by Elle Casey
She purses her lips before responding, looking like she’s just bitten into a slice of lemon. “Good to know. I guess.”
“Why did you call me in here? To accuse me of hurting her? Because if that’s the case, you’re wasting your time.” Brian stands, but he’s halted by the doctor waving his hands in a calming gesture.
“Sit, sit … no one’s accusing you of anything. The police were already out at the house and they say the place is owned by a guy named John Arnold. That’s not you, I assume?”
“No. I already told all the nurses and the guys in the ambulance. I’m Brian Jensen.” He reaches behind him and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, putting it down on the table open so they can see his driver’s license inside the plastic sleeve. “See? Brian Jensen.”
“And our patient is your … sister?” asks Doctor Bruce.
Brian looks from the social worker to the doctor, weighing his options.
“Because if you’re not her brother, we can’t share information with you,” says the woman.
“And we’d have to ask you to leave her room as well,” says the doctor.
They’re staring at him intently. Everyone seems to be holding their breath.
Brian lets out a long sigh. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I am her brother, huh?”
Both the doctor and the social worker smile.
“Good. That’s good news,” says Betty-Lou. “Because she’s going to need someone to stand by her. Things are about to get ugly.”
“Looks to me like they already are,” Brian says, his heart squeezing a little at the memory of her face. He sits down, ready to listen again, now that he knows they’re not accusing him of being the Devil incarnate.
“Let’s discuss her injuries,” says Doctor Bruce, flipping open a folder in front of him. He scratches his head absently as his eyes scan the page. “She has multiple contusions on her face, neck, back and hands. Bruising on … well, almost every square inch of her body.” He shakes his head, marking something on the page with a pen he takes from the table. “We haven’t done a full body CT scan, but I’m willing to bet from what I’ve already seen that she has a history of broken bones from ankle to neck. We won’t be doing any more tests until she’s awake, but for now, let’s just say that she’s in really, really bad shape.”
“Is she … is she going to live?” Brian asks, his voice barely coming out.
“Yes. She had some swelling of her brain, but we’ve gotten that under control. But we need to keep a close eye on her until she’s out of the woods, so that’s why she’s here in ICU. I think if all goes well, we’ll be able to move her downstairs in a couple days.”
“What about her face?” Brian asks. He knows his ex-wife would worry about that most of all. Women tie up so much of their self-worth into their looks. He’s hoping Briana, or whoever she is, is the exception to this rule; otherwise, she won’t want to live when she wakes up and looks in the mirror.
“The swelling around her eyes should go down in a couple days and the bruising will fade out after a couple weeks. But her nose, her jaw, her orbital bones … those aren’t going to change. Those are permanent.”
Brian swallows with difficulty. “Permanent? What do you mean by permanent?”
The doctor looks at the social worker as she takes over the conversation.
“What you’re looking at when you see Briana is the result of years of physical abuse. She’s been someone’s punching bag for a long time. The human face can only take so much. Maybe if she’d had medical treatment after her injuries it would be a different story, but my guess is, she’s been kept inside that house without any doctor ever taking care of her.”
“Betty-Lou is correct,” says the doctor. “Her ears show signs of repeated blows to the side of the head, the same kind of injuries you’d see on a professional fighter who works without ear protection. Her nasal passages and sinuses are crushed. Her jaw has been broken and set itself in a misaligned fashion. Same with the orbital bone under her left eye.”
“The hair will grow in, but her teeth? She’s going to need dentures or some other kind of work, I don’t know,” says Betty-Lou. Her expression mirrors the sadness clouding Brian’s heart.
“How could anyone do this to another person?” Brian says, the sorrow making his throat tight and his words come out rough. “Why didn’t she just leave him?”
Betty-Lou frowns and shakes her head. Her voice belies her anger at the man who caused all this pain. “He’s sick. That’s the only explanation. We see it every day, but it doesn’t make it any easier and it never makes sense to people like you and me. And why she didn’t leave? It’s a classic case of battered person syndrome. Fear. Helplessness. Maybe a type of hostage response. Ultimately, she got brainwashed. Men like whoever did this … they’re masters at it. They somehow convince women over time that the abuse is their fault, that they deserve it or bring it on themselves, that it’s hopeless to try and leave because the batterer is like God almost - always able to find her, to know what she’s doing, there to control her life. She gave up somewhere along the way out of a sense of survival. Maybe she tried to escape once and was returned, which would only prove to her that there was no escape. After a violent episode, the abusers apologize, they promise to change. These women fall in love with the men they want them to be, not the one they really are. They’re hope-junkies. It could be all those reasons, just some of them, or others I haven’t mentioned. No one knows the full explanation. Maybe someday she’ll tell you herself.”
“So you’re saying she has to live like this? Look like this … monster for the rest of her life? Always feel like she needs to be with him?” Tears spring to Brian’s eyes out of pity for her. No woman should have to look at herself in the mirror and see that horror, the physical proof bringing back memories of all she’s suffered. “Is she ever going to be able to have a normal life?”
The doctor frowns, thinking. “Psychologically speaking, she’ll need counseling. Lots of it. And support from her family. As far as the physical aspects, she might have some luck with plastic surgery. It’ll be extensive … and expensive for sure. But I don’t see any reason why she wouldn’t be a candidate. I can give you a couple of referrals if you’d like.”
“I’d appreciate that,” says Brian, knowing that he’s taking on a giant responsibility, maybe even on par with becoming a father, but unable to stop himself. He has no idea how he’s going to keep up the charade of being her brother and take care of her beyond staying by her side while she’s here in the hospital, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to walk away and leave her to the demon who tried to destroy her, body and soul.
Chapter Sixteen
NICOLE OPENS HER EYES SLOWLY, her vision adjusting bit by bit. The room is dim. She’s in a bed, but it’s not the one at home she used to share with John. A hospital bed? How did I get here? There’s a chair next to her, and in it is a man. He’s sleeping sitting up, his head tipped to the side and his mouth partially open.
For a moment she thinks it’s John and her blood pressure spikes. But then she realizes the hair is all wrong. This man has blondish-brown hair, not black, and it’s cut short almost military-style. John leaves his hair on the long side. This man is broad-shouldered but maybe not as much as John is. Thank God it’s not John. His arms and legs are thick; he obviously works out. Nothing about him looks familiar, but something about him being there brings her peace.
She tries to clear her throat. The effort brings her pain.
The man’s eyes open and his head straightens. When he notices her awake, he brightens and sits forward. “Hi,” he says just barely above a whisper. “Listen, before anyone else comes in here, I need to tell you something. Can you hear me?”
She nods, curious what could be so urgent that he needs her to know it right now.
He casts furtive glances at the door like he expects someone to appear at any moment. “I told the doctors and nurses that you’re my sister. Your name is Briana Je
nsen, okay? Briana Jensen. And mine’s Brian Jensen. We’re neighbors for real, but siblings here, okay?”
Nicole doesn’t know what to say, and even if she did, it probably wouldn’t make it past her throat anyway. It’s swollen and she’s confused. Why is he telling her this?
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She shakes her head no. The words are clear, but the meaning isn’t. “I don’t … I can’t …,” she whispers. It’s all she can manage.
“I don’t know if you remember, but my son hit his baseball through your window two days ago. Sunday I came back to talk to your husband and I found you on the floor in your living room very hurt.”
“Did he … did he …?” She cannot get the words out and it’s frustrating her beyond belief.
“Shhh, don’t get stressed, okay? Your heart monitor will go all wacky and a nurse will come in. I’m not ready for them yet. I need you to understand. Your name is Briana Jensen right now and mine’s Brian. We’re brother and sister, okay?”
“John?” she finally says.
“Is he your husband?”
“Boyfriend,” she whispers.
“He doesn’t know you’re here. I’m trying to protect you, okay? So we need to keep him away.”
She doesn’t know what to say to that. Her face crumples as the meaning behind his words settles in.
Brian gets nervous, standing partway out of his chair and holding up his hands. “Don’t cry. Seriously, please don’t cry. We’re going to get you some help. I know he’s been doing terrible things to you and that you think you need to go back to him, but you don’t, okay? You don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.” He stands more fully and comes over to the bed, taking her hand in his. She looks down and sees tubes sticking out of the back of her skin. His hand is warm. She remembers a warm hand taking hers at some point while she was sleeping or semi-conscious. Was that him then too?
“You can decide later what you want to do, but for now, I hope you’ll agree to be my sister.” He’s so earnest. His pretty blue eyes stare into hers and his dark eyelashes blink nervously.
“She’s awake,” exclaims a nurse from the doorway. She comes in and walks over to the other side of the bed. “How are you feeling, Briana? Can you hear me okay?”
Briana looks first to Brian. He nods reassuringly and squeezes her hand just a little.
Nicole doesn’t know what to do or what to say. John is going to find her here, and if he realizes that she’s been trying to hide from him under another name, he’ll be furious. He’ll kill her and maybe hurt this man too. Tears well up in her eyes.
“She’s just hurting right now, and I think her throat is sore,” says Brian, patting her hand awkwardly. “We talked before you came in. Her voice is … messed up.” He looks at Nicole again and nods rapidly.
She closes her eyes and lets out a long breath before just barely nodding. For now, this is all she can do. One day of pretending to be someone else isn’t going to change anything. She knows the risk to Brian is slim compared to what John will want to do to her. Maybe later if she goes back without a fight, he’ll leave Brian and his son alone. She can already picture the threat on John’s lips, about what he’ll do to people who care about her if she doesn’t do what he says.
“I’m going to call the doctor and see what he wants to do. Are you okay here?” she asks Nicole. “Do you want some ice chips, maybe?”
Nicole nods, realizing for the first time how sticky the inside of her mouth is. It tastes awful. The nurse leaves as Nicole runs her tongue along her teeth, finding a loose one and a new sharp chip missing from another. Her lips tremble as the sadness rises up to overwhelm her. John has taken so much from her, and now this. Half-dead in a hospital room with her teeth falling out and who knows what else. Trying to lift her right arm to get it out from under the covers she discovers she’s wearing a cast.
“My god,” she whispers, looking at it. She wants to vomit.
“It’s broken,” says Brian. He lifts up a hand to rub his head. “I guess you know that, though, huh? That’s what the cast is for.” He hisses out a breath. “That was stupid. Of course you know what a cast is for. Gah, not that you’ve had one before. Or maybe you have. Shit. I’m an idiot. Ignore me.” He stares at the ground.
She looks at him, a tear slipping down her cheek. He seems so uncomfortable. The poor guy can’t even look at her. But who could blame him?
“You can go now,” she says softly, eager to release him from the prison of standing by her side.
He looks up at her sharply, his brows drawn together. “Go? No way, I’m not going anywhere.”
Now it’s her turn to frown. “Your son…”
“My son is with his mom and he’s fine. I’m staying here with you until you leave on your own two feet.”
“John will come,” she says.
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Brian lets her hand go and pulls the chair he was sitting in closer. Lowering himself into it, he maintains eye contact with her. “I have a plan, if you want to hear it.”
Not sure what to say, Nicole just stares at him. His eyes are so bright blue, they remind her of pool water. When she used to go upstairs in John’s house, she could see one of the neighbor’s pools out the back window. It was such a bright azure, so inviting. She dreamed of going over and drowning herself in it many times, but then she’d look down at Kitten’s spot in the yard and know that she couldn’t. Then she’d be leaving Kitten behind and that never seemed right.
“I’m going to take that as a yes. So here’s the deal … John doesn’t know you’re here. He can’t find you because you didn’t get checked in under your real name. Since he’s the one who hurt you, he’s probably not going to go out of his way to try and locate you by calling the local hospitals and describing your injuries. He’ll just wait for you to come home, right? I’m sure he’ll just expect you to come back like you always probably do.”
Nicole moves one shoulder in a shrug and then wishes she hadn’t. The pain in her ribs and back is sharp.
“So you’ll be here about a week or so. Maybe less. And then you’ll come to my house instead.”
Her eyes widen in alarm. “But … we’re neighbors.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know I’m with you or you’re with me. And you’ll be in my house with the blinds closed, so he’ll never know you’re there. If you want, I’ll go find another place for us to stay in, I don’t care.”
She grits her teeth together, ignoring the loose one, trying to keep the scream inside. This makes no sense. She feels like she’s being set up for an even bigger fall than just going straight home to John.
“I can see you’re upset,” he continues. “I get it. I mean, I kind of get it. I’ve been doing some research on this stuff. On … you know … women who are hurt by men they love. And I think right now you feel like your life is over and you just have to take whatever that jackass wants to give you, but you’re wrong, okay? You’re wrong about that.” He takes her hand in his and strokes it gently. “I’ll help you get on your feet. I’ll help you heal. I’ll even bring you to the plastic surgeon so they can fix the bones in your face.”
She jerks her hand out of his, flinching when the IV needle under her skin is yanked sideways. “No. No surgery.”
Brian takes her hand back. “Fine. No surgery. Whatever. You don’t have to have it if you don’t want to. But I can’t let you go back to that house. I just can’t.”
“Why not?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her heart feels like there’s an elephant stepping on it, crushing it down into a bloody pancake. This amazing man is a perfect stranger and he has nothing to do with her life, other than living down the street. Why is he here? Why does he care? Something akin to anger starts to fill her heart.
“Why not? Because. You’re my sister.” He gives her a crooked smile.
Seeing that grin light up his face, she cannot for the life of her be mad at him anymore. As
quickly as it came, the anger disappears. Confusion takes its place.
“That makes no sense,” she says finally.
“Life makes no sense, though, right? So why should we?”
She thinks about it for a few seconds, looking down at how he’s touching her so gently. No one has touched her that way in a very long time. She’s starved for affection, yet refuses to feel guilty or bad about it. The spark of fight left in her is glowing just slightly stronger now.
“That’s true,” she says, her voice sounding more normal. “Life is … crazy.”
“So let’s just go with that, then. Let’s be crazy. You be my pretend-sister, I’ll be your neighbor disguised as a brother, and together, we’ll figure this out.”
If only it could be that simple. The tears threaten again. “But … your son … my face …”
He pats her hand and stands. “Don’t you worry about him. He’s a great sport. I’ll explain everything.”
“I don’t know how you’re going to explain something like me to a young boy like your son.”
“Leave that to me.” He tilts his head as he looks in her eyes. “What’s your real name, by the way?”
“Nicole.”
“Nice to meet you, Nicole. Do you go by Nikki?”
The dark clouds move in swiftly. “No. Never call me that.” She wants to scream again in frustration. John. He controlled every bit of her life, even how she was named. It never mattered what she wanted.
Brian reaches up and gently pushes some hair away from her face. “I won’t. I promise, Briana.”
“That’s a really lame fake name,” she says, trying to lighten the mood.
He smiles, almost sadly. “I guess I’m not very creative.”
Before she can respond, two men and a woman are coming through the door, one of the men is in scrubs and the other is wearing a police uniform. The woman is carrying a clipboard and wearing a business suit. Nicole rests just a little easier as soon as she realizes none of them is John.