Aftermath

by Rachel Trautmiller

  All of that is gone, now.

  And I will never forgive my Mother. This is one fault she can’t undo with time. Or justify with explanations. Or fix with surgery.

  ___

  LILLY HAD NEVER worked critical care, outside of the hospital. Never not had on-call backup at the ready for codes.

  What she had, inside the Bening house, was the bare minimum a field nurse might have in Iraq, while awaiting a larger set up. Surgical supplies, a blood pressure and O2 monitor and enough saline to last a week.

  And two FBI agents manning the three story house. Agents Max and Saragosa, had done a walk through, noted the boarded up third story. Assigned Lilly and Ariana a room as if they were in military barracks.

  “I’ll be back in the morning.” Dr. Raphael Moore picked up his instruments and stuffed them in his messenger bag. They’d gone over Jonas’ medication schedule and all the signs, beyond the obvious ones, she should watch for.

  It hadn’t settled her stomach one iota. It didn’t matter that the bugs crawling around in her body were an extreme case of nerves caused by being Jonas’ sole responder when Dr. Moore wasn’t around—which wouldn’t be all that often.

  Or from the minute warning she’d had in this venture, tonight.

  And no one could give them a straight answer on it. One minute Baker Jackson had been listening to Ariana describe the last few weeks in school, the next on his phone and out the door, replacements in position. And then they’d been carted here like cattle.

  A shuffle came from above the media room turned hospital. Followed by a stomp. All three sets of eyes, in the room, glanced upward, albeit Jonas’ a bit heavy-lidded. They’d been given the room directly above his digs, even though Lilly would be spending more time on the oversized couch than in a real bed.

  Dr. Moore smiled. Continued packing his things and zipped the bag. “I don’t miss raising teenagers.”

  If it were only something simple. Not sexual accusations and harassment in the form of letters and notes her daughter had destroyed. She thought her friend was behind them, in some cruel popularity game that was harmless. Almost harmless had been her exact words. Ariana might be naive, but she wasn’t dumb.

  And Lilly had seen a fair amount of red over the fact that anybody—adult or child—was spreading rumors about her baby fooling around with anyone of the opposite sex.

  Except all Ariana had seen was the palpable anger on her face. And flown into a rage about nobody ever listening to her. And treating her like a kid.

  Lilly used to be better at defusing things like that. Had there been more time, she might have been able to comfort her daughter. Maybe.

  Another knock sounded from above. What was she doing? Bowling with Jordan’s things up there? “It’s loads of fun.” Those bugs kept on acting up and the sullen teenager upstairs didn’t help.

  “Call me if you need anything.” Dr. Moore patted Jonas on the arm and walked from the room. Leaving them alone.

  Lilly stepped closer. The bruising on his face had turned a deep purple and the swelling lingered only around the edges of his left eye. They’d removed the feeding tube two days ago when he could keep down puréed substances.

  Taken him off the morphine pump and started oral medications, including OxyContin for pain. A CT scan had showed no signs of swelling and the cut, an inch above his left temple, had a small bandage over it, instead of the rolls of gauze he’d sported like a sweatband in the hospital.

  “You’re staring, Lilly.” The words came out on the harsh edges of agony. He didn’t open his eyes.

  She was. Not in a horrified way, but one of a nurse assessing her patient. Seeing his wounds in clinical terms. And trying to talk herself into a situation she’d already been called for. She cleared her throat. “How are you feeling?”

  “Annoyed.”

  She blew out a breath. Given the circumstances, she’d be feeling that way, too. Had been there and didn’t envy him the days ahead.

  “Can’t keep my thoughts straight. Don’t even know if my words are coming out right. Or if I’m hallucinating right now.”

  Lilly placed a hand near his collarbone. Above the painful graffiti on his chest and away from his healing jawbone. Her thumb met a portion of warm, exposed skin. “I’m real. And I can understand you just fine. Minus the lisp from the jaw.”

  “Adds a nice charm, right?” His palm met the back of her hand, his fingers squeezing hers.

  A hazy buzz flooded her. It scattered the jitter bugs. “Right.” Even banged up, he didn’t need any help there. Not with the dark hair and eyes. The dimpled smile with a hint of attitude, he normally sported.

  His eyes opened and fixed on her. “Five, five, seven, nine.”

  “What?”

  “They keep popping up in my head. Makes me feel like I’m going crazy. Ever happen to you?”

  All the time.

  “Already been there, buddy.” Baker Jackson stepped into the room, apple in hand. “And what’s this about you harassing my sister with that diary? Right now, I’d like nothing better than to burn it and hope the trouble it comes with disappears as easily.”

  As if he fought off sleep, Jonas gave a quick inhale. “You can learn something from anyone. Take solace in the fact that Lilly’s alive because of her quick work.”

  But her child and husband were not. And she had the scars to prove both.

  “One good deed does not erase a lifetime of bad ones.”

  Jonas released her hand. “The reverse is true, too.”

  When her brother looked ready to blast the man lying in the bed, he took a loud bite of his apple instead. “Any recollection on why you had Paige Jurik’s diary?”

  “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I did?” Jonas used his good arm to pull himself into a sitting position. Sweat dotted his upper lip. He closed his eyes a second. Rubbed his jaw. “Do you think I want to sit here, half delirious, questioning every tiny blip of memory that doesn’t make sense?”

  The other man crunched more of his apple, in the slow way he’d adopted long ago. His eyes never left Jonas. “If you weren’t so unconventional and shared your findings and leads—trusted someone once in a while—my sister’s husband might still be alive.”

  “Unlikely.” Jonas’ gaze locked on her brother.

  A boulder landed on her diaphragm, squeezing the air from her lungs and allowing little room for its reentry.

  He shook his head. “You’re cold.”

  She swallowed. Wanted to tell both of them to stop, but the bugs were back. And they climbed her esophagus like a horde of Black Widow spiders, in a horror movie.

  Jonas’ good hand met his jaw as if the act of holding it would stop the ache. “If you could look past the revulsion of a person’s actions and see the details for what they are, you’d get it. You’d see that she followed Lilly to the care center thirteen days before Jeff’s death.”

  Thirteen days. Jeff had given up hope in less than two weeks. He’d forgotten the vows they’d made. The daughter he’d leave behind. How love was supposed to carry them through. She would have sat at his bedside every day for the rest of her life.

  But she’d done no better.

  “Ever wonder why Beth ended up there in the first place? Why she followed Lilly? Didn’t start administering Propofol until after Jeff’s funeral.”

  Lilly’s stomach surged upward. She’d always assumed the hatred had been random to some degree. The product of being Baker Jackson’s sister.

  Why? Why had Beth waited?

  Her brother shook his head. “Whose side are you on?”

  Jonas’ pulse hammered at his neck. “It’s never been about a side. Or Beth.” His face took on a pale hue. “When it comes to the past and Lilly, it’s been about...her daughter.”

  Something dark swirled with the bugs.

  Baker Jackson opened his mouth.

  “Stop.” She raised a hand, palm toward him. To Jonas she said, “Whose daughter?”

  As if he’d forgot
ten she was in the room, he turned, stricken gaze locking on her. “Beth’s.” Jonas’ clammy hand found hers before she had a chance to move out of reach. He took a labored breath. Pressed his fingers into hers.

  Everything inside her urged her to pull her hand from his. Grab her daughter and assume fake identities for the rest of their lives.

  It would do little more than add a wrong to a very long list.

  “Lie back.” One gentle push on his shoulder had him complying. She flicked a gaze at her brother and pulled out her stethoscope. Attached the BP cuff and O2 monitor. Tried to breathe as normal as possible. Kept her mind on anything but the last three years of her life, half of which she couldn’t even remember.

  “She has a biological daughter.” Amanda walked into the room. Sent a glare in the direction of both men. Then settled, with crossed arms, on the opposite side of the bed from Lilly, right next to her brother. “Her name is Paige. The same Paige your brother has been harassing Jonas about. She was seventeen when she gave birth and gave her child up for adoption.”

  As if the recounting was painful, Amanda unfolded her arms and gripped the railing with both hands. “The labor was long and her mom was in and out, between surgeries, within the hospital. Ultimately, the mom wanted the shame of the event over so her daughter could move on.

  “After sixteen hours, Beth was pretty sure she was going to die and didn’t want to go on. The one person she wanted nearby wasn’t there for her, but her nurse didn’t leave her side.”

  An image flooded Lilly’s mind. A young girl. Scared. Alone the majority of the time. It had been a slow night. She’d been one of three patients and they’d had more than enough nurses for Lilly to be able to lend the support the teenager had so badly needed. She didn’t remember the exact words she’d used to coax the young woman, Beth—she could see her clearly, now—into a few final pushes for the doctor, who’d come in to assist with the delivery.

  As soon as they’d placed the infant on her chest, the teen’s face equaled that of a sunrise after the darkest night. There’d been ten minutes of peace before the girl’s mother had walked in. All but ripped them apart.

  The screams from both mother and daughter still surfaced, faceless, from time to time. The pleading tone Beth had used to coax her mother into giving the child back.

  A pinch started behind Lilly’s eyes. She swallowed it back. No. That wasn’t right.

  Jonas’ dark gaze met hers as if he knew her thoughts. The machine, in front of her, signaled a reading. Blood pressure was a little high. O2 at ninety-nine percent. She started removing the cuff and monitor.

  His released her fingers. “What she did to you wasn’t right, Lilly. It was beyond wrong—a violation that leaves a person wondering if they will ever be able to trust again. And if that particular act was out of hatred, it was not against you, personally.”

  She couldn’t keep a scoff from slipping past her lips. “I think you’re forgetting your losses.”

  He shook his head.

  Lilly faced all three sets of eyes, her brother’s holding the biggest dose of concern she’d seen since waking from her coma. As if she’d crumble and he’d be left picking up the pieces, again.

  “Oh, I get it. She felt beholden to me. Gave me a big, giant thank you via intravenous coma. Sure. Makes perfect sense. I can now live a long and prosperous life. Raise my daughter without issue. Get another job. Maybe fall in love again. Have more kids.”

  “Lilly...” Her brother moved toward her.

  She shook her head. “I’m really sorry a child she had to give up is missing. And if I’m supposed to feel something—anguish, sorrow—anything on Beth’s behalf, you’ll have to excuse me. I don’t. And I don’t plan to understand how she would think, even for half a second, that I’d want to stay in a coma. Even if my husband was dead.”

  Jonas held her gaze. Didn’t speak. Then it flicked over to Amanda and Baker Jackson, his lips a thin line. “There’s another missing girl, isn’t there?”

  Her brother rocked back on his heels. “Yup. From right here in Charlotte. That’d make two if Paige Jurik counts. Been missing since yesterday. Goes to school with Ariana.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE DAYROOM HELD an eerie kind of quiet.

  The kind that smashed Beth’s stomach into a tight-coiled knot. Had her moving against the wrist restraints and the chain leading to the shackles, on her ankles, as if a combination of maneuvers would break the iron confinement.

  At least they’d undone the leg restraints, which afforded better mobility. Not much, but enough to scratch an itch, if needed. Keep the edge of tight anxiety from spreading through her system.

  The cuffs could only mean something big awaited her. Or the prison wasn’t taking chances with any of their death row inmates after the foiled coup.

  Could be a combination of both.

  Dexter had escorted her, along with the two guards, now stationed on either side of the exit. When she might have asked for information about this sudden visitor, she’d remained silent. As if a large hand had swooped down and clamped her jaw shut. Cut out her tongue. Robbed her of breath.

  When they’d reached the dayroom, he’d stopped. Signaled she should enter, but not proceeded any further himself.

  Why bother with the short walk? Surely the guards could have handled it. She might have inquired about it, but the look on his face had stopped her. Gone was the blank canvas. The almost comforting lack of expression.

  Instead, heavy contemplation resided over chiseled features. An introspect she might dissect given enough time and opportunity.

  Then again, being prepared for every eventuality had carried her through life. It had chosen today for a vacation. And yesterday. The day before that.

  Amanda’s eyes connected with her as one of the guards let her into the day room. A Manila packet of papers was in one hand. Her steady gaze revealed nothing as she escorted Lilly Gabriel into the room. As if Beth were another criminal behind bars, who meant nothing.

  The idea wasn’t surprising. Lilly’s presence was, however, and a bit of excitement danced down Beth’s spine. There was so much Robinson’s sister didn’t know. Enlightening her would be a highlight to a bleak future.

  Not that it would do much good. Not now.

  Excitement dodged out of reach. She sat up straighter. Had learned to roll with the punches a long time ago, too.

  “Hello, Amanda.”

  “Bethany.” She and Lilly sat on the fixed, metal seats. “I assume you know why we’re here.”

  “You pick a side, Amanda?” Beth didn’t know if anybody outside of these walls received her letters. They were few. But she’d made them count. Wrote a heck of a lot more than she actually sent.

  She’d meant what she’d said about Amanda not visiting. It was as much self-preservation as warning. But now that the other woman was sitting in front of her, she wanted to know more than if her sister would view her death from the family side.

  Or the victimized one.

  The woman who shared all of her features except eye color shook her head as if she’d been offered a glass of water. Her hair was shorter than ever before. Still shiny and thick. No need for a flat iron. A speck of makeup graced her eyelashes and cheeks.

  She’d always been able to pull off the natural look. People would notice her in a paper sack. And she’d befriend almost anyone with little effort. Kick butt with the best of them. Always come out the victor.

  All things Beth hadn’t taken into consideration.

  “Not worth my time,” Amanda said.

  The terse words met their mark. Fortunately, the area was battle ready. Had been for years. “Come on.” As if they were chummy friends, Beth leaned toward them, resting on her cuffed hands. “You don’t want to watch the end? Get a little thrill over justice?”

  Lilly moved a fraction, disgust clear in her eyes, but Amanda didn’t. Stared at her as if she’d really like the opportunity to prove she wouldn’t miss her mark with a
gun, if necessary.

  The prison hadn’t let her bring her Glock inside. Too risky. Even with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb hanging near the edge of the dayroom.

  And Dexter beyond the window. Watching her every move with crossed arms. Still expecting something she had no clue how to offer, because she didn’t know what it was. Wasn’t even sure he gave two squats and she hadn’t conjured the whole notion.

  The last dregs of a challenging excitement was fading to something darker. Adding to the coiled snake in her stomach. A tug-of-war between knowing what lie beyond a figurative door and choosing to fall into the pit before it.

  The one with the swirling tornado reaching toward the missing floorboards. Every round widened the gap.

  And if she swept it under the rug, like she’d been taught, it couldn’t hurt her. She’d simply cross the chasm and go on her merry way as if a knight in shining armor had laid his coat across the muddy puddle.

  Beth swallowed back a healthy dose of bile. “Heard about Jonas. What’d you do to get him killed, Mandy? You seem to have a knack for that.”

  A tick appeared in her jaw, but she didn’t flinch. So typical. Strong. Fearless. The perfect daughter. “I’m not playing your game.”

  “Pity, I don’t have one.” Hadn’t expected to see Amanda ever again. Had actually counted on it, which showed how far out of her element she was.

  Expecting the unexpected—that was the challenge. “Seems like you’ve made the first move. Bringing Saint Lilly here.” Beth turned to face the woman who had the same dark hair as her brother. Same penetrating eyes. “Enjoy that nap doll-face?”

  “As much as you’ll enjoy yours.”

  The tornado still raged, promising to claim a little more of Beth’s foothold. “Feisty. Kind of mean, too. I like it. A nice brother-sister duo. One’s charming the other is spit and vinegar. Good cop. Bad cop.”

  Lilly’s gaze flicked to Amanda, who shook her head, silent message received. Once upon a time, Beth would have been the one on that side of the table.