by Olivia Evans
The room always felt different with the early morning sunlight filtering through the windows. The large trees and perfectly manicured lawn reminded him more of a resort than a hospital. The sunlight bestowed a bright warmth that made the air seem lighter, less oppressive. Hopeful, almost. He wondered how much that optimism had to do with how the sunlight made Presley’s usually dull hair look more like the golden halo he remembered. His jaw tightened as well as his grip on the tray as he shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce.
“Hello, Heather,” he greeted with a smile.
Heather looked up, her blue eyes wild. “Five. Five, nine, six, three. Five, nine, six, three. Two bats in a tree.”
Dylan smiled. “Two bats in a tree,” he repeated, handing Heather her medicine. He paused for a minute, the cup suspended in midair as he thought about the medications he’d put in her cup. She was another one of Dr. Sanders’s patients who was on Haloperidol. He looked from Presley to Heather. Outwardly, they couldn't have been more different, yet both were taking medication for schizophrenia.
Heather pushed her short red hair away from her face and quickly plucked the cup from Dylan’s hand. “Bats in a tree. Bats in a tree. Five, nine, six, three.”
Grabbing her empty cup, he turned away from Heather and made his way to the next name on his list. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in his head with questions he had no answers to. He worked his way around the room, smiling and speaking briefly with the other patients until he stood in front of Presley.
“Good morning,” he whispered, handing her the small cup.
“Not today,” Presley mumbled, not bothering to look up.
Dylan gave her a sad smile. “Rough morning?”
Presley shook her head. “I don’t want the pills today.”
Dylan’s brows furrowed, and he kneeled in front of her. “Are you not feeling well?”
Tears pooled in Presley’s eyes as she met his gaze. “They’re back.”
A shiver ran up Dylan’s spine as he leaned closer, his heart hammering in his chest. “Who’s back?”
“The dreams.”
“Good morning, Presley,” a voice called from behind Dylan, causing him to jerk to his feet. He spun around, his eyes still wide as he took in the man before him. He had dark brown hair and eyes, his height and build similar to Dylan’s. The man’s gaze moved over Dylan’s face before he plastered on a smile and extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Sanders.”
Dylan clasped his hand and gave a firm shake. “I’m Dr. Walker.”
“Ah,” Dr. Sanders said, his eyes lighting with recognition. “Cody speaks very highly of you.”
“I’m glad he enjoys the time we’ve spent together.”
Dr. Sanders looked around Dylan to Presley, his smile slipping. “I see you’ve met Miss Cooper as well.” Stepping around Dylan, Dr. Sanders crouched in front of her and placed his hand gently on her knee. The contact made Dylan’s spine stiffen.
“Did I hear you say something about dreams, Presley?” Dr. Sanders asked.
Dylan couldn’t help but notice how Presley’s grip tightened around the blanket in her arms and her eyes fell to her lap. “No. Everything’s fine.”
Dr. Sanders tsked. “We’ve talked about this. I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.”
Presley began to rock in her chair, but she remained silent. After a few tense moments, Dr. Sanders sighed and stood. “Very well, then.” He motioned to a couple of orderlies who stood by the door. “Please escort Miss Cooper to my office. I’ll be there shortly.”
Dylan’s hands balled into fists as the two men moved to either side of Presley and lifted her from the chair. They weren’t rough or unkind, but he felt as though they were dragging her kicking and screaming from the room. The truth was, Presley didn’t even flinch. She stood without protest. Just as she turned to leave, she looked at Dylan once more, and what he saw in her eyes nearly caused his knees to buckle. It wasn’t recognition or even fear; it was resignation. There was no fight, just hopeless emptiness.
“Are you all right, Dr. Walker? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Dylan choked on a gasp of air, his eyes flying to Dr. Sanders, who wore a perplexed expression. “I’m fine,” Dylan coughed. Dr. Sanders opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut when Katherine moved to Dylan’s side.
“He’s fine,” Katherine said with a smile as she patted Dylan’s shoulder. “You know how the new ones are. They want to save the world.”
Dr. Sanders eyed Dylan for a moment before giving a sharp nod. “It gets easier,” he said in a flat tone that made Dylan’s blood boil.
“Will you be adjusting Presley’s medication again?” Katherine asked, grabbing the cup she’d left there.
Dr. Sanders sighed and let his eyes fall shut for a moment before he looked back at Katherine. “It would seem so. If she’s not sleeping, then something’s stopped working. I’ll send over the new instructions later today. If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded at Dylan, flashing a quick smile at Katherine before turning and walking out of the room. Dylan remained frozen even after the door buzzed and fell shut behind Dr. Sanders.
“You really do look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Katherine commented, bringing Dylan out of his daze. Shaking his head, he gave her a weak smile.
“Sorry. Every interaction I’ve had with Presley has been fairly routine. Seeing her react with any kind of emotion really threw me.”
Katherine nodded. “She’s another one that will break your heart, but that’s a story for another day. I have work to do, and you still have to give Cody his meds.”
“Sure. I’ll do that now.” Grabbing the tray, Dylan walked over to Cody and sat across from him much like he had the first time they’d met. It was odd because even after learning what he had about Cody, he wasn’t afraid. Maybe he was in denial, or maybe it was just intuition telling him there was far more to the story than he’d been told.
“Hi, Cody,” Dylan said with a smile as he handed the boy a book he’d stuck in his lab coat pocket.
Cody smiled meekly and took the book from Dylan’s hand. “Hi, Dr. Walker.”
“How are you feeling today?”
Cody studied Dylan’s face. After a moment, a frown creased the corners of his mouth, and the light seemed to dim from his eyes. “They told you, didn’t they,” he whispered. The pain in his voice caused Dylan’s throat to tighten. Dylan saw no point in pretending. He wanted Cody to trust him, and playing games wouldn’t help in any way.
“They did,” Dylan answered.
“Do you hate me? I would understand if you did.”
Dylan frowned. “Of course I don’t hate you. I won’t pretend to understand how or why such a thing would happen, but I could never hate you.”
Cody’s eyes shimmered, but his face was twisted into a defiant mask. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Dylan wasn’t quite sure why Cody’s question seemed like so much more than wanting assurance he didn’t hate him, but Dylan wanted to make his feelings crystal clear.
“There isn’t anything in the world more important than a man’s word. If what he says can’t be trusted, he has nothing to offer.” Dylan leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I swear to you, Cody, you can trust me. You have my word.”
The sincerity in Dylan’s voice was unmistakable, and it was clear that Cody felt it. “I believe you,” he said. “It’s not me you need to convince.”
Dylan lifted his brows. “Oh? Then, who is?”
“Zach,” Cody answered, his eyes focused on the book in his hands.
Dylan rubbed his hands over the tops of his thighs. “Why would I need to convince Zach?”
“Because he’s the only one who can help you.”
“Help me how?”
“Help you help Presley,” Cody said simply.
Dylan swallowed and pulled in a deep breath as a wave of apprehension washed over him. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“You do. Zach kno
ws.”
“Maybe it’s time for Zach and me to meet,” Dylan suggested, barely concealing the tremble in his voice.
Cody shrugged and flipped through the pages, his eyes downcast. “He’s waiting.”
A chill ran up Dylan’s spine at the flat, robotic tone of Cody’s voice. He shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “For what?”
Cody stilled, the book in his hands splayed open. For a moment, he said nothing before slowly lifting his chin and meeting Dylan’s eyes. “To see if you’re worth helping.”
Dylan laughed quietly, the sound forced and awkward. He was nervous. For the first time, Cody made him nervous. Not normal Cody, but the Cody in front of him now. The one he turned into whenever Zach was mentioned. “And how exactly is Zach going to help me with Presley?”
“He knows things.”
Dylan's throat tightened, and his heart rate accelerated as he leaned closer to Cody, his nervousness forgotten. “Why does Zach think I need help?”
“Books are dumb.” Cody tossed the book in his lap onto the floor, his face twisted with annoyance. Dylan noticed the change immediately. He was no longer speaking with Cody.
“Maverick?”
Maverick nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. Dylan pulled in a deep breath and released it slowly. He didn’t want to push too hard, but in the two weeks since his first night at Hilltop, he hadn’t made a bit of progress in discovering any new information. Night after night, he had split time between Cody, Maverick, and Presley, and night after night, he’d left the hospital confused, angry, discouraged, and heartbroken.
“What did Cody mean about Zach helping with Presley?” he asked again. “What is he talking about?”
Maverick shook his head. “Zach doesn’t want me to tell you. He said you have to wait.”
Dylan remained calm on the outside, but on the inside, he felt like his heart was going to break through his rib cage. “I think Zach’s confused. I’m not Presley’s doctor. If he has information that could help her, he should tell Dr. Sanders.”
Maverick leaned forward, his eyes slipping out of focus and the muscles in his face relaxing. When he spoke, Dylan’s breath caught. The voice was rough, like sandpaper on cement. Like someone who’d lived through hell and back. Like how Dylan imagined Zach would sound. “You’re keeping secrets, Dylan,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you mine when you tell me yours.”
Dylan’s heart thundered in his chest as he looked around the room, scanning each face to make sure no one was paying attention to their conversation. When he was certain they weren’t being watched, he leaned closer to Zach. “Even if I was keeping secrets, which I’m not, why on earth would I tell you anything?”
Zach reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Dylan looked from Zach’s face to his hand, hesitating only a moment before accepting the paper. Dylan’s eyes widened as he read the words written in messy scrawl across the page.
“What is this?” he whispered, already knowing the answer but not understanding how Zach had gotten his hands on it.
“How do you know her?” Zach asked.
Dylan blinked and looked at Zach in a daze. “What?”
“Presley. You know her. Any fool can see that. We knew it the first day you came here. The way you reacted when you saw her.” Zach shook his head and let out a small laugh. “What I want to know is if you’re going to help her. What is she to you?”
All his years of training and the countless hours spent learning about human behavior and dealing with manipulations went out the window in the face of a child. His desire, his need to help Presley, to have her back made everything else fall by the wayside. All he wanted was her. All he wanted was the life they’d been denied. If the only way to get that was to bare his soul to a thirteen-year-old boy who had violently murdered his own mother, then so be it. He would do it without regard for his career or his future. Because now that he knew Presley was alive, without her, all of it was meaningless anyway.
“She’s my everything,” Dylan whispered, his voice trembling. “I thought she was dead. They told me she was dead.”
Zach narrowed his eyes. “And you just believed them?”
Dylan looked away. White-hot shame raced through his veins. He should have asked more questions. He should have demanded answers. Hindsight was like that. It made him question every single decision he’d made. “It wasn’t that simple, but yes. I did. I thought she gave up. So much blood,” he said to himself, images of what he’d seen in her bathroom the day after their prom coming to the forefront of his mind.
When Zach remained silent, Dylan lifted his head. The suspicion and contempt were gone from the younger man’s expression. “So much blood,” he echoed. Somehow Dylan knew he wasn’t talking about Presley. He didn’t want to think about where Zach’s mind had drifted to.
“This is her full list of medications?” Dylan asked, trying to pull Zach back from whatever dark place he’d gone. It took several moments, but Zach finally lifted his head and nodded.
“Yes. Although I’m sure it will change now.”
“How did you get this?”
Zach smiled. “I can get you more than that. I can get her entire file. I only want one thing.”
Dylan leaned forward, his heart hammering in his chest. “What’s that?”
Zach shook his head. “I’m not ready to tell you. Will you be here tomorrow?”
Dylan frowned. “No. I’m not scheduled again for three days.”
“We’re going to need to fix that.”
A look of confusion crossed Dylan’s face. “What?”
“You’ll see.”
The maturity in Zach’s voice, eyes, and his manner of speaking caused Dylan’s brows to furrow. He didn’t sound like a thirteen-year-old child. “How old are you?”
A small, sad smile crossed Zach’s face before he answered. “I’m twenty.”
In the blink of an eye, the hard edge slipped away, and Zach’s eyes softened to the childlike familiarity Dylan had come to associate with Cody. The seamless shift between each personality was something Dylan would never get used to.
“Will you read to me?” Cody asked, his eyes wide, innocent.
Dylan cleared his throat and smiled. “Sure. Of course.” Grabbing the book, he settled in beside Cody and began to read, trying his best to ignore the feeling of unease that settled over him as Zach’s last words played over and over in his mind.
Dylan took a long pull from his beer as he stared at his computer screen. He’d read the article more than a dozen times. Hell, he’d read more than a dozen articles, and still, he couldn’t reconcile the past with the present.
The trial of a ten-year-old boy charged with the brutal stabbing of his mother began today in Los Angeles County court…
All the articles started and ended the same, with the few exceptions of online tabloids that printed his name in their stories. The case was cut-and-dried, until it wasn’t. Since Cody was a minor, it had been a closed trial, so the details were spotty. Dylan looked at the photos posted on a tabloid site of Cody with his parents. They were always smiling, happy. The perfect family. That was the thing about photographs, they only captured a moment in time. What happened seconds before or after could have been at complete odds with the image portrayed.
A knock on the door caused Dylan to jerk in surprise. He looked from the door to the clock, his brows drawing together in confusion when he realized how late it was. Standing from the table, he looked through the peephole, his shoulders relaxing when he saw Jenny.
“Hey,” he said, opening the door and stepping to the side.
Jenny smiled and walked into the foyer, a large brown paper bag in her hand. “Hi. I’m sorry to drop by without calling first, but you’ve missed our last couple of hangouts, so I thought if I wanted to see you, I’d just have to come here.” Jenny lifted the bag and grinned. “I even brought dinner.”
Dylan cupped the back of his neck and chuckled. “Sorry about that
. Things at Hilltop have been pretty draining.”
Jenny shrugged. “I get it.”
“Here, let me get that for you.” Dylan grabbed the bag and led her to the kitchen. He set it down and started pulling out the containers. “There’s beer in the fridge.”
Jenny grabbed two beers and moved to the seat across from Dylan. He looked in one of the containers and smirked. “Cali rolls?”
“Cali rolls are delicious. I got you shrimp tempura. I know you love those.”
A sad smile pulled at the corner of Dylan’s mouth as he opened the container and muttered his thanks. Even though he’d hung out with Jenny several times, it suddenly felt wrong. He was sitting at his house drinking beer and eating sushi, while Presley was locked away in a hospital. His appetite soured.
“Are you okay?” Jenny asked, pulling Dylan back to the present.
“Yeah,” Dylan sighed. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
Jenny leaned forward and covered Dylan’s hand with hers. “You can always talk to me. I’m here for whatever you need.”
Dylan’s stomach dropped as he looked at Jenny. He knew what she was implying. “I know. You’re a good friend.”
Jenny frowned and pulled her hand away. It was clear being called a friend wasn’t exactly what she had been hoping for. Not wanting the awkward moment to linger, Dylan changed the subject. “Have you seen Joel recently? I heard he lost some bet and has to shave his head.”
Jenny laughed, her shoulders relaxing as she popped a piece of sushi into her mouth. “Oh, I know all about it. I’m the one he made the bet with.”
Dylan’s brows lifted in surprise. “What?”
“He thinks because I’m a girl I don’t know anything about sports. My dad spent a fortune betting on sports in Vegas. I know far more than Joel gave me credit for, so when he wanted to make a wager, I agreed. It was sneaky on my part, I’ll admit. But he was in serious need of a haircut. I figured, this way, I could kill two birds with one stone. Get him to cut his hair and school him on betting against me.”