Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer (Nightmares Trilogy) (12 page)

I didn't trust myself to say a word. I nodded fervently and looked away. My eyes landed on the bouquets in the sink. "I'll go get some vases for your flowers." I grabbed them.

"Flowers?"
Her question came out entirely devoid of emotion.

"Flowers," I repeated, holding them out.
"Happy birthday, Caitlin." Dragging my heavy heart with me, I left.

Forced kisses.
A violation.

The breath of a cruel mouth on mine.

Smell of stale old beer. Like a pub the morning after a party.

Pathetic and mean.

Taste of ash.

Dry hard lips.

Dry tongue, rough and forceful.

Discarded.

No.

Passed to another.

Now what?

Arms closed.

Steel.

Trapped.

Going to hurt

No

"Today we'll take the dressings off your hands. Your fingers should have almost healed up by now." Nurse Judith sounded really pleased at the prospect. She started pulling the curtains around the bed, the rings scraping on the rail. "You, out."

I looked up to find the nurse glaring at me, jabbing her finger at the door.

I was sitting fairly comfortably in the visitor's chair beside Caitlin's bed. We were watching a Simpsons rerun on her TV and every time she laughed my heart felt a little lighter.

Caitlin had barely spoken to me in three days, except when it was absolutely necessary, but this morning it seemed like she'd decided to forgive me a little. At least, she'd thanked me with a smile for helping her with breakfast. I still held out hope that she'd be happy to have me here in hospital with her – maybe having her hands healed and whole would help. Hell, it'd make me feel better to know she was less helpless.

I stood up so that I could look down on the grumpy nurse.

She had no excuse to kick me out this time. Baring Caitlin's hands was hardly R-rated, especially as I'd seen them in a far worse state than they'd be in today. In a month, her fingers had almost healed straight. I wanted to be there to celebrate with her, if she'd let me.

I glanced at Caitlin to see if there was the slightest chance that she agreed with the nurse. If she didn't want me here, that was different.

Caitlin looked at me fearfully, her eyes widening as panic seized her. "No, I want Nathan to stay," she managed to say. Her eyes said
please
when her mouth was silent.

With a slight nod to Caitlin and a shrug to the blonde nurse, I sat down again. Caitlin leaned closer to me and I placed an arm lightly on the pillows behind her, around but not quite touching her shoulders, ready to take it away if she objected. To my surprise, she relaxed into my embrace as she held out her hands to the nurse. "Do it," Caitlin said, swallowing hard. I felt her tense as the nurse took hold of her right hand, the one farther away from me.

The nurse freed Caitlin's hands as if she were eagerly unwrapping a fragile gift while wanting to preserve the paper. She peeled the gauze away with deft fingers and pulled off the splints. I almost didn't realise when Caitlin's fingers were bare. I thought I was looking at another layer of bandages. Pale, thin and white, her fingers were like brittle, petrified sticks of driftwood.

Nurse Judith's hands were as pale as her complexion, but they looked in the pink of health beneath Caitlin's damaged digits. I ached to hold Caitlin's delicate hand in mine, but I couldn't say why.

"Okay, let's see how well you can move these. Just bend them, one at a time," the nurse coaxed.

I held my breath, my eyes on each finger as it curled up like a salted slug before straightening again. Her thumb looked fine, as did her index finger
... only her middle finger provoked a grimace of pain as Caitlin tried to curl it into her palm.

"Good," cooed the nurse, nodding her approval. "Well, four out of five healing perfectly is good. You might have trouble with that middle one, but I'm sure you won't need it. You might even be nicer to us nurses
..."

Caitlin's face broke into a beaming smile as she flipped the finger at the nurse.

Nurse Judith looked put out. "Maybe not."

Caitlin laughed. "I'm always nice to nurses, except when they tell me I'm not going to recover. I'll be fine. You'll see."

The nurse sighed. "Yup, another arrogant doctor." She held out her hand and Caitlin placed her left hand in the grumpy woman's clutches.

She rested her right hand on the sheet, where it blended in like a pale spider. I fought the urge to take her hand in mine as she wiggled her fingers absently.

"And the other hand?" Nurse Judith asked expectantly.

Both Caitlin and I looked at her fragile left hand. This time she bent all her fingers at once, like a spider curling up to die, before spreading them out straight. Some of them didn't straighten
completely. "Some stiffness," she mused. "But better." She placed both hands side by side in her lap. "Physio with finger exercises next. Won't that be fun!" She moved her fingers, simulating typing on a keyboard.

Soon she'd be able to type up her own nightmares. She wouldn't need my help and I'd have to ask her to tell me before she sent me away.
Soon.
I didn't know whether to be happy for her freedom or sad for mine.

"Here, I'll help you wash your hands," I heard Nurse Judith say, bringing my mind back to the two women in front of me.

The nurse carefully wiped Caitlin's hands with a face washer from the bathroom and helped her dry them on a towel. She threw them both into a bag for dirty linen in the corner and leaned in closer to Caitlin. "Do you want me to go see if I can get some bubbly from the kitchen?"

Caitlin shook her head. "I don't believe there's any alcohol for drinking in a hospital."

Nurse Judith winked. "There is – for the candlelight dinners in the maternity ward. I'll go get you some and you can toast having your hands back!"

She headed out of the room.

I shifted out of the visitor's chair and perched on the edge of Caitlin's bed. She had a big smile on her face as she looked down at her hands.

I couldn't help smiling – I'd never seen her look so happy. "Congratulations," I said.

She lifted her eyes so she smiled at me. She held out her hands as if she was drying nail polish. Her hands were trembling a little and I reached out to take hers in mine.

Words couldn't describe how relieved I was that her hands had healed okay. I wanted to shake her hand, but even the slightest pressure of my fingers had her trying to pull out of my grasp, so I stopped. Lightheaded, I did something silly. I touched my lips to the back of first one hand, then the other. Her hands were warm and moist, like I imagined her lips would feel after she'd just had a sip of coffee.

Caitlin laughed, breaking into my reverie, her eyes puzzled. "What was that for?" she asked.

I forced a smile, trying to make my tone light. "I'm not sure. It just seemed like the right thing to do."

And now what I wanted to do most was kiss her properly, but not on her hands. There's a stupid idea.
I let go of her and turned away to look out of the window. I looked in vain for the spider in her corner web, but all I saw was the image of Caitlin's ghostly hands spread across my vision, finally free.

I remember waking up and it was dark.

Still groggy from the drugs, I couldn't see.

My head hurt.

I was tied up.

My body resting on cold concrete. I felt bruised, not knowing how long I'd lain there.

Shifting.
Something harder by my hip.

They didn't. They did?

They missed it. Let me keep it.

Stupid.

Thank you.

Must reach it to free myself.

Painfully twisting, trying to reach my pocket. Need something sharp.

Shoulders burning, straining, reaching...

Fingertips found plastic.

Now for something sharp.

Tiny scissors, slow but safer than a knife.
Didn't want to risk hurting my hands with the big blade.

Slicing strands, sawing
... then my hands were free.

Slipping the card back into my pocket.
Just in case.

Dizzy when I stood up.

Angry voices in the dark. Shouting at Chris.

A door opened and there was light.

I ran for it, trying to push past the standing shape in the doorway.

Room swirling into darkness again.
I was falling.

His hands on me.

He caught me, so I didn't fall.

Helping.

He offered me food and water.

Something for the pain.

Help.

But not enough.

Caitlin sat at the window, her hand a pale spider on the glass, her eyes scanning the lake and the gardens below. She sat so long without moving that I thought she'd fallen asleep, until she spoke. "What's the date, Nathan? It's September, isn't it?" She didn't look away from the window.

I admitted that I didn't know the exact date, but that, yes, it was September.

"The last time I was outside in daylight it was still winter. Now it's spring." She heaved a big sigh and turned her dark eyes on me. "I want to see the flowers."

I'll bring you any flowers you want. I'll fill your room with them – as long as I can
keep you safe.

I looked at the bin in the corner, which now held the remains of her birthday flowers. Mine had outlasted Jason's, but only by a day.

"I don't know if it's a good idea to leave the hospital yet," I hedged. "Maybe after you've been discharged – it can't be long."

"The gardens downstairs are still hospital grounds," she stated. "And I've seen at least two patients walking around in them. I think they were smoking."

"So you want to go downstairs and inhale lots of passive cigarette smoke?" That was the least of my concerns. I was worried about the difficulty of keeping her safe in the grounds, with their winding paths and spots where you were invisible to most eyes. "What if one of the smokers is actually one of your attackers waiting for a second chance?"

"Then I'll have to run them over," she said softly, her voice muffled. "Anyway, only one of them smoked and he's dead."

I lost interest in what she was saying, watching in fascination as she struggled out of the hospital gown and into her borrowed surgical scrubs. Her hands were paler than the rest of her skin between the dressings, but the dressings were far fewer than they'd initially been. Her back looked smooth, the curve of her shoulders down to her spine unmarred by any gauze now. There were scars, of course, but these were starting to fade. She let out a whimper as she pulled the V-necked shirt over her head. I tensed, waiting. I knew something must have hurt her, but she seemed determined not to ask for help.

I watched as she arched her back, pulling the pants on over the patch on her thigh where the stitches had been removed only yesterday. She whimpered a little more, then gritted her teeth and dragged the pants up to her waist.

She saw me watching, but didn't say anything until she'd finished. "You could have averted your eyes. It's considered polite."

"I could have, but you should have asked me for help," I returned, keeping my voice even. "If you'd wanted privacy, you could have changed in the bathroom, or closed the curtains around your bed." She wouldn't admit that she couldn't do either of those, I realised. Nor would she ask for help. I wished I'd done what any normal person would have and looked away, instead of waiting for her to stop and ask me for help. Then maybe I wouldn't have felt like such a pervert, watching an injured girl struggle to dress
herself. I wanted to apologise.

Caitlin wasn't listening. She eyed the wheelchair outside her room, much further than she could walk unaided. She stood up carefully, clamping her mouth shut. She took a step, her face white from the effort, but her eyes spoke volumes about pain. My heart felt crushed like a Coke can – I could almost hear the sound of it crunching in her clenched fist.

Don't do this to yourself, angel – it's painful to watch.

I gave in, standing up and moving to bar her way before she took another step. For a moment, she looked up at me, determined not to be cowed, but the pain was too much for her and she closed her eyes as she crumpled. I was ready; I had my arms around her, supporting her weight, before she could hit the floor. I lifted her and carried her back to where she'd been sitting on the edge of her bed.

"You don't need to fight me," I said softly. "I'm not here to hurt you. Save your energy so you can recover for when you do need to fight."

She was still pale, shaking where she sat. Even as she opened her eyes, they looked down and wouldn't meet mine.

I sank to a crouch in front of her on the floor. "If you don't recover, they win."

She stared at me. "I'm getting better."

I dropped my voice lower, aiming to be persuasive. "If you let me help you, you'll get better faster. And it won't hurt as much, either."

"I'm not asking for your help. You know I won't." Stubbornly, she pressed her lips together and looked away.

I couldn't charm her. Maybe I could shock it out of her. Not like I'd get anything any other way.

"Who helped you before, Caitlin? Who brought you food, water, medicine? Someone helped you survive." I kept my voice low, so only she could hear me.

She looked back at me, shocked, swallowing convulsively, before closing her eyes. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Someone who didn't wait for me to ask. Someone kind. Someone... I haven't talked about."

Stubborn little thing,
I thought, jubilant that she told me more than anyone else and uneasy that she could remember so much. How much more had she remembered that I didn't know? "It's polite to wait 'til you ask. But even if you're not going to ask, I'm still going to try to help you. I won't let them win."

Her eyes were still closed, so I couldn't tell what her reaction was. Yet my eyes never left her face.

"I want to go outside." Her voice surprised me. Something in her expression said I couldn't stop her.

"And how are you going to get there?" I asked.

She looked across the corridor. "I'm going to reach that wheelchair, then I'm going to use it to go down in the lift and outside."

"What if you fall again?" I asked her.

She bit her lip. "Then I'll crawl."

I believed her. But the mental image of her crawling commando-style across the floor was pretty damn funny.

"How will you push the wheelchair?" I struggled to keep a straight face.

She held out her hands, which shook slightly even as she tried to hold them still. "I can use my hands a little. It's downhill from the front entrance to the gardens, so that should be easy."

"How will you get back up the hill to the hospital?" I asked her.

She lifted her chin. "I'll wait until someone offers me a hand."

"What if no one else is out there to make the offer?"

She bit her lip again. "Then I'll wait for security to come looking for me."

At the thought of her waiting in the garden until security came looking for her, I laughed. I couldn't think of her doing anything more senseless when it came to her own safety – and Caitlin wasn't that stupid.

"Or you could ask me to come with you," I suggested as I lifted her from the bed and over to the wheelchair.

"Thank you," she said softly, looking down. Hesitantly, she placed her hands on the wheels and I held my breath. I didn't want her fragile fingers getting hurt all over again, struggling to handle a wheelchair. I couldn't keep up this show of indifference. If she went without me, I was damn well going to follow her to make sure she stayed safe.

Caitlin looked up at me, smiling impishly. "So, are you coming?"

My face lifted with a smile, taking my heart up with it. "Sure," I said. "The downhill path goes all the way through the garden to the lake. Someone's going to have to be there to fish you out."

She stared at me in disbelief.

"You'll see." I shrugged, starting to push her down the corridor to the lift.

I was bloody glad she couldn't see my face, because I couldn't keep the grin off it. She trusted me more than anyone else and she still wanted me around.

When we reached the lake, Caitlin started to laugh. I helped her sit on a bench by the edge of the water. She stretched her bare foot out but we were too far away for her toes to reach the murky brown surface. She pulled her foot back quickly, her toes lightly brushing the grass beneath the seat.

"So, are you going in?" I asked her, nodding at the water.

She laughed a little more. "No, it's cold and dirty. I'll leave the lake for the ducks and the fish." More soberly, she continued, "And I'm not sure if I should even consider swimming yet. I'd probably have to recover more before I could swim, or even go in the water." She stared out over the lake, her fingers resting on the cotton covering the transplanted skin on her thigh.

I sat beside her in silence, waiting for her to break it.

"Oh, look!" she cried suddenly, pointing across the lake.

I could see ripples on the surface, but nothing remarkable, and I said as much.

"Ducklings – look, four of them!" She pointed again, counting them for me. I could barely discern something small and brown on top of the ripples. She looked at me hopefully. "Can we go to the other side of the lake to see them better?"

I lifted her back into the wheelchair and pushed her to the paths on the other side of the lake, where they became the maze I'd been trying to avoid.

As we reached the far side, we could see the little ducks climbing up beside the waterfall that fed the lake, into the garden bed above. Full of misgivings, I took her further along one of the paths, into the gardens where the ducklings had disappeared.

Around a corner we found a small pond, hidden from view by manicured hedges, where an adult duck swam with a whole family of ducklings. There must have been at least ten of them.

Caitlin dropped to her knees beside the pond and sat motionless, entranced by the small fluffy things floating on the surface of the water. I stood near her, mesmerised by the smile on her face as she watched the ducks. I still had enough presence of mind to look around every few minutes, worried for her safety.

I heard their voices before I saw them.

"I give it another hour or two. Then it's pretty much getting dark – when I give up 'til tomorrow," one drawled.

"So if I stay five minutes longer than you and I spot her, I get her all to myself," the second taunted.

"If she comes out.
All the hospital will say is that she's in a critical condition – no visitors – but it's been weeks. What makes you think it'll be today?"

"Why today or any other day?
No one's critical for weeks. Either she's dead or she'll be discharged any day. Bet you a beer it's today." Two sounded bored. I heard the repeated scrape and click of a lighter, but he was too far away for me to smell the smoke from his cigarette.

"Okay. Bet you a coffee she's not as pretty as all the pictures
..." One of the voices faded as he moved down the path away from us.

"Angel," I leaned down to say in a low voice beside her ear, "
are you ready to give press interviews yet?"

"Hmm?"
She looked up at me in surprise. "Interviews?"

"There's a press crew around, waiting for you. I heard them talking."

She went pale, her smile evaporating. "I don't want to, oh hell, not yet."

"Time to go back inside
, then." I held out my arms, ready to help her up.

She looked wistful. "We're pretty well hidden here. We could stay and hope they'll just go away."

Against my better judgement, I gave in, with conditions. "If they do see us, I'll get you inside as fast as I can."

"Okay." She looked up at me with inviting eyes, her eager smile back. "Oh, come on, they're so cute. Take a look at the baby ducks. I've never seen ducklings this close before."