weren’t left well between us. Do I need to clear the air with him first? ‘It’s not going to be a problem, is it?’ I ask tentatively. ‘I mean, you and me.’

  He glances up, a slight frown on his face. ‘Don’t worry, we’re good. Everything’s in the past.’

  I nod and he lifts his pencil and holds it over the page.

  ‘Can you walk me through the events of last night?’ he asks.

  My mind goes suddenly blank. Whether it’s the blinding terror of being forced to go back over it or because the head injury has knocked my memory, I couldn’t say.

  ‘Ava?’ Nate says gently. ‘There were two men, yes? That’s what your husband told us.’

  I nod.

  ‘Did you see either of their faces? Can you give a description?’

  I shake my head and force myself to concentrate. ‘No,’ I say, frustrated. ‘They were wearing masks.’

  ‘What kind of masks?’ he asks, pencil poised.

  ‘Like something from a horror movie. Um, a skull . . . one of them was a skull and the other was . . . a monster or something.’ I frown, trying to remember, but they’re fragmented images, nothing whole, like a puzzle missing pieces from the center. ‘I could . . . I could draw them maybe.’

  ‘OK,’ says Nate. ‘That would be great.’

  ‘What did they want?’
I ask. ‘Why us?’

  ‘They wanted what was in the safe, we think. They’re usually after jewelry, cash, anything they can turn over fast.’

  ‘But we hardly have any jewelry or cash in the house. The safe is just where we keep important documents.’

  Nate nods thoughtfully and jots something down. ‘Look, let’s go back to the beginning. Tell me about your evening. Had you been out?’

  I nod. ‘Yes. I was at The Oak – the bar in town – with my friend Laurie.’

  ‘And was this something you’d arranged in advance?’

  ‘Um, no, Robert and I had plans that night. He was going to take me out for dinner, but Laurie called me around five and asked if we could meet, so I cancelled with Robert.’

  Nate looks up. ‘Was he annoyed about that?’

  I shake my head. ‘You’d have to ask him. He was busy with work anyway.’ I look away, hearing the bitter note in my voice.

  ‘Why did Laurie want to meet with you?’

  ‘She wanted to talk to me about some stuff.’

  ‘Stuff?’ Nate asks.

  ‘Relationship stuff,’ I say, frowning at him. Why is what I talked to Laurie about important? It won’t help catch these men and I feel uncomfortable breaking a confidence. Then I realize with a shock that there is no privacy anymore. Those men invaded our home. Now the police are going to invade our lives.

  ‘And Laurie and Dave – they’ve been friends of yours a long time?’ Nate presses.

  I nod. ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘Just some background,’ Nate says, smiling at me. ‘How long have you known them?’

  ‘Well,’ I say, thinking. ‘I’ve known Laurie since I moved back here twenty years ago, and Dave I’ve known for around the same amount of time. He was a friend of Robert’s.’

  ‘Was?’ says Nate, latching on to the past tense like a terrier onto a bone.

  ‘Is,’ I correct myself. ‘They were in business together, a while back.’

  ‘Were?’

  ‘Yes, years ago, when Robert was just starting out developing apps. Dave has a degree in business, you see. But they made no money and so Dave went off and got a real job, you know, one that paid the bills and covered his health insurance.’