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Dr. Pierce: He’s fitting in great. I bet you’re happy to get back to your clinic when you’re on your feet again. No rush though! We’re taking good care of your patients as necessary.
Tears blur my vision, and I toss my phone down. Iwantto get back to work. To normalcy. But every time I take a step closer to that door, I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Tired eyes.
Fading bruises.
Hair chopped at my shoulders.
And I’m reminded that my abductor is still out there somewhere. Waiting for me to slip up so they can get another chance at me.
Never again.
I cross over toward the bag again. Keeping my face shielded the way Dylan taught me, I swing out and connect with the bag again.
Then again.
I keep hitting it, letting every ounce of my frustration loose.
“What did that bag ever do to you?”
Gibson.His voice washes over me, a welcome distraction from beating an inanimate object senseless. “Hey,” I say as I turn toward him. He’s dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt with a flag on the front. His firearm is holstered at his hip, and a baseball cap is pulled low over his eyes.
His expression is anything but soft, his shoulders stiff.What’s wrong?
“Your mom said you were out here,” he says.
“I needed to burn off some steam.” I take a drink of my water. “What are you doing out here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Gibson, what is it?”
“Carla Yates was found dead this morning.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face. Every inch of my body goes cold, and I have to grip the bag to remain standing. Carla Yates. The nurse who took me under her wing when I first graduated from med school.
A woman who was there for me when I had a stomach bug and my dad rushed me to the ER.
Dead?
How can she be dead?
“I need you to breathe,” Gibson says.
I glance over. When did he get so close? His hand rubs small circles on my back. “She’s dead?”
He nods. “I’m so sorry, Lani. She was murdered.”
“I— This doesn’t make any sense! Who would hurt her?” His expression darkens, and realization sets in. “Oh no. It’s the same person who took me, wasn’t it? Was she taken too? I didn’t even know she was missing!”
“She wasn’t. She left on her lunch break, and that’s when she was killed. Or so we think. Timeline-wise, that’s what we’re leaning toward. According to her husband, she was going to come see me today and report?—”
“Taylor,” I choke out, my heart breaking when I think of Carla’s bubbly husband. He’s one of the happiest people I’ve ever met and now—“This cannot be happening.” I cover my face with my still-wrapped hands.
“His brother is with him now,” I tell her.
“You said she was going to report something. What?”