“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” I asked again.
She sniffed and closed her eyes as she shook her head once more.
“I think Beau is around here somewhere,” I said. I didn’t know for certain, but considering he’d been in every day since we’d arrived, I couldn’t see that he’d have stopped his visits yet. “I could ask the nurse to fetch him if you’d like? I know he’s dying to see you.”
“No.”
“Are you sure? He’s been worried about you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to see him.”
“Maybe later then.”
“No! I don’t want to see him ever again.” She rolled over and faced away from me as her crying started again.
I leaned back in my chair. “Okay, baby.”
Watching her cry, knowing there was nothing I could do to wipe away the pain, was the worst kind of torture. Added to the things Alyssa had told me about what was happening at home when I’d called her back to let her know the Phoebe’s prognosis, I was overwhelmed and unable to process anything.
Before long the nurse returned with the pain relief and some food. Phoebe picked at the tray but didn’t really eat anything. I kept my mouth glued shut even though I wanted to insist she eat more than she did.
For a while, we sat in silence. Then Phoebe curled into a ball again and cried. I rested my hand on her shoulder to let her know I was there, and let the time pass.
It was almost a relief when a later round of painkillers sent Phoebe back to sleep. As soon as I had the thought though, my stomach twisted with all the self-loathing I’d beaten back over the years. The things she’d been through, and I’d felt relief to not have to face her tears for a few hours. It made me a selfish prick of the worst kind, but I couldn’t stand seeing her in pain without being able to fix it.
To escape the spiral of negative thoughts running in my head, I went for a walk. Before I truly understood which direction I was going in, I found myself back in front of Hunter’s room. An officer was still stationed on the door, but it was a different one than before.
I stood leaning against the hallway wall opposite his room, staring inside as my blood boiled and my heart raced. Lying in bed, with bandages wrapped over his chest, tubes shoved down his throat—no doubt for food and oxygen—he looked pathetic and weak. It wasn’t enough to cool my anger though, because he’d always been that, even awake and at the peak of his career. Only someone pathetic and weak would prey on women the way he had.
Part of my hatred was aimed at myself. If I’d spoken up back when I first learned he was drugging girls for fun, would things have been different? Would he have ever had the chance to come to the States to make this new life for himself?
What I wouldn’t have given for a half hour in the room alone with him. The tortures I had dreamed up during the night for him wouldn’t change anything Phoebe had suffered, but they’d make me feel a damn sight better. I would pull every fingernail out, one by one. Castrate him with the bluntest knife I could find. Stick my fingers deep into the wound on his side until I could play his ribcage like a fucking xylophone. Finally, I would pull the breathing and feeding tubes out and let him die like the worm he was.
I was midway through the fantasy when Darnell said hello.
“I’m surprised to see you here and not back in your daughter’s room.”
“She’s asleep at the moment. What are you doing here?” It was late, almost time for visiting hours to end.
“I’ve been helping the police piece together the events based on what we know.”
“And?”
“And they believe Cora knew about Phoebe’s captivity, but didn’t know what her husband was doing to her. We think when she confronted him, he shot her.”
It made sense with what I’d witnessed at the scene.
“We think she’s the one who put the photos on the bed. Hers are the only prints on the lid.”
I resisted the urge to close my eyes at his words, knowing if I did I’d be assaulted by the memory of those images—especially the ones of Phoebe at the top of the pile.
“She left a voicemail for her brother telling him that Bee was going to pay. That she was going to send him to hell where he belonged and that she and Xavier would keep Phoebe safe. We think seeing his mom dead might be what tipped Xavier over the edge to try to kill Phoebe.”
It was all conjecture and guesses of a chain of events we could never really know, and it all just added to the weight on my chest. I held up my hand to stop him. “I just want you to tell me that the arsehole in there is going to pay for what he did to her. To all those girls.”
“We’re going to do—” He cut off at a commotion in Hunter’s room.
I pushed off the wall as the machine monitoring Hunter’s heart flatlined. A number of emotions crashed together within me.
A flood of people rushed toward his room. I wanted to step in their way, standing in front of the opening and refuse to let them pass. It might mean he’d never have to admit to his crimes, but it would also mean Phoebe wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder or stay in the States for a trial. She would be free of any threat of his physical presence, even if the emotional weight of his actions would always be with her.
Despite my desire to see Hunter gone, I didn’t block the entrance. I simply said goodbye to Darnell and walked away while the hospital staff wheeled the crash cart into the room. If there was a God, Hunter would face justice in one form or another.
I checked in on Phoebe, ensuring she was still asleep. Leaning on the doorframe, I watched her for a while. Even unconscious, she didn’t look at peace. Worry lines seemed permanently etched in her brow and her body quivered and shook. Her breathing wasn’t regular. There was only one way I could think of to help her in the long term, and that was to find someone who could help her like Dr Henrikson had helped me.
With that thought in mind, I checked the time back home. It was a little after eleven in the morning. After a few minutes hunting down the most recent number for him, I tracked down my old psychiatrist. When I got through to his secretary, I begged her to have him call me back as soon as possible. I didn’t care that it was going to cost a fortune in international roaming, I needed his help.
Less than an hour later, he called back. During that time, I’d found somewhere quiet and deserted to hide.
“Declan. What can I do for you?”
“I-I need your help, Doc.”
He told me that he’d seen the news about Phoebe’s kidnapping and that she’d been found.
“She is alive, but . . .” I trailed off as my nerves frayed. “Fuck, Doc, she’s not good.” I spent the next few minutes running over the basics of her treatment at the hands of the arseholes who’d held her captive, and also a little about her mental state. “I don’t know what to do, Doc. You were my first thought.”
“I agree that it would be a good idea for her to speak to someone.”
“Someone? Not you?”
“If you would really like me to be the one to talk to her, I can try to help, but it’s my professional opinion that she will do better with someone who specialises in domestic and sexual assault cases. I also think there’s some merit in a female psychiatrist, given the circumstances. I have a colleague up in Queensland who might be able to help. I can forward her details to you if you like?”
I scrubbed my free hand over my face. “Please.”
“I’ll talk to Dr Bradshaw myself as well, so she’s aware of the situation if you do contact her. I think it’s important to remember that Phoebe’s healing will have to be at her own pace. There is no one answer for how people react to these situations.”
“I understand. Thanks, Doc.”
“Now, can we talk about how you’re coping?”
I chuckled. “Still trying to get the most money you can?” I teased, even though my heart wasn’t in it.
“No, Declan, no charge. I genuinely want to know how you are feeling.”
&nbs
p; “Fuck, I really don’t know. I guess I’m still trying to process it. How do you process something like this happening? Especially when . . .” I trailed off, unsure whether I really wanted to say the rest.
“Especially when what?”
I blew out a breath, ready to admit to it out loud. “When it’s my fault.”
“I think you should consider seeing someone again as well. The first thing Phoebe needs is for you to take care of yourself.”
“Fuck, maybe. I’ll see where I’m at when I get home. Right now, she’s my priority.” Even as I said the words, I headed back to her room. I ended the call with the doc before finding my way back to Phoebe’s side.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, someone tapped me on the shoulder. When I saw a nurse standing over me, I thought she was going to kick me out, and had a number of arguments ready on my lips for why it was better for me to stay regardless of any official visiting hours.
“I’m not supposed to say anything.” She glanced over her shoulder, no doubt checking for any new visitors to the room, before continuing. “But I know a little about your daughter’s situation and I just wanted to let you know the”—her lip curled up in disgust—“gentleman you visited earlier has passed away.”
I put my hand over hers. “Thanks for letting me know.”
OVER THE next few days, I organised for Phoebe’s apartment to be packed up. As I’d suspected, but also as per Phoebe’s request, we were heading home together as soon as we could leave. Because it was furnished when she moved in, there wasn’t much to organise.
Nearly a week passed before we got the news that Phoebe was going to be released. It wasn’t the thrill it should have been though. Physically, she was no longer dehydrated, her ankle was recovering, and the other bruises and wounds were healing. Mentally, she wasn’t any better than the day we’d found her.
When she was awake, she stared at the ceiling or cried into her pillow. Every request I made for her to speak to Beau before we left was met with resistance. She’d spoken to Alyssa, but barely said a word. She ignored every call from Angel. Any noise or distraction was too overwhelming for her, so we didn’t even have the TV on or any music playing. I didn’t want to push her on any of it, but wanted to help her find herself again. The girl she used to be had to be inside, screaming to be free of the cage of doubt and fear.
“Dad?” Phoebe’s questioning tone drew my entire focus and I stopped packing up the various items that had made their way to her bedside during the stay.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Is Beau still in the waiting room?”
My lip twitched upward as I wondered whether this was the moment the turnaround might start. “Yeah, he is. I can get him for you now if you like?”
She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Can . . . can you tell him to go away. I don’t want him to be there when we go. I-I don’t want to see him ever again.”
“Pheebs—”
“Please?” Her lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t face him.”
“Is it because of—” I paused while I tried to think of a way to say it without upsetting her. I dropped my gaze and ploughed on in a whisper, “The baby?”
She flinched away from my words before curling into a ball. “Please, just tell him to go.”
I tried to stow my frustration at the situation away as I said that I would. With a deep breath to steel my nerves, I headed out to find Beau and break his heart on her behalf.
There was only one way I could think of making him see how pointless his pursuit was, and that was to tell him the reality of Phoebe’s situation. The statistics that had hung over her head since the days after her birth—the long-term survival chances of a childhood kidney transplant. Maybe if he learned those realities, it would be easier for him to say goodbye.
Even as I tried to convince myself it might work, I knew it wouldn’t.
Just as I knew Phoebe wouldn’t change her mind.
As I’d expected, Beau didn’t leave, but he did give her space.
And when it came time for us to get onto a plane to head home, I let him know when we would be at the airport. If he wanted to turn up and set himself up for that heartbreak, it was his choice. I trusted him enough to not approach Phoebe unless she showed that she wanted him to.
ALTHOUGH PHOEBE AND I had been home for a number of weeks, it was almost as if she’d never returned. I’d hoped being around our family and the love we all shared would help her recovery, but the changes in her were miniscule to non-existent. She didn’t spend time with the family, instead locking herself away in her room most of the day. There was no music, no TV, no sound at all but crying that issued from her room. She’d always been the life of the party, the first to jump into most social situations, and now she couldn’t even have breakfast with her family.
“Phoebe’s down the back,” Alyssa said as I walked in the door from work.
Her frown was deep and the permanent sorrow in her eyes found its way straight to my heart. The fracture between them seemed impossible to bridge, and I knew that was killing my wife, who had always looked to Phoebe as a support. Day by day, she died inside as the divide between them grew. No matter how much Alyssa wanted to bridge the gap, Phoebe pushed her away. We both knew the reasons for Phoebe’s distress, but that didn’t make it easier to watch my wife’s heart breaking more day after day. The stress of it all wasn’t good for her health. It wasn’t good for either of them.
“She’s been down there ever since we got home from Dr Bradshaw’s office.”
“Was there any progress today?”
Tears welled in Alyssa’s eyes as she shook her head. She bowed her head and wrapped her arms around herself. I rested my hand over her arms for a moment.
“It’ll get better. I promise.”
“How?” Alyssa sobbed.
“I don’t know, but I have faith. I have to have faith.”
After shouting out a hello to the rest of the family, I headed down the back to check on Phoebe. It wasn’t unusual for her to want to be alone, but she hadn’t ventured outside the house before.
What I walked into was the last thing I expected.
My Mustang’s engine was torn to pieces, the components lined up across the concrete from smallest to largest.
“What on earth . . .” I trailed off when the sound of sobbing caught my attention. “Phoebe?”
Her sobs trailed off and a sniff replaced it. “I’m sorry. I-I made a mistake.”
I found her huddled up in the far corner of the shed, where it was darkest. “What happened?”
“I-I wanted to get out . . . out of the house for a while, and I—” She stopped and glanced up at me. Tears still swam in her turquoise eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeated before hugging her arms around her legs.
“You don’t need to apologise,” I assured her. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“There are pieces missing.” She stared at the engine parts, but it was clear she was referring to herself. “It won’t go back together right and I can’t find the tools to fix it.”
I had no idea what to say to her about the parts of herself that had been stripped away, so I focused on the only thing I could fix. “It’s okay. You and me, we can put this back together, can’t we? It doesn’t matter if there are pieces missing, or that we can’t find the right tools at the moment, we’ll do it. Together. Okay?”
She pushed up to wrap her arms around my neck. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“Always, baby.”
I helped her to her feet and together we set about figuring out the pieces to the puzzle that was the Mustang engine.
DESPITE THE fact that I was trying to surprise her, I didn’t hold my hands over Phoebe’s eyes or try to get her to close her eyes as I led her down to the shed.
In the days after the great Mustang fiasco, I spoke to Alyssa, who agreed a project car might be the perfect distraction for Phoebe. It would give her something to work on. It hadn’t tak
en me too long to find a Datsun 120Y with a decent body but a not-quite-perfect engine. A little over a week, in fact.
The good thing about the old engines was there wasn’t too much that couldn’t be fixed with a bit of elbow grease.
“What’s this?” Phoebe turned to me when she noticed the new car in the previously empty bay.
“It’s yours.”
She stared at me as if I’d grown an extra head.
“It’s for when you want some of your own brand of therapy. You can strip this engine and put it back together a hundred times if you want to.”
“You don’t want me working on the Mustang?”
“The Mustang doesn’t need any repairs. This little one does.” I grabbed the key from my pocket as I moved to the driver-side door. When I turned over the ignition, the little motor spluttered and coughed. “She needs your help, Pheebs. I think a complete rebuild is in order.”
One of Phoebe’s arms came across her body and she shrank back into herself. “I don’t know if I can . . .”
“Whenever you feel like you can. It’s your project to manage, or to ignore. That’s the good thing about it. It can sit in pieces for as long as it needs to.”
She blinked for a moment as my words sank in. I’d meant them about the car, but they also applied to her. As much as I wanted her to come back out of the shell she’d retreated into, I understood that it would take time. Besides the shrink, I was the only person Phoebe had conversations with at all. Even Alyssa was only granted the bare minimum required for Phoebe to get through her day. If it was done with malice, I would’ve been upset, but how could I blame her for not wanting to talk after what she’d been through?
“Maybe you could call Angel?” I suggested.
Phoebe’s expression fell and her chin dropped to her chest. She gave a small shake of her head before disappearing back to her bedroom. It was unlikely we’d see her again until the next day.
I leaned against the bonnet of the 120Y and let go of a sigh. All I wanted was to get through to her, and I had no idea how to do it.
Decay (Phoebe Reede: The Untold #3.2 Declan Reede: The Untold Story #6) Page 16