Demanding Ransom

Chapter TWENTY-FOUR



“We have to get some fluids in her.” Ran balances at the edge of my bed. The hint of dawn is just breaking through the clouds and filters through the paned windows next to the dresser, washing the room in morning light. “She can’t keep anything down and she’ll dehydrate soon, she’s so little.”

“Can’t my mom take her?” I groan and drag my arms around his neck to pull him down to me. The bed is so warm and Ran is even warmer. I want to take advantage of it all while I can. I want to take advantage of him. I boldly press my lips to his.

“Your mom still has a blood alcohol level well above the limit and it’s starting to storm,” he says, pulling away.

“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.

“Thank you for visiting.” He gives me that tortured smile again. “I don’t often get to see the girls I meet in the field again after we drop them off.”

I squeeze my pinky to his. “I owed you a thank you.”

“What for?” His mouth contorts painfully as he shifts his weight under him, repositioning in the hospital bed.

“For saving me.”

The frown on his lips is replaced with another brave attempt at a smile. “I was just doing my job,” he mumbles humbly.

I stand to my feet, commanding my shaky legs to obey. “No,” I say. I can’t do this anymore. I’m not strong enough, as selfish as that sounds. I make my way toward the door. I’m grateful the doctor said I had to keep it short, because I need a reason to explain my running. My running away from the only thing that truly ever mattered in my life. “No, it isn’t just a job for you.” I turn my back to him completely so he can’t see the streams of tears that soak my face, and I shove them off and wipe them on the thighs of my jeans. “I’ll never forget everything you’ve done. Thank you for rescuing me, Ran.”

I slip through the door and don’t look back.