I slide down the wall again and hang my head in my hands, going over everything I could’ve done differently. I know it won’t do anybody any good, but I can’t help it. I could’ve stopped her from leaving. I should’ve stopped her from leaving. If I had, maybe she wouldn’t be in this position right now.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here before the nurse who put Amelia to sleep walks out of the ICU and jumps at seeing me in front of the doors.
With a hand over her chest, she whisper-shouts, “You frightened me!”
I chuckle mirthlessly and stand up. “Sorry, I was in my head.”
A sympathetic look crosses her face before she says, “She’s back in her room if you’d like to go in.”
“But—”
“She said she wanted you there, that’s good enough for me.” She opens the door wider and motions for me to walk on ahead. “Any idea where her dad is?”
“He said he was speaking to the police. I don’t know whether he left or not.”
She nods. “I’ll page around and see if anyone has seen a bunch of cops, they’re not very inconspicuous, y’know.”
“No, I guess they’re not.”
With one last smile from her, I turn around and walk down the hallway toward Amelia’s room. I don’t know what to expect when I walk in, but I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s sleeping soundly.
She needs the rest so she can heal and if I’m really honest with myself, I don’t want another repeat performance of earlier. I can’t take her begging me to help her—to fix her—it’s too much because I know apart from being here for her, there’s nothing more I can do.
I close the door behind me and sit in the chair I was in earlier, watching her sleep. She looks so peaceful apart from the odd frown creasing her brow I’d like to help erase.
After a little while my eyes start to sting and I shut them, leaning back in the chair and listening to the machines beep around me.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
The deep baritone that whispers to me is the first thing I hear, but I don’t make a move to show that I can hear my dad. This time isn’t like the last time where everything came back at once. No, this time as soon as I’m aware of people surrounding me, I know I want to be left alone.
“I should only be a couple of hours; Jan’s flight lands at one.”
“I’ll still be here.” Nate.
I keep my breaths even, trying to keep the guise of still being asleep from the sedative they gave me. How long ago was that? A day? A week?
Once the door clicks shut, I move my right hand down my body, touching the top of my leg, a false hope taking root before my fingertips make contact. There’s nothing—no feeling, no sensation.
Nothing’s changed.
I feel movement to my left, and when I open my eyes I see Nate sitting next to me. He lifts his head, his gaze clashing with mine.
I examine him, taking in the scruff lining his jaw and the dark circles under his eyes, but most importantly, the desperation in them.
“Hi,” he says weakly but when I don’t say anything back, he reaches to his right and picks up a glass of water and holds it out to me. “You must be thirsty.”
I stare at him, focusing on his tired eyes, not making a move as he brings the glass closer to my lips. I’d rather feel the pain in my throat than nothing at all, at least then I know I’m still alive.
As I turn my head away from him, he sighs. “You need to drink something.” Again I don’t say anything back. “Maybe later then.”
I hear the sound of the glass as he places it down on the table and sense his movement when he stands up and walks around the bed.
“I’ll go and tell the nurse you’re awake.” He stops when he gets to the door, his hand on the handle as he looks back at me, hesitation marring his face. I don’t offer him a smile, a nod—nothing. I only stare at him blankly.
His chest heaves on a breath before he opens the door, leaving it slightly open as he slips out. My gaze lands on a circle mark on the wall directly in front of me that’s the size of a quarter. I stare at it for seconds that turn into minutes, and even when Nate returns, standing by the side of my bed and taking ahold of my limp hand, I still don’t stop staring at it to acknowledge him.
My ears perk up at the sound of footsteps getting louder as they near, but when the door to my room fully opens, I keep my eyes trained on the spot on the wall.
My vitals are taken, a nurse prodding and poking at my arm and taking my blood pressure, all the while the spot on the wall holds my attention like it’s all that matters.
“The doctor was called into a surgery late last night but should be here to give you the results soon,” she says, not to anybody in particular.
“Her dad won’t be back for a couple of hours,” Nate tells the nurse as she clips the chart to the bottom of the bed.
The nurse cuts her gaze to me and then Nate. “It’s Beth who’s the patient.”
Another set of footsteps near and then a gruff voice says, “Beth, I’m Doctor Bale, the lead consultant on your case.” Amelia, I want to tell him, but I keep my lips sewn together as the nurse exits the room. I slowly move my gaze to him, not taking any of his features in as he swipes his finger on the tablet he’s holding. “Let me explain everything from the start before we discuss long-term treatment plans.”
I don’t acknowledge him, controlling the one thing I can right now—my voice.
“You were brought in via ambulance and taken into surgery. You had extensive internal bleeding which we managed to stop. Your leg is broken in two places but not severe enough to need additional surgery, so the cast will come off at the six-week point…” I zone out on him as he throws medical jargon at me, but there’s only one thing I want to know: Will I ever feel my legs again?
“When you woke up yesterday...” I come out of the haze I self-imposed and pay attention to what he’s saying as he places the tablet on the small hospital table at the bottom of my bed. “You said you couldn’t feel your legs.” I blink at him once in response. “We took you for an MRI and found that you have swelling on your spinal cord.”
“Swelling?” Nate asks. “What does that mean?”
The doctor flicks his gaze from me to Nate and back again. “The swelling was caused from the fall.” He clears his throat. “We can be thankful you didn’t break your spinal cord, but…” His throat bobs as he swallows. “With a break, we can be pretty certain of the outcome, of what your recovery will be like and if there’s anything we can do to aid that recovery. However, with swelling on your spinal cord, we can’t be certain if it will go down, and if it does, how long it will take.”
“That’s what’s causing her to not be able to feel her legs?” Nate asks.
“Yes.” The doctor comes closer, picking up his tablet this time before turning it around and showing us both an image of a spine. “When there’s swelling on the spine, it compresses down on the nerves that send your brain signals to move and to feel.” He steps forward, placing his tablet down and holding his hand out as he says, “I need to test your legs to see what we’re working with.” Tilting his head at my legs, he asks, “May I?”
I nod, swallowing against my dry throat as he pulls the blankets back. “Tell me when you can feel my hand.” I wait, squeezing my eyes closed, not knowing where or what he’s touching until I finally feel his hand.
“I can feel that.” When I open my eyes, I see his hand just below my belly button and the tears that want to desperately escape burn the back of my eyes.
The doctor nods to himself, pulling the blankets over me and picking his tablet up. “The swelling is what’s stopping all of the feeling from the waist down.”
I look back at the image on the tablet he’s holding up before bringing my gaze back to the doctor. He smiles at me gently, but when I don’t say or do anything, his eyes dim a little.
“What happens now?” Nate asks, yet again.
I wish he would stop asking hi
m questions. I want silence, I want quiet. I want to pretend none of this is happening and that I can fling my legs off the side of the bed at any moment and pad into the adjoining bathroom, or walk over to the small window and see the clouds that are sure to be slowly moving throughout the sky. Instead, I’m stuck here with the doctor and Nate talking about me.
“The recovery process will be a long road. You won’t be able to start it until you have the cast off, and at that time, it will be a slow haul that’ll need lots of determination.”
“And she’ll be able to feel her legs again?” Nate pauses. “She’ll be able to walk?”
The good old doctor clears his throat, and if I wasn’t feeling about as useful as a block of ice in Texas right now, I’d probably laugh. Even the doctor doesn’t know whether I’ll be able to walk again. What’s the point? Why carry on when I’ll never be able to sit on the side of a pool and dip my toes in the water? When I’ll never be able to feel the sand beneath my feet? When I’ll never be able to… walk.
“I can’t answer that without possibly giving you false hope. All we can do is wait and see. We can’t predict these things as well as we could had it been a clear break. Time will be our only answer.”
Nate and the doctor stare at each other for a beat and I turn away from both of them, staring at the same spot on the wall and going far into my mind. I make a safe space for myself. A place where nothing bad can touch me, and nothing at all can hurt me. A place where I can walk through the woods, swim in the lake, and stand under a waterfall. A place of peace and contentment.
It’s not until the door closes and Nate’s hand covers mine that I realize the doctor has left. But still I don’t acknowledge Nate as he says, “We’ll get you the best doctors and physical therapists available, and I’ll be here every step of the way because there’s no chance you’re going back to your apartment. Don’t even try to fight me on that.” He pauses for a second before adding, “I can’t promise that everything will work out the way you want it to, but I can promise I’ll be with you. There’s no doubt about that.”
My nostrils flare the longer he talks, the more he makes plans, the more he promises he’ll be here for me. He won’t: he’ll leave when things get too tough. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, but what about in six months’ time if I still can’t walk?
I can’t deal with the pain of losing him as well as my mobility. It’s best to cut things off now, to turn it all off: every single emotion I’ve ever felt for him.
I open my mouth, about to speak the only words I intend to speak to him ever again, because to me right now, nothing will ever be what it used to. Not my legs, not me, not us.
“Leave.” My voice is hoarse, but I push through it. “I want you to leave.”
“Why?”
My hand twitches in his as he grasps it tighter. “I want to be alone.”
“And I want to help, I’m not letting you push me away this time.”
I grit my teeth at his words, wanting to shout at him to get out, but not wanting to show him how close I am to breaking. I’m afraid if I show him too much, if I expose myself to him now, I’ll never be able to turn back from it.
I keep my eyes focused on his, knowing there’s nothing in the depths of mine. No matter how much he searches, he won’t find anything.
“I don’t want you here,” I say, my voice flat before turning away, effectively dismissing him.
“I know you’re scared and trying to process things so I’ll let you have a little time to yourself. But I’m telling you now, I’m not going anywhere other than the waiting room.” He leans over and kisses me on my temple, whispering, “I love you,” before walking out and leaving me in silence.
As soon as the door clicks shut, I let the tears I’ve been holding at bay escape. I promise myself it’s the only time I’ll allow myself to set them free, because after today, I won’t let anything come to the forefront. I’ll keep it all locked in a place where no one can reach—not even Nate.
The sound of a text message rouses me from my half awake, half asleep state. I turn my head on the pillow, looking over at Dad who’s sitting next to me as he pulls his cell out.
There’s only us here as Nate had to go to work and Mom is volunteering while she’s here.
Dad’s brows draw down and a frown mars his face. I keep my mouth shut as he lifts his eyes to mine, worry in their depths.
“The detectives are here,” he says, and as soon as he does, the anxiety takes over my body. I instantly start to sweat, my hands shaking as flashes of what happened take over my mind. “You don’t have to see them, but… the sooner you do, the sooner you can try and move on.”
I don’t want to agree with him. I want to scream and shout and tell all of the memories to leave me alone, to disappear just like it feels Phoebe has. But the rational part of my brain is telling me that they need to know what happened—they have to find her.
My eyes flick over to the window and around the room, searching for something that isn’t there.
“Okay,” I murmur, my voice croaky from the lack of talking I’ve been doing. “Tell them to come in.”
He types out a message and we wait until there’s a knock at the door. I watch as two men step inside, each wearing normal clothes with badges attached to their belts. The older of the two walks forward, his gray hair cut close to his head as he holds his hand out to Dad first, murmuring something before turning toward me.
“Hi, Beth, I’m Detective Frances.” He waves his arm over at the other detective at the end of the bed. “That’s Detective Howsell.”
I lift a hand in an awkward wave before flitting my gaze to Dad as he comes to stand next to me.
“Your dad has filled us in on a lot of the past events previous to you moving to the state. We’ve spoken to Mr. Carter and Mr. Cole to get more information regarding the last couple of months, but we’d like to hear it directly from you now.”
I nod in reply, taking a deep breath and opening my mouth to tell them. “It started with the first package…” I tell them about every package I received, what was in them and the dates and times. I then go on to explain that she got into the pool house, that I saw her follow me several times. “I moved out of Tristan’s house and into my apartment to keep them out of it, but she’d still sit in the lot and watch the building for hours at a time. I thought the only way out was to go home.” I meet Dad’s gaze as he gives me an encouraging smile. “I came home early because Tris needed—”
“Mr. Carter explained what happened at his house and what Phoebe said to them.”
“Okay,” I reply meekly. “Do you want to know what happened when I left?”
“Yes,” Detective Howsell says.
I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut as my whole body is wracked with nerves and apprehension. I don’t want to relive it, I want to forget it ever happened, but that’s not possible when I still can’t feel my legs after three weeks.
“I went home—to my apartment—and went out onto the fire escape. When I turned around she was… there.” I keep my eyes closed as I tell them what happened, seeing it like a movie playing in my mind. “She was talking about seeing her daughter and making me pay. I—” Dad places a placating hand on my arm and I take a deep breath, feeling the rush of anxiety and danger as I say, “I couldn’t calm her down and before I knew what was happening, she ran at me. I couldn’t grab onto anything in time and… we both fell over the railing.” I open my eyes, looking down at my hands that are resting on my lap.
Detective Frances steps closer. “Was there anything specific she said to you? Anything that would give us a clue as to where she would go?”
“She thinks I killed her baby.” I take a gasping breath. “But I didn’t, I swear.”
“We know that,” Detective Frances says, a small smile on his face. He lowers the small notebook he’s been writing in. “We’ll need you to come to the station and make an official statement when you’re…” His gaze flits down to my legs and ba
ck. “Feeling better.” I almost want to laugh at his assessment. Feeling better.
There’s an awkward silence before Dad pushes his hands into the front of his jeans pockets. “Have you had any luck with her whereabouts?”
“Not yet but…” I block them out as soon as he says they haven’t. She’s still out there. She could be watching us right this minute. She could be waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike again. Watching and waiting in the wings like an understudy for a show.
“What about flight checks?” I hear Dad ask, his frustration evident. “You’re telling me she’s just disappeared into thin air? Vanished like a fucking ghost?”
“Sheriff Waters—”
“No.” He steps forward, lifting his hand up. “Don’t do that shit with me. I’m the inventor of that placating bullshit. That psycho tried to murder my daughter and you’re telling me you’re no closer to finding her three weeks later?”
“Dad.”
“I want a meeting with your sergeant. You should have your best guys on this case, not two detectives who are barely doing anything—”
“Dad, please,” I say, louder this time.
He moves his attention to me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I—”
“I’m tired,” I interrupt. So tired.
“Of course,” the older detective says. “We’ll get going but we’ll keep in touch.”
I don’t answer them, instead I turn my head toward the window and listen to their retreating footsteps, Dad following them and continuing to tell them what they should be doing to try and find her.
Concentrating on the window, I try to see as far as I can, but being four floors up means I can’t see much. Does that mean Phoebe wouldn’t be able to see inside? Or could she if she was on top of one of the surrounding buildings?
My eyes start to droop the longer I watch. I don’t move my gaze from the window when Dad comes back in, or hours later when Nate comes to visit, sitting next to me and trying to talk to me again.
The images from that day push their way to the front of my mind as I start to fall asleep, but it doesn’t matter how hard I try to stay awake, I can’t stop them from taking over.
Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 2) Page 33