Chapter Sixteen
~Zachary Goode~
My eyes felt heavy as I blinked away sleep. I didn't have to see to know where I was. The smell of chemicals and sterile cleaners filled my senses and made me dizzy.
I hate hospitals.
There was sharp pain all over my body, as if someone were pushing pins into me devastatingly slow as I fought to lift my limbs. It felt like hours before I was able to completely open my hazy eyes and I suddenly had the urge to find the nearest cigarette.
Damn, I needed a smoke.
But then my head turned slightly-ever so slightly-and I saw her. My wife. My best friend…
And she looked so achingly beautiful. She was skinnier-much skinnier-her hair looked dull instead of it's fuller, healthier look I last saw her with. There were dark circles under her closed eyes and I could see the hints of purple bruises under her hospital gown.
Yet she was still so beautiful and I felt that familiar itch to be closer to her, to touch her and to just…feel that she was here with me. And I prayed to God that this wasn't a dream and that I wouldn't wake up to live the nightmare that's been my reality for the past seven years.
"Cammie," I call out but she doesn't move. She looks so tired and worn and my whole body sinks at the thought that she isn't real. She could be dead like everyone has been saying since a year after she disappeared.
The sound of the door opening slowly brought me out of my haze to see a small nurse walk in with a clipboard in her small hands.
"Mr. Goode, how do you feel?" she asks looking at me over her glasses.
How do I feel?
In pain? Yes, physically, but also a certain numbness.
"Sore," I grimace and she nods, writing something on her chart.
"Well, hun, do you need another morphine cycle? If you don't need it then I suggest we don't use it, since you've been on a continuous cycle for three days-"
"Three days?" I interrupt and she nods slowly, "What happened? How's my wife…Luther, he-my daughter! Christ! Where is she?" I breathe heavily as I move to pull all of the monitors from my skin with haste.
"Calm…calm down Mr. Goode, and let me explain…" the nurse says, pushing me back down onto the hospital bed, and for a moment she reminds me of Mrs. Cope.
"Your left leg sustained a shot gun wound, plus some other nasty scrapes we had to stitch up. Your neighbor and daughter were found in the back of a van five miles out. There were a few men lying shot to death in the back with them. Your neighbor revealed in his statement that Luther gunned them down when they demanded their payment in exchange for you. I'm not really allowed to know more than what the rest of the public know so I can't tell you what else is being done about the case, but I can say that your daughter is unharmed. She and your mother-in-law are in the cafeteria getting food. They never leave your side otherwise," the nurse gives a tentative smile.
"What about my wife?" I ask, my shoulders becoming heavier as I weight anxiously.
She sighs loudly, closing her eyes to compose herself.
"She's malnourished for starters…nutrients are low, calcium, iron, fibers, carbohydrates, fats, proteins, you name it, she's low on it. Dehydrated, infections in some open wounds on her body and her uterus. She's anorexic, her body mass itself is too low, and her muscle mass is completely…gone. I suspect that she barely moved at all the past seven years of her life," the nurse cuts a look to my wife and I can clearly see the compassion and sadness behind her glasses.
"When she opens her eyes, we have to dull the lights, since we aren't aware if she was ever exposed to sunlight. She'll have to get physical therapy to strengthen her muscles again, and we'll have to tube feed her to regain her appetite back…"
I feel myself crumbling with every word she speaks. And I'm afraid to ask. I'm to scared I won't get the answer I want.
"And that's just the physical aspect of her recovery…" the nurse says full of remorse, "She'll be requested a therapist as well after the police are done with her statements…"
"Will she survive…?" I feel silent tears running down my face but I couldn't give a damn, "Do you think she has a chance?"
The nurse pats me wearily and replies, "It will take time, Mr. Goode, you just have to be patient and encouraging. With what I've heard about your courage and faithfulness to rescue your wife while putting yourself in danger, I believe she'll make it."
Some of the weight lifts up from my shoulders and I breathe a little bit easier. I look over longingly at my wife and I feel my heart thumping wildly in my chest, "Please, I need to be closer to her. Please, I need to…" I squeeze my eyes shut when I remember a whole different addiction I had to that charged feeling I always got when I touched her skin. It made me feel alive.
And all of a sudden I'm being lifted gently to sit upright and I notice that the nurse had brought over a wheelchair, helping me into it.
She doesn't say anything as she rolls me carefully to Cammie's bed.
I want to cry and smile at the same time when I'm mere inches away from Cammie, my Cookie. She's still snoring softly in her deep sleep and I hesitate to bring her hand to mine and finally end up fisting the bed sheets in my fist.
"I'll leave you alone now Mr. Goode," the nurse says softly and I look up at her sad expression.
"What's your name?" I ask since I never even bothered to look at her nametag.
"Nurse Buckingham, I'm head nurse in this department, so call for me if you need anything."
I smile softly at her and reply, "Please, call me Zach…and thank you…" I stutter over my words, "For everything."
XXXX
Twenty minutes passed by where I was just sitting there next to her, thinking, wanting to feel her touch. No one came though the hospital door of the ICU room we were placed in three days ago after Luther Finnigan shot himself. And I would sit there with my fists clenched on the bed, so close to coming in contact with her arm. The steady beeping of the monitors above her head were driving me crazy as it sped up at times until it slowed back to it's normal pace.
I would ball up the hospital blankets in my hand, or lightly skim her pillow near her head with my fingertips. Yet, I was too afraid to touch her. I saw her chest rise and fall with each intake of breath and felt my own synching with hers as it always did. The usual heat that I would feel radiate off her wasn't as strong, and it worried me that it would never be the same.
What if she woke up and didn't remember me? would she remember MC? What if she decided that since I've completely failed her these past seven years, takes off, and never comes back? Would I be able to let her go again? Could I really live or breathe another second without her?
No.
And I shake my head at my crazy thoughts because my Cammie isn't like that.
And I wonder what's going to happen next, and I wonder about how long we're going to be in this hospital and how much therapy we'll all need to get through this. Because we can't get through this alone.
And when doctors come in to give me hers and mine prescriptions, or when Rachel steps in with tears streaming down her face when she spots me, and a sleeping MC over her shoulder as they sit in the chairs in the corners, and when I look away from Cammie briefly to call Bex and ask how Grant is doing, or when the police officers come in and ask some questions before setting up a time to get Cammie's statements, I barely register it.
Because I'm to craven and scared to simply touch her or give my wife comfort when I haven't seen her in seven years and it kills me.
So that's why when it's well passed midnight and my back and leg are surely sore from sitting in this wheelchair all day unmoving, I see her fingers twitch and I immediately grasp her hand in both my palms.
I feel the same warmth and am quickly at ease and wired at the same time. My breath catches and I realize I'm mumbling incoherently as I press my lips to the back of her hand, moving to her palm, then her fingertips.
And for now this is all I need. As long as I have this connection to her, I can finally breathe easier and the weight that I've carried on my shoulders for the past seven years is completely lifted and I can't help but ball her hand into mine and hold it between my eyes as I sob again for what feels like the nth time. But these tears aren't laced with sadness, regret maybe, but no longer sadness as much as elation. Joy courses through m body as I realize that it all feels the same, that we'll make it through this and come out stronger for it. We'll be able to live the rest of our lives one day with our daughter without the burden of Luther.
It's all because of this girl that drives me crazy after the twenty-three years I've known her…
…
"Hey Zach," I blink open my sleepy eyes when I hear Cammie's voice and feel her tiny feet nudging my legs.
"Yeah?" I ask warily because she has that sparkle in her eye and that smirk that I've come to recognize on m best friend's face.
"My mom said that you're mom said you're going through the 'nightlight phase'," she looks smug as she swings her legs off the dock.
I feel heat radiating off of me in waves and know I'm probably blushing scarlet.
I'm too embarrassed to reply and look away, leaning on the rails on the dock.
"Why are you scared of the dark?" Cammie asks a little later.
I don't really want to explain to her why I'm still afraid of the dark when I'm nine years old, so I shrug.
She inches closer to me until her hand is in mine and her head is leaning against my shoulder, "I get scared of the dark too. Especially when I dream about my Daddy."
I look at her and I feel sorry. So I say, "I get scared because I feel alone. When I'm in my room by myself and it's dark, I get scared that when the sun comes up again, I'll be alone."
I feel my neck and cheeks getting red again when she squeezes my hand.
"I'm just a few houses down, Zach. I won't disappear when the sun comes up. I'll be there, I promise," she says and smiles, "You should think of cookies."
I look at her like a tree just popped out of her ears, "What? Why?"
"Cause when I think of something nice and good, I fall asleep. So I think of cookies," she shrugs and it's her turn to blush.
"I'll try it," I nudge her foot with my toes as we both swing our legs back and forth off the dock.
"I'll race you to the abandoned house!" she offers suddenly and we're both on our feet.
"…1…"
"…2…"
"…3…"
I let her win.
And I dream about cookies and Cammie because those are nice and good things and she promised to be there when the sun rises, so I don't need my nightlight anymore.
…
I spend the rest of the night making sure she's comfortable by adjusting the pillows when she scrunches up her nose every so often or tuck strand of her hair behind her ears.
And I can't stop touching her, keeping as much contact as possible because I can't bare to fathom what would happen if I lost sight of her again.
It wasn't until around three in the morning when I heard faint tiny pitter-patters come towards me, brushing it off as the machines, until I felt a tug on my hospital gown.
"Daddy," a little voice whispered to me and I broke my eyes away from my wife, still clutching her hand as if it were my life line-which it really was-and turned to see my baby rubbing her eyes with both hands and her small lips formed in a soft yawn.
"Oh, my baby, you're awake?" I scoop her up with one arm so she's sitting in my lap and I'm holding her tight to my chest.
"Yeah, Daddy, don't you see my eyes are open?" she raises her eyebrows and I can't help but notice how she gets her cynicism from her mother. They both like to leave me gaping like an idiot.
"Yeah, baby, I see you're beautiful eyes are open," I kiss her cheeks and forehead while her little arms wrap around my torso and she lets out another yawn.
"Is that Mommy?" MC asks, "Gran says it is Mommy but I wasn't sure. Is she my Mommy, Daddy?"
My heart stutters a moment before I compose myself. After this, all the hesitation will be over. I tell myself and nod.
"This is your Mommy, MC. This is Mommy," I say quietly and absently rub my thumb back and forth on her palm.
MC looks at her with wide eyes, "I remember…C-Can I hold her hand too," she asks and I nod, full of emotion.
"Of course, baby," I say and she unravels her arms from around me and puts one of her small hands in Cammie's palm, and I squeeze both and hold on tight.
This, is my lifeline.
And that's when I realized that we would be a family again. No matter how long it takes. We'll be okay.
XXXX
A.N. So…anyone excited for when Cammie wakes up and we get that big reunion we've all been waiting for? The final chapter is next and then the epilogue!
Review, dahlings, so I can update faster than this! I almost waited a MONTH! Man, I feel tons of awful. But thanks for the wait!
~Akira
P.S. For those Broken Swans fans out there, I will be updating this week! So look for it!