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  Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on my door. I looked through the peephole to confirm it was Hunter before opening the door, he was on his phone finishing a call.

  “…I understand. Is the ambulance on the way?” Pause. “Good, I will prepare her. We will be there in five. Thanks for letting me know Detective, I owe you one.”

  I snapped into action grabbing my jacket and purse, prepared to leave.

  “Ev, baby, you need shoes,” he said gently.

  I looked at my feet realizing I was barefoot. I slid my feet into a pair of ballet flats by the door. I immediately realized they were Sam’s because they were two sizes too small, but I was not going to waste time returning to my room. I had overheard enough to know that they had found Sam.

  Hunter took my hand and led me out the door, making certain the lock engaged. Once he joined me in the Yukon, I spoke.

  “Tell me,” I prompted.

  “A patrol car located Sam’s Mercedes in the parking lot near Mathematics. Everything looked fine, but based on your concerns he looked around. Woods buffer the lot and the officer noticed drag marks through the residual sand in the parking lot leading to the tree line. He found a bag at the periphery of the lot, which led him to search the woods. He located a female who had been assaulted. Based on the description I provided there is a strong possibility it’s Sam.” Hunter paused, “I’m sorry Everleigh. The detective I spoke with just arrived on scene. She is unconscious and sustained severe injuries. He didn’t give me any details, but told me to prepare you. Her condition appears critical, and they believe she was left for dead.”

  I gasped, focusing on my breathing and trying to clear my mind. I had to keep it together, I couldn’t fall apart now. Sam would be okay. She would live. That was all that mattered, the rest we would deal with.

  Hunter pulled up to the parking lot next to Mathematics where the police stopped us.

  “I’m Hunter Charles. Detective Norse is expecting us.” The officer nodded, checking Hunter’s identification before letting us through. We drove past several police cars and parked in an area of the lot not blocked by marked cars. I hurried out of the car, seeing an ambulance nearby.

  As we approached, I saw a stretcher being carried from the neighboring woods. It was Sam; I felt it from twenty feet away without a doubt. My gasp must have clued Hunter in because he reached to support and restrain me. We were ten feet from the stretcher when a man approached.

  “Detective, thank you again for notifying us. This is Everleigh Carsen, Miss Whitney’s roommate.”

  “I’m sorry to meet under such circumstances, Miss Carsen. I will need to get a statement from you, but it can wait until tomorrow. Can you confirm the victim is Samantha Whitney?”

  “I can,” I responded, straining to get to Sam. “Can I ride with her?”

  “Yes,” the detective responded kindly.

  The stretcher was being loaded into the ambulance as I approached with Hunter.

  “She’s going to be riding with Miss Whitney.”

  The paramedic looked at us.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir?”

  “Yes,” Hunter answered with authority.

  “Okay, but you need to get in now. We have to go, and you’ll need to ride in the front.”

  I nodded as Hunter guided me to the front passenger side and assisted me in.

  “I’ll meet you in the hospital waiting room.”

  I turned to the back of the ambulance trying to see Sam, but the paramedic was obstructing my view. When the driver got in and switched on the sirens, the reality of what had happened came crashing down on me. Sam had been attacked and injured severely. God knows what else had been done to her. My best friend had been brutalized.

  If I had agreed to change schools. If I had met her after the review. If I had called for help sooner. A thousand puzzle pieces, if I had moved just one, could I have prevented this?

  Countless questions circled my mind. Was she conscious? Did she know she was safe? How much pain was she in? Did she blame me the way I blamed myself?

  “How long till we arrive, Jimmy?” the paramedic called from the back.

  “We are still five minutes out.”

  “Shit,” I heard him mutter beneath his breath. “Just get there as fast as you can. I’m going to have to intubate en route. Call ahead and advise there is a critical ‘Plan Blue’ incoming; have them page neuro for TBI, ortho for multi-sites, and general for possible internal—they will need to be on standby for arrival.”

  I barely understood what he was saying, but none of it was good. He was scared Sam was not going to make it, I could hear it in his voice.

  “Got it,” I heard the paramedic say to himself with relief.

  “One minute out,” the driver announced. He turned toward me, “Make sure you take your purse, Miss. You will not be able to go with her when we arrive and you will need to stay out of the way. Head to the waiting room and they will keep you posted.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. As we entered the hospital’s emergency bay, I looked back again and finally had a clear view of Sam. My heart stopped.

  She was unrecognizable. Her face so battered and swollen, misshapen and covered in blood, she looked inhuman. She appeared naked, but I didn’t know if they had removed her clothing for treatment purposes or if that was how she was found. Her left arm and shoulder were at an unnatural angle and it appeared several of her fingers were oddly positioned. I noticed bloodstains on the white sheet draped over her lower half and I could guess the source.

  My hands flew to my mouth, trying to keep back the vomit. Oh sweet Jesus. How could this have happened? How could she survive this? My door suddenly opened and Hunter was there, pulling me out of the ambulance. I started gagging as I repressed the urge to vomit. Hunter quickly brought me to the side of the building where I was violently ill. This time food or virus was not the cause.

  I was panting, unable to breathe when Hunter picked me up and carried me inside. He brought me to the waiting room and found a loveseat in an isolated corner. He pushed my head between my knees and told me to breathe slowly and deeply. Through my panic, I realized I must have been hyperventilating. I had to get a hold of myself. I focused on drawing air into my lungs and slowly releasing it. I repeated the cycle over and over until I had composed my body and my mind enough to sit up and speak.

  “Did you see her?”

  “No.”

  “Did the detective tell you anything?”

  “He told me to get to the hospital because you would need me once you saw her.” Hunter paused, “He said it was the worst of the attacks thus far. Did she regain consciousness at all?”

  “No, and from what I saw, that is a blessing. Hunter, you wouldn’t recognize her. He cut her hair, whoever did this to her. There was blood on the sheet covering her…covering her…I think she was raped,” I whispered.

  Hunter put his arms around me and held me. For the first time since my mom died, I cried. Hunter scooped me onto his lap and held me against his chest, cradled like a baby as sobs wracked my body. He continually reminded me to breathe while telling me to let it out. I ached from a place so deep within, if felt as though my soul was torn apart and would never mend. My anguish was omnipresent, in every molecule of my body, to the essence of my spirit. I registered pain in my hands and I realized I had been beating Hunter’s chest and clawing at his shirt. In my hysteria, I was close to pulling my short fingernails from my fingers. I forced myself to relax my fingers, one by one.

  As my sobs subsided, and only quiet tears remained, Hunter continued to stroke my back and head. He placed soft kisses anywhere he could reach and whispered words of comfort to me. I do not know how much time passed, but I eventually came back to myself. I unlocked my knees and elbows, trying to regain circulation.

  Hunter repositioned me so my butt and legs were resting on the seat, but my upper body was resting across him, with my head in the crook of his elbow.

  “S
leep.”

  I was about to protest but he continued, “You’ve wiped yourself out. There won’t be news for hours. Just sleep for now, so you can be strong when she needs you. I will hold you, and promise to wake you if the doctor comes.”

  I was unable to speak, so I snuggled into his chest and cried until sleep claimed me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  * * *

  "It’s true that I have had heartache and tragedy in my life. These are things none of us avoids. Suffering is the price of being alive.” -Judy Collins

  I awoke disoriented with my body wrapped around Hunter. He was still holding me, which must have been incredibly painful for him by this point. Then the vile images flooded back into my mind like acid, burning me from the inside out. I hissed at the agony of the memories. I felt Hunter’s body shift slightly and I turned my head enough to look up at him. He looked destroyed.

  “Hi,” I managed to say.

  “Angel,” he whispered, full of sorrow and anguish.

  “Is she—?” I could not say the words.

  “No,” he understood I was asking if Sam was gone. “She’s still in surgery. The doctors haven’t come out yet. The nurse just stopped by to let us know.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Only two hours, not long. You can rest more if you need.”

  “No I’ve been selfish, spending this much time wallowing in my grief. I have to call the Whitneys and Robbie. I will need to talk to the police. Do you think they will meet me here, your detective friend?”

  “I’m sure he will be willing to meet you here, or I can ask him to delay for a couple of days.”

  “No, Sam will need me once she wakes up, so it’s best if they come here tonight.”

  “Everleigh, I don’t want to say this, I don’t even want to think it, but you need to prepare yourself, there is a strong possibility…” I cut him off, refusing to let him finish that thought.

  “Don’t you even say it,” I insisted. “Sam will survive, she is strong. I will not even consider the alternative. I know you’re trying to protect me. I love you for it, but I can’t let that be a reality in my mind or I will have a nervous breakdown. I have to keep it together now. I had my time to come unhinged, now it’s time to be strong and grounded. There is a lot to be done before Sam wakes up.”

  “That’s my girl.” He helped me sit up, “Why don’t you start on your calls? I will find you a cup of coffee and a little something to eat. I will also call Detective Norse and ask him to come here as soon as possible. I’ll swing by the nurses’ station on the way back to check if there are any developments.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.” I stretched my muscles and rose, slightly wobbly after my strange position for the last two hours. “Hunter, I can’t thank you enough. For believing me when I said something was wrong, for coming with me to find Sam, for following me to the hospital, for holding me while I came unglued, and for helping me now. There are not words for my profound gratitude. You held me together.”

  “Everleigh, no thanks is needed. I would do anything for you without hesitation or regret. I could never let you go through this alone.” He kissed my forehead and hugged me, “I’m glad you pulled the pieces back together so quickly. You scared me for a moment. I thought they might have needed to sedate you.”

  “I’m alright, no more breakdowns, I promise. Go take care of your to do list, and I’ll work on mine. We’ll meet back here once you have coffee in hand,” I tried to joke.

  It was a pitiful attempt, but I could see that Hunter valued my effort. After he left, I called the Whitney residence. Their housekeeper advised me Mr. and Mrs. Whitney were in London for the weekend. I asked her to contact them and tell them it was urgent they phone me. I was dreading the next call—Robbie. I dialed his number and it rang four times before voicemail picked up.

  “Robbie, it’s Ev. Sam’s been attacked. She is at the hospital, it’s bad. Hunter and I are here. Call me.”

  I called Marty next, despite the early hour, and requested the week off work. I explained what had happened and Marty told me to take all the time I needed. God bless her.

  I waited for Hunter to return, making lists in my mind of what else needed to be done. I needed to find the contact information for the rape crisis center so Sam could get counseling when she was released. I would need to get her comfortable clothes; Sam wouldn’t want to wear those creepy hospital gowns when she awoke. I would have to notify Sam’s professors that she needed to delay her finals. I must call Sam’s job and let them know she had been injured and would need time off, and get her car back to the apartment. I also needed to make an appointment for her hairdresser to correct the damage. Geeze, I had to get a pair of shoes that fit me at some point, my feet were killing me. Now I knew how Chinese women felt when their feet were bound.

  Hunter returned, interrupting my list making. He sat beside me, handed me a cup of coffee and put his arm around my shoulders.

  “The nurse told me Sam is still in surgery. I requested that a doctor update us on her condition at their soonest convenience. I spoke to Detective Norse; he will be here within the hour.” I nodded my acceptance. “How are you?”

  I took a sip of my coffee and nearly spit it out. Seeing my face, Hunter laughed.

  “Nothing was open at 2:30 in the morning, so I was reduced to getting you coffee from a vending machine. No food either for a few hours.”

  “That’s okay, I’m not hungry. The coffee on the other hand, I appreciate the gesture, but do not call this sludge coffee. How can it be bitter and weak at the same time?”

  “They just don’t make vending machine coffee like they used to, huh?”

  “I’m setting up a 24-hour coffee cart in the waiting room. People stuck in this limbo waiting for news, are not going to sleep but they are tired. They need caffeine to aid them. We would make millions if the only competition is this despicable brew.”

  It felt good to exchange meaningless dialogue. I rested my head on Hunter’s shoulder, unsure how I would have survived without his strong, reassuring presence. He was doing everything in his power to help without my having to ask. He was a gift I had done nothing to merit. I toed off Sam’s shoes and rubbed my toes inelegantly with one hand, sighing at the relief. Hunter batted my hand away, pulling my foot into his lap and began to rub. I groaned my appreciation.

  “Shoes hurting you?”

  “I grabbed Sam’s shoes when you insisted on footwear.”

  “I’m a tyrant like that.”

  “I’m getting used to your autocratic demeanor. Oh, right there.”

  It felt so good. Every muscle and tendon in my foot felt as if they’d been tied in clumsy knots. As Hunter kneaded, each slowly released, abating my suffering. We remained in silence for a long time, Hunter massaging my feet, both of us lost in contemplation. When he finally released my feet I rested my head on his shoulder and drifted off again.

  Hunter woke me when Detective Norse arrived. He took my statement and asked several questions regarding Sam’s usual routine. He questioned if anyone would want to hurt Sam. Had she been threatened? Was there anyone I could think of that was capable of such violence? My answer to all of his questions was a resounding “no.”

  Not long after the detective left, my phone rang. I could tell by the international exchange that it was the Whitneys. I took a moment to fortify myself before answering. I spoke to Mrs. Whitney first, but Mr. Whitney took the phone when her emotions overtook her. I explained what had happened and tried my best to answer his questions. I promised to phone with any developments. There was still so much I didn’t know. They were going to find the first flight back to the US and would come directly to the hospital. I told them I had not contacted Sam’s brothers and Mr. Whitney said he would take care of it. As I ended the call, I understood just a little of what doctors and law enforcement officers must endure each time they had to deliver horrendous news to families and loved ones.

  I still had not heard
from Robbie, so I tried his cell again. Voicemail. He was clearly enjoying a peaceful night sleep. It may be the last he had for a long while.

  Thirty minutes later, five hours after our initial arrival, a nurse found us. She asked that we follow her to a private waiting room to speak with the doctor. I clutched Hunter’s hand, fearing the worst. Why would she take us to a separate waiting room unless the doctor was going to deliver the worst outcome possible? Feeling my tension and apprehension, Hunter wound his arm around my waist to support me.

  “Don’t make any assumptions. They probably just want to speak privately. It won’t be long before the news channels find out about the attack, and they must protect Sam’s identity and the details. It’s going to be okay, I’ve got you. You can do this.”

  When we entered the room, the nurse assured me the doctors would arrive shortly. Thankfully, the wait was less than three minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Two men and one woman walked into the room together all dressed in scrubs.

  “Are you the family of Samantha Whitney?” the woman asked.

  “I’m her best friend; her parents are traveling in Europe and are on their way back now. I’m Sam’s emergency contact, if that helps. Please, just let me know how she is.”

  They exchanged looks, assessing the wisdom of sharing such sensitive information, particularly given the circumstances of her injuries, with a non-family member.

  “I believe you have all been briefed by hospital representatives about the nature of the attack and the ongoing investigation. Detective Norse assured me he would speak to administrators to authorize Miss Carsen’s knowledge of the full extent of Miss Whitney’s injuries. Since Miss Carsen is her emergency contact, I presume there would be no violations of the patient privacy HIPAA Laws. Please, Miss Carsen and Miss Whitney are extremely close, they are like sisters, raised together,” Hunter championed my cause.

  “Very well,” one of the gentlemen replied, “my name is Dr. Halthum, I’m the head of the Neurosurgical Department. Miss Whitney sustained severe intracranial bleeding caused by trauma. I have surgically relieved the pressure, but she will need to remain in a medically induced coma until she has stabilized. We will closely monitor with CT scans to ensure excess blood doesn’t pool and create additional pressure. We have prescribed a series of diuretics to reduce swelling and anticonvulsants to prevent further seizures. I believe we were able to treat her in time to prevent any permanent damage. We won’t be certain until she wakes, but we are hopeful her cognitive and motor functions will be intact.”