Pandora's Box (58 page)

3.38 a.m.

At any moment.
Alistair harrumphed and turned on his heels to pace the length of the small room again when Felipe jumped to his feet and Carolina blinked, her stare fixed on the door.

John, who had been flown in, and a weary Tavish entered the room.

Alistair looked from his brother’s face to John’s and concluded nothing. Agony throbbed through him. “Is she okay?”

Tavish’s forehead was lined in concern. “So far, so good.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Felipe asked between incredulity and anger.

“That we have to wait. All that could have been done has been done. The A&E doctor has just finished his last exam. Nothing broken, no serious physical injury. The fever is under control, she is being hydrated. She’s still unconscious, which is not bad, mind you.” Tavish dropped tired on the chair and relaxed a bit.

John’s kind blue eyes softened even more. “As for the baby, we have no reason to worry. The blood tests and the scan show no sign of distress. As soon as she is awake, I’ll do another scan. I’m sure she’ll want to see it.”

Felipe sat down heavily on the sofa, whispering a prayer and putting his arms around a now crying Carolina.

Alistair also collapsed on another chair as a breath hitched and gasped in his throat.
She is safe.

The ordeal that had been threatening to destroy him and the life he had built was fading away. He heaved a great gulp of air and it felt like he hadn’t properly breathed in days.

4.36 a.m.

Alistair refused to leave Sophia’s side.

In explicit confrontation with the doctors and the nurses, he refused to let them tie Sophia’s hands to stop her from scratching her face or head. He couldn’t bear to bind her.

He remained steadfast beside her bed; refusing to sleep; refusing to eat.

When she got agitated and strained against his hands, he swallowed a bitter howl of impotent fury.
How can I wage war against an invisible intruder? How can I defeat a nightmare?

It was then that he started to talk.

It was mostly incoherent, loving words, soothing sounds and even childish stories, but somehow she seemed to rest easier.

He hoped that his loving words and murmurings could make her more comfortable and that he could get through to her traumatized mind.

Barbara’s mother’s house.

1 p.m.

Barbara fell down on the sofa in front of the TV, putting a hand over her mouth as a body covered with a black plastic bag flashed on the TV. A photo of Ethan appeared as the journalist explained how he died heroically saving his business partner.

A keening cry left her mouth and she felt herself being ripped apart. Her hands plunged into her hair and she started to pull at it, crying desperately.

“Baby, baby.” Her mother ran in from the kitchen, wrapping her frail arms around her. “What is it, Barbie? What happened?” 

Barbara was past the point of explanation, an unknown pain and sorrow permeated her soul and impregnated her senses. Her own unreasonable wishes were digging deep, making her feel even worse. She could not imagine living without him.

She remembered Scott saying that she should be careful what she wished for, and she willed her mind to make no more wishes. They were now demanding such a great cost on her conscience.

What started as a heated and passionate love had turned into a cold and dark nightmare. 

All Barbara wanted was to hear the curtain call and wait for the lights to fade out so she could wake up. 

But she knew life was not a play and this was no rehearsal. 

Barbara would spend her whole lifetime brushing away the guilty ashes that would collect on her soul for wishing to have what was never supposed to be hers and for wishing Ethan dead.

Raigmore Hospital.

Wednesday, March 30
^th
, 2011.

8.51 a.m.

Sophia was hopelessly mired in the same horrible nightmare she’d been having for hours and hours: the one in which she fled down dark, deserted passages and corridors  with locked iron doors, trying to outrun masked men with knives, while death held her wrists and pulled her down, the more she moved.

No matter how hard she strived to control the dream, she never made it to safety. Inevitably, death and the men cornered her.

From a faraway corner, however, she could hear a voice calling.

The only thing she knew as she ran, was that she had to get to that voice.

Exhaustion, dehydration and trauma had taken a toll. Sophia was drifting in tormented unconsciousness.

5.07 p.m.

Peace.
She was floating, warm and comfortable.
Just listen to the voice. Find it.

She didn’t want to open her eyes and discover she was in heaven. But she didn’t want to leave that dream either.

She strained to hear the screams and shotguns. There were none. Also, the hold on her hands was gone. There was just a touch, soft as a feather.

And the voice.

The voice that spoke unstoppably, deep, masculine, its rumbling penetrating her numb mind. A voice that made her feel safer than in dreams or in heaven, that stirred and touched the depths of her soul.

“You can call me stubborn,
mo chridhe
. I am, even more than you are. And you know what? I don’t mind and I don’t care. I can wait. But you know, Beauty, they must think me mad, raging mad, because I have been talking and talking to you for hours and hours, and you don’t answer. Aye, I’m mad. Madly in love with you. I’ve been waiting here for you to open your eyes for days,”
for an eternity,
“and I’ll be still here to see you open your beautiful eyes and say those three little words that will never be enough.”  

Alistair Connor.
Memories of their wedding came flooding back at the melody of his deep voice.

She smiled.

Alistair’s voice faltered and he swallowed down the tears that were threatening to fall since he had seen her so battered and bruised. He whispered, “You smiled, you smiled. Can you hear me? Can you, Sophia?”

She forced herself to open her eyes.

Her handsome husband was sitting by her bed with an exhausted look, peering down at her. His grown stubble marking the many hours he had been by her side. His broad, warm hands supported her bruised wrists, as his thumbs caressed her hands with a gentleness that she had always found surprising in such a masculine man. His forest-green eyes radiated so much emotion and love that she felt empowered to speak.

Sophia breathed, “I love you.”

Alistair flashed her one of the most beautiful smiles she had ever seen. “I love you more.”

Lord Stubbornness.
“Gabriela?”
And the baby?

“In Craigdale, with Father and your sisters. She is fine.” His knuckles brushed her cheek tenderly and the other hand covered her stomach. “The baby is fine too. Everything is going to be okay.”

“I was so afraid,” she whispered.

I was too.
But he didn’t say the words out loud. “Don’t worry,
mo chridhe.
I will not leave you.”

She sighed, relieved.

She wanted to stay awake, but Sophia closed her eyes. Sleep reclaimed her once more as Alistair’s deep voice enveloped her over again in a cocoon.

Thursday, March 31
^st
, 2011.

12.02 p.m.

Something soft touched Sophia’s head.

She blinked, opening her heavy-lidded eyes, disoriented. All she could see was the white lab coat of a doctor. Nothing registered for several seconds other than the gentle touch and the soft cloth on her scalp.

Until Alistair breathed to his brother, “You brute. You woke her up.”

“Sorry to have disturbed your eternal sleep, Sister-in-law, but it was about time you woke up.” Tavish sat on the other side of the bed, studying her face. The bruises on her left eye and mouth were turning greenish and her head was completely bandaged. “How are you feeling?”

I don’t know.
She didn’t say a word, and turned her head a bit to see Alistair better.

Alistair could see the effort she made to smile. It was sad and tired, but it was a smile. He smiled back, trying to lift her spirit. “It’s time to go home.”

Home… And where is home?
Her eyes glazed and her hand touched her head, feeling the bandages.

Alistair and Tavish saw her smile get tighter, harder for her to hold.

She took in a deep breath, and it scratched slightly as it went in, like there was something heavy in her chest.
And how is Ethan?

“Sophia?” Tavish was scanning her face and the monitoring machines with a worried gaze as her heart rate speeded and her pressure lowered. “How are you feeling?”

It hurt even to move her jaw. Her body and soul were in a fiery pain. Feeling panicked, as if she were going to get stuck in the nightmare she couldn’t awaken from again, she whispered hoarsely, “I’m fine.”

Tavish knew she was not fine, that she couldn’t possibly be fine, but he wouldn’t contradict her. The best place to heal was at home. He fixed her with his stare, trying to gauge her reactions.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, as if to convince herself, looking away from the sea-green eyes that seemed to see too much. She searched for Alistair’s hand and gripped it. “I— I don’t want to go back to Atwood House.”

“Sweetheart, I wasn’t going to take you there. We’re going to Craigdale.” He lifted his eyebrows at her, surprised she would even consider this. In a tentative tone, he said, “Sophia, detective Isabel Martins who lead your case needs to ask a few questions and—”

“Not yet, please,” she whispered. “Tomorrow or the day after, maybe. I don’t remember much.”

I see.
Alistair ran his hand through his hair, understanding how fragile those criminals had turned his wife.

For a moment, all Alistair could see was his summer sun wedging behind the heavy snow clouds; thunderstorms, were ready to explode in his sky. He wished he could grab hold of the very air and twist it around each and every one of the criminals and suffocate them. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Has everyone been arrested?”
Uó and his gang?

“They’re almost all dead. The leader, Uó and the ones that survived are in prison awaiting trial.”
Alberto Leibowitz is still at large, but we’ll get him.
Alistair didn’t want to tell Sophia about Alberto. Or Emma. He didn’t want to make her more anxious.
And I’ll make them pay. I swear to you, Sophia, I will.
He turned to Tavish and commanded, “You take care of her. I’ll be right back.”

“Aye, sir,” Tavish smiled at Alistair’s back as he left the room to call Isabel.

“Tavish Uilleam.” Sophia’s whisper broke the comfortable silence that had descended on the room as Tavish took off the IV from her arm and unplug her from the beeping machines.

Slowly, Tavish turned his head from the monitors to look at her, impressed by the grave tone of her voice. “Aye?”

“Thank you.” She slightly raised her hand when he opened his mouth. “There are no words to thank you enough. What you did… If I could ever reciprocate…”

He grinned at the offer, but he knew she was serious. “I’ll let you know. Maybe one day, I’ll ask you for the magic healing potion you gave Alistair Connor.”

She gave him a little smile. “There is nothing magical in what I did. It was
just
love.”

“Ah. Really?” Tavish raised an eyebrow at her, knowing she hadn’t listened to her own words. He knew it would take time for her to believe in her own magic again. Not pressing the subject, he asked, “Are you hungry? Do you want me to order lunch?”

“No. Just thirsty. Could I have some orange juice?” she replied. She looked at her bruised wrists for a moment and, almost afraid of the answer, asked, “He— He— Is he okay?”

Tavish knew what she was asking. He probably had more in common with her than any person he knew. They had survived unspeakable brutality. Their experiences made him feel they were siblings of a sort. His turbulent sea-green eyes were ageless, filled with desolate bleakness when he looked at her.

Sophia read the answer even before he shook his head slowly and sat on the chair beside her again, taking her hand in his.

“Sophia.” He couldn’t lie to her after everything they had been through. “He died quickly.”

Oh, Ethan.
Sophia’s grief was a physical sensation, gripping her like a clamp. “It’s my fault,” she said. Closing her eyes, the tears ran slowly down her cheeks. Ethan’s face floated in her mind, the bullets sounding in her ears again. She felt like her heart was shattering into a million small shards of glass, and those shards were trying to poke out through her chest. “It’s my fault.”

“It is not your fault,” Tavish said firmly.

Stifling a sob, she asked, “Has he been buried yet?”

“Nae,” he shook his head sadly. “His parents are contesting his will and his funeral plan is in it. So, everything is on hold until the court decides.”

“The creepy bastards! That’s awful. Poor, poor Ethan—” Her gravelly voice caught as the hurt emanated from her in waves. “Why can’t they just leave him alone?”

Tavish eyed her strangely for a moment. Then he realized she had no idea what Ethan had done. “Sophia, it’s not him they are after. Ashford disowned them. Apart from Scott, a woman called Barbara Something and a few employees, he left almost everything to your foundation. Ashford’s parents want what you got.”

2.08 p.m.

In the dimly lit room, John lowered the transducer onto Sophia’s stomach, and the images on the monitor jumped around as he moved it to find the right spot.

Sophia squeezed Alistair’s hand hard and he smiled at her reassuringly.

What if there is something wrong?
Alistair had been so eager to see the baby, but despite his smile and what John had said, he was still anxious.