Page 53 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
Chapter ThirtyI don’t feel anything while I’m nestled in Gabriel’s large bed. Not hunger. Not pain. Definitely not horror at what my biological father did to me. And that’s how I want to stay.
There’s a flicker of relief when Anders comes in. Alive.
He has the black bag with him, which he sets down on the bed. “You must be surprised to see me?” he says, a glint in his ice-blue eyes. “Disappointed I didn’t bleed out on the stairs.”
I’m not sure how much more death I can handle. None, really.
“Gabriel says you aren’t talking. I don’t suppose you’ll whisper something to me. He would be incredibly jealous. Imagine how fun that would be?”
His words have to travel the cottony padding of my mind before reaching me. Disappointment flashes on his face before he flips open the bag. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to poke and prod to figure out the answers myself.”
What he doesn’t realize is that I’m completely numb.
His hands. The cold flat of the stethoscope on my breastbone.
Pricks of needles drawing blood.
All of them pass like seconds ticking by, separate from me. My entire body, separate. It’s still a relief when he leaves, closing the door behind him. All I want to do is sleep.
“She has to want to get better.” Anders’s voice crashes through the closed door, despite his attempt to keep it low. “If she won’t eat, won’t fight for it, there’s nothing I can do—medically speaking.”
“What is there to do not medically speaking?” That’s Gabriel.
“There’s a reason they revoked my license.”
“She’s wasting away in there. I can see her bones. Every day I go in, I’m afraid she won’t open her eyes. Every breath she takes, I’m afraid it will be her last.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” Anders says dispassionately. “Heart failure, probably.”
A loud crash. Probably a fist against a jaw, my mind calculates without emotion. Followed by ceramic breaking and wood splintering. The oriental vase and antique hallway table. Priceless. And now it’s broken into a million pieces.
“Fuck.” Anders’s voice sounds muffled.
“That’s not good enough. Tell me how to help her.”
When the other man speaks again, there’s a slight lisp as if his lip has puffed. “Sometimes with patients who have a significant trauma, they’ll induce a coma. To protect the brain.”
“You’re saying you want to induce a coma?”
“I’m saying she’s in one. The brain patterns. The metabolism. Her body has done it.”
“But she can still hear me. Sometimes she looks at me.”
“Yes, and if it were done by drugs, she wouldn’t do that. But the body doesn’t exactly measure things in vials before injecting her. The goal is to protect her, and her physiology is doing that.”
“So then I should leave her this way?”
“Well, she’ll definitely die. Fevers are also mechanisms to protect the body, raising the heat level to kill off infections. But too high a fever can kill the brain cells, too. They can kill the very person they’re designed to protect.”
“I swear to God—”
“Jesus, stop. Don’t fucking hit me. I’m telling you the truth. Repressed memories, they’re buried for a reason. Because the mind can’t process the trauma. The fire probably triggered her PTSD from what happened as a child. Then caring for Penny, that probably helped uncover the memories. Or maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe being kept in this place reminded her of being trapped at home as a child.”
“You’re saying I did this to her.”
“I’m saying the brain is complex. What I do know is this—Jonathan Scott is a sick fuck who caused a deep psychological trauma when she was young. And her body suspended the effects of that trauma until now.”
“So you need to snap her out of this.”
“No,” Anders says, sounding farther away. “You do.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“This wasn’t induced by drugs. We can’t use them to snap her out, either.”
“It was induced by her father being a sick fuck who violated her,” Gabriel snaps.
I can practically hear the shrug in Anders’s voice. “Maybe fuck her, then.”
“Out.”
“I’m just saying. It can’t hurt at this point.”
“Get the fuck out or you’ll be flat on the ground. I can’t promise I won’t break your jaw this time.”
Loud swearing fades away, because Anders may be crude, but he isn’t stupid. Anyone could tell that Gabriel is serious about that threat. The violence vibrates through his voice—through the air, even in the silence that follows. I can feel it crackle over my skin like electricity, an unwelcome reminder that I can still feel. Despite everything, I can still feel.
I suppose that’s why the word violated feels like the tip of an iron poker, tinged red with heat, imprinting right on my heart, smoke rising above me. It smells like burned skin, like burned hope.
When Gabriel walks into the room, I’m lying on the bed where I always am. My eyes are closed like they always are. My body is still like it always is. But already it feels a little different. I’m more aware of him, of his intent. His determination.
