Deceived 6 - Ultimate Deception (2 page)

Elyse sniffled and rubbed her hands across her cheeks. I let her go, gently turning her towards Ricky who wrapped his arms around her. The grateful expression on his face said that he’d been trying to tell her something similar but she hadn’t listened to him.

I took a deep breath. The act of calming Elyse had allowed me to calm myself. My thoughts shifted to other matters as the surreal fog that always surrounds these kinds of events began to lift from my brain. I might not be able to do anything for Chloe or Victoria, but I could make sure that everything else was taken care of so that I didn’t have to leave their side.

“There are some things I do need you guys to do,” I said, allowing my voice to take on a steady, business-like tone. “Chloe and I were supposed to check out tomorrow and fly back home. I can’t use a phone up here and I’m not leaving. I need someone to check us out of the hotel and bring our luggage here.”

“I can do one better than that,” Ricky said. “I know the manager over there. I’ll get him to have a room for you indefinitely, even if it means juggling some things around.”

“I can’t ask you to–”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

I’d been in enough business meetings to know when an argument was done. “Thank you,” I said sincerely before moving on. “Elyse and Ryan, I need the two of you in New York first thing Monday morning.”

“We’re staying,” Elyse started.

“No,” I said firmly. “I don’t know how long we’re going to be down here and I need the two of you to hold down the fort. I’m not leaving her side and Chloe can’t travel until after the baby’s born. We’re both staying in Miami.”

Chapter 2

Chloe

I was aware of nothing.

There was black.

Then white.

And cold.

I didn’t understand the transition. I didn’t understand any of this.

I tried to open my eyes, but the lids were too heavy. I could feel myself swimming against an undertow that was trying to pull me back under. Under where? Where had I been and why was I there? Why couldn’t I just open my eyes?

A wave of confusion washed over me. I couldn’t feel my body. Was it morning and this was a dream? My pulse jolted into action and I felt my heart thud against my ribs. There was so much to process and my ability to have command over my senses of sight and sound were all garbled. With the return of feeling to my body, heat started to melt away the cold. I hadn’t realized that things were silent until noise returned. It was muffled, as if I had cotton in my ears, but it brought me closer to the surface. I knew I had to wake up, but I couldn’t remember why. There was something important I needed to do or someone I needed to see...

Patrick.

His name hit me and my heart squeezed inside my chest. Yes. Patrick. He was why I needed to wake up.

“Chloe, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

The familiar tone of his voice floated into my consciousness, so faintly at first I wasn’t sure I was really hearing him. Was I just so desperate to see him that my mind was playing tricks on me? If I could just open my eyes, I’d know. But what if it was just my imagination? What if my eyes were already open, but this strange, blank white was all I could see?

“Chloe, love, come back to me.”

It was Patrick. His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet soothing and beckoning. I knew it deep inside my soul. I had to tell him I was here, that I was trying to get back to him, but my body wouldn’t obey me, treacherous thing.

“Please, baby. I can’t live without you.”

The broken sound of his voice gave me a surge of strength and I felt myself being thrust through that last little bit that had been holding me back. I sucked in air, feeling it fill my lungs. Strong fingers were around mine and I heard the frantic, repetitive beeping sound of a machine hovering in the air around me.

“Chloe?”

I told my eyes to open and, this time, they obeyed. I blinked—a long, slow blink. The second time, I managed to keep them open.

“Patrick?” My voice was rough, and his name rushed out with relief. I was finally able to speak.

“I’m right here.”

And there he was, his face rising into my line of sight. He seemed real this time and then I looked around the room to try to get a bearing on where I was but it all seemed so unfamiliar. He was pale and there were lines on his face that I knew weren’t there the last time I’d seen him.

“Where am I?” The question was harder to get out than it should have been.

“The hospital.”

I tried glaring at him, but that only made him smile. “The beeping kinda gave that away.” My words sounded slightly slurred, almost as if I was drunk. But that wasn’t possible. I knew there was a reason why. I was so sure of that, and it was an important one, but it escaped me.

Patrick’s free hand moved up to my face, his fingers brushing against my cheek so gently, as if he was afraid he’d break me. Why was he touching me like that? Why was I in a hospital? What had happened? I didn’t know what to ask first.

Patrick saved me from having to choose. “You fell down the stairs.”

The thing I’d been trying to remember hit me like a lightning bolt, forcing me to sit up bolt right. Panic shot through me, sharp and bright, clearing away the last of the haze. I sat up so fast that my vision blurred and my head spun, but I didn’t acknowledge either. My hands immediately flew to my stomach. “Victoria!”

“Shh, she’s okay.” Patrick was immediately right there, one arm around my shoulders, the other hand resting over one of mine on my stomach. “She’s okay.”

Patrick eased me back against the pillows and settled on the edge of the bed, keeping his hand on mine. “You’ve been in a medically-induced coma for...a while.”

I looked up at him when I heard the hitch in his voice. The hint of blue that was usually in his steel-gray eyes wasn’t there and the gray was darker than I’d ever seen it, like a storm cloud.

“The doctors didn’t know how your body was going to respond and that’s what they did to protect you both.” His fingers tightened around mine. “This has been...I thought I was going to lose you both.” His voice cracked and I could see the tears shining in his eyes. I leaned my head against his shoulder and he pressed his lips against the top of my head. After a few moments, he continued. “They told me I might have to choose which one of you to save.”

I pulled back and looked up at him again. “Oh, Patrick.”

“I couldn’t do it.” He shook his head, as if he’d been asked again to decide. “I told them I wouldn’t choose. That they had to save both of you.” He laced his fingers between mine and lifted my hand to his lips, brushing them across my knuckles before placing our joined hands back on my belly. “I guess God must’ve heard me because you’re both okay.”

I let a tear slide down my cheek as I thought of what he’d gone through, and then I smiled. “You don’t even believe in God.”

Patrick smiled back and brushed the tear away. “After what happened, I do now.” His smile faded down into something more somber. “I’m so thankful you’re both okay.”

I lifted my hand to rub my now throbbing brow. A tug at the back of my hand drew my attention and I saw the IV there, secured with layers of white surgical tape pumping regulated quantities of saline solution into my system. As my eyes trailed up the tube to look at the plastic bag hanging on the stainless steel pole, my head tilted back and a massive headache erupted. Shards of pain pelleted my temples from all directions, forcing me to squeeze my eyes closed and drop my head forward.

“Chloe?”

I held up a finger, concentrating on breathing in and out like they’d taught us in Lamaze class. I figured if it worked for child birth, it’d work for a headache. Stairs, he’d said. I’d fallen down stairs. I must’ve hit my head, I reasoned. That answered a lot of questions. But what steps had I fallen down? We didn’t have any in our apartment and there was no way I could’ve climbed from the lobby if the elevator had been out. When I tried to think of the answer to that question, however, all I got was black.

“I don’t remember anything.” My voice was so soft I could barely hear it.

Suddenly, a different kind of panic clamped down on me, hard and cold. One that told me all this was a nightmare and when I opened my eyes, I’d be alone and lost, not knowing anything, not remembering. I opened my eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw Patrick there, looking down at me with such love and concern that I knew this was real. The pain in my head began to fade; however, the black hole of memory loss was still there.

“My head hurt.” I offered an explanation. “It’s better now.” I pushed myself up into a more comfortable sitting position and Patrick moved to the washed-out, pale green chair that was sitting next to my bed. I had a feeling he’d spent too many hours there already.

I looked around, careful not to move too suddenly, lest the dull throb at the base of my skull decided to blossom into something excruciating again. The room was small, colorless and depressing, but it appeared to at least be private. Not that it surprised me. I knew Patrick didn’t generally use his money and position to get privileges, but this time I was glad he had. This was confusing enough without dealing with a roommate and their relatives hearing me.

Patrick didn’t say a word. I knew he wanted to ask questions but he was waiting for me to acclimate. He settled into a stiff, metal hospital chair pulled up next to my bed. The chair was a washed-out pale green like everything in the room, lifeless in color and depressing. Except for Patrick. He was like a ray of sunshine in the midst of this terrible dream. But this wasn’t a dream. The dreams were all over. I was back to reality but I was extremely confused because the dreams had seemed so real. I remembered that I could hear people talking. Doctors and nurses talking in medical terms, discussing the dire prognosis of some patient, some poor woman in the hospital, and her life-threatening condition. In the dream, I wondered whom they were talking about and then I realized they were talking about me.

I looked over at Patrick and then I remembered what he’d said about God and realized what a miracle it was that my baby wasn’t hurt. Yes, it was a miracle, all right, and I was thankful for that. I gave Patrick a smile and held out my hand.

He took it and understood that I was ready for him to tell me more.

“The doctor said that you hit your head when you fell. That damn marble floor.”

Marble? I was confused, but put it aside for now. I was sure he’d explain.

“He said the concussion could result in the loss of some short-term memory.” Patrick’s fingers curled protectively around mine. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

I frowned, thinking. “I don’t know. The office. Decorating Victoria’s room.” The memories were there, fragmented and distant, like they’d happened longer ago than I thought.

I looked down at the little blue dots on the hospital gown that covered my stomach. They were organized into a pattern that resembled tiny blue flowers. Who did that, I wondered. Who decided on the patterns hospital gowns came in?

I ran my hand over the curve of my belly, waiting to feel my daughter’s response.

Nothing.

My pulse sped up and I tried to stay calm. Patrick had said she was okay. I repeated the movement that had always brought a response. I’d always thought of it as our little way to communicate, but there was no response now.

“Patrick, are you sure she’s okay?” My voice was shaking. “I don’t feel her kicking. She always kicks when I do this.” I ran my hand over my stomach again, faster this time, fighting panic. “Call someone, please.”

Patrick jumped to his feet, but he’d gone only two steps towards the door when he was interrupted by a cheerful-looking, older black woman. She was humming as she entered the room, her scrubs the same awful hospital green as the chair. She was carrying a plastic pitcher of water and seemed to be enjoying herself. The clash between her joy and my fear was almost cruel.

“I heard a rumor that someone was awake in here,” she called in a voice so full of lightness that I was surprised she wasn’t floating.

I stared at her, mouth hanging open. How could she be so happy when I was in the middle of a crisis? I couldn’t feel my baby.

The nurse set the water pitcher on the stand next to the bed and said, “Hey, there, little doll. I’m Keesha and we’ve been waiting most of the day for you to wake up. You had quite a nap.”

I grabbed her arm to make her stop talking and listen to me. “I can’t feel my baby. She’s not moving.”

My fingers digging into her flesh didn’t faze her a bit, but Patrick put his hand on my arm and I let go. Keesha gave me a gentle smile, like I was some mad woman, and my temper flared. I didn’t understand why she was acting like I was crazy. I’d woken up in this damn hospital after an accident I couldn’t remember and now I couldn’t feel my baby kick.

“Would you like to hear her heartbeat, dear?” Her tone was kind. I didn’t sense any condescension, then I realized how harsh I had come off sounding and reminded myself to apologize later.

“Can I?”

“Of course, honey,” she said as she pulled the stethoscope from around her neck.

I looked up at Patrick and he carefully laced his fingers through mine, mindful of the IV. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be annoyed at him for being so calm or if he knew more than me and that everything was okay.

“Here, put these in your ears and let’s find that little girl’s heartbeat.”

I put the earpieces in and practically held my breath as Keesha began to move the cool, flat end of the instrument around on my stomach.

“Tell me when you hear something.”

I strained my ears, my panic growing with each passing second of silence. “I don’t hear anything.” I shot a nervous glance over to Patrick but he just squeezed my hand. “Patience.” She continued to move the stethoscope around, a stoic sort of confidence on her face.

I wanted to believe that her actions came from years of experience and that Patrick’s lack of panic was because he knew our baby was okay, but motherly instincts were overriding common sense.