I hung up, feeling the metallic taste of vengeance in my mouth.
When I walked back into Elsie’s recovery room, the sight shattered whatever tough facade I was holding onto. Micah had dragged a heavy vinyl visitor’s chair right up to the railing of Elsie’s hospital bed. He was holding her little hand through the bars, watching her chest rise and fall with the grim, vigilant focus of a soldier on watch. He felt entirely responsible for her survival.
A pediatric psychologist pulled me aside an hour later. “Mr. Mercer,” she warned softly. “Your son took on the psychological burden of a parent trying to save a dying child. He is carrying a terror that will manifest in ugly ways. You need to brace yourself. Love isn’t going to be enough to fix this quickly. It’s going to take relentless, exhausting structure.”
I spent the night squeezed into a terrible fold-out chair, listening to the beep of the heart monitor.
The next morning, Elsie fluttered her eyes open. She looked around the bright room, confused, before her eyes landed on Micah.
Micah burst into violent, racking sobs—the first time he had cried since I found him. He scrambled up onto the bed and buried his face in her hospital gown. “I missed you,” he sobbed.
Elsie patted his head weakly. “I was just sleepy, Mikey.”
I smoothed their hair, kissed their foreheads, and silently promised them I would never let anyone hurt them again. Once they were settled with a nurse they liked, and the neighbor I trusted most arrived to sit with them, I grabbed my keys.
It was time to face the ghost. I drove across town, my hands gripping the wheel so hard my wrists ached, preparing to walk into Delaney’s hospital room and completely destroy her.
Chapter 5: The Visit Across Town
The halls of Nashville General smelled of strong bleach and stale coffee. I found Room 412, pushed the heavy wooden door open, and stopped in the frame.
Delaney was sitting up, staring blankly at the wall. Her left arm was encased in a thick white cast. A violent, purple-yellow bruise painted the entire left side of her face, swelling her eye shut. Her hair was greasy and matted. She looked frail, broken, and much older than thirty-two.
She turned her head slowly. When her good eye registered me, she flinched, shrinking back into the pillows.
I stood at the foot of her bed. I didn’t yell. I didn’t raise my voice. I just looked at her with an absolute, freezing emptiness.
“The kids are alive,” I said. The quietness of my voice seemed to echo louder than a shout.
Delaney closed her eyes, a tear instantly tracking down her unbruised cheek. “I know. The police came. They told me.”
“What did you do, Delaney?”
She couldn’t look at me. She spoke to her hands, her voice a ragged whisper. “I was just so tired, Rowan. I was so overwhelmed. I met a guy. He said we’d just go for a quick drink. I put them to bed. I locked the doors. I thought I’d be back in two hours. Just two hours to feel like a normal person.”
