One Hundred Candles [2] (17 page)

twenty-four

I didn’t notice the blood on my hospital gown until Annalise pointed it out.

“What’s that?” she asked.

I looked down at the small stain located on the arm of my faded blue gown. “They had trouble with the IV,” I explained.

I remembered a nurse from the night before. “Little pinch,” she said as she jammed the needle into my vein. It was not a “little pinch.” She should have warned me better. She should have said, “Get ready for a searing pain that will echo throughout your poor arm.” Although, after the pain of the previous day, what was a sterilized needle through my arm? It was hardly anything compared to the stitches sewn into the palm of my hand where the amethyst had cut too deeply. And it was nothing when I thought of the pain both my parents had endured.

Annalise poured herself a cup of water from the plastic pitcher by my bedside. She took a sip, then grimaced. “It tastes like chemicals.”

“I know. I’ve been drinking soda.”

Annalise was not in my hospital room to drink water and hang out. She needed to tell me something but was trying to work her way up to it. I knew my sister: the longer she waited, the worse the news. I wasn’t too worried, though. Both our parents had survived and were recovering in rooms across the hospital.

After the confrontation with Marcus, I had awoken in the hospital with a hazy recollection of people pointing lights in my eyes and poking my veins with IV needles, urging me to wake up. I was also aware of not wanting to wake up, of needing to curl into the warm, safe darkness for as long as possible.

The same doctor who had removed my arm sling months earlier was peering down at me the next morning. “Good,” she’d said. “You’re awake. You have quite a few people waiting to see you.”

Annalise had rushed in and immediately hugged me. “Thank God you’re okay,” she’d gushed. “The doctor says it’s just shock, plus the gash in your hand. And dehydration, for some reason. They’re going to keep you overnight for observation.”

During my first day in the hospital I did nothing except sleep and answer other people’s questions. I talked with so many police officers that their faces blurred together, but there was one who seemed kinder than the rest, an older man who resembled pictures I had seen of my great-grandfather.

“Can you tell us what you remember?” he asked. He was there with a younger officer, a guy who stood off to the side, taking notes.

“We were attacked.” I had no idea how much they already knew, so I kept my answers simple.

“Did you know the man who attacked you?” the officer asked gently.

“Is he in jail?”

The younger officer scoffed. “The morgue is more like it.”

The older cop shot him a warning glance and then turned back to me. “He died from his injuries.”

“Injuries?” I had been the last person to touch Marcus. Had I killed him? Did they think I was a murderer?

After the police left, Annalise filled me in. She said that Beth and Lisa had wasted no time contacting the authorities after the final confrontation with Marcus. It was Beth who’d concocted a credible story. She’d said that Marcus was a disturbed fan. He’d attacked my parents, but Noah and I had escaped and driven to Gwyn’s house because we knew that’s where Trisha was. Marcus had followed us somehow and attacked again before collapsing. When the police arrived, Beth had cleared the room of all the candles and anything else that might look weird. They were just hanging out, she said, when all hell broke loose.

And now it was over. Shane had brought me a homemade omelet for breakfast, wrapped tightly in tinfoil so it wouldn’t get too cold. He and Annalise were taking turns visiting my parents. I was eager to get out of my hospital room and see them for myself.

Annalise turned on the TV mounted to the wall. “There’s only five channels,” I warned her. “And one is all about recovering from childbirth.”

Annalise left the TV on the twenty-four-hour news station, but put it on mute. “They’re going to discharge you tomorrow,” she said.

“Good. I know it’s only been a day, but I’m sick of this bed.” I tried to adjust it using the control, but my biggest problem was the flat, papery pillows. I was using four of them and still felt like my head was resting against a pancake.

A nurse entered the room. “Time for vitals!” she sang out.

I actually liked this nurse, if only because she didn’t poke me with anything sharp. I automatically held out my arm so she could wrap the blood-pressure cuff over it. Then she took my temperature through my ear, marked some things on my chart and left.

I watched my sister, whose focus was on the silent TV. “I’m waiting, you know.”

She didn’t look at me. “I know. I’m not ready to tell you yet.”

“It’s that bad?”

“It’s Mom.”

I struggled to sit up. “You said she was okay.”

“I said she was alive.”

My sister looked down at her hands. When she looked up, her eyes were red and shiny with tears. “Charlotte, it’s bad. Really bad.”

Annalise explained that the doctors had put Mom into a coma. There was swelling in her brain, and no one knew if she would be able to recover completely.

“They were amazed that she even survived,” my sister said. “She’s in critical condition. We can’t do anything now except wait.”

I had witnessed the attack. I knew how bad it was. Still, I had held on to a string of hope. Miracles happened. People recovered from awful accidents all the time. Maybe she would shock the doctors and open her eyes and everything would be fine.

“Does Dad know?”

“Shane is telling him now.”

I had questions but wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answers. We were quiet for a while, each of us staring at the TV and lost in our own thoughts. Then a familiar face flashed across the screen, and Annalise immediately turned on the volume. A brunette news anchor was narrating the hour’s top stories.

“Bestselling author and renowned psychic Leonard Zelden was released from a New Zealand hospital today,” she reported. “Zelden was attacked by an unknown assailant over a week ago and suffered extensive injuries.” The TV showed Zelden being pushed in a wheelchair. Around him, cameras flashed and reporters shouted questions.

“I am so very grateful to the doctors and staff here,” Zelden said. He looked frail, and his voice was soft. “I would like to thank my dear fans for their kind support and I look forward to recovering at home.”

“Did you have a near-death experience? Will you be writing about it?” someone shouted.

Zelden raised his head and looked directly at the camera. “I have no memory of the attack and do not wish to discuss it further. I will not be writing a book about the experience.”

“Thank God,” Annalise murmured.

It was a sliver of good news that Zelden would not exploit our trauma for his personal gain. Of course, he had gone through something awful, as well. I wondered how he would handle the aftermath of Marcus’s death, or if he even knew about it yet.

There was a light knock at the door. “Hello?” Beth came into the room holding a flower arrangement. White roses and daisies peeked out of a glass vase.

“These are lovely,” I said. “Thank you, Beth.”

“I wish I could take credit for them, but they’re actually from Noah.” She set the vase down next to my bed. “He’s downstairs. I wanted to speak with you before he came up, if that’s all right.”

“I’m going to check on Dad,” Annalise announced. She turned off the TV. “I’ll be back later.”

After my sister left, Beth pulled a chair next to my bed. She looked at my bandaged hand. “I would imagine that receiving a dozen stitches in your palm is more than a little uncomfortable.”

“You could say that.” The doctors had used tweezers to pluck a shard of stone embedded in my hand. I would have scars, but they assured me it wouldn’t be so bad, that they would blend in with the natural lines of my palm. I didn’t want to think about it. My minor injury could not compare to what had happened to my mother. What if she didn’t wake up? Or worse, if she did wake up but was brain damaged?

“Charlotte, I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

I did, but only one seemed to matter at that moment. “Did I destroy it?” I asked. “Is the Watcher gone?”

Beth hesitated. “For the time being, yes. But I don’t know if he will return.”

It was not the answer I wanted. “So Marcus died and Dad was hurt and my mom might never wake up and for what? For us to have to wait in fear, wondering if that thing is going to hunt us down in the middle of the night?”

Beth accepted my angry outburst with a sympathetic nod. “I don’t know. But I do know that it took years for the Watcher to find a suitable host.”

“What was it about Marcus? Why did the Watcher pick him?”

“There were probably many reasons.” She sat back in her chair. “Marcus may have been an easy target, someone who was susceptible to control. He was near your family at the same time the Watcher was present.”

I thought about that cold Christmas morning. My family had had no idea that by entering the sanitarium we were walking into the lair of something that had been waiting for years to hurt us.

“I still don’t understand what I did that was so wrong. Why did this thing target us?”

“You did nothing wrong, Charlotte.” Beth took my good hand in hers. “Listen to me. It wasn’t you. There are things in this world…” She shook her head. “You have no idea.”

“Then give me an idea.” I felt the hot sting of tears. “What was it?”

“There are souls that cannot cross. Ever. They lived terrible lives and now they are trapped. It’s their punishment. They cannot move on, but they cannot go back. So they look for ways to enter this world.”

“And this particular soul entered through Marcus.”

“Yes. And he—it—holds an awful rage toward anyone who can cross over, even if only for a moment. The Watcher wants to hurt those who are not imprisoned the way it is.”

“So it’s a revenge thing.” I leaned back on my flat pillows. “Is there more than one? Gwyn heard the same voice I did, but Mom said it wasn’t the same thing.”

“There is more than one. More than a hundred, more than a thousand. But the one that came after you was particularly old and powerful.”

“And could return again.”

Beth squeezed my hand. “We’ll be ready. I promise you that.”

She stood up. “Noah is waiting, so I’ll go.”

“Thanks for coming to see me.”

She patted my leg. “Of course. And Charlotte, I’m praying for your mother. She is a good friend and a wonderful person. I believe she will recover.”

I wished that I could share that belief, but I wasn’t as confident. The only thing that cheered me up even a little was Noah’s arrival, but even that was dulled when I saw what had happened to him. Five bruises formed a dark ring beneath his jaw. It was the mark left by the Watcher when he had lifted Noah by his neck.

“Do you like the flowers?” he asked.

“Yes.” I couldn’t stop staring at the deep black bruises. They covered most of his neck, and at first glance, they resembled a strange tattoo.

Noah sat on the edge of my bed. He picked up my bandaged hand and held it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“There was nothing you could do.” I was shocked that he felt any guilt. He had been dragged into a horrible situation because of me. If he hadn’t been in my house when it had all begun, he would be fine.

Not knowing what I could say to make things right, I leaned forward and softly kissed his cheek. He bowed his head so that our foreheads were touching, and we sat that way, with our eyes open, for a long time.

I spent the next night sleeping in a chair by Dad’s bedside. He looked terrible, with his head bound in gauze and his arm propped up in a thick white cast. It was his eyes that bothered me most, though. There was nothing but numb grief in them. He tried to smile at Annalise and me when we visited, and we tried to smile back, but it was hopeless.

The following morning, after Annalise had left the room to get coffee from the cafeteria, Dad broke down sobbing. I knelt on the floor, took his pale hand in mine and confessed everything. I told him about Gwyn’s party and Zelden’s calls and the thirteen roses. I begged him to forgive me for not telling him about Zelden’s final message, the code that could have saved Mom. When I was done, he reached down and put his one good hand on my cheek.

“This was not your fault, Charlotte.” He sounded hoarse. “If I hadn’t allowed things to get so tense between your mother and me, if I had only listened to her in the first place, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not your fault, either. Please don’t think it is, Dad.” I hugged him, and we cried some more.

“Have you been to see her yet?” Dad asked.

I shook my head. “No.” While part of me was desperate to visit her, another part was terrified to see her hooked up to wires and beeping monitors. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to handle it.

“Make sure you do,” Dad said. “Make sure she hears your voice. She needs to know that you’re okay.”

With her injuries, I doubted my mother would even be aware of my presence, but I promised my dad I would talk to her. Annalise returned with two cups of steaming coffee. She handed one to my dad, and the three of us spent some more time together. When Dad fell asleep, I decided to keep my promise to him.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Annalise whispered. She pulled a blanket around Dad.

“I think I want to go alone.” We went out into the hallway. “Maybe you could walk with me to her room, though?”

Annalise hugged me. “Absolutely. This way.”

We took an elevator to the intensive care unit. It was a loud floor, filled with the busy rush of nurses and the constant noise of different monitors. Mom’s room was near the end of the hallway. We checked in at the nurse’s station. Annalise waited there while I walked past the closed doors of the other rooms, trying not to imagine how many people had died behind them. When I got to Mom’s room, I stopped for a moment, my bandaged hand on the door. I could hear the heart monitor inside, and the heavy whooshing of a ventilator. I looked back at my sister, who simply nodded. I took a deep breath.