Chapter 55 Healing Begins
Lara's pov
The gunshots were still ringing in my ears.
I sat on the floor holding Ethan. He wouldn't stop shaking.
Damien was beside us, one arm around me, the other checking Ethan for injuries even though we were inside the whole time.
"Are you hurt? Either of you?" he kept asking.
"We're fine," I said. But my voice didn't sound like mine.
The front door opened.
I flinched. Pulled Ethan closer.
It was the lead agent.
"Lucas Ward is in custody."
Those five words. I'd been waiting weeks to hear them.
But I couldn't feel anything. Just... nothing.
"Where is he?" Damien asked.
"Ambulance took him. He'll be at County General within twenty minutes. Surgery for the gunshot wounds."
"Will he survive?"
"Doctors think so. Hit in the shoulder and thigh. Messy but not fatal."
Part of me wished it had been fatal. Then this would really be over.
"What happens next?"
"Once he's stable, we transport him. Not by road this time. Helicopter straight to maximum security. He'll never see daylight again."
They made us stay put while they secured the perimeter.
Checked every inch of the property for accomplices.
Found nothing. Lucas had come alone.
An agent brought us water. Food we couldn't eat.
Ethan hadn't said a word since the shooting stopped.
Just stared at the wall.
"Baby, talk to me."
Nothing.
I looked at Damien. He looked as scared as I felt.
"Ethan, please. Say something."
He blinked. Focused on me.
"I heard the guns."
"I know."
"They were really loud."
"Yes they were."
"Is he really gone this time?"
"Yes. The police have him."
"What if he comes back?"
"He can't. He's hurt and he's going to jail."
Ethan's bottom lip trembled. "You said that before. And he came back."
He was right. I had said that before.
Why would he believe me now?
Around midnight, they finally said we could leave.
"Where do we go?" I asked.
"Back to your house. We've had teams there all day. It's secure."
"What about reporters?"
"We'll take you through the back. Avoid them completely."
We were loaded into an SUV. Tinted windows so dark I could barely see out.
Drove for an hour in silence.
When we pulled up to our house, I saw police tape. Evidence markers. Broken glass from a window.
"What happened here?"
"Lucas tried to break in yesterday. Before he found the safe house location. We stopped him but there was some damage."
Yesterday. He'd been at our house yesterday.
If we'd been home...
I pushed the thought away.
Inside, the house felt wrong.
Like someone had moved things. Touched everything.
The agents had searched it. Made sure Lucas hadn't left anything behind.
But it still felt violated.
I took Ethan upstairs to his room.
Everything looked normal but he wouldn't get in bed.
"What's wrong?"
"What if he was in here? What if he touched my stuff?"
"The police checked everything. It's safe."
"But what if—"
"No what ifs tonight. Please. Just sleep."
He climbed into bed still wearing his clothes. Wouldn't take them off.
I lay down next to him. Stayed until his breathing evened out.
But his eyes never fully closed. Like he was forcing himself to stay awake and watch for danger.
Downstairs, Damien was boarding up the broken window.
"Agent said they'll have it fixed tomorrow."
"Okay."
I sat on the couch. Stared at nothing.
"Lara, you need to eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten all day."
"I said I'm not hungry."
He sat beside me. Didn't push it.
We sat in silence for a long time.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
My whole body went cold.
"Don't answer it," Damien said.
But I had to know.
I answered.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Montgomery, this is Dr. Reeves from County General."
"Why are you calling me?"
"Lucas Ward is out of surgery. He's stable. He's asking for you."
"No."
"He said it's urgent. That he needs to tell you something."
"I don't care what he needs. The answer is no."
"He's quite insistent—"
"Tell him to go to hell."
I hung up.
Threw the phone across the room.
It hit the wall and shattered.
"He wants to see me. Even now. Even after everything."
Damien picked up the pieces of my phone. "He's never going to stop. You know that, right?"
"I know."
The next morning, Margaret showed up at 7am.
"I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay?"
"Define okay."
She sat across from me at the kitchen table.
"The media is everywhere. Cameras on every corner. They want a statement."
"They're not getting one."
"I figured. But they're not leaving until they get something."
"That's not my problem."
Margaret pulled out papers. "This is. Lucas's lawyer filed a motion this morning."
"For what?"
"He wants a psychiatric evaluation. Claims Lucas is mentally unfit to stand trial."
I couldn't believe it. "He's faking insanity?"
"Trying to. The motion says he was having a mental breakdown. Didn't know what he was doing."
"He knew exactly what he was doing!"
"I agree. But the judge has to allow the evaluation. Standard procedure."
"So what does that mean?"
"It means this could drag on for months. Maybe years."
I put my head in my hands. "This will never end."
Three days after Lucas was caught, I finally slept.
Really slept. For more than two hours at a time.
When I woke up, Damien was watching me.
"You were talking in your sleep."
"What did I say?"
"You kept saying 'find him, find him.'"
"I don't remember."
"You were crying too."
I touched my face. It was wet.
"I didn't even know I was crying."
Damien pulled me close. "You've been through hell. It's going to take time."
"How much time?"
"As much as you need."
But I didn't have time. Ethan needed me. Damien needed me. The lawyers needed statements and depositions.
Everyone needed something from me.
And I had nothing left to give.
A week later, the hospital called again.
Different doctor this time.
"Mrs. Montgomery, Lucas Ward is being discharged today."
"Good. Send him straight to prison."
"There's been a complication."
My heart stopped. "What kind of complication?"
"His psychiatric evaluation. The preliminary results suggest he may not be competent to—"
"Stop. Just stop."
"I'm sorry, but I'm required to inform you—"
"He's lying. He's faking it."
"That's for the doctors to determine."
"Where is he going when he leaves the hospital?"
"Psychiatric facility for further evaluation. Under guard, of course."
"Not prison?"
"Not yet."
I hung up.
Lucas wasn't going to prison.
He was going to a hospital.
Where he'd fake being crazy.
And maybe get away with everything.
I told Damien.
He put his fist through the wall.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He was shaking his hand. Blood on his knuckles.
"It's okay."
"No it's not. None of this is okay."
He sat down. Put his head in his hands.
"What if he gets out? What if they believe him?"
"Then we run again."
"I'm tired of running."
"Me too."
But what choice did we have?
Two weeks after the arrest, Ethan stopped talking completely.
Not a word.
I took him to a child psychologist.
She said it was trauma. Selective mutism brought on by severe stress.
"Will he get better?"
"With time and therapy, yes. But it could take months."
"What do I do?"
"Be patient. Don't force him to talk. Let him communicate however he's comfortable."
So I bought him a notebook.
He wrote things instead of speaking.
"I'm scared."
"I can't sleep."
"When will it stop?"
I didn't have answers to any of it.
One month after Lucas was caught, the psychiatric facility called.
"Mrs. Montgomery, we've completed our evaluation."
"And?"
"Lucas Ward is competent to stand trial. The judge has ordered his transfer to prison."
I sat down. "You're sure?"
"Positive. He was faking. We have proof."
"What kind of proof?"
"Recordings. We caught him talking normally to other patients when he thought no one was listening."
"So he's going to prison?"
"Tomorrow. Maximum security. No bail. No visitors except his lawyer."
"Good."
For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than fear.
I felt... hope.
Maybe this really was over.
Maybe we could start healing now.
That night, I sat with Ethan and his notebook.
"I have good news, baby."
He looked up at me.
"Lucas is going to prison tomorrow. For real this time. He's never getting out."
Ethan wrote: "Promise?"
"I promise."
He wrote again: "I'm still scared."
"Me too. But we're going to be okay."
He wrote one more thing: "I love you, Mommy."
I pulled him into my arms and cried.
These were the first words he'd written that weren't about fear.
It was a start.
A small one.
But a start.
And right now, that was enough.