“What do you think you’re doing?” Dr. McCormich demanded, stooping to retrieve his shattered phone.
Ignoring him, Alex tucked Phoebe’s nightgown gently around her legs.
“Answer me!” the doctor shouted, tugging on Alex’s arm. “Just who do you think you are?”
Alex could feel unbridled rage breaking over him in heavy waves. He was so angry he could hardly breathe. In one swift motion, he turned from Phoebe and stared at the doctor.
“I demand an apology—you can’t…” the doctor’s words suddenly trailed off. His face paled. Backing away, he said hastily, “Young man, violence isn’t permitted on hospital property.”
Alex advanced. The doctor backed a few more steps. Alex walked slowly toward him with fists clenched.
“A waiver for photos was signed,” the doctor mumbled. “I was only—”
“Get out!” Alex hissed, moving forward with such a threat of impending violence that the doctor flinched.
Phoebe sat up and hugged her arms around her knees. Tears were streaming down her face.
“I was just doing my j-job—” the doctor stuttered, groping frantically for the doorknob.
“Get out!” Alex repeated, his voice vibrating with wrath. His face was white to the lips, and his eyes were black with fury. He could see the doctor staring at him with something akin to panic.
“I need to finish examining—”
“Get out, or I will break your jaw!” Alex advanced and raised his fists.
Stumbling in his haste, the doctor ran from the room.
“Alex,” Katie murmured, “do you—?”
Alex turned toward her. Katie blinked and stepped back a pace.
“Get out, Katie,” he growled, “and don’t let anyone come into this room tonight. I will not be responsible for my actions if anyone tries to touch her.”
Nodding, Katie rushed from the room.
Slamming the door behind her, Alex leaned his forehead against the wall. He was so angry that he felt sick. A strong shudder ripped through his body. Turning around, he saw Phoebe watching him with tears glistening on her face. Immediately, he dimmed the lights and went to her side, gathering her tenderly up in his arms and retreating to their chair.
Scrunching herself into a tiny ball, Phoebe wrapped her hands in his shirt with such a tight grip that her knuckles turned white. Burying her head against his shoulder, she started to sob.
Holding her close, Alex rubbed her shoulders gently. He could feel his shirt becoming drenched with her tears. Her breath was coming in whimpering gasps that broke his heart.
Alex had never felt such a crushing anger or such a mangling of his emotions. He wanted to hit somebody. He wanted to right her wrongs. He wanted to protect her. Remembering the things she’d endured, his anger transformed into sorrow. Tears began to choke him as emotions rose up and strangled him.
When her sobs finally stilled, he nuzzled her head with his chin and began singing a hauntingly lovely song—his voice trembling with the intensity of his emotion.
Hush, little love—my darling, treasured one;
Hear my song to you.
Hush, little love—my precious, pretty one;
Softly, I call to you.
Dry your tears, and still your heart;
The pain and fear have gone.
I call to you, my beloved, lovely one;
Please, hear my gentle song.
A home I have built on the meadow sweet;
A home of love for you.
Come with me, my precious, pretty one;
I’ve been waiting just for you.
The stars are shining bright in our sky of love tonight.
The wind in the pines blows free.
The happy brook plays a merry melody;
Come home to the meadow with me.
Hear the birds as they testify; the leaves as they whisper true.
Softly they murmur my mountain meadow home
Is built with my love for you.
Come, my love.
In his arms, Phoebe sighed. “Sing it again.”
Stroking her hair, Alex sang the song two more times. The final time through, his voice began to waver. He wondered if he was going to make it to the end without giving into his emotion, but he managed to stay in control. They sat quietly for a time and then Alex picked Phoebe up and carried her to the bathroom.
As he knelt to wash the tearstains from her face, his heart seemed to lodge somewhere in his throat and get stuck. She’d been through so much, and she was trying so hard to be brave. He never should have let that doctor get near her. He wanted Phoebe to be unafraid. He needed her to be unafraid. Looking at her horrible bruises and knowing the trauma she’d been through, the lump in his throat grew. Carefully, he ran the cloth over her injured eye with a feather-light touch. Before he could stop it, a strangled sob escaped his lips.
Phoebe’s face filled with compassion. Gently cupping his cheek, she murmured, “It’s okay.”
At her words, Alex finally lost his battle with control. She’d been hurt and scared, and yet she was comforting him. If his heart felt broken before—now, it felt shattered. Gathering her up in his arms, he collapsed slowly to the floor with his back to the wall. Sobs shook his body, and when he couldn’t contain them any longer, they burst from his lips.
Phoebe threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close. As she cradled him, Alex brought his knees up, trying to literally encase her in a protective cocoon made of his body. He never wanted her to be hurt again. He never wanted anything harmful to touch her.
When he became calm, he said firmly, “No one will touch you like that again.” He looked her straight in the eye. “God as my witness, if anyone tries, I’ll tear them to pieces. No one will do it again. Not ever. I promise.”
“I believe you,” she murmured, wiping a tear from his chin.
Leaning against the support of the wall, Alex gave a shuddering sigh and looked at Phoebe’s legs. He knew it wasn’t sanitary for her open wounds to be in contact with the floor. “I should finish bandaging you,” he said, brushing a tangled lock of hair behind her ear. “Is that okay?”
“I’d rather you did it than anyone else,” she replied.
Nodding, he began dressing the wounds—paying close attention to her burns. When he was finished, he washed away her tears and sweat, and although he didn’t know it at the time, he also washed away the memory of the doctor’s dehumanizing touch. Unbinding her braids, he brushed her hair, gathering it into a simple ponytail caught at her neck.
When Phoebe was fresh and clean, he tugged off his sweaty shirt and tossed it to the floor. He felt shaky and weak. Leaning heavily against the sink, he scooped water up to wash his face. Taking a washcloth, he washed his chest and arms, but he couldn’t reach his back.
“Let me,” Phoebe said quietly.
Looking at her in the mirror, he nodded. Giving her the washcloth, he sat in front of her and rested his head on his knees. Although she was weak, her touch was tender, and he was grateful for her help. When she was done, he tugged on a fresh shirt and carried her to their chair.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
Phoebe nodded and scrunched herself into a tiny ball on his lap. “It wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Alex shuddered. “I know.”
Cuddling against him, she confided, “Awful things happened to me in the darkness, but the worst was all my happy memories were destroyed.”
“I don’t understand,” Alex murmured, running his hand over her hair.
“Whenever he’d come, I’d visit a happy memory. I used my memories so often they’re all worn out. I tried to use one today, but I don’t want to think about them anymore—not even the strawberries. When I think of them, I think of him.”
Hugging her close, Alex said firmly, “That’s a problem we can solve right now. We’re going to make new happy memories, and we’re going to start making them tonight.”
St
anding to his feet, Alex wrapped Phoebe in a frilly robe. Tossing a blanket over his shoulder, he handed her the bowl of cherry gelatin from his supper tray.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he scooped her up in his arms.
“Out to look at the stars.”
“What if someone tries to stop us?”
His brow lowered. “I’ll punch them in the face,” he growled.
Phoebe suddenly giggled. “And I’ll spit in their eye!”
Alex threw back his head and laughed—her giggles filling him with such pleasure that he felt absolutely giddy. “That’s the spirit! What a team we’ll make!” He reached for the doorknob. “Tuck your head against my shirt and close your eyes. No one will touch you, I promise. Are you ready?”
Phoebe smiled, held the bowl of gelatin firmly, and nodded against his chest. Seeing that she was settled, Alex stalked from the room. He stomped past the nurses’ station wearing a look of open war. Grinding his teeth, he stared everyone down. He made it obvious by his expression that if anyone tried to stop him they were going to lose an arm. Next to the stairs, Katie, Dr. McCormich, and Dr. Ember were talking in a tight huddle. Alex marched past them.
“There he is!” Dr. McCormich sputtered. “That’s the man who broke my phone!”
Black rage descended over Alex. He could feel fury rippling through every pore of his body. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dr. McCormich chasing after him.
Just as Alex was about to swing around, Dr. Ember grabbed Dr. McCormich’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “Don’t be a fool!” Dr. Ember hissed. “Leave Alex alone!”
Marching to the elevator unimpeded, Alex rammed his fist against the button.
* * *
Dr. Ember watched with concern as the elevator closed behind Alex and Phoebe, but when he saw that the elevator was headed up—not down—he sighed in relief. The whole night had been a botched mess. Of all the times to have car trouble and a dead cell phone, it had to be the night McCormich was working. He’d be lucky if the wrath of Poppa didn’t fall on him, but thinking about it, he’d rather face Poppa’s wrath than Alex’s. Alex looked like he was not only ready to commit coldblooded murder on Phoebe’s behalf, but that he’d positively enjoy the experience.
“I demand that Alex Ableman be removed from the hospital!” Dr. McCormich said, shoving his broken phone into his pocket. “He’s a security risk.”
Dr. Ember shook his head. “You had no right to photograph one of my patients. The paperwork stipulated that photos were only to be taken during the initial examination, and upon her release from the hospital, turned over to the patient herself. Photographing Miss Reynolds was a breach of ethics that could get you fired. Alex was within his rights to expel you from the room, and judging by his face, you’re lucky he didn’t lay a hand on you. One more word, and I’ll see your actions are reviewed. Do I make myself clear?”
Glaring, Dr. McCormich turned on his heel.
Dr. Ember looked at Katie. “How bad was the damage?”
“If Alex hadn’t intervened, I think Phoebe would’ve retreated to a catatonic state.”
Dr. Ember groaned. “And Alex?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. He was so angry that the oxygen seemed to get sucked out of the room and the air set on fire. I think we’re going to have trouble getting close to Phoebe until he calms down.”
“We’ll have to tread lightly, but having Phoebe see that she’s protected may do her good. In fact, Alex’s anger may be just what this doctor ordered.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Light pierced the darkness as the door to Peter and Laura’s prison swung open. In the quiet stillness, Peter stood in the shadows, gripping his wire with both hands. Spider, wearing a ski mask and steel-toed boots, put a brick in the doorway and advanced slowly. Muted light shimmered on the barrel of a gun.
Peter began to sweat—his whole body quivered with the strain of waiting. He knew that with a gun in the mix, he needed to get the wire around Spider’s neck on the first try.
Spider laughed menacingly as light fell on Laura. Seeing the way he was advancing toward her, Peter lunged from behind the door and wound his wire around Spider’s throat. Spider gave a strangled bellow and began to struggle. Peter grappled with him, dragging his thrashing body away from Laura. Suddenly, Spider’s gun went off. A bullet ricocheted around the room.
“Laura,” Peter shouted frantically, “get down on the floor!”
Laura dove to the ground as the gun went off again.
Spider made horrible gurgling noises as Peter tightened the wire. Those sounds were going to haunt his dreams. Spider shoved his gun over his shoulder, ramming it in Peter’s face. Peter jerked to one side. A bullet whistled past his ear.
Spider thrashed wildly as Peter gave the wire another twist. Suddenly, the wire snapped—its brittle surface strained beyond its strength. Peter’s heart plummeted. He grabbed at Spider’s neck with his bare hands, but missed. Swinging on his heel, Spider pointed his gun at Laura.
Time froze.
Frantically, Peter latched onto Spider’s arm and yanked. Spider pulled the trigger. The bullet glanced off the cement floor and hit the wall. Peter threw a right hook that connected with Spider’s jaw. Spider fell back and spat blood. Rushing forward, Peter plunged his fist into the side of Spider’s face—his hand getting caught in the mouth hole of the ski mask. The material tore, exposing Spider’s jaw. Peter punched him again, his knuckles scraping over Spider’s teeth.
Spider staggered, caught his balance, and smashed the barrel of his gun against Peter’s temple. The crushing blow sent Peter to his knees. Blood gushed down the side of his face. He tried to stand, but Spider clubbed him again.
Loud ringing filled Peter’s ears as the world began to spin. He tried to grab Spider’s legs, but Spider dodged and kicked him in the stomach with steel-toed boots. Peter doubled up. Coughing on blood, he rolled across the floor. Spider kicked him in the back. Pain jolted down Peter’s spine. Spinning around, he tried to catch Spider’s foot. He missed, and the next kick caught him in the chin. A tooth shot from his mouth in a rush of bloody phlegm.
“Peter!” Laura cried, running toward him.
“Stay back!” Peter shouted, dodging another steel-toed kick and regaining his feet.
Seeing double, Peter lashed out, trying to land a punch. His fists found nothing but open air. He lunged forward, trying to get his hands on the double image wavering before of him. Spider struck his temple with another vicious blow. The butt of the gun flayed Peter’s skin like tissue paper. Peter stumbled and fell to his knees. Before he could get away, Spider’s steel-toed boots delivered a volley of brutal kicks to his head.
In a red haze, Peter saw Laura picking up a flashlight and running toward them. Wielding the flashlight as a weapon, she hit Spider. In what seemed like nightmarish slow motion, Spider turned and struck her. She crumpled to the floor like a broken rag doll.
“Leave her alone!” Peter bellowed, tackling Spider’s knees.
The ferocity of his attack sent Spider crashing into the wall. Peter heard the sickening crack of bone hitting cement. Spider’s body spasmed as if in pain. Something warm and sticky dripped onto Peter’s arm.
Shoving Peter to the floor, Spider stumbled from the room, kicking the brick away as he went. The door slammed shut. The lock clicked into place. Inky blackness flooded the cell.
Peter rolled to his knees. Blood was streaming from his chin and ear. “Laura!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the darkness.
Placing a hand to his temple, he felt a jagged gash in his skin. His eyes searched the blackness. His ears strained against the silence. “Laura!” he yelled, feeling panic engulfing him. “Where are you?”
“I’m here,” a faint voice called.
“Are you okay?”
Peter heard Laura laugh in a shaken way. “I am,” she replied, “but I don’t think our food is. I landed on our energy bars and squashed them to pieces.”
> Peter tried to stand, but his knees wouldn’t let him. Grabbing his bruised ribs, he forced himself to his feet. Dizziness hit him like a freight train. He tried to run to Laura, but he stumbled sideways, lost his footing, and fell to the cement. Pulling himself up, he weaved his way drunkenly toward her voice. When he found her, he pulled her close and kissed her.
“I think we’ve established the fact that you can kiss my lips and not my ear.” She laughed. “Kiss me properly, will you?”
With a low chuckle, he gave her lips a lingering kiss. Brushing the hair from her forehead gently, he said softly, “I’m sorry. The wire broke…he got away.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not your fault.” Her voice held a smile. “We’ll write an angry letter to the mattress manufacturer when we escape. They need to pay more attention to the tensile strength of their springs.”
Peter sighed as Laura trailed her hand through his hair. Suddenly, he felt her stiffen.
“Peter,” she cried, “your forehead’s all sticky! Are you bleeding?”
“A little,” he murmured. “It’s not bad.”
He heard her biting back an exclamation. He tried to trap her hands to keep her from discovering the truth, but her gentle fingers weaved their way across his face, feeling his cuts.
“There’s blood everywhere.” She moaned. “Just how bad did he hit you?”
“Not bad,” he lied. “Some of the blood is his. It’s no big deal.”
“Let me find a flashlight. I want to see.”
“Don’t bother,” he quickly said. “We should conserve our batteries.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked doubtfully.
“I’m fine,” he lied again, trying to insert a robust quality into his voice. “What about you?”
Her expressive voice held a smile. “I think I have a black eye, but I don’t mind. I look my best in black—it goes well with my red hair.”
Holding her close, Peter felt his stomach twisting at the thought of Spider hitting her. His anger at their captor increased until he didn’t trust himself to speak.
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