Chapter 18
Eighteen
B rad, Ethan, and Alex Marcel sat huddled together in the command center, their faces etched with worry and fatigue. The room felt oppressive, thick with the scent of stale coffee and the constant buzz of strained murmurs as law enforcement personnel scurried about, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding just a few hundred yards away.
Brad could barely keep still, the tension coursing through him like a live wire. He had been through countless crises, but this one felt different. The stakes were higher, the silence more ominous. His gut churned with the certainty that every second they waited was a second too long.
Alex Marcel, a seasoned investigator from the US Attorney's office, had finally been given permission to join the crisis team—a sign of just how dire the situation had become. Brad could see the lines of worry deepening on Alex’s face, a reflection of his own thoughts.
Six hours. Six excruciating hours since the last hostage was released. The fact that Damon had stopped answering the phone two hours ago only added to the growing sense of dread.
The silence is the worst part, Brad thought, his jaw clenched so tight, it ached. He glanced at Ethan, his friend and ally in this nightmare, and saw the same fraying resolve. Ethan, always the calm one, now looked as if he was barely holding it together.
"We've got to go in," Brad muttered, the desperation in his voice barely concealed. The words felt like a release, but they were also an admission—an admission that time was running out, and they were losing whatever tenuous grip they had on the situation. "We have no idea what's happening with the hostages."
Ethan nodded, his normally calm demeanor shattered, revealing the raw fear beneath. "Every minute we wait, the situation gets worse. Those explosions... they can't be good."
The small explosions reverberated through the night, each one a sharp reminder of the danger inside. They were running out of options, and Brad knew it. His mind raced, trying to grasp any semblance of control, but it was slipping through his fingers.
Just then, Agent Weiss, an FBI operative, approached with a grave expression. His presence only intensified the sense of impending disaster. "We've lost our ears inside the waiting room," he reported, his voice grim. "Communications are down. We can't hear anything inside."
The words hit Brad like a punch to the gut. The room seemed to close in around him, the air thickening with their collective dread. Silence from inside the building could mean anything—and none of it was good.
Brad’s mind raced to the only conclusion left. There was no more time to debate. No more waiting, hoping for a peaceful resolution. The decision had to be made, and it had to be made now.
"Let's move," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the haze of uncertainty like a blade. His decision, though driven by desperation, was grounded in the knowledge that they couldn’t afford to wait any longer. "We breach the entrances. Now."
Within moments, the command center erupted into a flurry of activity. Brad watched as teams of heavily armed law enforcement officers moved with precision, their faces set in grim resolve. These were men and women who knew the risks, who understood the stakes. And now, they were about to put their lives on the line to save others.
Ethan and Alex were beside him, their faces mirrors of his own—fear and a fierce need to do something, anything, to end this nightmare. As they moved toward the building, Brad felt his responsibility like never before. He made the call, and now he had to live with whatever happened next.
The world outside seemed to fade away as the law enforcement personnel approached the building. The explosions, the silence, the darkness—it all became background noise to the singular focus driving Brad forward. He wasn’t just walking into a building; he was walking into the unknown, into the heart of a nightmare that had to end.
As the doors to the building loomed ahead, Brad steeled himself for whatever they would find inside. There was no turning back. Not now. Not ever. They were going in, and they wouldn’t stop until this was over—one way or another.
As the teams moved in, a chilling realization hit Brad like a punch to the gut. The ER wing had been blocked by the explosions. Small explosive devices, meticulously placed, had transformed the corridors into a deadly obstacle course. The first wave of officers was met with a series of devastating blasts, and the screams of the injured tore through the air, sending a shiver down Brad’s spine.
“Medic! We need a medic over here!” a voice shouted.
Brad’s heart raced as he watched Tristan, his brother James, and a team of National Guard medical personnel spring into action. They moved like those accustomed to war zones, not hospitals. Tristan’s face was a mask of grim focus as he rushed to treat the wounded, his hands moving quickly despite the horror unfolding around them.
The scene was a nightmarish symphony of gunfire, explosions, and cries of pain. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning debris, making it hard to see, harder to breathe. Brad’s ears rang from the blasts, but he forced himself to push through the sensory overload. There was no time to waste.
As the building was slowly cleared room by room, the reality of the situation became starkly clear, and a cold dread settled in Brad’s gut. Damon Whitlock and most of his men were gone, vanished into the night like shadows. But what gnawed at Brad’s insides, what made his hands clench into fists, was Sophie’s absence.
“She has to be here,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He scanned the faces of the evacuees being treated by the medics, desperately searching for any sign of her. “We need to find her. Check everyone. Question anyone from the Eldon Sect left behind.”
Ethan, standing close by, nodded, his jaw clenched with determination. “We’ll find her. We won’t stop searching until we do.”
Brad appreciated Ethan’s resolve, but the sinking feeling in his stomach only grew stronger with each passing second. The search continued, each moment stretching out painfully, feeling like an eternity. The building was a labyrinth of destruction, every corner hiding another grim discovery.
Staff from Waverly County Hospital who had not been involved in the hostage situation began arriving, their faces a mix of relief and horror as they took in the scene. It was a stark contrast—those who had been inside, dazed and shell-shocked, and those just arriving, their minds struggling to process the devastation before them.
“We need to move everyone out,” Brad said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “Get them to the field hospital set up by the National Guard. We can’t risk keeping anyone here.”
The command was passed on, and soon, the process of evacuating the injured and the staff began. Brad watched as Tristan and James continued their work. But with every stretcher that passed by without Sophie on it, the knot in Brad’s stomach tightened. Where the hell was she?
The scene was a blur of movement and noise, but Brad’s mind was laser-focused on one thing: finding Sophie. She had to be somewhere in the building, hidden away, waiting to be found. The alternative was too horrifying to contemplate.
He moved through the broken facility, questioning anyone who could provide information, his desperation growing with each dead end. The walls seemed to close in on him as the search dragged on, and the fear that they were running out of time threatened to overwhelm him.
But Brad wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t. Not until he found Sophie, not until she was safe. The thought of her being at Damon’s mercy, somewhere out there in the night, was enough to drive him forward, refusing to let the exhaustion or fear take hold.
“Check every room,” he ordered, his voice carrying through the smoke-filled corridors. “She has to be here somewhere.”
As the search continued, Brad’s mind raced through every possibility, every strategy they had yet to try. He wasn’t going to give up—not now, not ever. Sophie was out there, and he was going to find her, no matter what it took.
* * *
Inside the hospital, Tristan’s heart pounded as he moved through the floors with Brad and two of his team. The secondary search was underway, alarms blaring overhead, the echoes of explosions still ringing in his ears. He could barely hear his own thoughts over the sounds, but one thing cut through the noise with piercing clarity: the desperate need to find Sophie.
Brad’s voice crackled over the radio, tense but controlled, “We’ve cleared the third floor. Alex, lead the second-floor team. Ethan, take the basement. We’re moving to the subbasement.”
“Roger that,” Alex responded, though his voice carried the strain they were all feeling. “Damn it, I need medical personnel in the SICU.”
Tristan’s gut tightened at Alex’s words. The SICU—the surgeon’s heart of the hospital, where so many lives hung in the balance. But he couldn’t focus on that now. His mind was singularly focused on Sophie.
“Medical Team B responding,” came the chatter over the radio, but Tristan barely registered the response. His thoughts were racing, his anxiety clawing at the edges of his mind.
Brad’s voice snapped him back to the present. “Stay alert. Damon’s men might still be down there.”
Tristan followed closely as Brad’s team made their way to the subbasement, the signs of a hurried escape becoming painfully clear. Scattered debris, hastily abandoned equipment—it all told the story of a calculated retreat interfered with. Tristan’s eyes locked onto the stairwell ahead, a cold dread settling in his gut.
“I’ve got tunnels not on the building plans. What the hell? I need additional manpower,” Brad demanded, leaving no room for argument. “This was their way out.”
Tristan’s breath quickened as they pushed forward, the grim reality sinking in. Damon had planned this. Every detail, every escape route—it had all been orchestrated to perfection. But Tristan’s focus wasn’t on the logistics of the operation; it was on the gut-wrenching fear that Sophie was still out there, hurt or worse.
As they dug through debris to reach a hidden entrance that Brad’s team discovered, the foul smell of the tunnel hit them immediately. Brad pushed forward despite the need for a Scott Air-Pak. Tristan barely noticed, his mind lurching ahead to what they might find.
Suddenly, a faint sound reached his ears—a sob, weak and filled with pain. Every muscle in Tristan’s body went rigid, and his heart skipped a beat.
“Over here!” Brad shouted, rushing toward the source of the sound.
Tristan’s legs moved of their own accord, carrying him through the darkness of the tunnel. His flashlight sliced through the gloom, and there, in the icy, muddy culvert, they found her.
Sophie.
She was barely conscious, her body trembling violently from cold and pain. Tristan dropped to his knees beside her, his breath catching in his throat as he took in her battered appearance. “Sophie,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re here. You’re safe now.”
Sophie’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze searching for him even in her disoriented state. When she found him, a faint, relieved smile tugged at her lips. “Tristan...?” Her voice was weak, but it reached him like a lifeline.
“I’m here,” he assured her, his hand gently brushing muddied hair from her face. “We’re getting you out of here. Just hold on.”
The medics moved in swiftly, carefully lifting Sophie onto a backboard. Tristan stayed by her side, his hand gripping hers as if he could transfer his strength to her through that single touch. He couldn’t bear to let go, not even for a moment. The world outside could crumble, but all that mattered was Sophie.
As they carried her out of the tunnel, Tristan’s mind whirled with a mix of relief and rage. Relief that she was alive, that they found her before it was too late. Rage at Damon Whitlock, at the thought of what that monster put her through.
The night was far from over, but as they loaded Sophie into the ambulance for transport to the field hospital, Tristan couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. The fight wasn’t over either—Damon might have escaped, but Tristan wouldn’t rest until he was caught. Until Sophie was safe, truly safe. For Sophie, he would do whatever it took.
* * *
The ambulance hurtled through the dark, snowy path, its siren wailing urgently, slicing through the stillness of the night. Tristan sat beside Sophie, his heart pounding in time with the flashing lights outside. His hand held hers tightly, as if his grip alone could keep her tethered to life. The chill of her skin against his palm sent a shiver down his spine, a constant reminder of how close she was to slipping away.
Sophie lay unconscious on the stretcher, her body battered and bruised. Tristan’s chest tightened as he gently adjusted the oxygen mask over her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “Sophie, please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Stay with me. We’re almost there.”
The paramedics worked around him, their movements quick and precise. They had already wrapped Sophie in thermal blankets, trying to combat the hypothermia that threatened to steal her life. The interior of the ambulance was cramped, filled with the sounds of beeping monitors and the steady vibration of the road beneath them.
“Her temperature is dangerously low,” one of the paramedics reported, his voice tense. “We need to get her warmed up—fast.”
Tristan nodded, his mind racing. “Keep those blankets tight. We have to keep her stable until we reach the field hospital.” Despite his professional demeanor, the fear eating at him was impossible to ignore. Sophie wasn’t just another patient—she was everything to him.
As the ambulance made its way toward the field hospital, Tristan’s thoughts flickered to the chaos they were rushing into. James, his brother, and Jenna Cade, Sophie’s best friend, were already there, treating the injured from the raid, along with the patients and staff being evacuated from Waverly County Hospital. Jenna was more than capable, but the thought of what awaited them made his stomach churn.
“Hang in there, Sophie,” Tristan murmured, leaning closer to her. “We’re almost there. You’ve got to fight, okay? I’m right here with you.”
The minutes felt like hours as the ambulance finally approached the field hospital, the sprawling setup illuminated by harsh floodlights. As soon as they arrived, the back doors flew open, and Tristan met the emergency response team. The night air was thick with the scent of smoke and antiseptic, a stark reminder of the battle they were still fighting. Brad slipped out of the passenger side, watching.
“Let’s go!” Tristan called out, his voice commanding as he helped the paramedics lift Sophie onto another stretcher. They wheeled her toward the triage area where James and Jenna were working, their faces tense.
Jenna looked up from the patient she was treating, her eyes widening as she saw Sophie. “Get her into the heated tent now!” she ordered, immediately snapping into action. “We need to stabilize her and get her temperature up.”
James, who had been working on another injured staff member, glanced over and saw his brother’s worried expression. He called out with urgency, “You’re the damn ER doc. Help me out here.”
Tristan shook off the helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him, forcing his professional instincts to take over. His voice steadied as he called out orders, his demands clear and sharp. “Cut her wet clothing off and preserve it in paper bags. Get me a core temperature. Warm blankets! Draw a full panel of blood, including tox screen. Urine, ECG. Start running warm fluids. Run Ancef.”
As he spoke, he focused on treating Sophie as he would any trauma patient, pushing aside the fact that this was the woman he loved lying before him, her life hanging in the balance. The medical team moved with meticulousness, responding to his commands with the efficiency he demanded.
But as they worked, the extent of Sophie’s injuries became painfully clear. Her body was covered in three-inch lacerations, the wounds angry and infected, a horrifying testament to the ordeal she had endured. Tristan’s heart ached with every new discovery, but he forced himself to remain focused.
“We need to get her washed off,” Tristan said, his voice strained with worry. “She’s going to have infections from lying in the mud and sewage.”
James, working across from his brother, glanced up at him and then down at Sophie’s injuries. His voice was gentle but firm. “Tristan, time to let another doctor handle her.”
Before Tristan could protest, Jenna finished with her other patient and rushed to his side. “Tristan, be a boyfriend right now. Let the team do their job,” she said, her voice calm but insistent. She took charge of the situation with a steady hand.
James nodded, recognizing the authority in Jenna’s demeanor. “Tristan, does Waverly Junction Hospital have neurosurgery capability? I think we’re looking at a brain bleed.”
Tristan’s mind raced, his professional instincts battling with his emotional turmoil. “Yes, they do, but I want you to use Waverly County’s personnel.”
Jenna looked down at Sophie, then stepped closer to Tristan, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “She’s in good hands. You need to trust us. Right now, Sophie needs you to be there for her emotionally.”
Tears welled up in Tristan’s eyes as he looked down at Sophie, her battered and broken body almost unrecognizable. The thought of losing her was unbearable, but Jenna was right. “I love you, Sophie. We’re going to get you through this. Please hang on.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her dirty forehead.
The medical team worked swiftly, washing the mud and sewage from Sophie’s body, treating her open wounds, and warming her cold limbs. Tristan coordinated the transport to Waverly Junction Community Hospital, knowing every second counted. His hands moved mechanically, his mind a whirlwind of fear, hope, and love.
As they prepared to move Sophie, Tristan held her hand tightly, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Sophie, you’re strong. You’re a fighter. We’re going to get you the help you need.”
* * *
James Blackwell, a skilled neurosurgeon, worked tirelessly with the team from Waverly County Hospital, utilizing every resource available at the community hospital. They had just reviewed Sophie’s CT scan, and what James saw confirmed his worst fears.
“Sophie has a subdural hematoma,” James explained to the team. “It’s a collection of blood between the dura mater and the brain. This bleeding puts pressure on the brain, and if we don’t relieve it soon, it will cause permanent damage or worse.”
The team nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. But the subdural hematoma wasn’t the only injury. The scan revealed a series of fractures: a broken eye orbit, shattered cheekbones, fractured ribs, a clot on the spleen, a broken left radius and ulna, and a fractured right tibia. The extent of Sophie’s injuries was horrifying, a testament to the brutal ordeal she had endured.
“We need to take her to the OR immediately,” James said, his voice firm. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions get the better of him now. “We’ll start with the hematoma and stabilize her other injuries as we go.”
As they prepped Sophie for surgery, Jenna, Sophie’s best friend and a skilled ER doctor in her own right, scrubbed in. She joined James at the scrub sink, her eyes meeting his.
“How are we going to tell Tristan?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with fear for their friend.
James shook his head. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. We need to focus on the surgery first. Tristan needs us to do everything we can for her.”
Jenna nodded, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. Let’s save her.”
James was all business, controlling the OR team with a cool, focused demeanor. As he began the delicate process of relieving the pressure on Sophie’s brain, he forced himself to concentrate solely on the task at hand. The stakes were too high for any distraction.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the waiting room, Tristan paced anxiously, his heart in his throat. He couldn’t shake the image of Sophie’s broken, bloodied body from his mind. He needed to hear something, anything, about her condition. He hated being on this side of the medical equation. When he started to join the team scrubbing in, James forbade him from doing it.
Sophie’s family arrived one by one, their faces etched with worry. Her mother was the first to embrace Tristan, her strength a comforting presence.
“How is she?” Charlotte’s voice trembled.
Tristan shook his head, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “James and the team are working on her now. It’s bad, Charlotte. She has a brain bleed, broken bones… It’s so bad.”
Charlotte held him tighter, her own tears spilling over. “She’s strong, Tristan. Sophie is a fighter.”
Sophie’s sisters, Olivia, Molly, Ruth, and Isobel, joined them, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. “We’re here for her,” Olivia said firmly. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through this together.”
He remembered saying that to his mother over his father’s death.
As they settled into the waiting room, the family began to talk about Sophie, sharing memories to keep their spirits up. They spoke of her childhood adventures, her determination to become a doctor, her kindness and resilience.
“Remember when she decided she wanted to be a doctor at ten years old?” A small smile played on Isobel’s lips despite the tears. “She set up that ‘clinic’ in the garage and tried to fix all the neighborhood kids’ scraped knees and bruises.”
Tristan managed a chuckle, the memory warming his heart even in the midst of his fear. “She always has such a big heart. It’s one of the things I love most about her.”
Charlotte nodded, her eyes shining with pride and love for her daughter. “She’s always been a healer. She’s touched so many lives with her kindness and her skill.”
As the hours dragged on, the family clung to these memories, drawing strength from their love for Sophie and each other. Tristan kept glancing at the OR doors, praying for good news, for any news. The uncertainty was agonizing, but he knew they had to stay hopeful.
Finally, James emerged from the OR, his scrubs stained with blood, a clearly borrowed lab coat failing to cover them. His face lined was lined with exhaustion as he approached the family.
Tristan stood up, his eyes searching James’s face for any sign of hope. “How is she? Please tell me she’s going to be okay.”
James took a deep breath, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “The surgery was difficult, but we managed to relieve the pressure from the hematoma. Sophie’s stable for now, but she has a long road ahead of her. We’ve stabilized her other injuries as best as we can for the moment. We need to monitor her closely for any signs of infection or further complications.”
Tristan’s knees nearly buckled with relief, but Charlotte caught him, her strength holding him up. “Thank you, James,” she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude and hope.
James placed a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, his eyes filled with empathy. “She’s fighting. Now it’s our turn to be strong for her.”
Tristan's heart pounded as he looked at his brother, his mind racing with fear and hope. "Where is she? I need to see her."
James took a deep breath, his expression serious and pained. “Sophie is still in the OR. The orthopedic surgery team is setting her arm and leg fractures. The maxillofacial team is examining her facial fractures to get a better look at the damage.”
A cold dread settled over him, but it was James's next words that truly shattered him.
“And…” James hesitated, his voice catching, “Audrey from the Institute, along with an examiner from the highway patrol and one from the FBI, are performing a sexual assault exam. After that, the plastic surgery team will repair her injuries.”
Tristan’s world tilted. He staggered, barely able to process the enormity of what James had said. "A sexual assault exam?" he echoed, his voice barely more than a whisper.
James nodded, his eyes filled with sorrow and anger.
Molly, a medical examiner and Sophie’s sister, met his gaze. “Yes. It’s procedure in cases like this, and it’s critical for gathering evidence.” Her voice sounded cold and clinical, but her expression as she wrapped her arms around her pregnant belly said differently.
“The better the evidence, the better to put this bastard away.” Ruth made her career as a defense attorney, but she clearly wanted the prosecution to win this time.
Isobel shook. “I should have told Brad more. Maybe if they raided the hospital sooner…” Tears rolled down her face.
Tristan collapsed into a nearby chair, his head in his hands. The images of Sophie’s ordeal flashed through his mind, each one more horrific than the last. He couldn’t bear the thought of what she had gone through, the pain and humiliation she had suffered.
"Why?" Tristan’s voice cracked as he lifted his head, tears streaming down his face. "Why did this happen to her?"
James crouched beside his brother, rubbing his chest. "I don’t know, but we’re going to do everything we can to help her heal. She has all of you.” He looked at her family.
Tristan shook his head. “I should have been there. I should have protected her.”
“You couldn’t have known,” James said softly, gripping Tristan’s shoulder. “None of us could. But we’re here now, and we’re going to support her every step of the way.”
As they sat together, the door to the waiting room opened, and Audrey walked in, her face drawn and serious.
Tristan stood up, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “Audrey, how is she?”
Audrey approached them, her eyes filled with compassion. “Sophie is stable. The exam is over, and it was necessary for the investigation. We will do everything we can to ensure she gets the best follow-up care possible.”
Tristan’s chest tightened. “Did she… Was she awake?”
“No,” Audrey said gently. “She didn’t feel anything during the exam.”
Tristan nodded, relief mingling with the deep ache in his heart. “Thank you, Audrey. I… I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to,” Audrey replied. “Just focus on being there for Sophie. She needs all of you now more than ever.”
The minutes dragged by like hours as they waited for news from the OR. Tristan couldn’t sit still, pacing back and forth, his mind a tumult of worry and despair. Charlotte, Molly, Ruth, and Isobel watched him. Olivia leaned heavily onto her fiancé, Jackson.
Finally, a surgeon Tristan knew emerged from the OR, his expression weary but composed. Tristan rushed to him, desperation etched into his features.
“How is she?” Tristan asked, his voice trembling.
The surgeon took a deep breath. “Sophie is stable for now. During the exam, Sophie crashed. It was necessary to remove her spleen. The fractures are set. The maxillofacial team has addressed her facial fractures, and the plastic surgery team has done their part. She’ll need time to heal, both physically and emotionally.”
Tristan swallowed hard. “Can I see her?”
The surgeon nodded. “She’s being moved to the ICU. You can see her once she’s settled in.”
As the group made their way to the ICU, Tristan’s heart ached with a mixture of love and sorrow.
* * *
When they finally reached Sophie’s room, Tristan hesitated at the door. Through the window, he saw her lying in the hospital bed, her face bruised and bandaged, her body hooked up to monitors and IVs. The harsh, sterile light of the hospital room contrasted sharply with the soft beeping of monitors and the faint, rhythmic hiss of the ventilator. She looked so fragile, so different from the vibrant, strong woman he loved. He waited patiently for her family to visit.
When it was finally his turn, he took a deep breath, entered the room and approached her bedside. He gently took her hand, his tears falling onto the white sheets. “I’m here, Sophie,” he whispered. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
James stood at the foot of her bed, his face lined with exhaustion but tinged with hope.
"Now we wait.” His voice was a quiet murmur. "I think we caught the bleed in time. When she wakes up, we will know more. We may have to deal with some side effects.”
Tristan focused on his brother’s weary eyes. “What do you expect?”
James sighed. “It can vary. We could be looking at headaches, seizures, confusion, and difficulty speaking or understanding language. I've got her on antiseizure meds. Like I said, it’s wait and see.”
Tristan's shoulders sagged. He was barely holding himself together as it was. "Thank you, James. I’m grateful you were here.”
As he sat there, holding her hand and watching her breathe, he vowed, no matter how dark the days ahead might be, he would be there for Sophie, offering her all the love and support he could. Because, in the end, love was the only thing strong enough to heal the deepest wounds.