CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
NERVES TWISTED IN my stomach. My abdomen tightened. I squeezed my eyes closed, and swallowed the lump of vomit that was rising in my throat. The ambulance stopped. The cop and the EMT got up, letting me know that we had arrived at the hospital.
“I need to see Jackson,” I said.
“I know honey,” the EMT said gently and grabbed one end of the gurney. I strained my neck, trying to sit up and look into the emergency room as I was wheeled in. Nurses and doctors buzzed about the busy hall.
“Where is he?”
“He’s being taken care of,” the EMT replied.
“I need to see him!” I said again, my voice rising. I struggled against the safety restraints, painfully twisting my very battered body.
“Calm down,” the EMT said.
Calm down? She wanted me to calm down after what I had just been through? No fucking way. I thrust my weight to the side. The gurney came off balanced and almost fell. A nurse rushed over and put her hands on the foot of the gurney, steadying the little bed. I twisted again and yanked an arm up.
“We need assistance!” the nurse yelled over her shoulder.
I pushed up and pulled my other arm free. The IV line caught and ripped out of my arm. Pair seared through me, but that didn’t matter. I needed to get to Jackson.
The nurse put her hands on my feet. “You have to stop moving,” she said as she struggled to hold me down. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
The EMT took one of my hands. “Adeline!” She stepped to my side. “Honey, stop it! You’re already banged up. I’ll find Jackson.”
I jerked my head around. “Please do. Now. I need him!” I pulled my arm back, breaking free of the EMT’s grip. “Jackson!” I kicked my feet. “Let me go! I have to find him!” He was okay, he had to be. We had come so far, risked so much…he was alive, and he would be okay.
My eyes flitted around the ER. Curtains were drawn around small rooms, and Jackson was in one of them. I had to get up, had to go to him. He needed me as much as I needed him. I swatted at another set of hands that tried to hold me down.
“Bring me IM Ativan!” a man shouted. He was standing to my side, pushing down on my shoulder. “Now!”
“She’s pregnant,” the nurse told him. “She can’t have it.”
“Jackson!” I called. All of my energy was draining fast. Everything hurt, but it didn’t matter. I had to get up. I just had to. “Please! Let me see him,” I cried.
A curtain across from me pulled back. Several nurses stood around a bed, working on a patient. I heard one of them say something about taking the patient into surgery. They pushed the bed forward. Then I saw dark, wavy hair. Bandages covered most of his face. An IV was strung from his arm.
“Jackson!” He didn’t turn to look at me. He didn’t even move at all. I shook my head. “No. No, no, no! Jackson!” I watched in horror as the bed rolled by, out of sight and the ER. “I have to go to him,” I stammered as I fought against the hands that held me down. I curled my legs up.
“Adeline,” the EMT grunted. “If you calm down we can talk about Jackson.”
I stopped struggling. “Okay.” I sniffled, becoming aware that tears were streaming down my face, and I wiped my runny nose. “Where are they taking him?”
“Into surgery,” the man answered. I twisted to look at him. He was tall with dark skin and black hair. I couldn’t pronounce the long name embroidered onto blue scrubs. His dark eyes were gentle. “You can go once he’s out.”
“Is he going to be okay?” My hand trembled as I pushed my hair behind my ear.
The doctor’s face remained still. “We will know once he’s out of surgery. Now you need to let us take care of you.”
I nodded, agreeing. Then I was whisked into one of those small rooms and hooked up to several machines. I watched my rapid heart rate on the monitor that hung above the bed while the nurses and doctors worked on me.
I had a mild concussion and was dehydrated. I needed four stitches to the gash on my right shin, my left wrist was sprained, and my face and arms were scratched and bruised to all hell.
But I was okay. Technically, I didn’t even need to be admitted. I was treated in the ER, and only time would heal the concussion and sprain. Medically, I was sound enough to be discharged. Mentally … that was a whole other story. My brain hadn’t allowed me to process anything. It was just too much. The words ‘Jackson is in surgery’ replayed over and over in my mind like a broken record.
I looked at the floor. Light reflected off the freshly waxed tile. I couldn’t handle thinking about Jackson lying on a table under bright lights. I stared at the floor until my vision blurred and my eyes watered.
Dressed in only a hospital gown, I shivered. I rubbed my hands on my arms. The air was cold in the emergency room of Genesis Medical Center. I pulled my knees to my chest, watching the clock. Thirty-four minutes had gone by, and I hadn’t heard anything about Jackson.
“Adeline?” the nurse called before she pulled back the curtain just enough to get into the room. “Hi, I’m Elyse.” She smiled warmly. Her thick dark hair was pulled into a ponytail that swung when she walked. “The police would like to talk to you, but I told them they only could if it was all right with you.”
“It’s okay,” I said automatically.
She moved over to the bed. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this now.”
“No, it’s okay. I just want to get it over with.” I closed my eyes and exhaled. “I want this all over with.”
“Okay.” She gave me another sympathetic smile and left. A few seconds later, a police officer and two detectives pulled back the curtain and came into the room. They had me tell them in great detail everything that happened to me over the last year. They didn’t seem to believe me when I told them Jackson was the father of my baby. Almost as soon as I was done, two FBI agents came in and had me repeat everything again.
After they left, a tall and thin older man came into the room. He was carrying a sketchbook and a pencil. “Hello, Adeline,” he said quietly.
Everyone seemed afraid to talk to me, like what I had been through made me too fragile to handle real life. I didn’t want to waste the energy telling them they were wrong, that all the horrible shit I had been through only made me more of a fighter than I ever had been.
“I’m Ben.” He pulled a rolling stool out from under the counter and sat, flipping open his notebook. “Do you think you can tell me what the guys that took you look like?”
I shifted my feet under the thin, white sheet. “Yeah, I can.”
He nodded. “Good. You only have to describe the younger one. A few of the guys at the station are familiar with the other guy’s … uh, business ventures. They’ve seen him before. Ready to start?”
I nodded and closed my eyes, bringing the terrifying image of Zane’s face to mind. I described his looks the best I could and hoped that the picture resembled Zane at least a little.
“Like this?” Ben asked when we were done. He held up the picture.
“His eyebrows are a little thicker,” I said. I licked my dry lips and looked at the clock.
Ben turned the picture around and added to the sketch.
“This?”
“Yes,” I said, looking at the sketch of Zane. It was hauntingly lifelike. I felt as if the black and white eyes seared into me. I looked at the drawn-on burn and got a flash of pressing the curling iron to Zane’s cheek. I could still smell the burning flesh.
Ben nodded and closed the notebook. At a loss for words, he only offered me a tight smile and a slight nod before he left, pulling back the curtain to exit the small room in the ER. The manhunt would begin, and the pencil drawing of Zane’s face would be broadcast over the news.
I looked at the clock again. Two armed police officers stood outside the room. They told me that my family, as well as Lynn and even the dogs, had been moved into protective custody and would be brought to the hospital once it was safe. Several uniforms had gone directly to the farmhouse. Lily was still there. I asked what would happen to her and got a vague answer of her eventually finding a foster family. It took me a moment to remember that she was only fifteen
I lay on the bed, scraping my fingers along the sheet, and listened to the seconds tick by on the large, white-faced clock that hung over the door. Jackson had been in surgery for over an hour. I closed my eyes and thought of his handsome face. So badly I wanted to be with him, to hold him, to run my fingers along the many scars that covered his body.
The curtain pulled back. I opened my eyes and whipped my head up, which instantly caused me to feel sick. The same nurse, Elyse, stepped into the room.
“Are you doing all right, Adeline?” she asked carefully. She strode over to the computer in the corner and swiped her badge.
I didn’t respond. It was a stupid question. I wanted to tell her so, but I could sense her concern and compassion. Besides, what else was she supposed to say?
“Are you in any pain?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Your lab work is back,” she said before I had a chance to ask about Jackson. “Your hCG levels suggest you’re about seven weeks pregnant, which means you got pregnant about a month ago.” She paused to let me absorb the information. “The doctor ordered an ultra sound.”
“Jackson will want to be there,” I told her and began to feel like I was getting sucked backwards. The room was spinning, and I slowly pitched forward. Elyse rushed over and helped me up.
“I can’t imagine,” she said softly and sat on the bed next to me. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through. I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. The phone that she carried in her scrub pocket rang. She stood to answer it. “He’s in recovery,” she told me and re-pocketed the phone.
My stomach flip-flopped and I nodded. “Can I go?” I pushed myself off the bed.
“Yes. But I’m taking you in this.” She gripped the handles of a wheel chair.
“I can walk,” I told her.
“I know you can, but you’re my patient, and I want to take care of you,” she said with a smile. “Plus it’s hospital protocol.” She wheeled the chair over. “Hang on. You’re more than a little exposed in the back.” She got a second gown and put it on me like a robe. “Better?”
“Yes. Thanks,” I said quietly. She disconnected my IV and helped me into the wheelchair. I picked at the plastic hospital bracelet that was around my wrist as we went through the hall. The nurse hadn’t told me anything about Jackson’s condition, and I was afraid to ask.
There was a family in the OR waiting room. I knew that no scheduled surgeries were being done at this late hour.
“What happened to the people we hit?” I asked suddenly, afraid that the family belonged to the victim.
“Treated and released,” the nurse said.
I internally sighed. Elyse pushed a button on the wall that opened double doors to a large room labeled PACU. A police officer stood outside that door as well. My heart began speeding up again.
There were several nurses standing around the very first bed we came up to. An older nurse with gray hair saw me and smiled.
“You have a visitor,” she said softly to Jackson.
I got out of the wheelchair before Elyse came to a complete stop. The gray-haired nurse stepped aside. I flew to the bed. Tears stung the corners of my eyes.
“Jackson,” I said and gently touched his hand. He was connected to a scary amount of tubes and wires going to various machines. One side of his body was covered in bandages, and his arm was precariously placed over his chest and propped with pillows. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow. “Is he okay?” I asked, unable to keep the tears back.
“He’s stable,” the gray-haired nurse told me.
“Does that mean he’s going to be okay?” I slipped my fingers through Jackson’s. His eyes fluttered halfway open for a second before closing again.
“He has a long recovery ahead of him,” she said, ominously avoiding my direct question.
I just nodded and rubbed the palm of his hand. Using my other hand, I wiped away the tears that streaked my face. Someone else joined the room. I could feel their presence behind me.
“You must be Adeline,” a man with a heavily accented voice said.
I turned around. “Yeah,” I said to the surgeon. His eyes were sympathetic and he looked at me as if he wasn’t sure how to act. Deciding to just go with his professional norm, he began explaining Jackson’s injuries to me.
The bullet shot right through Jackson’s body, hitting his collarbone on its way out. The surgeon told me that the bullet missed his subclavian artery by just a hair. He said Jackson was lucky. Nevertheless, Jackson had lost enough blood to require a blood transfusion. He also sustained minor head trauma in the crash, and had a row of sutures above his right eye.
The surgeon’s face paled when he told me that Jackson had multiple fractures to his ribs all in various stages of healing. He was concerned about the old gash on Jackson’s abdomen and the indent of scar tissue along Jackson’s side where his skin had been peeled off. Then the surgeon said something about Jackson’s blood being infected, and that he put Jackson on a strong course of antibiotics.
I nodded, pretending to understand everything that was being told to me. After the doctor left, the nurses tended to Jackson and then stepped back, letting me have some time alone with him. Faye, the gray-haired nurse, told me that Jackson was most likely going to be very confused as he woke up. Having me there would help.
“Jackson,” I whispered. “We made it. We got out.” I rubbed my fingers in little circles on the inside of his hand. A monitor beeped along with his heart rate, slow but steady. I was slightly afraid it was a dream, and I was still in the basement. If it were a dream, Jackson wouldn’t be injured. I blinked. No, this is real.
Jackson’s fingers twitched. I leaned closed. “Jackson.” I ran my hand over his hair, careful to avoid the stitches. “Jackson.”
He opened his eyes and he took a deep breath. Then his eyes closed again. The pattern repeated a few times as he struggled to come out of the anesthetic.
“Addie,” he mumbled.
“Yes, Jackson, I’m here.”
He tried to sit up and groaned in pain. Faye hurried over.
“Hi Jackson,” she spoke. “I’m your nurse. You just had surgery and need to stay laying down, okay?”
“Okay,” Jackson agreed but tried to sit up again.
“Jackson you need to rest,” I said, blinking back tears.
“I have to save you,” he faintly murmured. He took another deep breath and opened his eyes all the way.
“You did,” I whispered. “You did save me.” I began crying again. I leaned over the bed, getting as close to Jackson as I dared without hurting him. He lifted his right arm, hugging me.
“Are you okay?” he asked me.
“I’m fine,” I said right away. His hand fell back onto the bed. I leaned back and looked at him. His eyes were closed again. “Rest,” I told him.
He mumbled something incoherent, but didn’t object. Several minutes passed before he woke up again. He took his hand out of mine and put it over my stomach. I placed my hands over his and nodded, letting him know the baby was okay. His chocolate eyes met mine, and he smiled.
“Addie,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “We did it. We’re free.”