Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,96
Two victims.”
Matthew’s eyes lowered to the bed. “Right. Two . . . He took them both.”
Jim wrote on the pad. Did she . . . suffer?
Victoria swallowed. There was nothing to be gained from him knowing the truth. “She isn’t suffering now. And Troy North won’t ever hurt anyone else.”
Jim’s gaze met hers. She hadn’t wanted to tell him the truth but . . .
When tears clouded his eyes, Victoria realized that he’d already known. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish . . . I wish we could have found her sooner.”
Jim’s lips parted.
“So do I,” Matthew mumbled.
Footsteps padded into the room and a blond nurse popped her head around the curtain. When she saw them all, her blue eyes flared, but she seemed to focus specifically on Matthew. “Dr. Walker!” She hurried to his side. “You should be resting! Especially after that dose of morphine, you should not be wandering around.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Just . . . needed to see for myself . . . young Jim was okay . . .”
“I’ll help you get him back to the room,” Wade said.
Jim watched as Matthew was led out. Victoria kept her gaze on Jim, not the others as they filed out. There was something about the way he was watching Matthew . . .
Jim glanced back at her.
“Is everything okay?” Victoria asked him.
He motioned to his throat. Right. Getting your throat sliced was hardly okay.
“I wish things could have ended differently.” It was odd. She’d once felt so uncomfortable with the victims—the live ones anyway. But she’d needed to come to the hospital and see Jim. To tell him good-bye. So what if Captain Vann hadn’t wanted them there? She couldn’t leave town without seeing Jim one more time.
He picked up the pen again. Me, too.
She put her card on the bedside table. She felt so helpless. “If you ever need anything, please let me know.” LOST was taking care of his medical bills. Just a small thing, but . . .
He was writing again.
Melissa always . . . hated that guy.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed on the text. “Dr. North?”
Jim gave a hard shake of his head, then winced. He wrote, Walker.
“I thought they were involved,” she said, voice careful.
Jim’s brows shot up.
“That’s what he said.”
Anger flashed on his face. He wrote, She never told me.
“Sometimes people keep secrets.”
The machines beeped around them. Sadness had slid over his face.
She wanted to comfort him. “Melissa loved you. And you loved her.”
He nodded.
“Isn’t that all that really matters? Maybe any secrets she kept . . . she kept them because she didn’t want to hurt you.”
He put down his pen.
“Everything seems hard now,” Victoria continued, aware that her voice had gone ragged. “You probably don’t believe this . . . but I truly do understand. Just breathing seems hard, and the idea of going back out into the world with everyone else, acting as if life is normal when you know it’s not, when everything has been ripped away from you—that idea terrifies you.”
Jim watched her. His eyes—they looked dead. I know that expression. I saw it in the mirror after my mother’s trial.
“But the world can only scare you if you let it. Take it one day, one minute, at a time. Small steps, no big leaps. One day you’ll decide to take a walk in the park, and the sunshine won’t seem so glaring to you . . .”
Tellingly, his gaze slid to the shut blinds in his room.
“Another day, you’ll join friends for dinner, and the conversation—it won’t seem so empty to you.”
His stare came back and doubted her.
“It won’t,” she said again, giving a determined nod. “You’ll go through bad days and good days, but you will get through them all. And then . . . when you think that life is just—just there, that you’re only going through the motions . . . it will change.”
Jim shook his head.
“It will change. And you’ll stop wondering why you didn’t die. You’ll stop thinking about how much easier death would have been.” She knew. She’d been there. “And you’ll find that you’re living.” Her laughter held a bitter edge. “None of that will be easy. None of it will be quick, but it will happen.”
And it was there. The faintest flicker of hope in his eyes.
“If you ever want to talk to someone who’s been there . . .” Her gaze slid to the card she’d put down for him. “Give me a call.”
This time,