Chapter 37: You'll Never Be Alone

A soft knock sounded on the door. "Elizabeth? Dear?"

Liz stirred out of her fitful doze, eyes slowly flickering open.

"Are you awake?"

Drowsily she shifted in the crinkling hospital bed, squinting toward the door. It was open just a crack and the nurse, Kim, was peering inside. The older woman smiled when she met Liz's bleary gaze.

"Hi, sweetie." She slipped inside the room, flicked the light switch on to dim, then swiftly and competently checked the bags of fluids hanging around Elizabeth before turning her warm brown gaze back to her.

She had eyes like Lauren had once had...colored like mahogany with flecks of honey glinting around the irises...alight with gentle smiles and life.

Liz swallowed thickly passed the sudden lump in her throat and quickly looked down at the starchy white sheets tucked around her.

"Do you need anything?"

A time machine so I can go back and erase the last six hours, she thought dully. But rather than saying that she shook her head-then winced.

"Try not to move your head too much right now," Kim advised gently, checking her IV. "I came in here to tell you that the police are here. They want to ask you a few questions about...what happened."

Liz looked nervously at her.

Kim gave her a reassuring smile. "Do you feel up to talking to them?"

Liz had already told her story to the sexual assault nurse examiner before she had submitted to undergo a complete physical examination. It had been the most excruciatingly embarrassing ordeal that she'd ever gone through-and she was already beginning to block it from her memory.

Even though the rapist hadn't succeeded in carrying out his original intent, Elizabeth was still considered a sexual assault victim.

After she had clawed her way out of the darkness of oblivion to consciousness, after she had been soothed by the hospital staff that she was safe and sound, she had slowly and haltingly told her story as best as she could to the quietly attentive sexual assault nurse examiner-who had thankfully been a woman and had been very patient while she had taken her notes.

Then Liz had been told to lay down on a special white paper that had been draped over the bed. The nurse had spoken softly to her throughout the whole process, informing her of what was happening and why.

Liz's panties, modal raglan, and softest cotton sweat pants she had ever owned had all been cut away and placed in paper bags, one for each article of clothing, to be analyzed later for evidence. A small part of her mourned the loss of her favorite pajamas-but she knew deep down that even if she had been able to keep them, she would've burned them to ashes. Her long, damp hair had then been combed out so that anything the police could use to implicate the rapist that hadn't washed away in the rain had fallen onto the paper she'd lain on. Her sensitive skin had been carefully swabbed, then the dried blood from her assailant had been scraped out from underneath her fingernails. This was also to be used as evidence.

Hopefully the police would have enough between what had been taken off of her...and Lauren...to find out who exactly the Hell-bound bastard was.

The uncomfortable cuts on her feet from the loose gravel, the shallow scratches on her arms and hands, the deeply painful, mottled bruises around her sore ribs, tender stomach, and weakened wrists, had all been photographed, documented, and then treated. The worst injury she suffered from was the throbbing concussion on the left side of her head.

Well, it had been throbbing. It wasn't pulsating so much now. That was probably due to the pain-dulling medicine being pumped into her.

The very last thing Liz wanted to do in this moment was retell-and in so doing, relive-what had happened to her, but she understood that it was vitally important for her to do so.

Especially if it would help the police catch this particular devil-incarnate.

"Su-" Her voice cracked from disuse-or rather, that's what she told herself, anyway. Unwilling to give in to the despairing weakness lingering just within mental reach, she cleared her throat and tried again. "Sure."

Kim handed her a cup of water, understanding glowing in her dark eyes. Liz glanced self-consciously away and gratefully drank it down.

"I'll go get them then, okay?"

"Okay," Liz whispered, bracing her mind and quickly shoring up the hard defenses around her heart.

Then the thought came to her like it had multiple times before while she had been drifting in and out of sleep all morning...she desperately wished Red were here.

The very thought of him was enough to make hot tears prick behind her eyes, so she quickly shoved his image away down deep inside of herself. Stay detached. Don't feel, she thought numbly as the two detectives came slowly into the room.

Instantly she felt suffocated.

There were too many people in here!

Slamming the walls tighter around her innermost emotions, she warily watched them approach her as she tried to catch her uneven breath.

Don't feel anything. Not even anxiety, she harshly berated herself. Just breathe. It'll be easier to tell the events of the night if you remain detached and breathe. Just breathe, damnit!

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, Liz let it out as quietly as she could through her nose, hands clenching beneath the sheets.

"Elizabeth Scott?"

"Yes?" Her voice sounded so different to her own ears. Why was that? Was it due to exhaustion? To stress? Was it the concussion making it appear slurred and distorted?

"Miss Scott, I am Detective Shelby," the stocky man said. There was a gentleness in his gray eyes that made the tightness in her chest ease slightly. "And this is Detective Levinson." Shelby nodded his head at his partner, a diminutive woman with a face as pointed and as sharp as any fox's. Her clear eyes weren't as soft as the man's, but they weren't unfriendly either.

"We know how trying a night you've had."

"Trying" was an understatement, but Liz understood what he was trying to do and appreciated the effort.

"The nurse told us that you have a concussion?"

"Yes." Was that the only word she could say?

"We certainly don't want to keep you long from resting," he told her gently, "but the man who did this is still at large and any information you could give us would greatly aid our efforts to bring him to justice."

Liz wondered how many times he had uttered the same words to other victims of different crimes of violence. It certainly sounded rehearsed, but...it got her talking.

She wanted that malevolent creature found. And if he happened to get shot and killed in the process of being taken in? Well, Liz certainly wouldn't mourn his death!

And so she began to tell her story for the second time that morning. The two detectives would sometimes stop her narrative to ask her questions, or to have her clarify a detail. Just as she was reaching the part about how she'd been rescued by a man she didn't know, a firm knock rapped on the door.

Detective Levinson glanced fiercely out the window, one brow raising in surprised annoyance at the jarring intrusion.

From the angle Liz was sitting up at she couldn't observe who had disrupted them, but evidently the detectives weren't too pleased to see who was standing out her hospital room's door.

She glanced uncertainly at Shelby.

"One moment, Miss Scott," he told her, flashing her a reassuring look before getting up out of his chair to follow his partner out into the hall.

Alone once more with her thoughts, Liz sighed out a quiet breath of relief and closed her eyes, fingers moving down her side under the blanket to trace the edges of her cell phone. Someone had gone into her apartment to get it for her-and her purse, too-before she'd been transported to the hospital.

She had no idea which of her neighbors had had the common sense to do that during the time of confused and fearful commotion that must have passed when she'd been unconscious, but she certainly appreciated their rational thoughtfulness.

Elizabeth had been so logy with pained exhaustion this whole morning that she hadn't been able to call Red yet to tell him what had happened. She had considered texting him earlier, but as her trembling fingers had hovered over the buttons, the very thought of trying to type out the gruesome story of what had happened to her had been too incredibly daunting.

Besides, her rational mind knew that it would be better if she spoke to him directly about it.

But at the time...had that been an hour ago?...three hours ago?...her concept of time was blurring and smearing like a watercolor painting...she just hadn't had enough energy to do it. She faintly recalled the moment when she had allowed the insistent tendrils of oblivion to envelope her as she had been trying to decide what exactly she should do.

If she didn't pass out again once the detectives left, she would call Red.

She needed to call him.

Liz swallowed thickly, heart aching in such a piercing way that it was physically painful.

God, she needed to hear his voice.

Stop it, she rebuked herself sharply. You're not done with the police yet. Her eyes flicked open and darted impatiently toward the closed door. Don't feel. Breathe, Liz. Just breathe.

The heavy door handle clicked and the detectives walked back inside. Two new visitors followed after them: a tall, middle-aged man with a rugged face and a woman with intelligent and penetrating eyes who seemed to be in her early thirties. Both wore FBI jackets.

And they seemed fiercely satisfied about something.

Liz shot a querying glance at Detective Shelby.

"Miss Scott, these are Special Agents Goodwin and Austin with the FBI," he gestured to the man and woman respectively. "It appears that the man we're after...well, he may be a man the FBI has been tracking for quite a while."

He didn't seem too pleased about having his current investigation interrupted, but Liz knew enough about the politics between the two agencies that the Feds took precedence if cases crossed. She knew it was, in a way, selfish of her to be so perturbed by this change of events, but she'd almost been done relaying her story. She didn't want to go into it for a third time!

"They will take over from here, Miss Scott." The detective gave her a small smile. "I hope you will recover soon."

And then he and Detective Levinson were gone.

"We apologize for barging in like this, Miss Scott," Agent Goodwin began immediately without preamble. "When Austin and I were notified of the incident tonight and got wind that you, one of Grady Forman's victims, were actually alive and recovering here at Oceanview Medical..." Agent Austin pressed a hand to his arm and he paused, as if realizing that his rushed words weren't exactly following protocol. "Well, we had to come straight away," he finished gruffly.

"Is that his name?" Liz asked quietly. "Grady Forman?" Even his very name felt slimy on her tongue.

"That depends," Agent Austin said, coming closer to Liz and pulling out a photo from a plastic three-ring binder she'd been holding under her arm. "Is this the man who attacked you this morning?"

Liz took one look at the colored photo and shuddered. The blood drained swiftly from her face, leaving her feeling breathlessly light-headed and shaky. Stinging bile rose in the back of her throat and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, defiantly swallowing it back down.

Never in her life had she lacked such control over her own body.

She hated it and the feeling of helplessness that surged within her.

"I take that as a yes?" Austin inquired softly as she observed Liz's obvious distress.

"She needs to verbally confirm his identity herself, Austin," Goodwin murmured patiently, keen eyes fixed on Elizabeth.

After a long moment, when Liz finally felt like she could speak without vomiting, she forced her eyes open to look at the two agents. "Yes. That's him."

Goodwin's shoulders visibly sagged with relief and Austin permitted herself a very small smile. They'd found his elusive trail!

"You're quite lucky to be alive, Miss Scott."

Not knowing what to say to that, Liz lowered her eyes.

"I know this has been a terrible morning for you, but...could you please tell us what happened?" Austin asked, perching in the chair closest to Elizabeth.

"Like the detectives mentioned earlier to you, Forman is still out there and we need to find him as quickly as we can," Goodwin said, sitting down beside his partner and pulling out a pad of lined paper and a pen from his own binder.

At Liz's resigned dispiritedness, Austin added gently, "I promise this will be the last time you'll need to tell it today."

Liz looked at the blonde agent not much older than her. She had sapphire blue eyes, just like she did, and they were filled with compassion for Liz and what she had gone through-but they also burned with a determined, almost savage fire to hunt down and apprehend the bastard.

Liz recognized that brutal viciousness in the woman, for it existed in her as well. It was almost completely hidden by the tame protocols that civilized behavior dictated people follow, of course...but it definitely resided just within the inner barriers of her mind, pacing on unsheathed claws and snarling menacingly.

Now this...this was an emotion that Liz suddenly realized she could indulge. This wouldn't make her weak.

Flinging herself against and then through those barriers, she intimately embraced that primal part of herself like a lover, and its enraged fury gave her the strength she needed to get through this last interview.

As her eyes bore into Austin's, the agent's widened almost imperceptibly-she must have glimpsed in Liz what Liz recognized in her.

But then Elizabeth began speaking, her voice stronger and surer than it had been earlier when she'd been relaying her story to the detectives, and Austin's attention zeroed in on the timeline of events Liz laid out for her.

"I'm sorry," Goodwin interrupted halfway through the interview. "You said you wrapped Lauren's hands in your sweatshirt? To try and preserve the blood on her fingers?"

"Yes," Liz murmured, a little self-consciously. "I figured it could be the only evidence the police would have and the rain would have washed it away otherwise."

Goodwin exchanged a glance with Austin.

Liz wasn't sure what it meant and she lost some of the fierce assurance she had felt earlier, insecurely hunching in on herself. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Miss Scott," Goodwin said quickly, meeting her eyes. "No. There are those who would say that disturbing a crime scene wouldn't be the right thing to do, no matter what the situation was. But given these particular circumstances...I feel differently."

"So do I," Austin agreed. Then she gave the younger woman an encouraging smile. "The fact that you even thought to wrap Lauren's hands during what was obviously a frightening time for you is...impressive."

A slight smile of hesitant pride ghosted at the right corner of Liz's mouth at that. Then she once more gathered her thoughts and doggedly took up where she'd left off.

Another twenty minutes or so passed before Liz finally finished telling the story. Exhausted, both mentally and emotionally, she leaned her aching head back against the hospital bed while the two agents jotted down a few more notes in their binders.

"Agent Austin?"

"Yes, Miss Scott?"

"Do you know who the man was? The one with the long, graying hair who attacked...him?" Liz couldn't bring herself to say the rapist's name. "I mean, I know you haven't spoken with any witnesses yet, but maybe the police mentioned something to you...?" she faltered uncertainly.

"No." Agent Austin's expression was kind, as if she sensed Liz wasn't sure if she had asked an irrelevant question. "The first responder officers we spoke with before we came here to see you didn't know anything about him. According to the witnesses, he had disappeared before the police showed up."

"And...and he did too?"

By the disgusted tone of her voice, there wasn't any question about which "he" Elizabeth meant.

Both agents nodded.

Liz's brow puckered with sincere worry. "I hope my Good Samaritan is okay. I...I owe him my life." Her voice caught on the last word and she quickly glanced down, swallowing hard.

"If we find out anything about him, we will be sure to inform you," Austin told her.

"And we will obviously keep you abreast of any developments," Goodwin added, standing up and motioning for his partner to follow his example.

"Here's my card," Agent Austin said, placing it on the nightstand next to Liz's purse. "If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact me."

"We will leave you now to rest. Thank you for your time, Miss Scott." Agent Goodwin inclined his head to her before turning around to open the door for his partner. "I wish we had a more detailed profile on Forman," Liz heard him growl as Austin slipped passed him into the hall. "We need a launching point to start looking for him. This city is so damned huge-" His low voice was cut off abruptly as the door clicked shut behind them.

Elizabeth stared after them for a moment before she wearily closed her eyes.

Silence descended on the room.

God, now that they were gone, she felt so...depleted.

She was completely drained of the vicious fire that had consumed her earlier-that had given her the stout nerve she had desperately needed to relive those terrifying moments.

But she couldn't sleep yet.

As much as she wanted to lose herself in that sweet, cool darkness and hide way from the harsh lights that hurt her eyes, away from the physical pain of her crushed body, away from the emotional agony that hovered threateningly within her, she had one more thing she wanted to do.

Needed to do.

Liz reached down and grasped her cell phone in her hand. Flipping it open, she pressed number one on speed-dial...and waited.

It rang once. Then, "Lizzy?"

Her eyes closed of their own volition as the familiar sound of Red's deep, gravelly voice washed over her, through her.

It completely undid her.

The tears that she had held back for almost seven and a half hours now flooded her vision.

"Red!" she rasped despondently as those hot tears began running unchecked in burning trails down her cheeks.

"Tell me, honey." His voice was harsh with concern as he skipped over asking her what was wrong and instead went straight to the heart of it. "Tell me what happened."

And so, weeping, she told him.

Not all of it. She couldn't bring herself to relay every hideously macabre detail.

But she told him enough.

And as she haltingly spoke of what had transpired, he didn't interrupt her. Not once. He didn't ask for more details about any portion of the harrowing incident. He allowed her to tell her story the way she needed to, nevermind that she spoke about some of the events out of sequence. He didn't ask her to repeat anything. He didn't ask her for clarification.

He listened silently, attentively.

But as soon as Liz was finished speaking, she could feel his building glacial fury directed fiercely towards her attacker emanating icily through the phone.

"Please come home," she whispered into the heavy silence that had settled briefly between them. "Please, Red."

"I'm already on my way, sweetheart," he soothed, and she could tell by the tone of his voice that he'd made a serious effort to set aside his rage for her sake. "I'm coming from England so it'll be a few hours yet. But I'll be home soon."

Relief swept through her as she wiped her cheeks dry with one shaking hand. "They're going to keep me overnight."

"Good," he murmured. "It's just a precaution, Lizzy. They want to make sure the concussion you have won't worsen. And since you were able to clearly tell the detectives and agents what had happened, and just by hearing you speak, I think it's a minor one," he reassured her gently. "You may very well be able to go home tomorrow."

Blinding terror struck her heart.

"I can't go home!"

Red went very still on the other end of the line, and she bit her lip, ashamed of her vehement outburst, of her own despicable cowardice.

"You can come home with me," he finally told her softly. "And stay with me a while. Would you prefer that, sweetheart?"

You understand!

She didn't have to explain to him why she couldn't go back there. He perceived her unspoken reasons and didn't hold her in contempt for them.

A sobbing whisper of intensely grateful relief escaped her and it took the shape of one word: "Yes."

"Well. That settles that." She could hear the tender smile in his quiet voice. "I'll have a couple of my employees pick up Bronn. You still have the hide-a-key in the hanging basket?"

She murmured an affirmative.

"I'll have them use that. And if there's anything else you think that you'll need, you can text me. I'll be sure to tell them."

"Red?"

"What is it, honey?"

"Will you come get me?" Her voice was starting to slur. Tears pricked her eyes again. She was so, very tired. "At the hospital?"

"Of course I will. Now, Lizzy..."

"Mmm?"

"I can hear the exhaustion in your voice. The last thing I want to do is hang up but you need to go to sleep for a while."

Her fingers tightened anxiously around the phone.

He must have sensed her reluctance. "If you wake up and you need me, call me. While you're resting though, I'll text you every so often."

"That way I'm not...I'm not alone," she whispered, blinking heavily, those lingering tears tangling in her lashes.

"You'll never be alone, sweetheart."

It was the last thing she remembered him saying before she sank into a deep and dreamless sleep.