Chapter XVI

(Jane)

I wake up, drenched in sweat and out of breath.

A nightmare, a damned nightmare.

I run my hands through my hair and rub my face. It's maddening. For weeks now, I've been plagued by this one recurring nightmare. And, of course, Casey plays the lead role in it.

I sigh and glance at the clock. 7:30 a.m.

Even now, 20 weeks, 3 days, and 15 hours after my escape from that hell on earth, almost everything in my life still revolves around HIM. I sit here in this small room, on a floor shared with five other women whose fates are so similar yet so different from mine. In this house, on the outskirts of New York, finally free and yet so trapped. For weeks, I've barely set foot outside, and when I did, fear lurked over my shoulder. I couldn't take a step without looking around in panic.

The gnawing fear that he might find me has tormented me since the first second of my escape. The fear that he might hurt Maura.

Maura.

I close my eyes and fight back the few tears trying to escape. No, I must forget her. I know from Jo that Maura is doing well and that she will keep an eye on her. And I know from the media that Maura is now with JayJay.

I decide that getting up is a more promising option than trying to continue sleeping and slowly get up, turning on the radio.

I feel drained. Every day is a battle, even though I've now been officially diagnosed, take my medications daily, and attend weekly sessions with the in-house psychologist. Yes, I know you can't cure PTSD and depression in just a few weeks. The road is long and bumpy, and I'm just at the beginning of this rocky path.

I feel empty, tired. I don't know how much longer I can fight. Do I even want to take this path? Is there anything left worth fighting for?

(Maura)

Jane.

I know where Jane is; I have to see her. But what will I say? Is she angry? Am I angry? Does she even want to see me? How should I start?

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't see him coming. It's only when I slam hard against the steering wheel of my Prius that I realize I've been hit at full force. My vision blurs, and it's hard to keep focus. I touch my head and simultaneously taste metal in my mouth. Someone yanks open the passenger door. I look at my hand and see the note with Jane's address, bloodstained and barely legible.

Jane.

Everything goes dark.

(JayJay)

"Jo, what's up?"

I'm both annoyed and surprised by Jo's call. I like Jo, but mainly because Maura likes her. We don't have much to do with each other, and I can't shake the feeling that she's not particularly thrilled about our relationship.

"JayJay. It's Maura. She had an accident. Can you come to Presbyterian?"

Jo gives me a brief rundown of what happened while I'm already speeding to the hospital with the siren blaring.

"It doesn't look good, JayJay. She has a pretty bad head injury."

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I have to concentrate to avoid losing control of my car through the veil of tears at this high speed.

Maura.

(Jane)

I'm just stepping into my room, my hair still wet and the towel threatening to slip off my body. I close the bathroom door with my foot when the words of the reporter on the radio catch my attention.

"...Isles, Chief Medical Examiner of New York State. The information was confirmed a few minutes ago by her partner and Homicide Detective, Jennifer Jareau. There's still no detailed update on Dr. Isles' condition, but we know it's very serious. Police are working tirelessly to catch the driver of the black SUV, who is still at large after hitting Isles at full speed yesterday morning. We'll keep you updated. This is Nick Wallace, and those were the 9 o'clock news."

I feel panic rising in me, and my legs go weak.

Maura.

I try to push away the images of a bleeding, severely injured Maura, but it's no use, and I start hyperventilating. I attempt the breathing techniques I learned in therapy, but none of them work. The images get more intense, the injuries more severe. My God, what if she dies? I can barely breathe.

Knowing she's alive but that I can't have her is almost unbearable. But knowing she's gone and burying any hope of ever hearing her voice on the radio during an interview, or seeing her face in some tabloid, tightens my throat.

I feel everything spinning, and despite all my efforts, I can't stop the panic attack. I prepare myself mentally for the blackout before everything around me blurs.

Maura.

(JayJay)

I take a deep breath before entering the hospital room. Three days have passed since the devastating accident, and Maura's condition hasn't improved one bit. I open the blinds, air out the room, and change the water for the flowers before sitting down by Maura's side. I stroke her cheek and hold her hand.

We still have no leads on the bastard who did this to my girlfriend, and I feel the anger rising in me again. But before I can drown in my emotions, a soft knock on the door announces the doctor's visit.

"Detective Jareau."

"Doc." I nod in greeting.

He flips through his file, checks some readings on the monitors, fiddles with some buttons, and murmurs a few things to himself. I try to read his expression to gauge whether the news will be good or bad. But the man's face is so stony that any professional poker player would envy him.

"Well?" I ask impatiently after a while. I really don't have the nerves for this game, for the elitist attitude of this would-be god in white who can't do anything for Maura anyway.

"Well. Unchanged. I'm really sorry I can't give you better news."

And with those words, he leaves the room just as emotionless as he entered.

I look at Maura from a distance and try to picture her face without the thick white bandages, without the many red, blue, and purple bruises and swellings. I try to remember the bright sparkle in her eyes. Will I ever see those things again?

Sighing, I grab my phone and text Jo to update her on Maura's unchanged condition, before sitting back down in the chair by Maura's bed and letting my thoughts drift back to that unfortunate day.

I arrived at the hospital just minutes after Jo's call and rushed to the ER where I met Jo.

"Where is she? What happened? How is she?"

The questions tumble out of me, and I trip over my own words. Jo gently takes my arm and leads me to the nearby waiting area.

After I calm down a bit, she tells me that Maura was hit head-on by a black SUV that sped through the intersection. The driver apparently fled, as only his empty car was found at the scene. Maura lost consciousness shortly after the crash and hasn't regained it since. She was bleeding heavily from the head and is now in the CT and MRI for the doctors to assess the extent of the damage.

Hours pass, and I feel like I'm in a trance. I pace up and down the hallway like a wild animal in a cage that's too small.

"Family of Dr. Maura Isles?"

The somewhat older doctor with horn-rimmed glasses and thick black hair introduces himself as Dr. Lawrence and explains Maura's condition in more or less understandable terms. I wish she were here to explain all this medical jargon to me.

I don't understand all his words, but I catch the most important ones: traumatic brain injury, brain hemorrhage, increased intracranial pressure, skull drilling, coma, unclear prognosis, likely permanent damage. The additional five broken ribs, chest contusion, broken hand, and sprained leg seem almost laughable.

I grab the bag with Maura's personal items, the ones saved from the car or removed before surgery. I still wonder about the bloodstained piece of paper she clutched as if it were a matter of life and death. I can barely decipher anything; only a few letters are readable, and I can't make sense of it.

Irritated, I put the items back and stand up. I know I should spend more than just a few hours a day at her bedside, but what good does it do her if I sit here moping while criminals continue to wreak havoc in New York?

I kiss her hand and leave the room without a word.

(Jane)

The entrance to the hospital is almost too bright against the dark night. It's late March, and winter has hit New York once more. It's bitterly cold, and I shiver in my dark jeans and black hoodie. I stand in the shadows of the trees for minutes, contemplating my next move. Only a few people are awake, and the ER seems quiet. I could just walk in, or I could take the back entrance to ensure I don't encounter anyone.

I pull out my phone and scroll through the messages.

"New York Presbyterian, Room 1045. Nighttime seems safest. I'll register you. When do you want to go? Jo."

"Tonight."

"Report to the reception on the designated floor, Nurse Molly knows. Jo."

"Thank you, Jo, for everything. Jane."

I owe Jo everything. For all she's done for me in the past weeks and months. For visiting me just days after that disastrous dinner (and I still don't know how she found out, especially since she wasn't there). For helping me out of that hell on earth without many words. For accompanying me to the hospital to treat all my new injuries and then bringing me to a safe place. For getting me a new phone, supplying me with clothes and all sorts of necessities. For never pressuring me to file charges against Casey. For promising to keep an eye on Maura when I told her about his threats. For once again getting me the necessary information and access without much discussion.

I take the entrance to the ER but quietly sneak further into the hospital and find myself on the designated floor just minutes later. Nurse Molly seems to have expected me, and I follow her silently through the dimly lit corridor and the airlock to the ICU. She points to the door marked 1045 and nods at me with a smile.

"Take all the time you need. I'm here until 6 a.m. But don't expect too much; Dr. Isles is still comatose."

I nod and step into the dark room.

My eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. The moon shines through the half-drawn curtains, flooding the room with a white, almost ghostly light.

For a moment, I stand there, rooted to the spot. Why did I come? What do I hope to achieve from this visit? What do I want here? Should I leave?

I muster all my courage and approach the hospital bed, where this small and fragile-looking person lies. The sight of Maura in the too-large bed, with the bandages, tubes, and monitors, almost breaks my heart.

Almost reflexively, I lean forward and kiss her gently on the forehead. It's only then that I notice my tears, dripping in salty rivulets onto Maura's discolored and swollen face.

"Sorry," I murmur, gently wiping the wet spots with my sleeve.

I move the chair closer to her bed and take her hand.

I sit there, silently, feeling like an idiot. I don't know what I expected. The monitors beep just as monotonously as when I entered the room.

"I don't even know why I'm here…"

And now I'm talking to someone who can't even respond. A monologue with listeners who can't listen. I think I'm going crazy.

"I'm sorry, Maura." I look down, ashamed.

"I was too weak. I should have fought harder, stronger, more determinedly. I should have kept my promises. I shouldn't have left you out in the cold for so long... I shouldn't have left you alone for so long."

Suddenly, the words just pour out of me. All my fears, my mistakes, my hopes, my thoughts. I talk to her as if she can hear me. I try to explain why everything happened the way it did. And even though I don't know if she can hear me, I keep talking. Three hours later, I feel both exhausted and somehow relieved. It's as if a heavy burden has been lifted off my shoulders.

I squeeze her hand one last time and kiss her forehead again.

"I'll come back. I love you, Maura."

And then I leave the hospital, as quietly and stealthily as I entered it.