The stairs Cynthia ascended didn’t resemble anything else in the hospital. The harsh rubber lining the edge of each step had worn down long ago, its effectiveness trampled under years of footfalls.
Dust bunnies lined the walls on either side, barely visible in the dim stairwell.
Deep shadows bathed most of the area, a lone naked bulb at the top providing the meager light. The darkness concealing half of every step hid much of the dirt and hair that had accumulated over time.
The rest of the hospital still had a new sheen to it from a full remodel, completed less than a year ago. New doors and polished floors were the norm, not the filthy, dank space leading God only knew where.
Cynthia slowly took the stairs one at a time, listening to the soft echo of each footfall. She’d stumbled upon the passage while meandering around the hospital, pacing every hall for the third or fourth time in a row.
It had been a long night of contemplation, sorrow, and shock.
She’d drifted down the halls, hearing the bloops of machines and the sniffles of the ill.
On the top floor of the massive hospital, she’d spotted an open door at the end of an empty hallway. The door stood ajar just a few inches, semi-darkness waiting beyond it.
There she’d found the stairwell, relatively quiet compared to the rest of the hospital, and begun her ascent. Finding a peaceful place to sit and think would hopefully help her come to a decision that she needed to make soon.
Her index finger worked at the engagement ring on her left hand. The jewelry was something she wore all the time, yet hardly thought about. After ten years of marriage, the small things that used to mean so much became little more than background noise.
When Evan had taken a knee and presented her with the ring, it was the happiest moment of her life. Now she wore it all the time without so much as a second thought.
That wasn’t to say that her marriage wasn’t a happy one—it was.
But that which had once been so exciting now felt normal, mundane even.
A decade of marriage did that to even the best of couples.
The tip of her finger roamed over the medium-sized diamond set in platinum, then the two smaller ones flanking it on each side. Evan had perfectly captured what she’d always wanted in an engagement ring when he’d picked it out for her.
He’d never said how much it had cost him, particularly at a time when he didn’t have much money, and she’d promised him that she would never ask.
Cynthia knew he had sacrificed a lot to get it.
Just as he had when he’d moved to Maryland from South Carolina to be with her after college. She’d landed a job just a few weeks after graduation that had pulled them away from their families.
Evan had come along without hesitation.
That felt like an eternity ago.
They were so young then.
Cynthia reached the door at the top of the stairs, finding it had been propped open with a small brick wedged between it and the frame. A cool breeze of night air passed over her hand as she reached out and pushed the door open.
The hum of distant traffic grew slightly louder as she stepped outside, emerging onto the roof of the hospital. Baltimore purred softly in the background as she eased the door shut as quietly as she could, afraid she would be forced back downstairs if someone found her.
Rows of machines lined the black roof off to her left.
They looked like heat pumps, but Cynthia knew little of such things and couldn’t be sure.
Exhaust vents and duct work dotted the area ahead.
The night lights of the city sparkled from buildings far and near. It looked beautiful in that moment, despite everything weighing heavily on her mind.
She stopped and leaned her head back, taking in the dark sky. Clouds obscured what stars would have been barely visible above her. The first time she’d seen the night sky in Baltimore, it had shocked her. Out in the sticks of South Carolina where she’d grown up, stars filled the sky almost every single night, bright and twinkling.
In the city and the surrounding suburbs, they were muted and dark.
Too much light pollution.
Taking a deep breath through her nose, Cynthia closed her eyes and felt the wind wash over her cheeks. Despite the noise of the city, and the buzzing of the equipment on the roof, she felt more relaxed than she did downstairs.
Her problems seemed further away, if only slightly.
Gathering the composure she’d lost so many times two floors below, she walked toward the edge of the building, looking over the two-foot brick railing that lined the roof. A ledge about a foot wide sat atop the bricks.
She touched the ledge, letting her fingers roam across the rough texture. A siren blared below, its whoop growing quieter as she watched an ambulance race away into the night.
Glancing further over the edge, she saw a few people on the ground by the emergency entrance of the hospital. Even from several stories up, it was obvious they were distraught as they paced around, hands and feet fidgeting restlessly.
“Evening,” a deep voice said from off to Cynthia’s right.
She recoiled away from the ledge, her heart pounding. A small scream nearly escaped her mouth as she spun around and spotted a man sitting atop the ledge, his feet dangling over the side of the building.
He wore a dark robe that was open in the front, exposing a hospital gown beneath it.
White bandages were wrapped around the top of his head, covering everything above his ears.
He faced forward, looking out over the city, his features partially obscured in the semi-darkness.
She swallowed. “Hi.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.” She focused on slowing her breathing and getting her heart rate under control.
“Oh?” He smirked. “You always jump a foot in the air when someone says hi?”
“I…” Cynthia noticed cuts on the man’s knuckles, along with a few stitches on his forearm. “I guess you startled me a little bit. I wasn’t expecting to find anyone up here.”
“The propped-open door wasn’t a giveaway?”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kind of a smart ass, aren’t you?”
“Sorry.” He finally turned and looked at her. “Being an asshole is kind of my nature. Sometimes I forget to keep my mouth in check.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She glanced at the door. “I should go back to—”
“Nah, take a seat. You came up here to think, same as me. Don’t let my ugly mug scare you off.” He gestured to the ledge he sat upon with his left hand. “I don’t bite.”
Cynthia hesitated, eyeing the brick ledge. Sitting on it would have made her incredibly nervous at any time, let alone with some beat-up stranger right beside her.
She didn’t care for heights.
But then again, a lot of things were very rapidly changing in her life. Maybe she didn’t want to adhere to her old phobias anymore.
Taking a tentative step forward, she reached out and put both hands on the ledge.
The wind continued to breeze past, giving her a slight chill.
She looked over the edge, seeing the distraught people by the emergency entrance again.
The height issue wasn’t so bad if she didn’t focus on it. If she stood there and dwelled on the drop to the ground, her stomach constricted, but as long as she fixated on other details, like the people below, it felt manageable.
“I like it up here a lot better than in my room.” The man turned his attention back to the city. “Can’t think straight down there.”
Cynthia nodded, but didn’t say anything.
She kept her attention on the ledge as she tentatively sat down on it.
The surge of nausea she expected never came.
Instead, she felt brave.
Powerful.
Before she could second guess herself, Cynthia swung her legs over the side of the brick railing and faced the city just like her new neighbor. Her feet hung freely out over space.
She kicked them a few times, grinning slightly.
“Not a big fan of heights?” he asked.
“Nope. I don’t even like driving across high bridges.” Her grin faltered. “I guess I’m not as worried about some things anymore.”
“I hear that.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the noise of the city, the wail of ambulances coming and going below.
Cynthia cast a glance over at the man, taking in more details now that she was closer. His chest, neck, and shoulders were thick, the muscles visible even under the hospital robe. Dark bruises discolored his face and encircled his eyes.
His lips were split and scabbed.
Both of his hands were palsied.
“Yeah, I know. I look like hell warmed over. Or is it death warmed over? I dunno. Sometimes I can’t tell if my brain is permanently scrambled from too many fistfights or if I’m just dumb.” He looked at her, his eyes scanning her face before following her gaze to his hands. “It’s from drinking.”
“What?”
“The shaking. I haven’t had a drink in a day and a half.”
“Oh.” Cynthia stared into her lap.
She wondered if the man’s beat-up condition was a result of his admitted alcoholism. He did appear to have been in a major car accident of some kind… or a massive bar brawl. Either one could have come from too much booze.
“Wish I had a drink now.” He sighed. “Would make this damn hospital a little more tolerable.”
Cynthia had never been a big drinker, but she could definitely use one now. Then again, as she glanced at his scarred, shaking hands, she thought better of it. The effects of alcohol on people like him were the reason she typically stayed away from the stuff.
“What are you in for?” the big man asked.
“I—” She paused, thinking about her poor husband downstairs. Her throat worked and she had to close her mouth and look away, fighting back tears.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s… fine.” Cynthia wiped at the corners of her eyes, the pads of her fingers coming away wet. “I just have a hard time thinking about it, let alone saying it out loud.”
“I understand. I’m just not good with uncomfortable silences.” He shifted his bulky frame on the ledge and started to get up. “I’ll let you relax up here and—”
“No, please.” She patted the ledge. “I could use the company.”
He eyed her wearily. “You sure?”
“Talking to someone other than a doctor will be nice for change.” She watched him sit back down, then asked, “What about you? How did you get so beat up?”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Just as Cynthia was about to change the subject, he spoke up.
“I’m a… I work for the government. That’s probably the easiest way to describe it.”
“As a crash-test dummy?”
The man squinted at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Do you think my modeling career is ruined?”
“I’d say so.” Cynthia laughed with him. It felt good.
Even if just for a few seconds.
“I had a disagreement with a few guys.” The man touched his bandaged head and winced. “We sorted it out, though.”
“Do they look worse than you?”
He nodded. “Much worse.”
Cynthia’s grin faltered. The only way for someone to look much worse than her new neighbor was for them to be dead. It occurred to her again that she sat inches from falling to her death beside a massive man who could easily overpower her.
Just a few days ago, she would have fled back inside.
But not tonight. Not anymore.
“Are you an FBI agent or something?” she asked.
“More like an old soldier than anything else.”
Cynthia didn’t think he looked particularly old, in his thirties maybe, but he had put a lot of miles on his body. There were too many scars, too many lines on his face.
He had the same distant look in his eyes she’d seen in Evan’s brother when he’d returned from Afghanistan ten years earlier. Though the man hadn’t said what had happened to him, she couldn’t help but wonder if he suffered from PTSD.
They were on the roof together, after all, and she’d been guided there by a world of problems nipping at her heels. Whatever had driven him to sit on that ledge must have been rough.
Evan’s brother, Mike, had been distant and on edge when he’d come back.
He drank.
A lot.
Four months after returning, Mike mixed an enormous amount of painkillers and booze and died in his sleep. He’d passed away without sharing what he’d seen or experienced with Evan. That had haunted her husband ever since.
Cynthia watched her ledge-neighbor.
He kept inspecting his damaged hands.
His thick shoulders were slumped forward, back rounded, face crestfallen.
The damage to his body and the bulk of bandages wrapped around him spoke volumes about the abuse he’d suffered, but they said little about the mental harm done to him. Cynthia couldn’t help but compare him to her brother-in-law who had died without ever expressing his pain.
She wanted to reach out and touch the man’s hand, to let him know he wasn’t alone.
But she didn’t, fearing he would recoil from her compassion. If there was one thing she knew about men, particularly the big, burly type like the one beside her, it was that they didn’t handle their emotions well.
Rather than embrace her kindness, he might withdraw from it. Men often believed themselves weak if they couldn’t deal with their problems on their own.
And who was she to offer help, anyway?
Wasn’t she the one who’d spent hours wandering around the hospital, avoiding her problems, staving off that which must be done?
“My husband is dying,” she said abruptly, catching herself off guard.
“Oh.” The man stiffened. “I… I’m sorry.”
“He’s hooked up to God only knows how many machines downstairs that are keeping him alive. The doctors say he’s brain dead. That he has no chance of recovery. They’re just waiting for me to tell them to pull the plug.”
Cynthia took a deep, wavering breath. She hadn’t expected to spill her guts.
But opening up to a stranger felt surprisingly good.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she continued. “He’s all I’ve known for a long time.”
Softly, the man asked, “What’s his name?”
“Evan.” Cynthia worked at her wedding ring again. “We’ve been married for what feels like forever now. He’s my entire world, and he’s leaving me. How am I supposed to go on without him? He paid the bills and bought the groceries. I don’t even know what our bills are.” Her words came faster, higher pitched, as moisture welled in her eyes. “How am I going to mow the lawn? I have no idea how to start the stupid mower!”
She burst into tears. “I’m such a terrible person. Evan is downstairs dying, and I’m worried about how I’m going to take care of the lawn!”
Putting her head in her hands, she finally released the pressure that had been building inside her since the police had called her about Evan. Sobs wrenched her body. Tears coursed down her cheeks.
The stranger grunted in discomfort as he slid over beside her, gently putting his arm around her shoulders. Cynthia crumpled against him, resting her head against his neck. She let the emotion flow out of her as she cried beside a man whose name she didn’t even know.
“He wanted kids a few years ago, but I was close to a promotion at work. We decided to wait a while so I could focus on my career.” She squeezed her eyes closed, her voice hitching. “And now it’s too late. His brother and parents died, and now he’s dying too. There’s no one left in his family. He’ll have nothing to leave behind him, and it’s because of me and my stupid job.”
She wept as the stranger held her.
After several minutes, her sobs eased.
“I’m a blathering mess.” Cynthia sighed. “Sorry for that stream of consciousness. I’ve had a hard time coming to grips with this.”
“Your world just got flipped upside down, and you’re just trying your best to cope.”
She wiped at her cheeks. “I’m sorry for dumping that on you.”
“Sometimes it’s good to talk to a complete stranger about your problems. They don’t have any preconceptions about you. You can say things that you wouldn’t dare say to a friend.”
“You might be right.” Cynthia straightened out as he removed his arm from her shoulders. “Well, what about you? Why are you here?”
He winced as he shifted his weight and looked over at her. “I’ve had a rough couple of days.”
“Looks like it.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re stalling.”
The big man gave her a small grin. “Maybe.”
“You just said something about talking to strangers being a good thing.”
“I did.” He scratched at the stubble covering his swollen, bruised jaw. “The last few years have been hard on me. I’ve been in a blind, drunken stupor through most of them. Most of the time I feel like I’m just a punching bag with a cocky attitude.
“I haven’t been in control of my life for a long time. It’s hard,” he said softly. “I just want some peace and quiet. To be left alone.”
“Is that why you drink?”
“Partially, yeah. Sometimes, I do it to quiet the horrible things in my head. Sometimes, I do it to forget.” His throat worked. “I’ve lost a lot of good men and women. Everyone around me gets hurt. Or killed. So I push them away with snark and sarcasm. People don’t want to get close to you if they think you’re an arrogant asshole.
“My friends are safer if they aren’t around me.” He looked up at the dark sky. “Being alone sucks, though. Drinking helps with some of the loneliness too.”
Cynthia dabbed fresh tears from her eyes. She’d been right—the poor man was haunted by the terrible things he’d seen. And probably done. She couldn’t imagine having a job where everyone around you died.
“I’m tired,” he said. “All the time. Just fucking tired. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Can you quit?”
“They won’t let me.”
“Who? The Army?”
“Something like that.”
“Why won’t they let you go?”
“I’m too important to them. Too dangerous.”
Cynthia noted how vague he was when she asked specific questions. She didn’t think he was an actual soldier, but maybe a CIA or FBI agent. But she didn’t like the idea of her government forcing people to work for them. Especially when they were as mentally fatigued as the guy beside her.
She wondered exactly what he did that made him so valuable that he wasn’t able to leave his job. Even the president could resign.
“Would people die if you walked away from your job?” she asked.
“Maybe.” He thought about it for a moment. “Probably.”
“So you’re helping then? Making a difference?”
“It sure doesn’t feel like it.”
Cynthia’s mind kept returning to her brother-in-law. He’d joined the military to fight terrorism.
He went head-to-head with Al Qaeda.
And it broke him.
“Things are getting worse. There’s a war coming.” The man observed the city. A wet sheen covered his eyes. “And I don’t know if I have it in me to fight anymore.”
“I’m so sorry you have to feel like this.” Cynthia reached out and took his meaty hand in her own. “No one should have to go through what you are.”
“No one should have to lose a husband.” He blinked a few times and turned his head away from her.
She knew he didn’t want her to see his tears. Rather than say anything, she squeezed his hand.
“What happened to him?” he asked. “To Evan.”
“He—” A lump formed in Cynthia’s throat. “He was attacked two days ago by a group of crazy people who jumped him in the middle of the road. They kicked and punched and bit him until he stopped moving. Then they… they stomped on him. They cracked his skull and ruptured a few organs. His brain is so damaged that his doctors can’t believe he didn’t die in the street. When the friend he was with tried to stop them, they did the same to him. He’s already dead.”
“Jesus. I’m so sorry, Cynthia.”
Hearing her name gave her pause. Had they introduced themselves to each other? She couldn’t recall telling him her name, and she certainly couldn’t think of his.
She was about to ask him how he knew her when his body stiffened.
“He was attacked by a group of crazy people?”
She nodded. “Did you hear about the terrorist attack in D.C.? The one that made the people in the subway go insane?”
The man groaned.
“What?” she asked.
“Those are the men who did this to me.” He gestured at his bandaged head. “Your husband is dying because of me.”
“Were you there when it happened? Did you see it?”
“No, but I’m caught up in the whole thing.”
“If you weren’t there, then how is it your fault?”
“It’s… complicated.” He straightened his back, grimaced as something cracked and popped, and slowly started to get up again. “I’m being vague on purpose. The less you know about me, the safer you’ll be.”
Cynthia didn’t know how to take that.
But she had to know more. “Is the man who caused it dead? They said he was on the news. Is that true?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at his hands again. “He’s dead.”
“Good. That bastard took everything from me. I never got to say goodbye to Evan before he left. He spent the night in the city with an old college friend and had promised to call me when they got in for the night. But he never called. The police did.”
The man didn’t reply. He stood beside the ledge, watching the late-night traffic a few blocks away.
They listened to the song of sirens below for a while.
“I’ve been talking to him,” Cynthia finally said. “But I don’t know if he can hear me. If he were awake and knew he was leaving me alone, he’d be freaking out. I wish I could tell him that I’ll be okay. That’ll miss him, but that he doesn’t need to feel guilty for leaving me. I wish I could tell him that I love him one last time.”
“The doctors say he’s brain dead?”
She nodded.
“I know this is going to sound crazy, but can I see him?”
“What?” Cynthia looked up at him, seeing how tall he was for the first time. He stood well over six feet.
“I might be able to help. I can’t promise anything, but I’m a bit of an expert when it comes to brain trauma.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“Me? No, I’m a moron, but I know a thing or two about this stuff.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s—you have to trust me. I know I’m some weirdo stranger you met five minutes ago, but I want to try to help you.” He looked down at his feet. “It’s the least I can do for you since you listened to my crap.”
“Your problems aren’t crap.” Cynthia spun around on the ledge and stepped down to the roof. She looked up into his battered, crestfallen face. The sorrow in his eyes made her want to hug him. “I trust you, as weird as that sounds. What do you want to do to him?”
“Nothing physical. I can’t help him get better, but maybe I can tell if he’s hearing what you’re saying.”
“I still don’t understand what—”
“Ashley!” a hard voice called from the doorway. “Half the suits in Washington are looking for—”
Cynthia turned toward the door and spotted a thick, bald man standing at the top of the stairs. He leaned heavily on a crutch and wore a hospital gown and robe. Cuts and scrapes also covered his face and hands.
Who are these guys? she wondered.
The bald man leveled his gaze on her for several seconds. When he spoke, he turned back to the big guy, Ashley apparently. “We need to get you downstairs before they start a full-on manhunt for you.”
“I need a few minutes.” Ashley glanced back at her. “Let me try.”
Cynthia’s head was spinning. The longer she spoke to her ledge-neighbor, the more confused she became. Between his vague descriptions of what he did, how he’d become so injured, and the appearance of another wounded individual, she couldn’t get a handle on what was going on.
“Try what?” the bald guy asked, his eyes narrowing.
Taking in the earnestness on Ashley’s face, Cynthia thought about it. She didn’t even know what the man planned to do, but oddly enough, she did trust him to a certain extent. If someone had asked her to explain that, she couldn’t have, but there it was all the same.
The way he’d talked about how broken he felt resonated with her. They were fellow travelers in grief and fear.
In misery.
“You won’t hurt him?” she asked, though she didn’t think Evan’s condition could get any worse.
“Never.”
“Hurt who?” the bald man asked. “Ashley, what’s going on here?”
“I need you to watch my back for a few minutes, Drew-Diddy.” The big man started toward the stairs. “We’re going to help Cynthia talk to her husband.”
When Ashley stepped in front of Drew-Diddy, or whoever he was, the bald man put a hand out. “You have to tell me what’s going on first.”
Ashley explained what had happened to Evan in D.C. and his current vegetative state. Drew-Diddy’s face fell as he listened quietly, his gaze occasionally meeting Cynthia’s. He sighed when Ashley finished.
“And you think you can reach him?” Drew-Diddy asked.
“I don’t know, but we have to try.” Ashley’s right hand shook slightly as it hung by his side. “Can you keep my babysitters out of the room while I see what I can do?”
“As best I can with this damn crutch. I’m not exactly at peak strength right now.”
“Who are you two?” Cynthia stepped toward them. “Ashley and Drew-Diddy? Really? That’s what you call each other? And who are your ‘babysitters’? Whatever that means.”
“My name is Asher. He calls me Ashley because he’s a dick. And he’s a Drew. Same thing.” Asher gestured toward the stairs. “And you don’t want to know anymore, believe me. But if we’re going to do this, then we better get started before I’m forced back to my room. They’ll probably cuff me to my bed after this.”
The more ‘answers’ the men gave her, the more confused she became. She consented anyway and led them down the stairs. Because of their various injuries and maladies, she often had to stop and wait for them to catch up.
Asher paused at the corner of every hallway they approached and glanced around it, looking for the aforementioned babysitters. Cynthia still had no idea who or what they were.
When they finally approached the room where her husband was kept alive by numerous machines, several men dressed in black suits appeared at the end of the hall. When they spotted Drew and Asher, they broke into a speed-walk straight at them.
Cynthia’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight of them hustling forward. She suddenly wondered just what she had managed to stumble into. The men at the end of the hall had a look of authority to them, while her newfound friends appeared more like survivors of a drunken bar brawl than federal agents.
One of the men charging toward them spoke into a tiny radio attached to his wrist, no doubt calling for backup.
“Which room is he in?” Drew asked between huffs. He worked hard with his crutch to pick up his pace.
“Second on the left,” Asher said.
Cynthia’s mouth had opened to say the same thing. It hung ajar as she took in Asher, wondering how in God’s name he’d known what room Evan was in. She was about to ask him just that when one of the men storming down the hall called out for them to stop.
“Are we in trouble?” Cynthia asked instead, picking up her pace to keep up with Drew. “Are they going to arrest us?”
“Nah,” Asher said. “They’re just pissed that I gave them the slip. You’ll be fine.”
Cynthia reached the door first and stopped, gaping at the men rapidly approaching them. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”
Asher brushed past her, plunging through the door. He stopped a few feet inside and waited for Drew to follow. “I need a few minutes, Baldie.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Drew pushed the door closed after ushering Cynthia inside, and then jammed his foot against the bottom of it. He leaned against the heavy wood with his shoulder. “Christ, we’re gonna get reamed for this.”
“Cynthia.” Asher stood in front of her, his massive frame looming over her slight one. “I’m going to need your help with Evan.”
“What are you going to do?” She looked up at him with apprehension.
Things were moving too fast, and they were too weird and uncertain for her the further along they went. She wanted to believe the odd man could help her dying husband, but the longer she had to think about it, the more confused and fearful she became.
“I’m just going to listen to him. Maybe I can give a little closure and maybe some peace to you both.”
“But he can’t talk. He’s unresponsive, remember?”
“That might not matter with me.”
Thunderous knocks came from the door. Cynthia watched as the wood vibrated in the frame.
“Who is it?” Drew asked.
“Open the door, Lloyd!” an angry voice hollered from the other side.
“Just a minute. We aren’t decent.”
Asher’s face twisted as he frowned at the bald man. “Do you want them to think we’re getting it on in here?”
“You wish.” Drew grunted as he grabbed the door handle just as it started to twist open. “Get a move on, would ya?”
“Cynthia. We don’t have much time. Please let me try.”
Looking from one odd man to the next, Cynthia pondered what she should do. The smart thing would be to open the door and let the government agents outside take the two strangers away so she could deal with her dying husband in peace.
But she’d done the smart thing her entire life and where had that gotten her? She was about to be a widow in her thirties without a clue how to be alone.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Talk to him.” Asher started toward the far side of the room.
Cynthia followed, her breath catching at the sight of her husband, as it did every single time she walked into the room.
Evan lay atop his bed in a hospital gown. Tubes and wires and other horrors ran into his arms, chest, and face. Bandages were wrapped around most of his head and face, covering the left side entirely.
One of his attackers had scooped out his left eye and crushed it on the sidewalk like a grape. His skull was shattered, a huge portion of it caved into his brain, causing untold damage. Lacerations and bruises covered everything else.
Cynthia had been saved from seeing most of the damage because he’d been in surgery by the time she’d arrived at the hospital. But the doctors had run her through the lengthy list of his injuries.
Listening to them rattle off the terrible things done to him had felt as if it had damaged her soul. She nearly burst into tears every time she saw him. People heard about horrible things on the news or saw them on any of the dozens of true-crime shows on cable.
Those types of terrors weren’t supposed to happen to anyone you knew.
One of the myriad of machines hooked up to Evan beeped twice, then fell silent again.
Asher walked around the bed and stopped beside her husband’s right arm. He inspected the bandages and the wires in silence. His jaw set.
“Evan.” Asher bent forward until their faces were less than a foot apart. “My name is Ash, and I’m here with Cynthia.”
He motioned for her to step closer.
She did as he beckoned, stopping on the other side of the bed. Slipping her hands carefully around her husband’s, she swallowed the lump that had worked its way up her throat.
“Talk to him,” Asher repeated. His eyes narrowed in concentration. “I can’t hear him.”
“He didn’t say anything.”
Ash gave her an impatient flick of his hand. “Tell him something. Anything. He needs to hear your voice.”
Cynthia pursed her lips, thinking that she should tell these men to take a hike.
But once again, she didn’t.
“Evan… it’s me.” Cynthia patted his arm. “This man is here to help you.”
Asher continued staring at her husband. He motioned for her to continue.
“I wish you could hear me.” Cynthia rubbed at a patch of skin just below an IV running into his arm. “There’s so much I need to tell you.”
She felt embarrassed talking in such a way in front of a complete stranger.
“This is useless,” she muttered. “He can’t hear us.”
“Try again. I can’t hear him, but he might be in there somewhere. I dunno. I haven’t tried anything like this before.” He reached up and put a finger against his temple. It looked ridiculous. Like he was Professor Xavier trying to read some poor sap’s mind.
And she felt silly for being a part of it.
“Is this some kind of psychic scam?” she asked angrily. “Are you trying to tell me that you can—?”
“I hear him!” Asher’s features scrunched together as he concentrated harder. “He’s calling out for you.”
Cynthia turned back to her husband. His slack expression hadn’t changed. Nothing had so much as twitched on his body. Words certainly hadn’t come from his mouth.
But she still felt a spark of hope, of excitement.
Grasping at that hope would have made her scoff just a few days ago. When loved ones were in danger of passing away, people reached out for anything they believed could ease their pain and fear.
They turned to religion.
Or alternative medicine.
Even psychic hucksters.
Cynthia had never believed in any of that. She felt sorry for those who were swindled by grief peddlers taking advantage of people who just wanted to be comforted.
And yet, she stood there beside her nonresponsive husband and felt a flutter of hope in her heart. In that moment, she understood how people could believe.
Losing everything could rapidly change someone’s perspective.
“Ev?” she whispered. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“He’s calling out.” Asher leaned closer. “He’s calling for… sweet cheeks? Does that mean anything to you?”
Cynthia’s legs threatened to buckle. Fearing she might collapse to the floor, she leaned against the bed, putting most of her weight on her hip. “That’s what he called me when we were alone.”
The nickname had always been kept strictly between her and Evan. He’d started calling her that over half a decade ago because he liked the way her butt looked in boy shorts. The name had always pleased Cynthia, but she’d never let him so much as utter it in the presence of anyone else.
It was too embarrassing.
“Keeping talking to him.”
“I’m here, Ev. Can you hear me?” It was almost a plea.
“He heard you.” Asher’s jaw muscles flared. “But he’s lost. He’s…”
They stood in silence for several seconds. Beads of sweat broke out on Asher’s forehead and at his temples.
“Open the door!” someone hollered from the other side of the door. More thunderous knocks followed.
The handle shook in Drew’s grasp.
“I can’t read his memories,” Asher muttered, seemingly to himself. “I can’t tell if it’s because of the physical damage to his brain or if it’s something else. And his inner voice is faint. Hard to hear. As if he’s at the far end of a long tunnel.”
“What?” Cynthia’s blood pressure continued to rise. The way her heart drummed in her chest was borderline concerning. “I still don’t understand what—”
“Darkness. He’s surrounded by darkness. Lost in it. There’s… talk to him. Keep him focused on your voice while I try to understand what’s happening.”
Cynthia was flustered by the nonsensical words coming from Asher. The mention of being lost in darkness twisted her stomach even though she didn’t understand it. She took Evan’s bruised hand in hers all the same. “Ev, I wish I could take it all back. Every selfish decision.”
“He said he’s sorry. Sorry for not calling you that night. Sorry for not kissing you goodbye.” Asher’s shoulders slumped. His eyes closed. Both of his hands continued their palsied dance. “He’s sorry for leaving you. Sorry he can’t make you breakfast every Sunday and bring home Chinese food on Wednesday nights.”
More tears stung Cynthia’s eyes. Somehow, some way, she was actually speaking to her dying husband through the odd man beside them. She didn’t know how, and at that moment she didn’t care. “I’m sorry for spending so much time working. I wish I’d done things differently. My stupid job dictated our lives. We should have started a family. Nothing should have been more important than us. Than you.”
“He doesn’t regret a moment of it, only that you don’t have more time together. He’s scared to leave you alone.” The sweat poured from Asher’s brow. His hospital gown clung to his shoulders, damp and crumpled. “I think he’s in pain, but he hasn’t said it. Staying alive is hurting him. He’s fighting to hold on because he doesn’t want to abandon you. His voice is getting quieter. Weaker. If there’s something you want to tell him, now is the time.”
Cynthia’s heart ached.
That was Evan.
Always worrying about her.
Always sacrificing for her.
There was so much she wanted to say.
So many regrets.
So much fear and desperation.
But her Evan was in pain, and he was doing it to himself because of her. And she couldn’t stand knowing that.
“I’ll get by.” The words barely came out as she succumbed to the grief. It took every ounce of willpower she had to keep from completely breaking down. She didn’t want Evan to hear her collapse into hysterics. “Don’t do this to yourself. Just let go, baby. Just let go.”
Asher’s head cocked to the slide slightly.
His mouth twisted into a grimace.
“Something’s wrong.” He clutched at the sheets atop the bed, twisting them in his meaty fist. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“What?” Cynthia’s panic reached new heights.
“Ashley?” Drew still had his back to the thick door as the men on the other side tried to break it open. “What is it?”
“I… he’s not alone. Something is in there with him. Something is in the darkness.”
Cynthia’s fear finally touched her voice. “What are you saying? I don’t understand!”
“It’s pulling at his mind. Trying to consume him.” Blood began to seep through the bandages wrapped around Asher’s head. “It’s trying to latch onto me, too!”
“Get out of his head!” Drew hollered. He released the handle and stepped away from the door. “Let him go.”
“I can’t. If I release Evan, it will take him.”
“It?” Drew asked, his gruff voice growing louder. “What do you mean, it?”
“It’s calling out to us. Beckoning us from the dark. It’s calling for us to join them. Join them in the dark.”
The bandages were more red than white now. Fresh blood soaked through the shoulder of Asher’s hospital gown. His hands shook furiously as he clenched the bed sheets. The muscles in his jaw flared as he ground his teeth.
“It’s overpowering me! It’s trying to come through his mind, to pull itself through—”
The door to the room exploded open behind Drew.
Men in suits poured in the door.
One of them held a gun in his hand.
Another spoke into a radio.
They all looked angry.
“Let him go, Ashley.” Drew hobbled toward the bed, stopping just behind his friend. “You can’t help him.”
Cynthia wanted to speak, to scream, to cry out in agony and grief, but nothing would come. Hearing the bizarre descriptions coming from Asher had terrified her to the core.
She didn’t know what his deal was, but the men busting into her husband’s hospital room sure thought he was important.
The fact they were all armed didn’t help her panic.
“Benson, you’re coming with us,” the man in the lead barked.
“I can’t leave him like this.” Asher’s words were clipped, breathless. “I have to rip us free of it.”
Crimson streaks ran down his face, leaking from the bandages.
His body torqued against the bed, pushing it several inches sideways.
Grunts escaped his clenched teeth.
And then he collapsed to the floor in a heap, his head lolling on his thick neck. The room fell silent for a moment as everyone gaped at him.
“Ash!” Drew leapt forward, grabbing hold of his friend as he slumped sideways. His arms snaked under Asher’s armpits, and he hauled him to a seated position. “Christ, he’s bleeding all over the place.”
“Cuff him,” one of the agents said to another. “We’ll—”
“Cuff him?” Drew shot the offending man a look that would have made Cynthia wilt if it had been aimed at her. “Do you know who he is?”
“Of course.” The man in the suit straightened his back and squared his shoulders. He stood a little taller than the rest, his short hair a bit grayer. “And I know what—”
Drew cut him off. “Then you know how important he is. Do you want to be the asshole who let him suffer and bleed all over the place because you were too busy arresting him? How do you think that will go over for you?”
The agent’s mouth opened to retort, but he seemed to think better of it. He glanced around at the other agents for support, though none of them offered him any advice.
“Help me get him down to his room.” Drew started lifting his friend, but winced as his body resisted. “He needs to see his doctor right now. Not one of the docs from this floor.”
Cynthia stood on the other side of the bed, watching the exchange. It was obvious they were being careful with their words, not wanting to reveal whatever secrets they were protecting.
The agent in charge, who still seemed flustered at Drew’s impertinence, finally nodded at one of his men. “Get him down to his room. We’ll see what HQ wants to do with him after he’s checked out and wakes up.”
Two of them stepped forward and grabbed Ash from either side, hoisting him to his feet. His head hung forward, chin against his chest, muscles loose.
As they dragged him around the bed and past Cynthia, he slowly raised his head and looked at her with unfocused eyes.
“I pulled him out of the darkness,” he muttered. “I got him out.”
They half dragged, half carried him out of the room then, with the rest of the agents following at their heels. Drew stopped in the doorway, turning back to Cynthia. He pursed his lips as if he wanted to say something.
After holding her gaze for several seconds, he simply gave her a nod and then limped down the hall and out of sight.
Cynthia stood beside her dying husband in stunned silence, his hand still in hers.
She’d gone to the roof for some peace and quiet after Evan’s doctors had advised her to take him off life support.
To let him go.
She’d wandered the hospital to mull things over. The roof was supposed to give her a chance to clear her thoughts and think things through.
Instead, she’d stumbled into the middle of a situation that she didn’t understand. Something had just happened in their hospital room, but she had no idea what. Had it been real? Had it been some kind of a hoax?
Asher had offered to help them, but his talk about Evan being lost in darkness with something coming after him had Cynthia feeling even worse than before.
She’d been a fool to believe a random stranger could possibly help them.
After everything that had just happened, she was no further along than when she’d discovered and climbed those stairs.
A decision still had to be made.
Evan didn’t deserve to suffer in his broken body.
Though letting him go would be the hardest thing she would ever have to do, she knew he wouldn’t want to live on life support. They’d never set up living wills, but they’d discussed the possibilities about what they would want in situations as horrible as the one she found herself in.
Evan had been clear about not wanting to be trapped in a body that would never recover. But having to actually make the decision to let her husband die was something Cynthia had never really thought would happen. Their talks had only ever been hypotheticals.
Until today.
And today, it had to be done.
Cynthia turned toward the door, her shoulders hunched, her spirit crushed, and took a deep breath. She would tell one of her nurses to send the doctor in. Then they would do what must be done.
That’s when Evan’s hand squeezed hers.
