by Wendy Hudson
As they grew, Eilidh glanced down at the woman’s face. In the fire’s glow, she tried to see if the movement was getting any response, but all she could make out was a grotesque mask of blood and bruising. Both eyes were shut, bulging and swollen. Her hair was thick with deep red clots and plastered her cheeks, sticking to what seemed to be a hundred minute cuts that peppered her skin. Eilidh looked away, afraid it was already too late.
“We can do this. We’re going to be okay. Help is coming.” She repeated the mantra, for herself, for the broken woman she held in her arms, and for whoever might be listening. They needed help, fast.
Eilidh dug her heels in again, bracing the woman’s weight between her legs, adjusting her grip, and tugging her another foot from the car. The flames now roared in her ears, her breathing laboured; she choked and tried to spit away the acrid taste of smoke in her mouth.
A flash of blue cut across the horizon, and then she heard it. The blissful sound of a siren in the distance. She rose to her knees, leant down over the woman, and spoke close to her ear. “Help’s here. It’s coming, sweetheart. Hold on for me. It’s…”
The explosion tore across them both. The heat seared their faces and pressed them tight to the ground. Pain split through Eilidh’s head and shoulder, but only for a moment, before her body released her from the trauma and the night became darker.
Chapter 23
Darcy tried telling her eyes to open, but they refused to comply. She could sense movement all around, raised voices, mechanical beeps, and the rhythmic beat of heavy wheels turning underneath her. Hospital. She must be in hospital. The woman had been right: help had come.
A fog sat heavy on her, pressing down and stifling any movement she attempted. Why wouldn’t her eyes open? Why couldn’t she get her hand to her face? She knew it was bad, knew there was pain underneath the fog, knew her body wasn’t as it should be.
An argument cut through the battle to open her eyes. “Miss, are you family?”
“No, I’m not family. But can I please stay with her?”
“I’m sorry, you can’t come any further. Besides, you need to get yourself checked out. You’re bleeding. Follow my colleague and they’ll take you to another room.”
“But I was there. I got her out before it blew. I was with her in the ambulance. Please, I need to know she’s going to be okay.”
Blew? Before what blew? Darcy recognised the voice. It had been with her. It had saved her. She wanted to scream for them to let the voice stay, let it hold her hand and tell her it would be okay again. Would she feel it if someone held her hand?
“I’m sorry, Miss. Go and get yourself checked out and leave your details at the desk. If it’s okay with the family, we’ll call and update you, and I’m sure the police will want to talk to you at some point.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, Miss. I don’t have time for this.”
A bang, followed by a whoosh, and suddenly light attempted to penetrate the darkness. It blurred behind her lids, but the only colour she saw was red. The fog pressed heavier, and the voice disappeared. Why couldn’t they hear her calling out, telling them it was okay for the woman to stay?
All around her, people murmured instructions, talking in a language she didn’t understand. The beeps, the rustle of plastic, the footsteps and words, all incessantly surrounded her. They were no comfort. She didn’t know them, and no one was talking to her.
Oh God, oh fuck, she felt that. That was definitely her leg screaming out in pain. Why wasn’t she screaming? A groan managed to escape lips she couldn’t feel, breaking through the fog.
“She’s waking up. Morphine, please. We need to stabilise her, then X-ray, CT, and call ahead to theatres. Quick as you can, people.”
She heard mumbles of acknowledgement and a rustling noise near her head.
“Hello? Can you hear me? We’re going to give you something to make you more comfortable.
No, no, no…no sedation. It was already too dark.
The blackness took her anyway.
Eilidh’s chin dropped to her chest, and she jerked it back up yet again. The monotonous beat of the machines, combined with whatever the doctor had given her for pain, threatened to lull her to sleep every few minutes.
She sat up straighter in the high-back chair and reached for the water sat on the woman’s side table. This was no time to sleep. She wanted to be awake when the woman eventually opened her eyes, wanted to make sure she would be okay.
After proving to them that Eilidh was in fact a colleague, who had passed through their accident and emergency doors herself, they allowed her to sit with the woman until family could be contacted and had arrived.
It had been over seventeen hours since Eilidh had woken up in the field with paramedics surrounding her. Her first thought had been, Surely this time I’m not going to be so lucky?
But she was.
Seventeen hours since she had chased the mangled woman through the accident and emergency unit, only to watch her be wheeled out of site, blocked by doors she wasn’t allowed to pass.
Since then, her arm and head had been stitched, bandaged, and a box of pills placed in her hand. So many hours of pacing, of coffee, of arguing with harried staff that were stressed enough. Of pleading and worrying, wondering what was happening to the woman. Was she in surgery? Was she okay? Was she alive?
The police had loitered for a while. They’d spoken to Eilidh, but she wasn’t sure how much help she’d been. It had all happened so fast. All she could do was relay vague details of the other car, and she hadn’t even seen the woman driving it. It seemed the stranger in the bed was the only one who could give the police, and Eilidh, some answers.
Now nurses completed their rounds with a simple nod in Eilidh’s direction. She tried to stay out of their way and not draw attention to her presence, in case someone decided she shouldn’t be there after all.
She studied the woman lying prone on the bed, followed each tube that left her body, each wire that signalled her condition. Every inch of her seemed to be bruised, stitched, and swollen. Her face, upper torso, and limbs were swaddled in bandages and casts.
Eilidh sighed as yet another nurse entered the room. She looked Eilidh’s way and raised an eyebrow.
“Well, aren’t you a sight?”
Eilidh smirked. “I’m sure.”
The nurse looked between Eilidh and her patient. “You know we’re not expecting her to wake up anytime soon, so you should get yourself home. Get cleaned up, eat, sleep, then you can come back here fresh and ready to be of some real help.”
Eilidh chewed her lip. She knew the nurse was right but hated the thought of no one being there and the woman possibly waking up on her own. The nurse seemed to read her mind.
“I’ll call if she does wake up. But I’m telling you, the amount of drugs in her system, it’ll be hours yet. So go on.”
“I guess you’re right.” Eilidh stood and stretched out her back. “You promise you’ll call?”
“Promise.” The nurse offered her a sympathetic smile. “Now go take care of yourself for a while.”
Eilidh blew out a steadying breath and nodded her agreement. “Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”
“You’re welcome, my love. She’ll be right here waiting.”
The sound of her keys dropping in the bowl echoed down the hallway. Eilidh sighed at the silence that greeted her return home and wished for a pair of comforting arms to wrap around her. She shook herself; there was no time to be maudlin.
For the first time since leaving the hospital, she became acutely aware of the acrid scent of smoke that clung to her. She peered at her face in the mirror, pulled the bags down that hung under her eyes, and inspected their blood-shot tinge.
That’s when she noticed her eyebrows and lashes were lightly singed. She
ran a fingertip across the rough texture. The ends of the dark auburn hair that hung around her face were curled and discoloured.
She shrugged out of her torn and stained running jacket and let it drop to the floor. Her leggings, T-shirt, and sports bra followed before she kicked it all in to a pile to be thrown away later.
The nurses had given her soap and the privacy of the injured woman’s bathroom to attempt to clean up her hands and face. The blood still clung under her fingernails, and her face stung, scorched by the fireball that had billowed above them.
She set the shower to lukewarm, wrapped a plastic bag around her bandaged arm, and finally stood under the blissful stream of water. The few stitches on her head smarted, but the need to at least rinse her hair outweighed the pain.
With her eyes closed, images from the past twenty-four hours ran incoherently through her mind. In no order, she went from lying on top of the prostrate woman to standing on the verge with the car speeding towards her. From her walk in to town to waking up to the flashing blue lights and everything else raced in between.
Memories of her own trauma not so long ago tried to take grip. The alleyway. The fear. The men shouting in her face while another lay helpless on the floor. The sickening sound of each brutal blow as they kicked him, before their violence was turned on to her.
The moment of weightlessness before her head struck the ground.
She quickly pushed the images away, determined to maintain her focus on the person she had helped. The one Eilidh realised she had actually managed to save.
She used one arm to soap, lather, and scrub. Then did it all again until every speck of blood was gone and only the scent of honey and almond was left. Warm towels awaited her aching body, and they almost made up for the lack of hug she craved.
Her mind went back to the woman she had pulled from the car. Who was she? Did anybody miss her? And why had she been travelling with such urgency? Where had she been rushing to in her dressing gown of all things?
The memory of a voice shouting out to Eilidh resurfaced. There’d been someone else there. Someone who had called the police, then left. Was it the other driver, the person speeding behind her mystery woman? Had she somehow been involved? After speaking to the police, the questions kept mounting, demanding attention.
Eilidh checked her phone. There was no call from the hospital, only a text from Sam asking if she’d rescheduled with Darcy and wanting the gossip. She smiled to herself, grateful for her persistent friend and his positive advice. No doubt he had his own Friday-night tale to tell.
She tapped a short apology and promised to see him again soon. There would be a whole lot more than Darcy to talk about, but she couldn’t go to him with only half the story. Right now, she somehow knew the woman needed her, and leaving her in the hospital felt like the beginning. First, she’d heed the nurse’s orders, but tomorrow her mission was to find out who the woman was.
Chapter 24
Eilidh found the woman as she had left her the day before. It’d been almost thirty-six hours, and still no one had shown up to claim her. She took a seat and pulled it in closer to the bed, wrapping her fingers around the hand not encased in plaster. A doctor she didn’t recognise smiled when she entered and picked up her chart.
“Morning, I’m Dr Jackman.” She reached across the bed and shook Eilidh’s hand.
“Nice to meet you. Eilidh Grey.”
The doctor turned her attention back to the chart. “So, how’s our patient this morning?” It was rhetorical, and Eilidh stayed quiet while the doctor scanned the various numbers and notes, occasionally glancing at the monitors. When she didn’t offer any further information, Eilidh couldn’t hold back her questions.
“Any idea when she’s going to wake up?”
Dr Jackman shook her head. “I really couldn’t say. But with this type of trauma, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s another day or two.”
“Oh.” Eilidh couldn’t cover her disappointment. “But her brain function is okay? There’s not going to be permanent damage? And you’ve controlled the internal bleeding?”
“Yes, the scans are promising. There’s some swelling on the brain, but we’re keeping an eye on it.” She looked at her watch. “You’re here very early.”
Eilidh nodded. “I couldn’t sleep and felt useless at home. Although I feel just as useless sat here.”
The doctor perched on the edge of the bed. “Listen, holding her hand, talking to her, that’s not useless. We still know very little about what a patient can hear or feel when they’re unconscious, but you being here will mean something to her.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” Dr Jackman smiled again, and Eilidh felt a little reassured.
“Okay. Talk to her. I can do that. Although…” Eilidh studied what was visible of the woman’s face: Bandages wrapped her head and looped under her chin, and gauze covered a sizable portion of one cheek. A few butterfly stitches crossed her nose, the white stark against the black and purple of her eyes. “I don’t even know her name.”
Dr Jackman looked rightly confused, and Eilidh mentally kicked herself. “Wait, what? I assumed you were a relative.” She was on her feet again, edging towards the door. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
Eilidh stood as well, fumbling in her pocket. “No, no. Let me explain.” She crossed the room and handed over a plastic ID badge as the doctor opened the door. “I’m a physio here, look. The nurses said it was okay.”
“Okay to sit with a stranger?” Dr Jackman pointed through the door towards the corridor. “You need to leave. Only the patient’s family is permitted on this unit.”
“I pulled her out.” Eilidh couldn’t help her voice raising an octave. The thought of being kicked out had momentarily panicked her. “I’m the one who pulled her out of the car.”
The doctor dropped her hand. “That was you?”
“Yes.” Eilidh breathed a sigh of relief at the doctor’s softened tone. “They told me I could stay until they could get hold of her family.”
“I see. Well…” The doctor held her hands up apologetically. “I’m very sorry, Miss Grey. You wouldn’t believe some of the characters we get roaming around this place.”
Eilidh pointed to the card still in the doctor’s hand. “I know. I work here, remember?”
“Oh. Of course.” She handed the card back and closed the door again. She gestured towards the seat and Eilidh sat back at the woman’s side. “Please. Let’s try this again.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you there.”
Dr Jackman waved it off. “So you’re the mystery heroine we’ve all been talking about?”
If her face didn’t already feel raw with what looked like a bad case of sunburn, Eilidh was pretty sure it still would have been red. “I guess. It was no big deal.”
“No big deal? From what the paramedics said to the A&E staff, if you hadn’t acted as you did, our patient here would be lying somewhere very different right now.”
Eilidh ducked her head in acknowledgement. The thought had occurred to her in the twilight hours when sleep had been elusive, but she had quickly pushed it away. It didn’t bear thinking about. “Scary thought.”
“Indeed,” Dr Jackman agreed.
“Still no name, then?” Eilidh studied the woman’s face, wondering not for the first time who she was.
“Not yet that I’m aware of. When I saw you, I assumed it had come in, but the early shift hadn’t updated her records yet. Our only form of identifying her is through the DVLA. The Fire Service called in with the car number plate to the police and they’ll get in touch with her details and the next of kin. We should get a name soon.”
“Seems strange that no one is missing her.”
Dr Jackman offered a sad smile. “Well, for now she has you, and I’m sure whoever she is, she’s going to be very happy to meet you whe
n she wakes up.”
Chapter 25
The words in the email had blurred long ago. Anja stared dazedly at her screen, lost in a cauldron of panic, paranoia, and fear that threatened to bubble over at any moment. All day, it had been torture to pretend everything was normal.
She wondered for the thousandth time how she had reached this point. It had all started so innocently. A morbid curiosity had taken hold of her and nagged until she’d agreed to satisfy it. She had simply decided to find out a little more about Darcy: where she was now, what she was doing. Was she happy? Was she in love?
She hadn’t expected the thrill that came with every new piece of information about Darcy that was revealed to her. She held the information close, peeling back the layers slowly and deliberately, taking her time and treasuring each discovery. She consumed every detail with relish and imagined herself there, alongside Darcy, experiencing life with her.
The more she learned of Darcy’s life, the similarities of their chosen careers, the easier it was to insert herself in to it. To pretend and to hope. That it had all been a bad dream and he had actually taken Anja with him. That she had been part of that family.
But it was a fantasy. The voice told her so.
The more she tried to ignore it, the louder it became. It taunted her, reminded her of the truth, and turned a wonderful possibility into a relentless quest for revenge.
Anja eventually understood it, and she started listening carefully.
While she’d lost herself for a moment in the illusion of Darcy, her mother’s voice, strong and steady, brought her back to reality.
Darcy was the reason Anja’s father had left.
Darcy was the reason Anja’s mother was dead.
Anja’s goal became clear. Her mother’s voice drove her on, persistent and unrepentant in its need for vengeance. Her father had chosen Darcy and her homewrecker mother over them. She deserved to suffer, and deep in her core, Anja believed she couldn’t rest until Darcy had everything stripped away from her, in the same way she had.