Demanding Ransom (31 page)

“What
about Sterling?”

“I
haven’t seen Sterling since yesterday afternoon, but I called him and he said
he won’t be back for two more hours. They have quite an odd arrangement, you
know.” Ran returns my kiss and then lifts up. My shoulders sag instantly with
my disappointment. I really don’t want Ran to leave right now. I really want to
have my way with him. I think we’re both tired enough and our inhibitions might
be just low enough that if I continue kissing him here in my bed, that things
might head in the direction I’m hoping.

“There’s
an urgent care just over the summit,” Ran says, pulling out of my grip
completely. “It shouldn’t take too long to get her hydrated again. Sterling
said to take their Range Rover. It’s got her booster seat already in it.” He
leans toward me slowly and presses his body against mine to finally give me the
kiss I’ve been craving. I bite his lip as he pulls away, hoping to provoke him,
frustrated that I don’t get to spend the morning with him in my bed and in my
arms.

“Drive
safe,” I whisper, surrendering because I know his mind is made up. Caretaking
over making out. I see where I rank. “See you soon.”

“Love
you, my love,” he says, disappearing into the hall. “I’ll see you soon.”

I shower
and dress unhurriedly, taking advantage of the oversized tub and expensive
toiletries that line the cabinets like cans of food in a doomsday prepper’s
pantry. Ran’s been gone for two hours, and Sterling came home a while back to
retrieve my mom and the rest of the brood for an afternoon on the slopes. It’s
odd to me that no one seems to wonder or worry about Brittany, but I guess I
shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like any of these children are actual family
members; they’re just necessary accessories in the fake life they’ve created
and so desperately try to maintain. Like plastic dolls in a dollhouse.

While
everyone was away, I also took advantage of Ran’s empty room, curling up in the
mess of sheets on his mattress, wrapping myself in his scent. I laid there,
playing out different scenarios in my head of what it would be like to be with
him in it. In every instance and every daydream, it was absolute perfection.

After
soaking up all that I could of what was left of Ran, I rummaged through his
dresser, pulled out one of his shirts and slipped it over my head. He told me
he wanted me to have one, so it wasn’t quite stealing. More like picking out a
gift I know he wanted me to have. I headed back to my own room to fit a sweater
over my head, and loved how it pushed the fabric of his thin shirt closer
against my skin. If I couldn’t have his own skin on mine at the moment, I
supposed his shirt would do.

I’m just
sitting down in the oversized chair in the corner of the room when my cell
phone flashes, vibrating repeatedly across the nightstand. I hate the
service—or lack of—that we have up here, and it looks like I’m just
now receiving all of my texts at once. Seriously, what’s the point in having a
phone if no one can contact you through it? Technology sucks sometimes.

Dad: Maggie, u there?

Dad: Maggie, you need to come to the hospital.

Dad: Call me as soon as you get this. You gotta
get down here.

My heart
rips through my chest, beating so loudly that every outside noise is swallowed
up in its pulsating rhythm. I look at the times of the texts. He sent them a
half hour ago, probably when I was in the shower. One alone would be enough to
cause panic. All three texts at once nearly pushes me over the edge.

I tap my
fingers across the screen and just as I’m about to hit enter, it goes black.

Oh God.
What could be wrong with Mikey? I don’t have time to think about all of the
horrifying possibilities. I spin around the room like a tornado, stuffing my
clothes and items into the luggage I brought, zipping it back up so furiously
that I catch my finger in the teeth of it. “Ah!” I scream, blood trickling from
the fresh wound onto the bed sheets underneath. There go Mom’s perfect sheets.
I thrust my finger into my mouth—I don’t have time for a Band-Aid.

Flying
down the stairs two at a time, I race toward the kitchen to locate a notepad
and pen. I scribble fast, hope it’s somewhat legible, and run the paper back
upstairs to leave it on Ran’s bed.

Had to leave for the hospital. Something with
Mikey.

My cell’s dead, but I’ll call as soon as I get
there.

I love you (it feels so good to say that, even
better to write it)

***

I don’t
know how I managed to make it down the hill in one piece, especially because I
don’t recall a single second of the drive. It’s like I was on autopilot as the
Ranger gripped the curves and trailed the line of brake lights ahead. I just
remember staring—vacant—as I pressed and released on the gas pedal
accordingly. I don’t know why I did it—it had been dead for a few
hours—but I constantly found myself glancing toward my cell on the
passenger seat, expecting it to vibrate to life. Instead, it just taunted me
with its empty, black screen.

When I pulled
into the parking lot of the hospital, every emotion that had been held back by
my daze came crashing through. I slammed my hands against the wheel, over and
over, taking everything out on the inanimate object that couldn’t fight back
because for once, I needed to be stronger than my surroundings. After several
moments of battering, I collect my thoughts, breath and courage.

I don’t
want to walk through those doors. I don’t want to meet whatever tragedy is
waiting there for me. My brain flashes through the possibilities like a
flipbook. Mikey as a vegetable, his mouth slack and a feeding tube coiling out
of it. Mikey with a death sentence, given just two more months to live. Mikey
as a cold, lifeless body, one that I didn’t have the opportunity to hold one
last time while it was warm.

I shake
my head, bite down hard on my lip, and throw open the truck door violently. Dad
catches it before it crashes into the frame of the car next to me.

***

“The
hippocampus is the area in the brain that is used in memory consolidation.” The
voice coming out of the man with the white lab coat filters into my ears like
the drone emanating from a hornets nest. “It stores all new memories until it
transfers them to the neocortex to add to the long term memories already there.
When this is damaged—and it can be in many ways, either through tumors,
trauma, surgery, or even from repeated mild ‘trauma’ occurring over a period of
time, like is often the case with football players—when it’s damaged,
often the memories retained there are lost.” I stare blankly at his face. He
has strong, dark features and is someone I would consider good-looking had I
seen him on any other day than today. But now I see nothing, I feel nothing,
and the words he says mean nothing.

“Do you
follow so far, Miss Carson?” I give him a slow, robotic nod. “It is referred to
as retrograde amnesia. It’s not like what you see in movies where people don’t
remember who they are or anything about their past. It’s not even on that
scale. He hasn’t lost who he is.” The doctor pulls my hand into his own. His
bedside manner is compassionate and warm, but I can’t feel any of it now. I
can’t feel anything. “He doesn’t need to relearn things such as speech and
semantics. All of his procedural skills, like work and what he’s learned in
school, are also intact. At the core, he’s still the same.”

A
stretcher rushes past in the crowded hallway and the doctor and I slink back
onto the wall. “This type of amnesia is temporally graded, meaning remote
memories will still be there, while the newer ones will be harder to recall.
And often the most recent memories will never come back.” He looks straight in
my eyes, trying to draw some sign of recognition out of me, but I have nothing
to give. “It’s much more rare than anterograde amnesia where you lose the
ability to create new memories, so he’s very lucky in that sense. If you’re
going to have something like this happen, this is the type that you want.”

I snap
my head. “The type that you’d want?” I spit. “He still has amnesia. Part of him
is still gone!”

“I’m not
implying that this is a good thing.” He pats down the air between us. “I’m just
saying that he’s a very lucky man. He hasn’t lost much, Miss Carson. And in
time, he might be able to get that back, too.” The doctor sidesteps and holds
out his arm, extending it toward the doorway behind him. “Would you like to see
him?”

I lift
my head mindlessly. No, I don’t want to see him. I want to run. I want to
scream. I want to be anywhere but in this hospital again, this shell of a
building that constantly hurts rather heals.

“Remember,
no expectations,” he instructs, his hand on the knob. “And keep this first
visit short. He’s been through an enormous ordeal.”

The
doctor pushes on the handle and the door sways open.

I
swallow hard, my dry tongue ripping up and down in my throat. I feel my heart
pulsing through every inch of my skin; I see it vibrating in my trembling
hands. There’s a nurse at his bedside, pushing something into an IV bag that
hangs above her. She glances my direction.

“Come on
over,” she whispers, her finger pressed to her lips. “He just woke up.”

I place
one foot in front of the other, staring down at them each time I take a forward
step because it feels like I’m walking in one of those bounce houses, unable to
get my footing. There’s an empty chair at his bedside and I count the number of
steps it will take for me to get there. Ten. Just ten more steps.

The
nurse scoots past, pulls the door closed on her way out, and the buzz in the
hallway shuts off instantly. Now the buzzing exists only in my ears. It’s loud
and disorienting, and every bit as distracting as the stretchers, hospital
workers, and machines that echo noisily in the hall.

I close
my eyes the last two paces and drop into the plastic chair, my breath held so tightly
in my chest that it burns, searing my lungs just like the cold air on that
mountaintop.

Our eyes
meet.

His
cheek is bruised a violent purple hue. There’s a long, thin gash that stretches
the length of his forehead and into his right eyebrow, stopping just above his
eyelid, just above his thick lashes. His entire left arm is encased in white
bandages, bound so tight that he couldn’t bend it even if he had the strength
to try.

His lips
curl into the faintest hint of a smile and his eyes react noticeably with the
pain it produces.

“Maggie,”
Ran whimpers, groaning at the last syllable of my name, like it hurts to say
it. I’m sure it does.

I just
stare. Nothing comes out. I don’t let myself feel the slight joy that hearing
him speak my name brings. I don’t allow myself to feel it. I don’t allow myself
to feel anything, and it’s an act I’ve perfected over the years. I draw up my
guard so high like a protective wall around an ancient city and ball into a
corner behind it, refusing to feel.

“Maggie,”
he says again, almost inaudibly. “It is Maggie, right?”

The
well-constructed guard comes crashing down in ruins with the solitary tear that
skims across my cheek. “Yes,” I smile, hurting just as bad as he appears to,
only my injuries can’t be seen on the surface like the ones decorating his
skin. “It’s Maggie.”

That
trace of a grin feathers across his bruised lips. “How’s your leg?” He moans
again and I want to help him, to figure out the source of his pain and take it
away.

“My leg is
good,” I smile, harnessing the dishonesty in my voice. “It’s good.”

“I’m
glad.” The last look he gives me tugs another tear down my face. I swipe the
back of my hand across my cheek. “Bet you don’t want to lick these lips so
badly right now, do you?”

I do.
More than anything.
I want to push my
lips onto his, forcing him to remember. Making him remember. Making him
remember
me
. I want to draw back the
last few months from of the depths and shove them to the forefront of his
brain. I don’t want our time together to be lost in the abyss of stolen
memories.
I
don’t want to be lost.
I’ve spent too much of my life being lost. Ran finally found me.

But
instead I just smile.

“They
say I was transporting a patient and fell asleep at the wheel. But then they
had to life flight me which doesn’t make any sense because that would be too
far away.” His voice cracks. “And I never drove the ambulance. I don’t know why
I would have been driving it.” The strain in his voice and face cause me to
mirror his expression without even meaning to. Everything is tight: my mouth,
my brow, my jaw. “It hurts, Maggie.” He grimaces again. “Do you know what
happened to the patient?”

“She’s
fine,” I smile weakly. “Don’t think about it all right now. Get some rest.” I
cautiously bring my hand to the edge of his bed and lay it on the fabric,
knowing I have no right to want the closeness I so badly need right now.
Slowly, like every millimeter of movement has to be carefully planned, Ran’s
fingers inch across the space and he links his curled pinky with mine. My heart
quivers and I suck in a breath.