Her lips open just a sliver, and she releases another groan. “Hey, don’t try to talk. We’re here.” Kip tries to comfort her, while her eyes work to open. God, I want to see those beautiful almond eyes.
I squeeze her hand and lean forward, pressing my lips close to her ear. “Fight, Hannah. Fight for me.” I need her to make it through this. It’s faint, but it’s there. She squeezes my hand back, her lips fighting to talk. “Cl—Cl—” She coughs, unable to finish.
We’re suddenly surrounded, two men in medical jumpsuits kneeling next to us. “I’m going to need you to move aside so we can work on her.” They wait, but neither of us move. “Sir, she needs medical help—”
Hannah’s body starts to seize. Gargling sounds erupt up her throat, and her eyes flicker. “Oh my god, what’s happening!”
“She’s going into cardiac arrest—move!”
Levi
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sounds of helplessness while a machine works to help the person I love to breathe. Stab wound to her side. Severe blood loss. Smoke inhalation to her lungs. Concussion.
Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.
The sounds of powerlessness as her air ventilator goes up and down. All I want to do is fix her, but I can’t.
Her heart stopped twice. Twice. I didn’t know this until someone came to my own hospital room to inform me.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I tear my swollen eyes away from her to watch the monitor, her heart rate slowing. I hold my breath until it picks back up and levels out. The alarm has gone off twice now, sending nurses and doctors in a panic. Twice. This is the first time I’ve been alone with her since they brought her in three days ago.
The first two I spent in my own hospital bed being treated for severe burns to my back and smoke inhalation. When I was finally able to walk, it took half the floor nurses to hold me down before they gave up and allowed me to walk down to Hannah’s room, with no shame my ass was hanging out of the small-as-shit gown the entire time.
We’re now on day three of waiting for her to wake up. I’ve graduated into a pair of scrubs instead of the lousy gown, and they brought in a more comfortable chair for me since I refuse to leave her side. Morning turns to afternoon by the time Stacey finally convinces Kip to go back to his own room, since he was also admitted for smoke inhalation, and take a shower, and Jim finally convinces Cheryl to get something to eat in the cafeteria.
Cheryl fainted twice while begging her daughter to come to. Twice. She couldn’t bear to see her little girl with tubes down her throat, so beaten and pale. This was not the Hannah we all knew and loved.
“Jesus,” I choke out, covering my face with my hands. No matter how many times I wash them, I still see her blood. I want to stay strong for her, for when she wakes up, but every time I tell myself to pull it together, I crumble into more pieces than before. My chest heaves up and down as my torment eats away at me. “I’m so sorry,” I cry, needing to confess so much to her. “I’m sorry for being such a coward and not believing you. Not trusting you. For not telling you I love you. I need you to wake up so I can tell you that. Please come back to me.” I feel trapped in my own nightmare, a life that may not involve her. She may not wake up. A pain ignites inside my chest, and a sob escapes my throat. A knock on the door has me sucking in my breath and wiping at my face. “Yeah?” I cock my head to see Detective Shaw standing in the doorway. “What do you want?” I snap, turning back to Hannah.
He doesn’t ask to be invited in before entering the room and standing on the other side of her. “Surprised to see you out of bed. Read your hospital chart—”
“I said, what do you want?”
He nods, getting to the point of his visit. “I thought you should know forensics came back. The body was indeed Clara Hill.”
I shake my head, the pit in my stomach weighing heavily at what I already concluded. Hannah’s strangled words when she was lying there. She was trying to tell us Clara was still in the house. “Do you know if she was…”
“Still alive? Unfortunately, we can’t answer that. Unless Miss Matthews can give us more details, we won’t ever know.”
“And her son?” I ask, guilt washing over me. Her poor son.
“He was notified a couple hours ago. The facility is doing their best to keep him calm. Now that we know, we can proceed with future action—”