When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1)

by Victoria Bylin

  Olivia spoke in a muted tone. “Get your things and go. MJ’s in the hall.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. So is Cody.”

  “But—”

  “Just go. Please. MJ will explain.”

  Confusion steamrolled into panic. What— Who— He couldn’t think of a single good reason Mrs. Townsend would take over his class. Stuffing down the fear, he grabbed his coat and work bag and strode into the hall.

  As the door swung shut, MJ laid her hand on his arm. “I have news about Daisy. It’s not good.”

  Blood drained from his brain. The hallway spun until he pressed a hand against a locker to steady himself. “Daisy? But how—”

  “She’s in the hospital. Lyn called. Shane, I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his arm hard. “Her ex-boyfriend beat her up. It’s bad. We need to fly to Los Angeles now. The next flight is in three hours, so we have time to pack a few things. I’m going with you. My mom will watch Cody.”

  They took off for the parking lot, his pulse pounding with questions as they ran for his car. Between gulps of air, MJ told him as much of the story as she knew. Markham had beaten Daisy unconscious at Mary’s Closet, and she’d been rushed to Centennial Hospital. Lyn was with her and would call the minute there was news.

  They sped away in his Tahoe, shooting through yellow lights and taking turns hard and fast. At home they broke apart to throw things into carry-ons, leaving Shane alone with horrible pictures flashing in his mind—Daisy lying bloody, bruised, and limp on the sidewalk. Markham speeding away.

  So Lyn had been Daisy’s friend as he’d suspected—and hoped. That knowledge brought some comfort but not enough.

  In less than fifteen minutes, he met MJ at the SUV and they drove to the airport.

  “I have to see her,” he mumbled to himself more than to MJ. “I have to tell her I’m sorry.”

  MJ laid her hand on his knee. “She knows. I’m sure of it.”

  “How?”

  “From Lyn.”

  Shane’s jaw clenched until it ached. All these weeks his sister had been within his reach, and now she lay near death. He might never have the chance to talk to her, to apologize, to start over. The guiding light that had returned to his life—his faith—disappeared as if someone had flipped a switch. Darkness blinded him. Doubt assailed him. Bitterness churned in his belly and soured his mouth.

  Grimacing, he waited for his spiritual eyes to adjust to the dark. But they didn’t. He couldn’t see a thing, but did blindness mean God had abandoned him?

  No. It did not. Just as turning off a lamp didn’t change the shape or contents of a room, neither did a human tragedy change God’s nature. God—the great I AM—was loving, sovereign, and wise. No matter what happened, Shane vowed to cling to those words. But he was still just a man. And it hurt.

  Why, God? Why?

  A jet roared overhead; another taxied to the end of the runway and made a fast turn. Comings and goings. Hellos and good-byes. A life-and-death dance choreographed by a man in a tower who presumably saw everything in the sky. Faith . . . Human beings couldn’t fly or drive without putting faith in other people. As a Christian, Shane needed to place that same kind of trust in his Lord.

  More than anything, he wanted Daisy to live. To recover and be happy again. To forgive him. He glanced at MJ riding shotgun. Her calm presence didn’t erase his burden, but it eased it. He needed her—today and always.

  A light turned red. There was no choice but to stop. Shane gritted his teeth until MJ reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “We have plenty of time.”

  “Do we?” She meant to catch the flight, but he pictured Daisy, pale and lifeless.

  The traffic light flashed green. Shane veered into the parking structure, snagged the ticket, and took the first spot he saw. With MJ at his side, he grabbed both carry-ons and hurried to the terminal. Mercifully, they passed through security fairly fast and reached the gate with time to spare.

  He tried to call Lyn, but she didn’t pick up. Not knowing what the future held, he gripped MJ’s hand and held tight.

  Chapter 29

  The instant their flight touched down in Salt Lake City for the connection to LAX, Shane and MJ reached for their phones. While MJ texted her mother, Shane called Lyn for an update. Daisy was out of surgery and alive, but her injuries were extensive—internal bleeding, broken ribs, a skull fracture, and diffuse brain trauma.

  “She’s in very critical condition,” Lyn told him in a shaky voice. “I wish—I wish a lot of things.”

  So did Shane, mostly that he could have taken the violence in Daisy’s place. MJ seemed to know how he felt. She remained quiet, her arm pressed against his on the narrow armrest, their feet touching from toe to heel.

  Next he called Troy, who told him that Markham and a girl were in custody on drug and assault charges. Additional charges of attempted murder, or God help them all, homicide, were pending. The instant he ended the call, Shane broke out in a cold sweat. Every minute counted now; every second mattered. He needed to see Daisy—needed to be with her while he begged God to spare her life.

  Time crawled as he and MJ changed planes, soared back into the sky, and landed two hours later at LAX. With the brakes screeching and the momentum pulling him forward, he called the ICU, gave the privacy code from Lyn, and was connected with Nina, Daisy’s nurse.

  “How is she?” Please, God. Please.

  “She’s extremely critical.” Nina paused. “Does your sister have an advance directive?”

  “A what?” He knew what the words meant. He just couldn’t bear hearing them.

  “An advance directive,” Nina repeated gently. “It’s a legal document that expresses a person’s wishes in the event they’re unable to speak for themselves.”

  Also known as a DNR. Do not resuscitate. Shane’s vision tunneled into black and white. Fresh chills erupted with a fiery vengeance, and acid singed the back of his dry throat. The pilot made a sharp turn on the taxiway, causing him to lean against MJ.

  She gripped his free hand, worry and dread written all over her face. Nina’s words had reached her ears, too.

  He swallowed back the bile in his throat. “Please tell me that’s a routine question.”

  “It is.” A long pause stretched into the unknown. “Your sister’s neurologist is on call tonight. It’s best if Dr. Sethi talks to you in person.”

  Shane choked out a thank-you and ended the call. He hated being helpless, but there was nothing else he could do. The plane lurched to a stop at the gate. Passengers crowded into the aisle as if this were an ordinary day. But it wasn’t. MJ sought his gaze but didn’t speak. There were no words, only the keening hope that Daisy would survive—and heal.

  He hoisted their bags from the overhead bin, then he and MJ surged with the crowd until they broke free. They dashed through the terminal, caught a taxi, and told the driver to hurry to Centennial Hospital. In minutes, they were on the 405, mercifully moving at a decent clip.

  Shane silently pleaded with God all the way to the hospital, MJ quiet and respectful beside him, her hand light on his knee as the driver wove through traffic. Somehow her strength poured into him, steadied him, though it seemed to take eons to reach the hospital. Once inside the sprawling building, they followed the signs to the ICU on the second floor. He spotted Lyn in the waiting room, seated on a worn brown couch, her head bowed.

  MJ called out to her. “Lyn!”

  Lyn launched to her feet and ran to them, her face stained with tears.

  “Daisy—” His throat locked tight.

  “She’s hanging on.” Lyn hugged him hard, then squeezed MJ even harder. “I’m so glad you’re both here.”

  Questions buzzed in Shane’s brain, but they could wait. “I need to see her.”

  “Of course.” Lyn pointed down a short hall that ended in a T intersection. “The ICU’s on the left.”

  MJ touched his arm. “I can wait here, or—”

  “Come with me
.” He gripped her hand and held tight. God seemed very far away, but the Almighty had kindly sent MJ in his place.

  Leaving their bags with Lyn, they walked down the corridor to a closed wooden door. Without its small plastic sign, it would have resembled a closet, or a storeroom on a college campus. He pushed the intercom and identified himself. A buzz signaled he could enter.

  He held the door for MJ, and together they walked into a world of fluorescent lights, glass walls, and twitching monitors. A nurse in her late twenties, wearing maroon scrubs with her straight black hair in a tight bun, nodded at MJ, then greeted him.

  “Mr. Riley? I’m Nina Martinez, your sister’s nurse. I’m sure you’re eager to see her.”

  “I am.”

  “I’ll take you right in. Dr. Sethi will be here shortly.”

  Holding tightly to MJ’s hand, Shane followed Nina to a glass-walled room with a drawn curtain. The nurse paused at the closed door. “Daisy isn’t fully conscious yet after the surgery. Her head has been shaved, and her face is swollen and bruised. You might not recognize her. Be prepared.”

  Shane nodded, but how did a person prepare to see a loved one bloody and broken? He blinked and imagined Christ on the cross, and the Father seeing his Son suffer. Christ’s blood had a purpose. What purpose did the attack on Daisy serve? None that he could see now.

  Nina opened the door, led the way inside, and greeted Daisy as if she were fully alert, cheerfully telling her that she had visitors.

  Could she hear? Maybe. Desperate to hope, Shane opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He could only stare at Daisy motionless on the high bed, her face the color of a plum and unrecognizable, her head bandaged, and her pretty hair nowhere to be seen.

  Nina checked what nurses check, then left them alone. Shane gave MJ’s hand a squeeze and let go. She stayed near the door, while he approached Daisy.

  Barely breathing, he stared at his sister’s battered face until the shock subsided and he saw the woman beneath the bruises. His little sister . . . the child who looked up to him. He had failed her too many times to count, but most condemning of all, he had failed to show her the grace and forgiveness he so desperately needed for himself now—from her.

  How many times had he lectured her about Christianity? Dozens. Sometimes she listened and prayed with him. But not once had he really listened to her.

  Shane finally found his voice. “Hey, Daisy. It’s me.” Her fingers lay limp in his grip, neither warm nor cold. He squeezed lightly, praying for a response—but none came.

  Whether Daisy could hear him or not, Shane needed to speak. “You deserve far more than an apology for how I treated you, but it’s all I have to give.”

  Again nothing. Not even a twitch.

  The old bitterness toward God squeezed his belly, a coiled snake about to strike. MJ dragged a chair to the bed, indicating he should sit, then she dragged one up for herself. Together they sat at Daisy’s bedside, silent and devastated, until Nina stepped into the room.

  “Dr. Sethi’s ready for you,” she said to Shane.

  When he stood, MJ slid to the chair closest to Daisy. “I’ll stay with her.”

  As Shane followed Nina, MJ introduced herself to his sister as if they were going to be best friends.

  The nurse guided him to a small room with a desk pushed against a wall. A short, dark-haired man in a rumpled suit stood and introduced himself. After indicating Shane should take the side chair, he swiped the mouse to wake up the monitor, then pointed to an image with a ballpoint pen. “This is your sister’s CT scan.”

  To Shane’s untrained eye, Daisy’s brain resembled a black-and-white butterfly. But the sides didn’t match. Black speckles, a white crescent, and white splinters indicating bone fragments showed the damage to the left lobe.

  The doctor aimed the pen at the screen and outlined the damage. “This was taken prior to surgery. The white indicates bleeding between her brain and skull—in other words, a subdural hematoma. Our biggest concerns now are swelling and stroke.”

  “Stroke?” Shane’s mind jumped to physical paralysis, loss of speech, memory problems, and more.

  “Yes. We will know more in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

  His accent made the words singsong, softening the blow, but Shane couldn’t take his eyes off the white crescent on the left side of Daisy’s brain. “How bad is it— I mean—” Brain damage. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “If she survives, what can we expect?”

  “We simply do not know.”

  Shane grabbed for hope, even a shred of it. “But she could recover, right?”

  Dr. Sethi held out his hand, palm up. Not a sign of indifference, but an acknowledgment of the unknown. “Anything is possible, Mr. Riley. But you can see the CT scan for yourself.”

  Only God knew what the future held, but Shane knew what he wanted as a hurting human being—and as Daisy’s protector. He wanted his sister to live—and to live well.

  Dr. Sethi reached for a clipboard wedged in a vertical file. “Your sister does not have an advance directive. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are her closest relative?”

  “Yes, that’s also correct.”

  “And do you know what her wishes might have been?”

  There was no doubt—Daisy wouldn’t want to be kept alive with a feeding tube. At the same time, Shane was desperate to fight for her life. His voice came out in a choked whisper. “There’s still hope, right?”

  Dr. Sethi replied with a slow blink. “There is always hope, Mr. Riley. Are you familiar with how a DNR is followed?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Allow me to explain.”

  The doctor handed him a clipboard with a form and a pen dangling from a string. Just like that—a stroke of a pen on a preprinted form—and Daisy’s life was in Shane’s hands.

  “With a DNR, if your sister’s heart stops beating, no medical procedure to restart the heart will be initiated. However, the order will not prevent her from receiving other medical care she may need.”

  Shane stared at the form for several seconds, lifted the pen and tried to sign it, but couldn’t. He wanted—needed—to fight for her. But what was best for Daisy?

  Shaking his head, he laid the clipboard on the desk. “I need to think about this.”

  “Of course.” Dr. Sethi stood. “If you have questions, please ask Nina to call me.”

  Shane strode out of the office. As much as he wanted to return to MJ and Daisy, he veered to the outer door. At this point, Lyn knew Daisy far better than he did. What would his sister want? As for his own need for absolution, he’d have to live with whatever happened—and so would Daisy. That last thought scared him to death.

  The worn carpet muted his steps as he walked into the waiting room, empty except for Lyn hunched and praying on the couch. He murmured her name.

  Her head snapped up, worry evident in the deep lines around her mouth. “How is she?”

  “The same.” He sat down on the couch. “Her neurologist showed me the CT scan. It’s bad. He asked about a DNR. I don’t know what to do.”

  Lyn shifted on the cushions, facing him as best as she could. “That’s an awful decision to have to make.”

  “The worst.” Shane drew a breath. “I was hoping you could help me. I don’t know anything about her life now. Is she happy?”

  A faint smile put light in Lyn’s eyes. “Yes. I believe she is. A lot changed in the past few months.”

  At last, the story he was desperate to hear. “Tell me everything.”

  Lyn described his sister’s arrival at Mary’s Closet, her fight for sobriety, and finally about witnessing a 911 call and how Daisy revealed and confronted her own abuse. “I don’t know if she would have shared that with you, but you should know.”

  His fingers knotted into a helpless fist. He wanted to punch the wall, all of Daisy’s abusers, and especially his own smug teenage self. Instead he ground the heel of his hand in hi
s eye. “I hate myself for not realizing she’d been hurt.”

  “You were young, too.”

  “Even so—”

  “Shane. Stop it.” Lyn’s voice crackled with authority. “We all have regrets. Suck up the guilt and move on.”

  He looked at her, incredulous. “I wish it were that simple.”

  “It is simple—simple but not easy. You’re a Christian. You know what the cross means.”

  Did he really? He knew the right words to say, but could he fully surrender Daisy to the God who sometimes said no? A two-headed beast rose up in him—one head called Pride and the other Fear. The beast roared like a dragon spitting fire, its spine writhing and its hot breath on his neck, a reminder of how helpless he was to fix anyone—Daisy, MJ, or himself. Lyn saw the pride in him, and she had swung for the fences. Shane could only shake his head.

  “I’m talking to myself, too,” she admitted. “If I’d been quicker, I might have saved her. I could have—”

  “Lyn, don’t. You’ve done more for Daisy than anyone.”

  “All I did was share what I’ve been given. MJ did the same with those old letters and the diary. Daisy read them. Two days ago, she became a Christian.”

  “Really?” He nearly wept.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m—I’m glad.” More than glad. No matter what this day held, he’d see his sister in eternity. God had said yes to that prayer, but Shane’s heart still ached.

  “She forgave you, Shane.” A wistful smile fluttered across Lyn’s face. “In fact, she was planning to surprise you in Refuge. We were going to call MJ and—and—” The words broke into fractured syllables until Lyn composed herself. “She had come so far. All she wanted was for you to be proud of her.”

  “I am.” Whether Daisy could hear him or not, he needed to tell her now. He pushed to his feet. “I need to get back.”

  “Of course. And Shane?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m truly sorry I couldn’t tell you about her sooner.”

  “It’s okay. It was Daisy’s call, but I’m here now. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I’ll call if anything changes.”

  They hugged and went their separate ways, Lyn to the bank of elevators and Shane back to the ICU with the luggage in hand. He entered Daisy’s room, shoved the bags against the back wall, then approached the bed.