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I detect exhaustion beneath that deep, gruff voice. I don’t know how much longer he and Ian can keep up this grueling schedule. “How’s she doing?”
He walks across the hall and leans against the wall directly opposite me. His black hair is disheveled, and he’s wearing a pair of wrinkled black trousers and a white button-up shirt, no tie. There are shadows beneath his dark eyes. “We’re all worried. She’s withdrawn and depressed. Even Ian’s having trouble getting through to her, and he’s her favorite person in the world.” He gives me a bleak look. “You have your work cut out for you.”
“That’s what her dad said.”
Tyler nods down the hallway. “I’m heading to the vending machine to get coffee. Do you want some?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
He pushes away from the wall. “If Ian asks for me, tell him I’ll be right back.”
Tyler returns with two cups of coffee in hand. “Go home and get some sleep. There’s nothing you can do for her tonight. You’re going to have to be patient and wait until she’s ready.”
“That’s okay. I’ll stay.”
He shakes his head. “There’s no point in you staying. Come back in the morning. Maybe things will be different then.”
I hate to admit he’s right. I’m no good to her without any sleep. And I know she’s safe with Tyler in the room—the man’s a former police detective. “Are you sure?”
He chuckles. “Get out of here. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Call me if anything changes, no matter the time.”
“We will.”
Reluctantly, I head back to my apartment on Lake Shore Drive in the Gold Coast. I have a two-bedroom unit in my boss’s apartment building. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s comfortable, and it has a fantastic view of Lake Michigan. It’s a typical bachelor pad, with a treadmill and a set of free weights stashed in the spare bedroom. In the living room, there’s a sofa and a huge TV on the wall, a coffee table, and a bookcase. There’s a small galley kitchen, a tiny pantry, and a laundry room. It’s enough for me. I often work long hours, so I’m not home that often.
I’m too wired to sleep, so I hit the treadmill and run a few miles to loosen up. Then I do my reps with the free weights. Afterward, I grab a quick shower, then crash on the sofa and turn on Netflix and skim through the offerings until I find a new sci-fi series that catches my eye.
My stomach starts gnawing on itself, so I place a delivery order for sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls.
Finally, after I’ve eaten and watched as much TV as I can stand, I head to bed.
As usual, I put off going to bed as long as I possibly can. Even though my body is ready for rest, my mind can’t shut down. To distract myself, I climb into bed and download an e-book to my phone—it’s a memoir written by a woman who hears voices. I can’t imagine what that’s like, but I’d better find out quickly because I’m about to become responsible for the safety and well-being of someone who does.
* * *
I quickly fall into a pattern over the next few days. My days and evenings are spent on guard duty in the hallway outside Layla’s hospital room door, leaving only on the rare occasion to visit the bathroom or grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria.
Every day, it’s the same routine. Nurses come in periodically to check on her. Therapists stop in to assess how she’s doing. Her parents come sit with her in the evenings from around six to ten. The rest of the time, her brother and Tyler are with her. Sometimes they take turns. Sometimes it’s both of them. Every night, they sleep in her room on the sofa bed.
On the third day, after the parents have left for the night and I’m about to head back to my apartment, Ian opens the door to Layla’s room and peers out at me. “You can come in.” The guy looks ragged. There are distinct shadows beneath his eyes.
I jump to my feet and straighten my shirt before I follow Ian into a dimly-lit room.
Layla’s sitting up in bed, leaning on a pile of pillows propped against the headboard. The mountain of blankets is gone, replaced by just a single one. I’m guessing this is progress.
Tyler’s sitting on the sofa to the right of the bed, reading on a tablet.
Ian nods toward his sister. “Layla asked to see you.”
This is definitely progress. I approach the foot of the bed, slowly so I don’t scare her. After all, she doesn’t know me from Adam.
“Hi, Layla,” I say, keeping my voice low and even.
Her gaze lifts to mine, and the force of those midnight dark eyes hits me square in the chest.
“Hi,” she says. Her voice is soft and hesitant.
