CHAPTER 38
A faint beeping is the first thing I register. It’s steady and constant. Like Janos’s heartbeat. But nowhere near as reassuring. The next thing I notice is the sterile smell. Not the type that permeates a newly cleaned home. This is more clinical.
I carefully move my hands against the comforter. It’s flat and thin, covered in stiff sheets. Nothing like the fluffy comforter and silky soft sheets I’m used to. Releasing the foreign material, I wrap my hands around each other. That’s when I notice something at the back of my hand. Tape and plastic? I wince as I push at it and it pulls at my skin.
Opening my eyes, I see a small plastic device connecting a tube to a needle. I know that I know the term for it, but it’s buried deep in my mind, covered in a thick fog.
The next thing I register is the yellow bedspread. It’s all wrong. Almost nauseating. It doesn’t get any better when I notice that the walls are the same color, and the curtains over the wide windows are a pale green.
Then I spot the armchair. Brown, sad, and lonely, pushed into a corner. And worst of all, empty.
Everything is wrong, but I can’t say why. It’s a gut feeling. All I know is that the curtains should be pink, the bedspread white and soft, and a pair of gray eyes should be staring at me from the armchair.
IV, I suddenly remember. The tube in my hand is called an IV.
I’m in a hospital.
Craning my neck to look around, I confirm it. I am in a hospital. The wall above me is full of sockets and buttons, and the empty bed a few feet from mine is definitely a hospital bed.
How the hell did I get here?
And how can I move without feeling like fire is licking my skin?
My body still aches, but it’s only a dull throbbing, and when I lightly press a finger to my stomach, I don’t feel like screaming.
I inspect a bit further, pushing the comforter aside and sliding my hands over the hospital gown to feel what’s beneath it. My torso is still covered in bandages, only now it’s roller gauze instead of patches. I frown at the sight of a tube sticking out from beneath the gown. A feeding tube?
How ironic. Janos threatened to give me one because I wouldn’t let him feed me, and now I have one because I can’t eat.
I should probably be relieved. I’m not six feet under or hanging on by a thread, my wounds seem to be healing, and the fact that I’m in a real hospital must be a good sign. But most of all, I’m afraid. Afraid because I can’t remember how I ended up here. Afraid because Janos isn’t here.
The door opens, startling me and making me turn my head. A small, pretty woman in nurse’s scrubs gives me a kind smile as she comes to stand by my bed. “How are you feeling?” She checks the tube connecting the plastic device on my hand to a bag of liquid, then turns her attention back to me. “I’m Anja, and I’ll be taking care of you today.”
“Where am I?” I manage in a hoarse voice.
She hands me a cup with a straw from the bedside table, then presses a button that makes the upper half of the bed rise, allowing me to sit up enough to drink. “You’re at the University Hospital in Vienna. You were unconscious when you were brought in four days ago. Can you remember what happened before you came here?”
“Where’s Janos?” I cast a longing look at the armchair, like I’m hoping he has somehow appeared out of thin air.
“I don’t know anyone by the name of Janos, but one of the men who brought you in is here, and we’ve notified your family.”
I shake my head, barely grasping what she’s saying. Only one thing is important. “Where’s Janos?”
“Do you know a man named András Káldy?” Her face takes on a serious expression. “He says he’s a friend, but because of your condition when you came in, we couldn’t allow him to see you before you confirmed it.”
I stare up at the ceiling as my head works overtime to make sense of the information. It feels like the name should mean something to me, but I can’t think of anyone besides Janos.
“About thirty years old, average height and build, brown hair, blue eyes,” the nurse explains. “Friendly smile.”
Finally, I remember that my boss is called András Káldy, and her description fits him perfectly. But how could he have brought me here? How would he even know I needed a hospital?
Eventually, I nod as she repeats the question. The nurse’s expression turns grave as she places a hand on my arm. “I have to ask you; is he the one who hurt you?”
When I don’t answer right away, a furrow forms between her curved brows. “Your entire upper body is covered in cuts. It looks like—”
I don’t need to hear her speculations, so I cut her off. “It’s not him.” I might not remember a lot, but one thing I do remember is Gabor slicing through my skin. Over and over again. Nothing will ever make that go away.
Her mouth twitches like she’s about to say something else, but she drops it and simply nods, probably sensing that I wouldn’t like whatever she wanted to ask. “I’ll tell the reception to send him up, and then I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake, so he can come check on you.”
She finishes by showing me a button on the tube and telling me I may press it if the pain gets worse.
Only fifteen minutes after she closes the door behind her, the door opens again, and a man who looks very much like András comes in.
Confusion muddles my brain. I must look like I’ve seen a ghost as he approaches and I realize it really is him.
His face is taut with worry—everyone seems to be worried around me. Janos did too, I remember. Images of his uncharacteristic frown flicker through my mind, accompanied by eerie sensations and sharp smells. I can’t remember other specifics; only pain. Pain so severe that a wave of nausea rolls through me.
“Where’s Janos?” I say on a whimper as a shuddery sensation tugs at my wounds.
András halts a few feet from the bed, confusion deepening his frown.
“Where’s Janos?” I repeat a bit louder.
“He’s in Budapest,” he says hesitantly, clearly unsure if it’s the right answer.
I shake my head as if I don’t understand. And in a way, I don’t. I have no idea why I’m here. Or why András is here.
Did he get worried when I didn’t show up at work, found out where I lived, and went there to find me circling the drain? And if so, where’s Janos? There’s no way he’d have let András take me. And András doesn’t stand a chance against Janos.
But András does have contacts, I remember. So maybe Janos is in jail now.
Panic trembles at the edges of my mind, causing another surge of nausea and constricting my muscles. I wince and breathe through rounded lips as the pain flares in my skin. The wounds might have healed somewhat, but far from fully.
András pulls a chair up and sits beside me, studying me with tight features. “How much do you remember?”
“Not much.”
“Do you remember how... you got injured?”
I stare up at the ceiling and nod. And suddenly, the images rush in, making my body shiver and my teeth clench. It must be obvious, because András leans forward and takes my hand.
I pull away, giving him an accusatory look. “Why did you take me away from him?”
He watches me like I’m speaking in riddles. “What do you mean?”
“Janos. Why did you take me away from him?”
His forehead creases as a huge question mark seems to swirl above in his head. “He came to me. I helped him get you out.”
“Wha— No.” Tears gather in my eyes. This is worse than any of the scenarios I imagined. How could he do that? How could he get rid of me like that? I can’t stand the idea and have to bite down on my lip to keep from breaking down in front of my boss—or, former boss.
“He couldn’t get you the help you needed without risking your life.”
I shake my head, unable to form any words, unable to hear anything through the grief lodged in my mind.
“Rebecca,” András urges, making my eyes flit back to his. “You’re out of the country. You’re safe. When you’ve healed enough, you can go home.”
Home?
The only real home I ever knew was with Janos.
“I don’t want to go back there,” I say, gulping hard to force back the sob threatening to break past the constriction in my throat. Turning my gaze back to the ceiling, I mutter, “You shouldn’t have taken me away.”
“Rebecca, if we hadn’t gotten you out, you would have died. And there’s a great chance you will if I take you back to Hungary.”
I find no comfort in his words. Only disappointment. I had just resigned myself to dying—ending everything with Janos at my side. But then he goes ahead and ruins everything, throwing me away, useless and broken, to face a life haunted by the things he let Gabor do to me—a horror movie going on repeat in my mind forever.
Silence stretches on for a long while. I don’t think András knows what to say, and I’m too crushed to say anything.
Finally, the silence breaks as the door opens and a balding man in a white coat enters.
“I’m Dr. Eder-Steiner,” he says, putting on the glasses hanging around his neck as he takes the chart at the end of the bed.
“I’ll let you have some privacy,” András says, getting up. “I’ll be right out in the hall.”
A moment ago I would have preferred he left me alone, but suddenly I can’t bear the idea of him leaving. “Please don’t,” I blurt, casting him a desperate look.
He halts, and I reach out for him and squeeze his hand as he takes mine.
“Please stay.”
With a nod, he sits back down, keeping my hand in a firm grip. I get the feeling that touching me reassures him as much as it does me.
Dr. Eder-Steiner spends the next few minutes explaining how I suffered from a severe infection when I came in, stemming from what looks like knife cuts. He speaks like I don’t already know that my stomach, breasts, chest, and entire back are covered in cuts, some small, some big, some superficial, and some deep.
“It’s lucky you came in when you did. A day later and the antibiotics might not have worked.”
András tightens his grip on my hand, and when I glance at him, he’s pale, his face mirroring the grave expression on the doctor’s face.
Seeing his reaction sobers me somewhat, and suddenly I’m not as upset about having escaped. The thought of dying when you’re already in hell is far easier than coming out of it and realizing how close you came to dying. And András being here with me somehow gives me hope that my life can come to contain something meaningful. I don’t know how or where, but the little glimmer of hope is there.
I squeeze his hand as hard as he squeezes mine as the doctor goes on.
He tells me I was anemic and that they gave me a blood transfusion. My immune system was severely weakened and couldn’t regenerate itself, which was probably why my infection was severe, because it wasn’t due to lack of proper wound treatment.
The doctor watches me from over the rim of his glasses. “Someone quite proficient must have cared for you, because the bandages were new and clean, your wounds well-treated.”
I don’t grant the doctor the explanation he’s prying for, but ask something else to turn the conversation back around. “Why was my immune system weakened?”
“Stress, trauma…” The doctor takes off his glasses to watch me as he speaks. “When exposed to physical or psychological abuse, the body loses a good deal of resistance.” He raises his eyebrows in question, once again hoping for some kind of information about what happened to me.
I turn my eyes to my hand in András’s tight grip, hoping the lingering question will magically disappear. I can’t tell this stranger what happened. He surely already knows too much after studying my body while I was unconscious. He probably even knows I have been raped and that it has been going on for a long time.
“How long will you keep her here?” András asks, saving me from the hovering tension, and I squeeze his hand in a silent thank you.
“If you remain stable, we’ll transfer you to a hospital in Denmark in a couple of days,” the doctor says. “They’ll probably keep you there for a few days. So it will be at least a week before you’re home in your own bed.” When I lift my gaze again, his eyes are sympathetic, like the prospect of my own bed is supposed to soothe me. But he doesn’t know I don’t have a bed waiting for me back in Denmark, and his words are more unsettling than comforting.
“What about nerve damage?” András’s mouth flattens into a straight line as he addresses the doctor again.
“Nothing too serious. You may experience reduced sensitivity in some areas, but there was no severe damage to any nerves. However, we’ll perform a neurological test in a few days to be sure.”
“And scars?” András asks, eyes darkening like he knows a bad answer is coming.
The doctor sighs. “I would suggest that you see a plastic surgeon as soon as you get home. It might be possible to alleviate the scarring somewhat. But the infection was too severe to let the wounds heal normally.” He watches me for a silent moment as if to see if I have more questions, and when I remain silent, he says, “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”
The moment the doctor leaves, tears start trickling from my eyes, and within a few minutes, I’m weeping, burrowing my head in my hands as I try to rein it in.
“Scoot over.” András gives me a gentle nudge as he hops onto the bed. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me to him, and the moment I sink into his embrace, a heavy sob shudders through my body, dragging me deep into the grief I’ve repressed for so long.
***
Exhaustion is my constant companion, and I spend most of the day sleeping. At one point when I wake up, I see the small brown teddy bear with big green eyes on the table next to the bed. I shoot my arm out to grab it, but a sharp jolt of pain stops me mid-motion. Whimpering, I squeeze my eyes shut as pain licks like fire across my skin.
The pain meds they have me on must have worn off, and I realize I haven’t healed nearly as much as I thought.
András jumps up from the chair, causing his book to fall to the ground. “Are you okay?” Placing a hand on my shoulder, he urges, “Rebecca? Do you need me to get the doctor?”
Hunched over and grabbing my stomach, I shake my head and point at the bear.
“This one,” he says with a frown as he lifts the bear from the table. He looks as confused as when I asked for Janos. He surely knows I got the teddy from Janos, and he doesn’t understand how I can need anything Janos gave me this badly. András must know it’s not Janos who did this to me, but he also seems to know that he’s not innocent. He probably thinks he’s as much of a villain as Gabor.
But he’s not. He was my only lifeline. The one who brought me back to the world and gave me a reason to go on when all I wanted was to disappear.
Realizing how I’m mentally defending him, I almost want to laugh at myself and my broken mind. Because Janos is the villain. And when it comes down to it, he’s the worst of them all. He might not have been the one to wield the knife, but he’s the one who brought me to Gabor in the first place. He’s the one who broke into my apartment, tied me up and held me down every time Gabor wanted to use me, and he’s even the one who pushed me underwater when Gabor wanted to play drowning games.
But despite my urge to laugh, I can’t get a single chuckle out. I can barely even breathe. My chest is tight with hurt and grief, and when I lift a hand to my face, I realize my cheeks are wet.
“Please give me the bear,” I beg when András keeps watching me with a baffled expression.
He hesitantly gives me the teddy, and when I feel its soft fur in my hands, I feel like I can breathe again.
Slowly lowering myself back onto the mattress, I hold the bear out before me and stare into its big, innocent green eyes. I can’t even begin to count the times I’ve stared into those eyes when everything seemed hopeless and empty. It’s been a small light flickering amidst the darkness—a hope that something more could be, that maybe someone cared about me. And maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. As much as I doubt it, looking into those eyes always makes me believe, and this time is no different.
I clutch the teddy close to my chest, wincing as I press it against my wounds, but keeping it pressed close, nonetheless.
András must see the pain written all over my tight features because he reaches for the button the nurse showed me, and before long, the burning sensation dims.
“How did it get here?” I ask in a hoarse voice when I can finally think about something besides the mix of pain and relief the teddy causes.
“Janos asked me to give it to you,” András explains, his jaw ticking with restrained anger.
I open my mouth to tell him how Janos took care of me and tried to make things better for me, but before I say the words, I realize how crazy I would sound. András would say that I have Stockholm syndrome and it’s a reaction to trauma. And maybe part of it is. But another part of it is real. Janos sensed it too; otherwise, he wouldn’t have made sure I got the teddy bear.
The only thing I have left of him is this little teddy. I don’t even have a picture of him, and my chest tightens as I think about how he’ll slowly fade from my mind, the image of him growing blurry until I can’t remember more than a faint outline.
I won’t even be able to keep his memory alive by talking about him since everyone would see me as a poor victim or a crazy person who needs help. It would take me straight back to the scandal that caused me to flee my hometown in the first place. Not even my sister could hide her outrage after my mother had told her what she found on my laptop. No, my sister would send me straight to the loony bin if she heard me speak about Janos.
A thought shoots into my head, and I jerk upright. “Little Sofie!” I exclaim. “He’s going to kill her!”
“Shh-sh-shh,” András soothes, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “No one is in danger.”
“Yes,” I say urgently. “My little niece. He threatened to kill her if I ran away.”
András shakes his head. “It was just a bluff. Nothing will happen to her.”
I want to scream at him but manage to keep it down to an outraged voice. “How do you know?” My vision starts to swim, and András must see it because he leans in and pushes gently on both my shoulders to ease me back down.
“Janos told me. He knew you’d be worried. Whoever did this to you was bluffing. The threat was never real. It was just a scare tactic to keep you in line.”
I’m about to push back up to sit, but András grabs my shoulders. “Stay still or you’ll rip your wounds open.”
My nostrils flare wildly, and I close my eyes to regain some control.
I hate that it’s not Janos’s strong hands holding me, but as I calm down, I find that I’m grateful that there are hands here at all to hold me down when I’m about to rip my wounds open.
Opening my eyes, I stare at András and remember what the nurse said about him staying here for four days without being able to see me. My self-worth may be so broken that it’s hard for me to believe anyone cares about me, but with András, there’s no doubting it beyond my own insecurities.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For… staying here.”
“You’re welcome.” He holds on for a moment longer before he releases my shoulders and sinks back into the chair.
I close my eyes and feel the soft teddy bear between my hands, and soon I drift off again, this time feeling a bit more at ease, knowing I have a tiny piece of Janos with me.
***
The next day, the nurse informs me that the police will be here at noon to talk to me.
“It’s up to you how much you want to share,” András says when I look at him, perplexed, in search of some guidance. “But I do think you should let them know who did this to you. I’m not sure how much they’ll be able to do about it, but at least it will give you a chance at getting some justice.”
I stare at the ceiling, my stomach contracting as I consider what justice would mean.
Janos in jail.
If anyone is going down for this, it will surely be him. Gabor is too big to touch.
Moving my gaze to a very serious András standing beside my bed, I say, “What if I don’t want to tell them anything?”
“Then don’t.” He takes my hand. “You’re not obligated to tell them anything. If you do decide to stay quiet, though, they’ll probably push and make it sound like you’re protecting the men who did this to you.”
“Have you talked to them?”
He gives me a grave nod. “They kept me at the station for twelve hours after I brought you to the hospital. They hoped I would eventually cave in and speak, but I kept telling them they needed to talk to you once you woke up.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze. I know he doesn’t like Janos, and he could have easily pinned it all on him, but he didn’t. For me. And I’m immensely grateful for that.
“I do think you should tell them what happened, Rebecca,” he urges, probably sensing my inclination to shut down and say nothing.
“Like you said, it probably won’t make any difference, and…” I pause as I come to think of one very good reason to tell the police what happened. “Sophie… are you sure she’s okay?”
“I’m sure. I’ve spoken to your sister several times. Her and her family are good. They have prepared the office for you, so you have a place to stay when you get back. They’ll be there for you.”
“But what if he wants revenge? For me leaving? You don’t know this man. He’s vengeful. And high up. He could easily get away with it.”
András shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Janos is the only one who knows you’re here. Whoever did this to you thinks you’re dead.”
I gulp past the restriction in my throat as I’m once again struck by the realization of just how close my brush with death was.
“Rebecca”—András places a hand on my shoulder and watches me with a serious expression—“who did this to you?”
I flicker my eyes across his face, trying to decide whether I should tell him.
What’s the worst that could happen? He already knows about Janos. And I do trust András. He spent twelve hours in detainment for me. I still remember the three harrowing hours spent waiting in that dingy room at the airport. He did twelve hours of that for me. So I open my mouth and let the words slip past my lips. “Istvan Gabor.”
His entire posture stiffens, and a livid storm seems to rage in his eyes as he stares off toward the window, nostrils flaring with latent fury. He knows as well as I do that the police won’t be able to do shit. Gabor will get away with this like he gets away with everything else. The worst consequence he’ll face is losing some money to bribe the police in Hungary.
Several minutes pass before András seems to regain control and sinks into the chair he’s been glued to for the past twenty-four hours. Defeat is written across his features as he says, “I’m so sorry, Rebecca.” He leans in and wraps my hand in both of his. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
Two hours later, the police arrive. As he predicted, they push hard to get me talking, and if it wasn’t for András, I would crumble under the pressure and tell them everything. And then I would hate myself for betraying Janos.
András remains steadfast and unwavering. He might not be tall and broad like Janos or exude the same kind of unrelenting danger, but he has the confidence to drive his demands home, and when it’s all too much and tears trickle down my cheeks, he shuts it all down.
“Enough,” he barks with a tone that has me startling in the bed, sending jolts of pain through my body. “Out, now!” He points an angry finger toward the door. “Unless you want a very unpleasant call from my lawyer.”
I must say, I’m a little impressed. He has always seemed like a nice, easygoing man, but when push comes to shove, he has the power to go up against authority and stand his ground. It makes me feel safe, having him at my side.
András’s support and help have no bounds. During the days I was unconscious, he took care of everything, calling my sister and making sure I have a place to stay, contacting the embassy to get me a new passport, and checking up on my insurances and even taking care of a few expenses that my insurance wouldn’t cover. And like he stayed at my side, holding my hand when the police were here, he does the same when I call my sister later in the day.
Usually, I know how to maneuver in a conversation with her. I’ve managed to keep in touch fairly well over the past six months without her finding out that something is seriously wrong. Sure, she’s had her suspicions, but I’ve always been able to dismiss them in one way or another. At first, guilt wracked me every time I told a white lie, but as I felt her willingness to believe them—how badly she wanted to keep my problems out of her life—I stopped caring and easily covered up the truth by painting pretty pictures with optimistic words.
But now, I falter. I barely answer any of her many questions. I just sit there, trembling, as she keeps pushing, and András ends up taking the phone from my hand. He gives her a brief update and says I’m doing better and will be transferred to a hospital in Denmark in a few days. Then he ends the conversation on a polite but resolute note even though I can hear her pressing with more questions on the other end.
As with the police, he hasn’t told her any specifics, and I’m deeply grateful for that. But it means that I’ll have to come up with some way to explain everything. And I have no idea how to hide when I come face to face with her and her onslaught of questions.
How am I to explain the wilted look in my eyes? The days I’ve spent in the ICU—in Austria? My pained whimpers when I move my upper body a little too quickly?
I have no idea. So for now, I’m just trying to get through the days.