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Rowan was given the bag containing Lauren’s personal effects after Ben left him in the waiting room. He sat going through it. He inspected the pair of flannel lined blue jeans, the silk undershirt, and the navy-blue flannel shirt he’d bought her for Christmas last year. The vest she’d gotten from REI was tattered, the fluffy insulation ripped to shreds. She also had a pair of thick wool socks, and her black hiking boots. He examined the damaged seam on the shoulder of the flannel shirt. The pocket was ripped, and several buttons were missing. Her bra was damaged too, one strap completely torn away from the cup, and the center clasp had been broken. Her underwear was torn, and the jeans were ripped on the right knee. The left hip pocket was gone, leaving the denim frayed beneath it.
Blood stained the shoulder of the silk shirt. He found the corresponding spot on the flannel shirt. Bloodstains spattered on her jeans were consistent with the bleeding he’d seen. He buried his face in the silk top, inhaling the unnatural smell of her clothes as he sat back and completely fell apart.
* * *
The team arrived a few hours later. They found Rowan pacing in the waiting room. He was a mess, but having the team together again seemed to fortify him. “The doctors say her prognosis is good.” He tried to remain positive. “She should be out of surgery any time now.” Bahati wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly.
Jean-René reached down and took her arm. “Come sit down over here,” he said. He took her to a chair, and she complied numbly. “I’ll get us some tea.” She nodded, drying her eyes on a tissue.
“She’s been inconsolable,” Jean-René said to Rowan. “We had to wait for a snowplow to get through before we could drive here. I thought she was going to have a nervous breakdown in the Jeep.”
“We’re all on pins and needles.” Rowan nodded. “But Lauren’s safe. That’s what we were praying for.”
“Is it as bad as it looked?” Jean-René asked.
“It’s pretty bad,” Rowan said. He recapped the doctor’s report. “She’s going to need at least twelve weeks to mend. Lots of physical therapy. It looks like the damned thing beat the daylights out of her.”
Jean-René put a hand on his arm. “She’s a strong woman. If anyone can survive this, Lauren can.”
* * *
Normally, Rowan would have agreed with Jean-René, but he wasn’t sure. She didn’t seem so strong now. In fact, she looked almost childlike in that hospital bed. Her dark, tangled hair fanned out over the white pillowcase. Her pallor had gone from copper to ashen. Ben explained they were keeping her sedated.
He took a seat on a stool, gently taking her uninjured hand, running a thumb over the finger where he’d planned to put his ring. He drew it from his pocket and slid it on, pleased it still fit. It seemed so small against her bruised knuckles.
He turned her hand over to study her palm and noticed it was bruised where her fingernails had dug into it, as if she’d made a fist and hit something hard, the force of her own nails damaging her flesh in the process.
A mottling of bruises colored her arm from where he held her hand, until they disappeared beneath the gown that was loosely draped over her shoulders. He could only imagine what she’d been through. His imagination was quite vivid.
He realized she was trembling. She stirred slightly, rolling her head away from him, a low moan reverberating from the back of her throat.
A nurse came in to check on her, resting a hand on her leg, “Are you in any pain?” The moan repeated itself. “I’ll get you something, okay? Just give me a second.” He quickly retrieved the ring and put it back in his pocket.
The nurse nodded in greeting but went about her business of drawing the medication into a syringe before injecting it into the IV line. “Okay, Lauren,” she said, raising her voice. “You should start to feel that in just a few seconds. Just keep breathing for me, okay? Deep breaths.” Lauren didn’t answer, but Rowan could feel the trembling ebb away. She seemed to melt back into a relaxed state of oblivion.
Only when she had been moved from ICU did Rowan leave and get checked into the nearby hotel. He showered and changed into clean clothes Jean-René had brought him. Lauren was still sleeping when he returned.
Bahati sat with her, filing the broken nails on her uninjured hand.
“She stirred a few minutes ago, muttered something I couldn’t understand and then went back to sleep,” she said.
“I know she needs her rest, but ... I have so many questions.”
“We all do,” Bahati said, standing. “But mine can wait. I need a shower.”
He handed her a card key. “Room 247 at the Holiday Inn. The address is programmed into the GPS on your rental car,” he said. “I figured I’d be here most of the time, so I only got one room. I put your bags in the corner by the television.”
“Makes sense to me,” she said. “I’m going to grab a few hours of sleep in a real bed after my shower. Call if you need anything?”
“I will.”
“Let me know if she wakes up?” Bahati’s dark eyebrows arched hopefully.
“I will,” he said, putting an arm around her. “She’ll want you here, I’m sure of it.”
Bahati nodded and took the key, collecting her jacket and purse from the chair in the corner. Her hand brushed along Lauren’s leg as a fond farewell.
Rowan sat in the chair beside her bed, his mind racing. He had done everything he could think of to get through to her. He needed her to understand how much he loved her. She made him feel like he was nothing more than a friend with benefits, and he wanted to be so much more.
Lauren didn’t let her emotions show. That was one of the reasons she was such a good paranormal researcher. She was objective. She didn’t give into flights of fancy and she didn’t need anyone to do the field work for her. She was stoic and strong, yet open to new ideas.
He liked all those things about her, but it also made her headstrong and stubborn. Once she set a goal, she didn’t quit until she achieved it. She’d attack with a bulldog’s tenacity and tear into a challenge without fear of the repercussions.
Usually, they weren’t this severe. They might find evidence of a hoax or leave with more questions than answers. So far, this year, they were on a roll. The last three expeditions had put someone in the hospital, and it wasn’t a record Rowan was especially happy about. One of the camera technicians tripped over a loose cobblestone and hit his head in China on the search for the ghosts of Tiananmen Square. Then the whole affair in Peru, and now this.
He didn’t even want to think about what this was going to do to their production schedule. Initially, the Exploration Channel held them to a contract for ten episodes this season and they’d only finished six. They might not be able to do four more before the end of the production year.
Rowan was startled out of his thoughts when Lauren bolted up in bed and let out a blood-curdling cry. He caught her, eliciting another yelp as he removed his hand and put it on her chest to calm her and keep her from flailing out of bed. “A-gi...hna...sv...” she panted, her voice raspy and desperate. He recognized a bad dream when he saw one. “A-ga...yv-li...ge...gi no...”
Rowan searched her wild eyes for the fire he knew should be there. Her gaze was distant and empty. “Shhh ... just relax. Tell me what you need.”
“U-ni ... hna ... lv’...” she panted, grasping his sleeve with her free hand. “E qua ... tsu na ... tsv-s-gi-no.”
Rowan had a flash of inspiration, reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew his digital recorder. As a paranormal investigator, it was a habit to keep one handy. He clicked it on. “Lauren, it’s Rowan...tell me what happened.”
“U-ni ... hna ... lv’...” She melted back into the bed, gasping for breath, wincing at the pain in her arm and body. “E qua ... tsu na ... tsv-s-gi-no.”
The nurse rushed in and looked her over. “What happened?”
“She bolted up in bed and started babbling,” he said, as the nurse prepared a sedative.
“A-ga-yv-li-ge a-yo-hu-hi-s-di....a-ya...a-ya u-na-sti-sgi...” She panted weakly as the medicine ran down the IV tube to her arm.
“Sounds like Russian,” the nurse said. “Or Inuit. We get a lot of the indigenous peoples from Alaska here for treatment.”
“Do you think there’s someone here that could translate that?” Rowan asked, holding up the tape recorder.
“A-tsa s-gi-li ...” Lauren’s voice trailed off as the medication did its job. “Tsul’Kalu ...”