Chapter 13

Matthew was in his parents' house, lounging in the living room, wondering how the night would go with the special guest they were expecting. His mother had gone all out with the cooking, an entire spread of dishes prepared.

He looked at his over-cheerful mother and his whistling father and fought the urge to shake his head at their antics. He didn't need to assume the reason for their excitement. This was the first time since he had ever consented to a visit from a woman.

And ever since he had told his mother about the attempted rape, she had been itching to see Miranda. Their coincidental meeting in his office was the final straw. She all but jumped at the chance to spend more time with Miranda.

Not that he disapproved. In fact, he found himself strangely attracted to the woman. Her soft voice, her calm demeanor, the intense intelligence burning in her eyes, and her quiet yet dazzling beauty.

And so, despite his disdain for the female gender, he looked forward to spending some time with her.

That is if she ever arrived. 7 pm arrived and passed. She hadn't shown up or even called. But this could be disregarded. The traffic in the city could be wild and unpredictable at times. She could be stuck behind a long line of vehicles, slowing her journey to the house.

Thirty minutes later and the worry started. Matthew rose from his spot opposite the massive television and walked to the door where he had hung his jacket. He dug around the pockets and fished out his phone.

The first call rang through with no answer. Frowning at the device, Matthew called again but to no avail.

If this was a normal situation, he would have overlooked her gaffe and had a nice, relaxing evening with his family, but it was not a normal situation. Miranda, he knew, was not a person to arrive late to a dinner with no call or text explaining why.

Something had gone wrong somewhere, and the name Karly kept flashing through his mind.

Matthew walked back into the dining room where his parents sat, waiting.

"Did she call?" his father asked after spotting the phone in his hand.

Matthew shook his head. "No. I'll head out to see if there is a problem. You can start without us. I'll call you if anything happens."

"You're heading to her place?" his mother asked, surprised.

"Yes," he said. "I'll call you."

With that, Matthew left the house and entered his car, ready to drive out of his parking spot. He had only started the car when his phone buzzed with an incoming call. He glanced at the number and frowned. He didn't recognize it. This was his personal line. The number of people who had this number was not up to ten and he had all their contacts stored. So why was an unknown number calling him?

He returned his gaze to the garage, putting the car in reverse when the image of Miranda calling him two weeks ago with an unknown number flashed in his mind.

Did something happen to her phone? Was that why she did not call?

Matthew removed his right hand from the steering wheel and picked the phone up. He accepted the call and placed the phone against his ear. "Hello."

"Good evening. Am I speaking with…Matthew Devin?" a professional and female sounding voice said.

Eyebrows furrowed, Matthew said, trying to overlook the fact that the speaker was a woman, "Yes, you are."

"This is Bernie Crossley, calling from Windore Hospital. We have a patient here by the name of Miranda Dunne. She was rushed into the hospital about twenty minutes ago. I was told to contact you to inform you that she will not be able to attend a dinner. She sends her apologies."

Matthew's heart froze, fear holding it still. He swallowed and tried not to raise his voice. "Windore Hospital? Where is that?"

The nurse gave the directions and Matthew shot out from the garage. He had reached the entrance of the estate where his parents' house was located before he remembered to input the location in the sat nav.

His hands trembled with emotion, but he got the direction he needed and put his foot down. He drove manically before reminding himself that if he got pulled over by the police, he would only waste precious time.

He slowed for a traffic light and exhaled.

"Calm down. Calm down, calm yourself down," Matthew whispered viciously to himself as he gripped his steering wheel tightly and glared at the red light. Night had fallen around him, but he paid no attention to the busy neon-tainted streets. He had a destination in mind.

Mercifully, the traffic light changed, and he shot towards the hospital again.

Matthew arrived at Windore Hospital and deposited the car in the parking lot. Not bothering to search for a male to speak to, he gave his name and Miranda's to the woman working in the receptionist area and he was directed to the floor where Miranda had been moved.

The nurse on the floor told him what room and what bed she currently occupied but he was initially not allowed to go in. It was past visiting hours and even if they could make an exception, it would be for a female, not a male.

Fortunately, the only other patient in the room had just been discharged, leaving the room devoid of female patients. The nurse told him that he was free to enter but once any patient was admitted to the ward, he would have to leave.

Matthew thanked the nurse and stepped into the sterile ward. He was immediately swamped with a strange feeling of despair. The barrenness of the room, the white mattresses, the blue curtains, and the metal bed frames. It made him feel an abnormal and sudden depression.

He walked slowly towards the only bed with the curtain pulled closed, his footsteps halting as the woman lying on the bed became visible.

Matthew took one look at her gauze-wrapped head, the bandages on her arms and hands, and shot out of the room.

Bile raced up his throat, threatening to make him gag. He reached the hallway and slumped against the wall. He placed one hand behind him on the wall to support himself while he clamped the other over his mouth, praying he did not throw up.

He thought she was sick. That's why most people came to the hospital, right? Because they were sick. Not because they had been attacked. And she had been attacked. This was not a road accident or a mishap with equipment.

She had been purposely injured.

Matthew clenched his teeth forcefully. Another person had put their hands on her with the intent to harm and they had done a lot of harm. Karly. Karly had done this. Karly had done this.

Anger ran through Matthew's blood, flushing nausea out, becoming the dominant emotion. He clenched his fists and pounded them against the wall. He was going to kill him. That was the only way to ease his anger. The need to kill erased all rational thought from his mind, leaving him in a semi-crazed state in the empty hall.

His pocket vibrated with an incoming call. It took all his self-control not to smash the phone against the wall. That would only worsen the situation. He pulled the phone out of his pocket to see who was calling.

His mother. That's right. They were probably waiting for him before they started dinner. But he could not answer now. He didn't trust his voice or even his sanity for that matter.

His thumbs flew across the screen as he typed out a short message. They didn't need to wait for him. He had no idea when or if he would return home. He had no idea what he was even doing. He had raced here, desperate to know if she was fine.

He laid eyes on her for one second and the threads that held his fragile mind together began fraying. How many times had he been in that position? In pain from blows inflicted by others? Too many to count.

Every part of him had been broken, bent, and twisted in every way possible. Then the quack doctors they paid would stitch him back together in exchange for sex, drugs, or alcohol. Break, stitch. Break, stitch. Break, stitch.

The cycle of pain continued until he had been permanently broken unable to recover. Here he was, a twenty-eight old man who could barely hold a conversation with the opposite sex. He wanted to protect her. To shield her from what he had experienced but he had failed in that.

Would she recover from this?

If she would, then she needed help. Breathing in deeply, he made his second entry into the ward. He walked to the bed but did not stop at the edge this time.

He moved closer, close enough to touch and be touched.

"Miranda," he started, his heart bleeding, "I…"

Miranda looked at him, her eyes full of tears. "I'm…so sorry," she whispered, her voice weak. "I'm very sorry. I didn't know…that he would…come after me…like that. I'm sorry."

Matthew shook his head, feeling wretched. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Absolutely nothing. Don't say that. This is not your fault."

She continued to cry, inconsolable. And he looked on, equally inconsolable. They remained together in silence until Miranda slowly fell into a deep sleep. He remained unmoving before stretching a hand out to lightly graze her tear-stained face.

So beautiful.

Exhaling, he tucked his hands into his pockets and walked to the reception desk on the floor.

"The patient in the ward. I want her moved to a private room. Can you make that happen?"

The woman nodded, typing into the computer in front of her.

"I'd also like to settle the bill." She nodded once more, and Matthew left her to continue her duties.

In time, Miranda was moved to another floor of the building. The new room was larger, having a small round table and two chairs around it.

Not long after she was settled into the room, a nurse knocked and entered the room. "Mr. Devin?" she asked when she saw him.

Matthew turned and while he did not recognize the face, he recognized the voice. "Bernie Crossley?"

The nurse extended a hand, but he politely declined. "I'm sorry. I don't do handshakes. Thank you, however, for the call."

"It's fine." She walked to the other side of the bed, checked the drip, and made some adjustments. "Mr. Devin, due to the severity and the types of Ms. Dunne's injuries, the hospital has made an official report to the police and there will be some questions asked."

Matthew had no response to that. If only the police could do anything here, then maybe the report would be worth it. "I have no problem with that. I just want her properly treated."

Bernie smiled. "She will be. The injuries are not life-threatening. The wound on her head was superficial so it will heal with no problems."

Matthew looked at the unconscious woman, his heart beating hard. What would he have done if she was seriously attacked or even killed?

"What really happened to her? We could not speak much before she fell asleep."

Bernie looked down at Miranda and frowned. "There is a cut on her head, on the left side that needed a few stitches. There were some other parts of her scalp where we found bruised patches. Her hair was ripped out in those areas. There were some bruises on her left shoulder, upper arm, and around the ribs on her left. There were deep gashes on her palms. We found some glass shards in them so we are suspecting that she may have picked up a piece of glass, maybe to defend herself, and ended up injured."

She looked up at Matthew and pity clouded her face. "She'll be fine, really. She needs some treatment, but she will heal."

Matthew did not know what his face looked like but considering how the woman seemed to be compassionate towards him, he probably looked as sick as he felt. So many injuries. Would she really be fine?

"I'll be leaving now. If there is anything you need, you can see the nurse at the station."

"Thank you. Thank you very much. I'm in your debt."

Bernie waved the thanks away. "Nothing so serious. See you later."

Matthew walked to the spot where the nurse vacated, pulled a chair closer, and sat. He stared at her face, beautiful and frail-looking. He watched, mesmerized as her chest lifted up and down with every breath she took. Be fine, Miranda. Be fine.

The clock ticked and tocked in the silent room, mercilessly counting away. How long had he been here? He had no idea. He needed to return though.

His phone rang, as if in agreement with that thought. Walter.

Matthew rejected the call. He had some things to say to him. None of which would be proper to say at a hospital bedside. It was only when he slammed the door of his Audi and settled into the driver's seat that he called his assistant.

The phone was answered on the first ring. "Mr. Devin."

"Walter," Matthew responded, anger bleeding into his voice. "When you were searching for a house for Miranda what did I tell you?"

"You said to find a comfortable house in a quiet and safe neighborhood," Walter said, confidently. And then, not-so-confidently, "Is there a problem, sir?"

"Safe and quiet neighborhood. And is that what you did?"

"Yes, sir," Walter replied simply. He seemed to understand that his boss was not in a good mood.

"Tell me, Walter. If a neighborhood is safe, should it be easy to kidnap someone in it?"

"No, it should not be, sir."

"Should it be easy for the person to be attacked viciously to the point of hospitalization? Should it, Walter?"

No reply this time. But that did not stop Matthew. The anger he tried so hard to suppress poured out.

"Should the person be bloodied, beaten, and injured in such a safe neighborhood? If the neighborhood is so safe, Walter, tell me why that person is in the hospital, in pain and…"

He sighed, slumping in his seat. It was not Walter he was truly angry with. It was himself. He should have seen that Karly would not let her go so easily. He should have prevented this.

Walter, mustering courage, asked in a soft voice. "Sir, is Ms. Dunne alright?"

"I will call you later," Matthew said and ended the call. He didn't want to speak anymore. He was drained. As he looked up at the hospital, at the windows that shone with light, he felt an alien desire come over him.

He wanted to protect this woman. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted to keep her close.