The police said that they’d do another search of the grounds once it was light. As Tony peered toward the heavy drapes, he realized that despite the longest day of his life, the sun had yet to rise—but he knew it would. That happened every morning. What ate at him—nagged at the depths of his soul—was Claire. Would she rise? It had been over six hours since her accident, and Dr. Leonard remained evasive at best, regarding her diagnosis. Even after all of his tests and examination, she remained the same—suspended in time. The only change was her appearance. The areas on her face and body that had at one time been red were darkening and swelling—distorting her facial features in a way that Tony would never be able to forget.

After Dr. Leonard’s initial examination, he’d said that Claire’s vitals were strong, but he wanted to run more tests. He recommended an MRI and other procedures that had acronyms instead of names. Tony agreed to any test or any treatment that could be done on the estate. He refused to move her to a hospital, but instead offered any amount of money to bring the hospital to her.

Although that apparently couldn’t include an MRI, it did include portable ultrasound and x-ray machines. The images those machines generated confirmed that a few of Claire’s ribs were broken. The doctor suspected that she also suffered a concussion, but without all the tests, he couldn’t confirm that diagnosis. A large needle was inserted and held in place on Claire’s left arm delivering a combination of fluids and pain medication. Even though she appeared blissfully asleep, Dr. Leonard said that if she were conscious, she’d be in a lot of pain. The doctor warned repeatedly about brain swelling—something about the brain being trapped within the skull and unable to heal. He mentioned the possibility of long-term damage, side effects, possible death. Tony listened, he did. For someone who could retain figures and information, what the doctor was telling him proved too overwhelming. He couldn’t retain the prognosis if he wanted to—and he didn’t. It wasn’t possible. Just seven hours ago, she’d been fine.

Repeatedly, Tony cursed the bastard or circumstance that did this to his companion.

* * *

Tony’s shoulders ached and his head throbbed as his eyes opened and his blurry world began to focus. It took a few seconds for reality to register—but when it did, it hit with a vengeance. Sometime after 4:00 AM, he’d fallen asleep with his head on the side of Claire’s mattress and his hand over her arm. She wasn’t sleeping in their bed. No, Dr. Leonard had done as Tony wished and brought the hospital to her. That included a motorized hospital bed and monitors that beeped. Tony scanned her petite frame looking for any sign of movement: there was none. She lay exactly as she had before he’d fallen asleep.

Wisps of sunlight reddened the outside sky and still Tony had yet to take any calls from Tom or Tim, or anyone at Rawlings Industries. At the moment, he wasn’t even sure what he’d done with his cell phone. The big deal in New York seemed like a million years ago. He no longer cared if it worked out or if it didn’t. All that time and all that money suddenly seemed inconsequential. Tony didn’t care about anything other than seeing Claire’s eyes open. Once, late last night, when they were alone, he lifted one of her eyelids to try to see the green, but he couldn’t. He lifted the lid, but all he saw was white, and it was full of red. The other lid he didn’t dare touch. It was swollen and dark, as was the area surrounding it.

Tony’s stomach lurched at the sight of her bruises as they colored and swelled. He convinced himself to look beyond her exterior and see the real Claire underneath. With time, he no longer saw the bandages or the discoloration. When Tony looked at the woman before him, he saw the vivacious, strong-willed woman whom he loved to bait. He saw the woman who could look him in the eye when most would turn away. He saw the beautiful blonde highlights and the emerald-green eyes. He saw the refined woman he’d created—the one who fit perfectly on his arm at social gatherings and perfectly beneath him on a soft mattress. He imagined the fire—he wanted the fire. The images gave him a false sense of hope as the blissfulness of sleep once again took him to a better place.


The next time Tony woke, it was due to Catherine’s hand on his shoulder. “Anton, Dr. Leonard will be in here in a few minutes. Do you want me to sit with her while you clean up?”

Tony glanced at his watch—after 8:00 AM. The morning sun streamed across Claire’s makeshift bed and accentuated the bruises he didn’t want to see. It wasn’t just her face: her arms were discolored too. It didn’t take a forensic pathologist to recognize that one bruise on her left arm resembled a handprint.

Where had he been for the last few hours? He’d awakened once, but then he began remembering and scenes floated in and out. He remembered Claire describing the lake on his property. He remembered her excitement and joy. It was almost contagious as her eyes and expression glowed. Maybe he could take her there? Maybe then she’d wake?

No, she’d been there—yesterday.

Tony squeezed Claire’s hand. How could that have only been yesterday? Her cold unresponsive skin caused the bile in his empty stomach to bubble and surge upward. He nodded his approval to Catherine and moved quickly to Claire’s bathroom. He had just enough time to close the door before he was headfirst into the toilet. It wasn’t like he’d eaten recently, yet his memories wouldn’t give him a reprieve.

Claire had been to her lake. That’s where she was—while he was in her suite. She was there, among the flowers and water and beach and trees and all of the things she talked about. She wasn’t plotting to leave him. She wasn’t basking in some sense of betrayal. No, she was finding solace like only she could. She’d tried to tell him, tried to explain—and what had he done?

His stomach heaved again and again. It was as if his body were trying to expel a part of himself—a part that was deep inside and needed to be gone, a part that Claire didn’t deserve.

With a pounding in his temples like he’d never before known, Tony laid his head on the cool porcelain and closed his eyes. Time passed—he didn’t know much, but eventually voices could be heard from beyond his cloud. Painstakingly, he rose and walked to Claire’s shower. Turning on the water, he disrobed. As the steam filled the bathroom, he stepped under the scalding spray. Liquid fire assaulted his skin. He didn’t turn down the temperature. No, Tony wanted the pain—he needed it, he deserved it. When his body adapted, he turned the temperature up. It wasn’t until he heard the knock at the door that he even considered the amount of time he’d stood helplessly accepting the spray’s punishment.

Stepping from the glass enclosure, he realized he’d not considered fresh clothes. It was then he heard the knock again accompanied by a voice. “Anton, I brought you some clothes. Dr. Leonard went downstairs to eat breakfast. If you’re done with your shower, let me give these to you and you can go down and join him. He’s finished his most recent examination.”

Tony leaned his head against the wall and exhaled. Thank God he had Catherine. He’d never felt so helpless. Maybe that was how she’d felt at one time; he didn’t know. He just knew that if it were not for her, he’d be in a jail cell, or out on bond. Either way, she was his rock and he was so thankful they’d supported one another.

When he opened the door slightly, he met Catherine’s gaze. “Thank you,” was all he could manage.

She didn’t respond, other than to nod. It was enough. He couldn’t have taken her gloating nor her telling him that he’d let the whole thing with Claire get out of hand. He knew that. He needed Catherine’s support, and seeing her steady steel expression, that was exactly what she offered.

Wiping the steam from Claire’s mirror, Tony’s reflection peered back at him. The unfamiliar image with reddened skin, cheeks and chin covered by a day’s beard growth, and tired eyes, wasn’t what taunted him. It was the tremendous invisible weight crushing his shoulders. The anxiety surrounding Claire’s recovery was more than psychological. It was physical, making standing difficult as his knees flexed. For a moment, Tony laid his head on the vanity and debated if he could go on. Then he remembered Claire’s fight—the fire he longed to see. The fire he knew was somewhere inside of her. If she could fight to get through this—no, as she fought to get through this—so would he. She needed him to be strong, needed him to be there for her—to help her. He wouldn’t let her down, not again. After a few minutes, Tony was down in the dining room, drinking a much-needed cup of coffee, and listening to Dr. Leonard.

Over the next days, Dr. Leonard moved onto the estate. Catherine gave him a bedroom near Claire’s, which served as his makeshift office. He told most of his staff that he’d taken an unexpected leave to look after an ailing family member, and another private practitioner graciously agreed to see his patients. Only one member of his staff was enlightened to his true endeavor. She was his trusted nurse and assistant. Both medical professionals agreed to total confidentiality; however, Dr. Leonard maintained his legal responsibilities. Although he didn’t come out and say it, Tony knew exactly what he meant: if he could prove that Claire had been harmed by someone on the estate, he would report it.

Dr. Leonard’s nurse didn’t stay at the estate, but she came and went with some frequency, bringing Dr. Leonard whatever he wanted from his office or from the hospital. She also assisted him with much of Claire’s care. She changed IV bags, gave medication, moved Claire so that she didn’t stay in one position too long, gave her bed baths, and changed her gown. At first, Dr. Leonard insisted on a hospital gown: it was easier access for his examinations, but Tony hated the sight of it. He immediately sent for nightgowns that buttoned up the front with long sleeves. Dr. Leonard could still have access for his exams, but Claire didn’t look as much like a patient.