Nick awoke, disoriented. For a minute, panic rose with bile and he looked around, certain he was going to see dirt closing in around him. He swallowed against the bitterness as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he realized that he was in a hospital room. The machines beside him hummed almost soothingly and he felt comfort in the slight sting of the IV. If it hurt, he wasn't dreaming and he wasn't back in that hell he had escaped from.
He could still feel the small bites of the ants covering his body and the cold metal of the gun, a sharp contrast to the pain. His fingers had twitched on the trigger and he shuddered. Another pound of pressure and he wouldn't be in the hospital—he'd be in the morgue.
Panic threatened to rise once more as his mind wondered where the sick freak was. What if he came back? He had no idea who it was—wasn't Nigel still behind bars? Nick felt an urge to crawl out of bed and check to see if police had been posted outside. But what if his kidnapper was waiting outside, just around the corner? He lifted the scratchy blanket, debating on pulling it over his head and hiding.
A figure loomed over him and Nick shrank back, fear constricting his throat. "Nick."
"Dad." Then in a smaller voice, "Daddy!" Tears pricked his eyelids and he quickly wiped them away. Real men don't cry. Be a man, Nick.
"I'm so relieved." The man barely choked out the last word and in the light pouring in from outside, Nick thought he saw something sparkle on his father's face. He couldn't be crying, not Judge Stokes. The older man cleared his throat and asked, "How are you feeling?"
"Sore. My entire body hurts."
"Understandable."
"Where's Mom?"
"In our hotel room. I sent her back there to sleep. Do you need anything?"
Nick licked his lips. "Water," he rasped.
The judge grabbed a plastic cup and filled it in the bathroom. Nick took it and drank greedily, spilling some of it on his hospital gown. It seemed to clear his head and keep the fogginess away. Bill filled the glass again and Nick drank the second one more slowly, deciding never to take water for granted again.
"Dad…I—I'm sorry." He felt tears well up in his eyes again.
His father sat in a chair he must have pulled up to his bed. "Don't apologize, Nick. You haven't done anything wrong."
Nick felt a need to confess. "I was going to do it."
"Do what?"
His hand formed into the likeness of a gun. "Pull the trigger. Shoot myself."
"Nick, don't—"
"They were biting me, Dad. I couldn't stop them. I figured out how to get air but I couldn't stop the ants. They bit me and I finally gave up. I was ready…I had the gun here and I was pulling the trigger." The words tumbled over themselves as they poured from his mouth. The tears started up anew and he covered his face, unable to muffle the sobs.
Beside him, Bill shifted uncomfortably. His son was scared, terrified, and he wasn't sure how to comfort him. He suddenly regretted sending Jillian back to their room. She was much better at this than he was. She wasn't here, though. He was. He hugged Nick awkwardly and his son clung to him as if he were ten years old again.
"Nick, look at me," Judge Stokes said, sitting up once Nick's sobs had turned into hiccups.
Wiping his eyes, Nick looked up. "You survived, Nick. You may have been ready to—" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. "But you didn't. You didn't and you're here, alive. I'm proud of you, son. You kept your head and kept your cool. Most men would have panicked."
"I want to come home."
"What?"
"Just for a week or two," Nick amended. "I want to get out of this city."
For the first time that night, Judge Stokes smiled. "You're more than welcomed at home. I'm sure your mother will be pleased. Now you get some sleep."
Nick bit his lip apprehensively. "I—I'm not tired."
"What are you talking about, Nick? You're utterly exhausted."
This confession seemed to stick in his throat. "I'm afraid, Dad. What if all of this is a dream or another hallucination? What if I wake up and I'm back in hell?"
"This isn't a dream and it's not hell. You're safe." He saw that Nick still looked uneasy. "I'll stay here the entire night. I'll be here when you wake up in the morning."
"Promise?"
"Would I break a promise to you? Now get some sleep."
Nick yawned and settled back against the flat pillow. "G'night, Dad."
"Good night, Pancho."