by Sarah Noffke
His eyes parted from the road and found her. Finley didn’t say a word to Zuma, not out loud or in his head, but so much was communicated. And suddenly she found her vault of worries unlocked and falling out of her, like he was stealing them.
“What are we going to do? What if we don’t get him to the hospital in time? What if he dies in my backseat?” She said each of her sentences faster than the prior one as her tension mounted.
“He’ll be fine, Zuma,” Finley said, his voice unruffled, deliberate. “Right now I need more directions from you. Where’s the hospital?”
“It’s straight up ahead,” she said, waving her hand absentmindedly in that direction as she spun around again to check on Jack. “Follow the signs.”
Finley didn’t even give her a look, but she sensed his anger flare. Zuma turned back to Finley, realizing how entangled they were that she felt this slight bit of hostility at an emotional time like this. “The signs. They’re blue and have a large ‘H’ on them. That’s what I meant,” she said, watching as Finley’s sudden tension released. She threw up her finger. “There’s one. See. That’s the symbol for hospital.”
He nodded and followed the sign.
Zuma’s feet tapped the floorboard. Her fingers twisted together and apart over and over again. Every part of her seemed to be spilling over with her nervous energy. Finley had never seen Zuma so frazzled. He moved to put his hand on her, but froze halfway to doing it, realizing that it was too soon to expect she would want his physical comfort. Zuma had opened up to Finley at the compound but a lot had happened since then. Her best friend was currently fighting for his life in the backseat. And the man responsible for this situation was once Finley’s master. He redirected his hand to the console where it sat lamely.
Zuma turned her head around again to check on Jack. He was sweating profusely and mumbling, but still incoherent.
Hang in there, Jack, she said over the telepathic link which she could feel but only barely. It kept fizzling as if about to break, but so far, to Zuma’s relief, it had remained, although she hadn’t heard a message from him since the compound. And then all at once Jack went still. She spied the tiny movement of his chest stop and the link disappeared completely.
“No!” she yelled, whipping around and crawling into the back seat.
Finley spun around so fast he jerked the car into a nearby lane. “What is it?” he said, his eyes now on the rearview mirror.
“He stopped breathing!” she said and then Zuma pressed her firm hands into Jack’s chest several times and delivered CPR. It was a strange thing to do from the floorboard of a speeding vehicle, but she’d do it from on top of a flying plane to keep Jack alive. Her mouth pressed to his cracked lips, gifting him with a breath. Again and again she alternated between pumping his chest and giving him oxygen. On the third attempt his heart ticked back on and his breathing kicked in again. And although the beat was weak and the breaths shallow, he was alive once more.
“His body is going in and out of shock,” Zuma said, curled over him. “We have to get him help. He can’t go much longer like this.”
“And he doesn’t have to,” Finley said, throwing the car into park. “We’re here.”
The medical unit speeding out to them with the gurney was the most welcomed sight Finley had seen all day. “Good thinking about calling ahead,” he said to Zuma. Then he raced out of the car and stealthily and speedily pulled Jack out, careful not to make his life-threatening injuries worse.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
When Fanny rushed into the office tent she brought a cloud of dust with her, having run straight into the space kicking up dirt.
“What is it? The message you sent said it was urgent,” she said to Titus.
The creative director lifted his head from where it had been resting on top of his large hands, his elbows pinned on the surface of the table top. “It’s Jack. He’s alive,” he said.
Fanny hurried and took the seat across from Titus, but after reading his expression and having too much tension springing around her body, she shot back into a standing position. “That should be good news. Why do you have that look on your face?” she asked.
“He’s in surgery,” Titus said, picking up the cell phone next to him and turning it in his hands, expelling his nervous stress. “Zuma just called. Finley and she took him to a hospital and they don’t know how long until they’ll have real news.”
“Well, what’s he in surgery for?” Fanny said.
“His legs and back,” Titus said.
“What? Why? What happened?” And everything suddenly shifted in Fanny. She wasn’t the warm caregiver or thoughtful healer. Her face was strained and shoulders burdened. This was how she’d looked when she came to Vagabond Circus as Nurse Fanny.
“He fell from a great distance according to Zuma,” Titus said.
“Oh no. He broke both legs, didn’t he?” she said, squeezing her eyes together, pressing the tears back.
“And possibly his back,” Titus said in a discriminating tone.
“No-no-no,” she said, shaking her head to shake away the tears now streaming down her cheeks. “If I could get to him, maybe I could help.”
“Fanny, I need you here,” Titus said in a rush and then pushed back, trying to push himself away from what he’d just said. He couldn’t believe he was such a coward at a time like this. He cast his eyes low, hiding his look of mortification.
“Right now he’s in surgery for things you can’t heal. He lost a lot of blood and bones have to be reset and…he lost consciousness before they got him to the hospital,” Titus said.
Fanny nodded, her eyes glassed over. She couldn’t replace blood loss with her healing power or bring someone out of a coma or back from death.
“So what do we do?” she asked.
“We wait. Zuma will call as soon as he’s stable. Then we’ll make a decision. If there’s something you can help Jack with then you should go to him,” he said reluctantly. “Pack a bag and be ready to get on a plane to Los Angeles, but for now I need you here. Please, Fanny,” he said and brought his pleading eyes up to hers. Titus wondered if she sensed how weak he felt. Just the thought that she did coated his insides with shame. He wished he could be stronger for her, for himself, for Vagabond Circus.
“Yes, of course,” she said and motioned him forward to where she was standing.
Titus faced her with a confused look. “What?” he said.
“Come here, Titus,” she said, waving him toward her again.
He stood with a groan and walked around the table. Then a sound of surprise popped out of his mouth when she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. He hesitated, but only for a moment before he brought his arms around and hugged her back. After a moment she pressed him into her and then stepped back, looking straight at him.
“Titus, you aren’t in this alone. I’m not leaving you and we will get through this together. I promise,” the healer said.
A weak smile whisked to his thin lips. “Thanks, Fanny.”
Chapter Fifty- Nine
Beige walls showed little contrast to the worn brown carpet in the hospital waiting room. Zuma sat hunched forward in a tan chair, her elbows on her knees. It was the “Jack’s frustrated” pose and felt like the right position to take right then. Except that for the time being it would be relabeled the “Zuma is devastated” stance. Finley and she were the only ones in that part of the waiting room, which was the only comfort. She wanted to be alone with her pain without outsiders staring at her as they always did. Zuma didn’t mind Finley’s eyes on her right then though, or ever really. She felt them on her like a cool breeze on her skin. From her peripheral she knew he was leaning against the scuffed wall, his eyes roaming over her turned down face, her hair hanging in front of her, and her hands pinched together.
“Can I get you anything?” he finally said, breaking the silence. His voice had a tamed roughness to it.
She pulled her sobering eyes up and spied the
stress register on him, tensing tiny muscles of his face, shoulders, and chest. It was the sight of her agony that caused that stress in him. She knew it and it pained her right back. Zuma turned her head down, shielding it from his view.
“No, I’m fine,” she lied. Then she shook her head, the sudden speech bringing her anger barreling to the surface. “How is it that Knight, a man I don’t even know, is responsible for almost killing both of my best friends and successfully killing my favorite person?”
“Jack is going to pull out of this, just as Jasmine did,” Finley said, remembering when Sebastian’s poison had accidentally been spread to Jasmine when it was meant to kill Dave.
“You don’t know that,” Zuma said.
“No, I don’t, but what do you want me to say right now?” he said, his voice sturdy.
She almost smiled at his words. Only Finley would sugar-coat things and then say something so matter-of-factly.
The smell of stale coffee wafted through the room as the two listened to the only real noise, the ticking of the clock on the wall. It seemed to be mocking them as they waited for news from the doctors.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Each tick seemed to be a stolen beat of Jack’s heart, the same one Zuma had restarted but had no idea if it was still beating.
“You want me to take you home?” Finley said, realizing at once that the question was futile. He wasn’t sure why he’d asked it. Just seemed like the thing to ask right then.
Zuma shook her head, a pure conviction in the simple movement.
“They said it would be several hours. Are you sure?” he said, his eyes seeing nothing out the only window in the waiting room. Outside it was black. They’d been there for hours already and Zuma’s exhaustion was easy to read paired with her pain.
“I’ll sleep here,” she said and dared to glance at Finley. He was the one who she thought needed rest. All of the teleporting had drained him in a way he didn’t expect since he’d never done it before that day. “You can take my car and leave if you need to.”
He gave her a contemptuous glare under hooded eyes. “Oh, be quiet. You know I’m not leaving you.”
She shrugged. “I figured as much, but I wanted you to know the offer was there.”
He shook his head at her. “Well, do you want me to get you water or something?”
“No,” Zuma said and stood, her legs unsteady under her. She was light-headed from not eating. Dizzy from not sleeping.
Finley stood straight when she approached him, noticing the drain in her every movement. Zuma didn’t pause when she neared him. And he tensed when her hands found his waist and she pulled him into her, tying her arms around his back. In one movement she’d cleared the space between them and wrapped herself around him, not stopping until her head lay on his chest.
After his heart slowed slightly, he said, “Are you wanting me to teleport you somewhere? Is that why you’re holding on to me?”
She pulled back and gave him an aggravated glare. “No. You keep asking if I want anything and I do. I want your comfort,” she said, disbelieving the words as they emptied out of her mouth.
Without hesitation he threaded his arms around her, pulling her more firmly to him. Zuma wasn’t one to lean on someone. After Dave’s death she’d never wanted comfort from another. Never found it much use to her heart of stone, but in Finley’s arms she felt something new. A relief of sorts, like all troubles were temporarily lifted from her heart.
He drew back an inch and cupped her face in both his hands, both his eyes piercing her soul from the outside. “Anything I can ever give you, Zuma, is yours. Always know that.”
She nodded, pulling him back to her, sliding her head into the crook of his neck. It was a perfect fit.
He cinched her in tighter to him as he pressed his eyes shut. Finley, who had never had anything for all of his life, who regarded being rich as akin to living full time on the moon, suddenly felt as though he was the wealthiest man on Earth.
Chapter Sixty
Zuma had managed to encourage Finley to sit down after hours of standing and pacing. Now his head was resting in her lap. Both acrobats were stationed on the dirty carpet of the waiting room floor, Zuma hunched over a sleeping Finley. It had taken her the better part of an hour to convince him to sit and then it took another hour to lure him into a peaceful state by running her fingers over the backs of his hands and arms. She watched as his eyelids took longer blinks and his pulse slowed on his wrist. Tiny hints that only she could see with her naked eye. And when she sensed his resolve was low she encouraged his head on her shoulder and within a minute he’d leaned all his weight onto her. Easily she let him slide down until his head was nestled in her lap.
Zuma sat over him, fingering her hands through his short brown hair. Stubble had formed on his chin and cheeks and it felt rough against her fingertips. It wasn’t as odd to her as she thought it should be that she was lovingly caressing this guy who twenty-four hours ago she detested. Firstly, she admitted to only herself that the whole detesting had been a ruse. And secondly, Zuma reasoned that it was only because in her purest of hearts she had to admit that loving Finley was completely and absolutely unavoidable. She hadn’t forgiven Finley and didn’t know when that would happen, but even after everything she knew she loved him. Loved him with something so pure that it couldn’t be stopped. She’d tried to stop herself from loving him, but it was like changing the rotation of the Earth or snuffing out stars with a single thought. It just couldn’t be done. Such things were the natural order of life. Predators hunt prey. Night precedes morning. Zuma loves Finley.
Just as it felt natural to hold his sleeping form close to her it felt natural to love him, as if she was born for that purpose. Staring down at the almost peaceful expression on his face tightened her heart. It made her feel there was something just outside her grasp that given the right circumstances she could grab. And Finley made that desirable reality possible, but strangely she had no idea what that was. What could she grab? What powers did he grant her, just by being able to love her?
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clock kept track of the early hour while Zuma studied the details of Finley’s face. She was so engrossed in him that she didn’t notice the doctor making his way to her. When she looked up she had trouble deciphering the doctor’s expression. This was a man who had a mixed message and was about to give it to her. A message regarding Jack’s fate.
Chapter Sixty-One
The clinical smell of the hospital was drastically different from the smells Zuma associated with Vagabond Circus. The circus had aromas of dirt, popcorn, and chalk. The hospital smelled of chemicals in every way. Unnaturally so. She pushed open the door to Jack’s room and her throat caught at the sight of him. Wires snaked from his finger. His hand was taped where the IV was attached. And Jack’s face was pale and drawn. Her eyes roamed over the machines by his bed. They told her his heart rate was steady but the look on his face told her he was still in shock.
“Zuma,” he croaked out at the sight of her. His hand tethered by tubes reached for her as he simultaneously tried to sit up but failed.
She pressed him back on his pillows when she arrived at his bedside, her lips caressing his cheek as a greeting. Zuma pulled back and regarded him with a look of heartbroken affection. “Hi, Jack,” she said.
He blinked back at her, confusion lacing around his brown eyes. “I don’t remember anything,” he said. Then he pressed his eyes shut and when he opened them Zuma fractured a little from the look in eyes. “I mean I don’t remember much after the fall.”
“You’re safe now,” she said, reaching for his hand, but hesitated to hold the one pierced by a needle. She took his other and he cinched on to it with a strength that gave her hope. Jack was still strong. That meant so much to her right then. “The doctor said the surgery went well,” Zuma said.
“Yeah, now I just wait,” Jack said, his eyes staring down at his motionless legs.
“We wait,” sh
e corrected.
“Z, I thought I was going to die,” he said and his eyes watered instantly.
“I know,” she said.
“And I…” His throat closed up with tears and he dropped his head in his hands, covering it at once. I was so afraid, he said in Zuma’s head across the telepathic link. Jack couldn’t bear to speak out loud any longer. To hear his own tortured voice. It sounded unnatural to him.
She stayed quiet knowing he just needed to get it all out.
I’d never experienced such pain. Such fear. It was the worst experience I could have ever imagined, Jack said, his voice sounding stronger in her head than it had been out loud. Then he brought his chin up and Zuma knew at once that look on his face. It was one she had memorized in Finley’s eyes. It was the scars that Knight inflicted on the people he hurt. And Zuma knew that expression would never leave Jack’s face. Forever his eyes would be haunted by this memory of his almost death.
“And when I was lying there all alone and in the worst agony ever, I prayed to die,” Jack said out loud. “But now I’m so grateful that you saved me.”