Chapter 301: Unconsciousness

Chapter 301: Unconsciousness
The camera caught her trembling violently as William yanked her up by her arm. Her eyes, filled with absolute terror, suddenly registered James's presence. Silent tears streamed down her swollen cheeks, her mouth covered with duct tape preventing her from calling out. 

"Daddy," I could almost hear her trying to say through the gag, her body straining toward James. 

William's hand snaked around her, pressing the knife against her throat. "One more step and she's gone," he snarled.

Harper struggled weakly against William's grip, her small body writhing in panic. It only took a second for William to react—his open palm connected with her face in a vicious slap that echoed through the audio feed. 

I cried out in horror, watching my daughter's head snap to the side from the force. But what terrified me most was her lack of reaction—no fresh tears, no increased struggle. Her eyes reflected only a numb resignation that no five-year-old should ever know.

"Stop moving, you little bitch!" William hissed, tightening his grip.

"Let her go, William," James said, his voice deadly calm. "It's over. Marcus has Theo, the police are on their way."

William barked a laugh. "You think I care? This was never about escaping. This was about watching you lose everything, just like I did."

My father slammed his fist against the wall. "That bastard," he growled. "That goddamn bastard."

I couldn't speak, couldn't move, could only watch as my daughter's life hung by a thread. Through James's camera, I could see her terrified eyes, silently pleading for help.

"You took everything from me," William continued, his voice rising. "Our father always favored you, the bastard son. Then you got the company, the fortune, everything that should have been mine!"

"William, this isn't about Harper," James said softly, taking a careful step forward. "She's innocent. Let her go."

"Please," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "Please, James, save her."

William's grip tightened on Harper's shoulder. "You know what's funny, James? I was going to let this one live. Keep her as insurance. But now I think we'll go together, she and I. One last Thornton tragedy."

He raised the knife, the blade catching the dim light.

"No!" James's shout coincided with my own scream.

The camera lurched forward as James launched himself at William. Everything became a blur—the knife flashing, Harper falling sideways, James's grunt of pain. The camera tilted crazily, finally settling on a view of the ceiling.

"James!" I cried, my voice raw. "James, get up!"

The audio captured shuffling sounds, Harper's terrified sobs, then Marcus's voice.

"We've got him! We've got William!"

More voices, shouting for medical assistance. The camera shifted slightly—James was still conscious, still moving. Through the tilted angle, I could see his hand grasping Harper's skirt, holding on even as he lay on the floor.

"Harper," he gasped, his voice faint through the mic. "Run... to Marcus."

"Tell Theo and Harper... I love them," James whispered, his voice fading. "Tell El..."

The feed cut to static.

I screamed his name until my throat burned, collapsing against Nathan as my legs gave way. The room erupted into chaos—people shouting orders, phones ringing, my father demanding answers no one had.

"Columbia Presbyterian," someone was saying. "They're taking them all to Columbia Presbyterian."

Nathan half-carried me toward the elevator, my father following close behind. I couldn't feel my legs, couldn't process what I'd just witnessed. The only thought in my mind was a desperate prayer, repeating with each ragged breath:

 

Chaos enveloped the emergency department of Columbia Presbyterian as medical teams rushed through the sliding doors. Theo's tiny body convulsed with fever on a gurney, his eyes rolled back. Harper, trembling and covered in bruises, wouldn't stop screaming, her golden curls matted with dirt and blood. James lay motionless on another stretcher, his shirt soaked crimson from the knife wound in his abdomen, his skin ashen.

David Parker appeared from nowhere, barking orders at the medical staff. He directed Theo to Pediatric ICU before turning his attention to James, whose vital signs were rapidly failing.

"Get him to OR 3 now!" David shouted. "We're losing him!"

I stood frozen, torn between my children and James. Harper clung to me like a lifeline, her screams turning to hiccupping sobs whenever anyone tried to separate us. Theo was being treated for severe dehydration and the fever that had pushed him toward seizures. And James—my James—was fighting for his life upstairs.

The surgery waiting room felt like purgatory. Two hours had passed. Then three. My phone buzzed occasionally with updates about Theo, who was responding well to treatment. Harper had finally submitted to examination, revealing extensive bruising but thankfully no broken bones. She'd been sedated after refusing to let anyone near her without screaming.

When David finally emerged, his scrubs spattered with blood, we all surged forward.

"He's alive," he announced, his voice ragged with exhaustion. "But critical. The knife nicked his liver and he lost a dangerous amount of blood. We've moved him to intensive care."

"Will he..." I couldn't finish the question.

David placed a hand on my shoulder. "The next twenty-four hours are crucial. His vitals are unstable, and he's still not breathing on his own." He hesitated. "I'll be staying with him tonight. All of you should get some rest. Tomorrow will bring what it brings."

"Can I see him?" The words scraped out of my throat.

David studied me for a moment. "ICU visitors are normally restricted, but tonight's different. Having you there might give him more strength to fight." He gestured toward a nurse. "She'll get you some scrubs. Then you can come with me."

James looked impossibly fragile surrounded by machines. Tubes snaked from his arms, his throat, his chest. The steady beep of the heart monitor provided the only evidence he was still with us.

I took his hand, shocked by how cold it felt. Pressing his knuckles against my cheek, I whispered, "James, you have to hold on. We've come too far to lose each other again." My voice cracked. "Theo and Harper need their dad. They've only just found you."

"His heart rate increased slightly," David noted, checking a monitor. "He can hear you. Keep talking."

So I talked. I told him about our years in London, about Harper's first steps and Theo's first words. I described rainy afternoons spent baking cookies, Christmas mornings when the twins would wake at dawn, late nights when I'd stare at their sleeping faces.

I must have dozed off still clutching his hand, because I woke to blaring alarms and David shouting orders as a team of nurses surrounded James's bed.

"Blood pressure's dropping!" someone called.

"He's coding," another voice announced.