Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer (Nightmares Trilogy) (5 page)

I tried to ignore them and kept my eyes closed, but I couldn't help listening.

Maybe it was the sound of her voice – cute and young, but serious, too, like she really cared about her patient. "She's probably pregnant. With rape a possibility it's best to know as early as possible," she argued.

My heart contracted, as if I were crushing it in my own clenched fist. Hadn't Caitlin been through enough? She needed to recover from her ordeal and one day
learn to forget. She didn't deserve a lifelong reminder, a child belonging to one of the bastards who'd hurt her. She'd have scars enough as it was.

"No, she isn't. We checked twice. Both were negative." The other voice was calmer but sad.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Like I said, it could have been a mistake or too early to tell."

The sad voice sighed heavily. He sounded Irish. "Or she was very early into the pregnancy and she miscarried. But that would have been before she was admitted..."

There was blood everywhere. Her eyes were open, staring at the stars in the sky. I'd thought she was dead.

"Do we know for certain she was raped?"

Another sigh.
"If she was awake, I could ask her. But she's a seventeen-year-old girl who's been through hell and a lot of pain, given how long she was missing and the state she's in now. I'd say it's pretty much a certainty. I've left a note in her file and I'm leaving it at that. There's no need to ask her or even mention it. She's definitely not pregnant."

"I'd ask, Dr Lannon, just to be thorough. What if
..."

"Did you see her when she came in?" he demanded.

Blood and bruises everywhere. So cold. Twisted, broken fingers. Haunted eyes. Screaming...

"Have you been here when she has nightmares?" he pressed.

Endless screaming, wanting to run...

"No, I've just read her file because she was on my patient list today." Her voice sounded subdued.

I'd never seen such a long list of injuries. Line after line of damage.

"This girl was beaten and raped repeatedly for weeks then left on a beach to die. It's been all over the news. Would you want to be the one to remind her and make her relive all the gory details?"

No, but I didn't have any choice. I had to ask her. I needed to know.

A pregnant pause.
A quiet, "No, Dr Lannon."

"Besides, she'll tell us everything we need to know when she wakes up. She's a med student," said Dr Lannon with satisfaction.

Even the fucking doctor knew more about her than I did.

"Do you know her?"

The doctor laughed. "She stole my parking spot on her first day on prac here."

A sharp intake of breath.
"What did you do?"

"I parked somewhere else and told her what happens when you steal a doctor's parking space." Dr Lannon sounded amused.

"What?"

He took a deep breath, no longer laughing. "A midwife I met when I was an intern told me I'd be at that doctor's beck and call, running paperwork to the airport with medical
evac patients and the like." He paused and sighed. "But that was a country hospital, a long time ago. Here, she'd probably just get me coffee."

Caitlin's medical chart clacked as it was dropped into the slot at the end of her bed.

"Did she buy you a coffee?"

Dr Lannon laughed again. "No, my wife would kill me if I let strange girls buy me coffee."

"Which country hospital were you an intern at, Dr Lannon?"

Footsteps leaving.

"Albany Regional."
I heard the voices fade away down the corridor. "I'd feel more comfortable if you called me Aidan. I still look around for my father whenever someone says, 'Dr Lannon,' though it's been me for six years now..."

I drifted into sleep, trying to shut out the images of what Caitlin had looked like when I found her. Instead, they blended into a nightmare that I couldn't run from.

When Caitlin's scream woke me, it was almost a relief.

"Angel, it's all right. I'm
here. Wake up, angel. It's over," I said as I settled into the chair by her bed, hoping her nightmares would keep me awake for a while.

Cold and alone. Sand.

Couldn't feel anything anymore.

Stab of pain.

One of them, hurting me.

Too much pain.

Too weak to fight any more.

Saw a gun.
Time to end it.

Gunshots.
Screaming.

NO.

Won't let them hurt me again.

Promise?

Angel.

It's all right. I'm here.

Wake up, angel.

It's over.

"Hello?" Caitlin tried to sit up, struggling against the sheets that tucked her tightly in the bed. She looked around, bewildered, stretching her hands out as if reaching for something. "Where are you?"

Relief flooded through me. Finally. "I'm here, Caitlin. I haven't left." I stood up so that all she had to do was look up to see me.

Her eyes focussed on me, but she looked troubled. In concern, I reached for her hand. Too late I realised that I might hurt her. As my fingers grazed the gauze, I snatched them back. She looked at her hand in wonder at my touch as if she'd felt it through the bandage.

"I'm not dead, am I?" she asked in hushed tones.

I almost laughed but caught myself. She looked as if she might cry if I said the wrong thing. "You're doped up to the eyeballs and wrapped up like a mummy, but you're alive.
Very much alive – and in hospital, where you should be."

"What happened?" she quavered.

I was at a loss for where to begin. I didn't know how to describe what she'd been through – just thinking about it was enough to give me nightmares. "You were hurt..."

She started to shake her head,
then grimaced as this caused her pain. "No, I know that. There was lots of yellow with cartoon animals on the ceiling... but now I'm here and Winnie the Pooh is gone." She glared suspiciously at the ceiling.

If I were
Winnie the Pooh, I'd be hiring a bodyguard, I thought, hiding my smile. She looked as if she was ready to put him on a hit list.

Her eyes fixed on me again, her voice firmer and more urgent. "What happened?"

This time I didn't hesitate. "You fought the nurses. You were so scared. I think they gave you something to make you sleep – you've been asleep for a while."

She swallowed as if remembering was an effort. "I called for you. You weren't there. They said that you were being treated somewhere else. I wanted to get up to find you, but they wouldn't let me. I mustn't have tried hard enough
..."

Horrified at the memory, I cut her off. "You did too much as it was – if you'd done any more, we might have lost you. You came so close, Caitlin
... hell, I was scared." She looked shocked. Embarrassed at having said it, I looked out the window – anywhere but at her. Careful. I had a job to do here and couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

I waited for her to say something, but she was strangely silent. "Caitlin?" I asked, worried, looking back at h
er. Oh, fuck. Work could wait. She was far more important than any job. Seeing the tears cascading down her face and how hopeless she was at hiding them, I burst out, "Don't cry, angel. It's over."

That did it. She clung to me, sobbing, and I just held her, letting her cry herself out. After what seemed like forever, when I figured she'd cried
herself to sleep against my shirt, she pulled away, hiccupping.

"Thank you. I think
... you saved my life." Biting her lip, hesitating, she turned her eyes on me. "Who are you? I... I barely know you." She looked as if she might start crying again, her tears held back only by a force of will. I'd seen enough of her tears to last me into my next lifetime – or maybe just an eternity in hell after the end of this one.

I answered immediately, all of my prepared beginnings forgotten. "My name is Nathan Miller. I found you lying on the beach. I just brought you in to the hospital."

At this, she looked at her hands, bandaged up to her wrists, the IV drip taped to her already swollen right hand. "Nathan Miller," she murmured quietly, before taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. "Nathan," she breathed, her eyes still closed, as if my name were a new wine she were tasting, focussing on the feel of the word on her tongue.

I found myself holding my breath, unsure of what to say to this girl, a near stranger. A hysterical thought occurred to me.
If there were a wine with my name on it, what sort would it be? I didn't know enough about wine to imagine it. One with a high alcohol content that came with a hangover in the morning, that's for sure. But what would she do? Would she savour the taste and take another sip, or spit it out with a shake of her head and refuse to let it pass her lips again? What was she thinking? I desperately wanted her not to reject me, this girl I barely knew. This girl I couldn't tear my eyes away from.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue before her mouth curved upwards in the slightest smile. "Thank you. You chose to keep your promise
... Nathan." She opened her eyes slowly as she said my name, her tone caressing, those big dark eyes fixed on me as she tilted her head the tiniest bit to one side.

How did she do that?
One moment my head was full of questions about what she'd said before my name, then it was wiped blissfully blank. All I wanted now was to hear her say my name like that again. All I could think about was what I wanted to do to her to elicit that kind of response. I wanted... Fuck, no!

There was no way in hell I could want a girl who was in hospital after being beaten and worse. A girl
whose piercing screams woke me when anyone touched her, even in her dreams. I'd have to be a real sick bastard to want that.

A sick bastard who's going to fucking forget he'd ever entertained the thought of wanting Caitlin, that's for sure, I promised myself.

Her eyes no longer held mine, focussing first on her white-swathed hands, before moving to her lap, surveying the whole length of the bed. She looked up slowly, biting her lip, taking an inventory of her hurts.

Knowing that her injuries were far worse than just those covered by the white bandages I could see, I swallowed and tried to speak.
Better late than never. "I'm so sorry, Caitlin. If anything I did hurt you, I'm sorry."

Now she looked puzzled. "You
... didn't. You were... shot?" She looked at me, struggling to remember. She reached out, touching her palm lightly to the place where the bullet had grazed my shoulder.

Through both the bandage and the fabric of my shirt, I barely felt her light touch, but the contact felt electric, as if there was nothing between her skin and mine. As if she'd touched a nerve that fed directly into my spine, a tingling that was far from painful.

Hastily, I answered, "Yes. So were you. But... it could have been far worse if you hadn't distracted him. Thank you. I may very well owe you my life."

She gave a tiny smile in reply, still looking troubled, but her next words were interrupted by a fit of coughing that left her breathless and exhausted. I shifted the pillows behind her so she'd be comfortable as she sank back into them. I carefully pulled her sheets and blankets up to cover her again, conscious of her eyes on me.

"Will you still be here in the morning when I wake up?" she asked in a small voice.

Of course.
Where else would I be? I'll lose my job if I'm not, I thought but didn't say. "Would you like me to be?" I asked instead.

She nodded hesitantly, her eyes fearful.

"Then I'll be here," I said with a smile.

"Thank you," she responded softly, closing her eyes.

"Nathan," she murmured a few seconds later, almost as an afterthought, as she drifted into sleep once more.

I stood and moved to my own bed, intent on going back to sleep, too.

Brilliant. I'd made her cry, compared myself to a hangover in a bottle and nearly propositioned her. Maybe the next time I stuck my foot in my mouth I'd do her a favour and fucking choke on it.

My eyes snapped open as I realised. I turned to look at her, but she was asleep. I lay back on my pillow, now wearing a smile on my face.

However badly I'd handled this, she still wanted me to stay 'til the next morning.

I woke to swearing, then a heavy thump accompanied by more swearing. I opened my eyes and looked automatically at Caitlin's bed beside me. It was empty.

I stood up quickly, close to panic, before I saw her bandaged hand rise into view and clutch ineffectually at the sheets. They slithered off the bed as I watched, taking the blanket with them. The swearing intensified but it was somewhat muffled. I realised I knew the angry voice and I'd never been so relieved to hear it.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I walked around the bed to where I could see Caitlin, thinking that she'd probably just fallen out of bed. Instead, she lay face down, her feet closest to the bed, as she struggled to get up with her damaged hands. It looked like she'd tripped and fallen flat on her face, before she'd pulled the bed linen down on top of herself.