Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (2 page)

“Lucas,” I squeak as the tears start to really flow.

“It’s okay, Sam. You’re okay now. It’s all right.” He sits on the side of the bed and pulls me into his arms and it is then that I realize I have an IV hooked up to my right arm. I don’t know how long Lucas lets me cry on his shoulder but, after some time, I hear the door open slowly and someone enters.

“Samantha!”

“Mom?”

I can’t see it but, I can hear my brother’s soft exasperated sigh as he lets go of me and stands up. Our mother can be a bit of a handful sometimes.

“Oh, my God, Samantha! You look horrid,” she almost shrieks and my spirits fall even further. “I cannot believe this has happened. And, of course, it wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been working at that damned museum!”

Oh, this is all I need right now. Yet another argument with Mom about my choices and ‘suitable pastimes for a young woman of my status.’ Great.

“I think what you mean to say is, ‘How are you feeling, Samantha?’ Right, Mom?” I can tell by Lucas’ voice that he is shooting her a look of contempt.

“Well, of course, I’m worried about how she’s feeling, Lucas,” Mom replies. “Don’t get petulant with me.” She turns her attention back to me and says, “Darling. You poor thing.” I feel her sit on my bed and she takes my hand. “What are the doctors saying?”

“I was just about to tell them she’s awake,” Lucas says, adopting the no-nonsense, business tycoon attitude he usually uses with Mom.

“Well, get to it then,” Mom says, and I hear the door open and close once more as he leaves the room. Mom is silent for a moment and I feel her run her hand softly over the top of my head, stroking my hair as if I were a small child. “Oh,” she says quietly, and it’s an almost tortured sound. “My beautiful baby girl. What kind of animal would do this?” she whispers and I wonder at just how bad I must look.

In a moment, Lucas is back and I can tell from the sound of the footsteps that he’s not alone. The other person speaks and it’s a friendly female voice. “Hello Samantha. Welcome back. I’m Dr. Nash.”

“Hello.” My voice sounds very small to my ears.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions but first, let me just tell you what’s going on, okay?”

I say nothing and nod as I cling to my mother’s hand. It’s funny. Usually my mother and I are at odds over just about everything in my life but, right now, having her here is strangely soothing. I guess when we’re hurt, we all want our mommies. It’s human nature.

“Well, first of all, I want you to know that we’re confident you’re going to make a complete recovery,” Dr. Nash says in a soothing voice. “Your brother tells me you’re concerned that you can’t see anything right now, and I understand your worries so, let me explain. Your left eye is severely swollen but it doesn’t appear to be damaged in any way so, as that swelling goes down, you should have no problem with your vision in it. However, your right eye did have a fair amount of debris in it. We believe it was gravel from the supermarket parking lot you were mugged in. We removed the debris and we’re confident that we got it all. But your eye is bandaged and you’re wearing a patch over it, just as a precautionary measure. We’ll remove the bandages in a day or two.”

I raise my hand to lightly touch the patch over my eye. I feel sick and my stomach begins to roll.

“Now you also suffered some bruising to your left ribs but they’re not broken, okay,” the doctor continues, “and your left arm has some abrasions where you landed on it, and we’ve cleaned and bandaged those as well. Also, there’s a nice bruise on your right shoulder. We’re not exactly certain what caused that.”

At her words, I suddenly remember my attacker’s hands clawing at my shoulder and arm, trying to get at my purse.

“All in all, I would say that you’re a very lucky girl,” Dr. Nash says. “It could have been a lot worse.”

I shudder. I don’t feel very lucky at all.

“Doctor, when can she go home,” Lucas asks. His voice is still all business. Seems the concerned big brother is gone for the moment.

“We’ll keep her here for a day or two,” Nash replies. “As I said, we want to keep a close watch on that eye. Her other wounds are all fairly superficial and will just take time to heal. We’re giving you something for the pain but, other than that,” Nash turns her attention back to me, “your vitals are good, Samantha. Do you have any questions for me?”

I shake my head ‘no,’ but then, I think of something. “Um … I can’t see to go to the bathroom,” I say quietly. And I can hear Lucas snicker. The business tycoon has been pushed to the side and my big brother is back. I smile slightly, but the motion makes my face hurt and I flinch.

“I’ll send in a nurse to help you with that,” Dr. Nash says, and I can hear her smile. She turns to leave but stops at the door. “Oh, by the way, the police were here a few hours ago but, you were still out of it. They’ll be back to talk to you about the mugging.” Then she turns and leaves.

With this new revelation, I am overtaken by a wave of dread. “I don’t want to talk to the police,” I whisper. I know that I’m being silly. But right now, I just want to forget last night ever happened; I don’t want to have to relive it all for the authorities.

“I understand that, Sam,” Lucas says to me quietly, “but you have no choice. And I need to get to the office and see if we can’t keep a lid on this for now. The last thing you need is reporters pestering you in the hospital.”

I groan again. I hadn’t thought about the media. One of the curses of being a Colby. Usually, I avoid the media by keeping a low profile. I don’t do all the inane socialite activities that my mother insists would bring me to the attention of what she calls ‘suitable bachelors.’ It’s a frequent topic of contention between Mom and me but, unless it’s for a cause that I truly support, I just don’t see the point. I refuse to be a celebutante and have my face plastered all over the tabloids.

Great.
So, not only can’t I see what I look like but, according to my mother’s reaction when she walked in, it’s hideous. And now there might be photographers roaming the halls trying to get a shot of my battered face for the news and the tabloids. Wonderful. This day just gets better and better.

“Don’t worry, darling,” my mother says in that imperious tone of hers. “We’ll take care of that. Lucas, can we get a guard at her door to keep everyone but family and the medical staff at bay?”

“Yes, I’ve already put in a call actually. I’m not leaving until security gets here.”

“Wonderful, thank you, honey.” Her voice is dripping with sweetness. I hear her take something out of her purse and, as she continues talking, she stands and begins to brush my hair. “You see, darling. It’s all going to be all right. And when you’re released from here, you are coming home with me,” she adds sternly. “You are not going back to that unsafe apartment of yours.”

“Mom, I am not going home with you,” I insist. “My apartment is fine.”

“Mom,” Lucas speaks up, “Sam’s apartment is in one of the safest, most affluent neighborhoods in Seattle.” His voice is placating as he sticks up for me. It seems he’s always running interference between me and Mom. Since Dad passed away a few years ago, Lucas has become my champion and hero, stepping into the void that Dad left when he died.

“Plus, I have already assigned you a security detail, Sam. No arguments!”

“I don’t need security, Lucas,” I sigh. “I don’t want someone following my every move; that will creep me out even more than the mugger did.”

“I don’t care,” Lucas is adamant. “Get used to it.”

“Lucas!” My voice is angry and my head is now throbbing in pain. I know that I need to calm down but, this is just too much. I will not let him bully me. “I don’t need security!”

“Calm down, darling,” my mother’s voice is soothing. She continues to gently brush my hair back. I can only imagine the unruly state it must have been in before she began. I feel her begin to braid my hair.

“I don’t want a bodyguard,” I say as I feel her fasten the braid with a hair tie. I realize that I’m practically shouting but, I am so angry and frustrated right now.

“Fine!” Lucas concedes with a huff, and I can imagine him running his hand through his sandy brown, curly hair in exasperation. “God, you are such a pain in the ass sometimes! All I’m trying to do is keep you safe, Sam.”

I don’t respond as I sit with a scowl on my face and I really wish that I had the use of at least one of my eyes right now so that I could glare at him.

“If you won’t let me assign you a security detail,” he says in a more conciliatory tone, “then I will at least talk to the people at Mountain View. See about beefing up the security at the apartment building.”

“That would be acceptable, wouldn’t it, darling?” Mom asks softly, as if she’s talking to a small child. They’re acting as if the mugging is somehow proof that I can no longer take care of myself and it pisses me off.

“Yes,” I reply softly after some hesitation. I hate feeling so helpless and weak and I really hate them thinking of me in that way. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I know you’re only trying to help.”

“It’s all right,” he says quietly, and I think he’s still irked at me. “I know you can’t help it that you’re a pita,” he adds, and I hear slight amusement in his voice. He leans down and quickly kisses the top of my head. “I see that Mr. Martin, the security guard, is outside the door so, I’m going to get going now. I’ll check on you this afternoon.”

“Okay,” I say quietly, stifling a yawn.

“You know, Mom,” he says in as diplomatic a voice as he can muster, “it might be a good idea to let Sam get some rest for a while.”

I smile to myself. Even when I give him a hard time, Lucas still tries to be the buffer between Mom and me. I love him for that. Even though he sometimes shares Mom’s overbearing trait.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she says running her hand down the long braid she’s just fashioned with my hair. “I will be back in a couple of hours to check on you, darling.”

“I’ll be fine.” My voice is small and I suddenly don’t really feel the courage of my convictions. “Thanks for braiding my hair,” I mumble. How can this be happening to me? Other people get mugged and assaulted, not me. I am not a victim.
Only … right now, you are.
My subconscious whispers to me and I know that she’s right.

“You’re welcome, darling. Get some rest,” she says, sweetly caressing my face.

I hear Mom and Lucas leave and I sink back into the pillows. I fall asleep in no time and I must nap for quite a while because when I wake, there is a nurse talking softly to me about my lunch. She is here to help me eat since I can’t see to feed myself. Her voice is soft and friendly as she patiently feeds me chicken soup, half a turkey sandwich and applesauce. And after I’ve eaten, she helps me to the bathroom and waits outside while I do my business. Once I’ve finished, she helps me over to the sink so that I can wash my hands and then she helps me back into the bed. After she gets me and my IV stand all settled, she gives me some medication for the pain and she is on her way.

As I wait for the pain meds to kick in, I settle back against the pillows and sit in silence and listen to the bustling sounds of the hospital – nurses gossiping and laughing as they go about their work, doctors talking, technicians pushing carts and equipment up and down the hallways, various machines buzzing and beeping and the occasional groaning of other patients on this floor. And as I sit quietly listening to the minutia, I wonder again how I ended up here. I hear about people getting mugged and assaulted on the news; I never expected to become one of those people myself. It’s not like I was in a bad area of town. I was at a fairly busy grocery store in a nice neighborhood. My neighborhood. Yes, it was dark out but, my neighborhood is very safe.

I am mulling over my situation when I hear the door open and someone walks in. I assume it’s Dr. Nash again, or another nurse, but they don’t say anything. I hear the door close again and I know that someone is standing in my room, just staring at me. I can hear them breathing, but their continued silence makes me a little bit uneasy and I self-consciously raise my left hand to my battered face, shielding my swollen eye and praying it’s not a reporter or photographer.

“Hello?” My voice is small and uncertain.

“Hello, Miss Colby.”

The voice is soft and deep and unfamiliar. Yet at the same time, something about it is … comforting?

“I’m so sorry to bother you. I know you need to rest right now but, I’m afraid I have to speak with you. I’m Detective Pierce of the Seattle Police Department.”

“Oh.” I feel a mixture of relief and anxiety. I’m glad it’s not a reporter but, I still don’t want to talk to the police. “Yes, of course.”

I hear him walk further into the room and he comes to stand beside the bed, to my right. “How are you feeling?” he asks me. I think I can hear genuine concern in his voice and again, I am strangely comforted by the sound of it.

“I’m really sore,” I reply honestly, my voice quiet. “My ribs are bruised and my face … the pain is almost unbearable at times.”

He says nothing for several seconds and I get the feeling that he is trying to compose himself. Odd. Without being able to see him I can’t be certain but, I sense that he is angry. With me? I don’t understand the tension I’m suddenly feeling from him. But it appears to dissipate as quickly as it forms.

“I understand there is some question about your right eye?” he asks. Again, his concern for my well-being sounds real and I am put slightly at ease once more.

“The doctor seems hopeful that my vision won’t be affected.” My voice doesn’t sound as though I share the doctor’s certainty and I realize for the first time that I’m scared I might lose the use of my right eye. The thought is incredibly frightening. My eyesight is everything to me. How would I draw again if I couldn’t see? How would I admire all the beautiful art that I love so much?

“That’s good,” Detective Pierce says, and he sounds hopeful. “Miss Colby, can you tell me anything about what happened to you last night?” His deep voice is soft and soothing. Something about it almost beckons to me. “What do you remember?”