The call had been frantic, filled with nothing but desperate little whines and pleas, and Alana promising, swearing that she would "be there soon." Perhaps she was too devoted to her patient, because before she could end the call, she was out her front door, trench coat thrown over her pajamas in a half-assed attempt at looking professional.
Keys in the ignition, hand on the gear, foot on the peddle, Alana wondered if her interactions with Abigail Hobbs was bordering upon inappropriate. Driving to a patient's house in the middle of the night wasn't something she ever thought she'd make a routine out of. There had never been anyone who had demanded her attention like this; like Abigail, who crashed into her life like a car accident, and expected her to pick up the pieces and salvage everything she could from the wreckage.
Alana blinked once, twice, three times when she stopped at a red light, desperately trying to make her eyes focus. Streets were blurry, the lights hurt her head and she wondered how she would make it back home. Part of her wondered if Abigail would let her stay the rest of the night, but her moral compass tick-tocked in her ear, screaming about inappropriate patient/doctor relations, and really that was all she could think about lately.
It was getting tedious.
The Hobbs house was beguiling. Beneath pretty white shutters and pretty front door, there were bloodstains on hardwood that would never quite wash out all the way. And there was Abigail, alone in her bed, clinging to her pillow and wishing the only person she had in the world would just hurry.
Between getting her coat caught in the car door, dropping her keys, and barely managing to make it up the driveway without tripping, Alana made a mockery of grace as she knocked on the front door. She rang the doorbell, jiggled the doorknob, anything to get Abigail's attention. It wasn't long before the knob turned in her hands from the inside, and there she was, face streaked with tears, eyes red and her arms wrapping around Alana's neck.
She clung to her like a frightened child, and Alana could do nothing but hold her. She held her tight, arms around her small waist, fingertips gently massaging the small of her back.
"Shh, it's okay, I'm here now."
Abigail nuzzled her nose into Alana's neck, nails digging into her shoulder blades, body shaking like a leaf.
"I had-" deep, shaky breath, "a nightmare."
Abigail looked up at her, sniffling and clutching fistfuls of her shirt like it was a lifeline.
"Please come inside with me...I need you."
You make me feel better
I'm getting better
All because of you.
Alana filled in the blanks of Abigail's plea with words she'd heard before. And whether or not it was the right thing to do, she believed in them. She believed in Abigail so ardently, she felt like she was breaking commandments.
Alana smiled at her, cradled her cheek in her hand, the pad of her thumb wiping away tears.
"Don't cry, Abigail. Let's go to your room."
Alana kept an arm around Abigail's waist, guiding her into the house and up the stairs, trying to ignore the kitchen, where Abigail's blood had spilled at her father's hands. She wondered how often Abigail thought about it, and if every nightmare was just the memory of the knife digging into her neck. She wondered if Jack was right, if Garret Jacob Hobbs wasn't alone. If Abigail shouldered as much guilt as her father-
Abigail broke free from her embrace, and sat on the end of her bed. She patted the space beside her, biting her lip and digging her nails into the mattress.
"Sit with me?"
Alana smiled, shrugging out of her coat and letting it drop to the floor. She tried not to focus on the image of her clothes on Abigail Hobbs' floor, and instead focused on not falling over when she crossed the length of the room to Abigail's bed.