Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Wren didn’t know what to say.
“Maybe he should go to the hospital first.” Marlowe’s eyes moved over Christian, soaking in all the details. “Just to be checked out. Make sure he’s actually okay.”
“No.” The word came out fast, sharper than anything he’d said since he sat down at the table. “No hospitals. Not today. Please.”
“Christian—” Nora started.
“I’m fine! I just want to be here. With you.” He looked between the three of them, pleading to them with his gaze. “Please don’t make me go somewhere else today.”
No one said anything for a moment.
“You’re a nurse.” Marlowe looked at Nora. “Can’t you just check him? At least enough to know if he actually needs a hospital or if he can wait until tomorrow.”
Nora hesitated, some kind of professional calculation moving behind her eyes. Then she nodded slowly. “I can do a basic assessment. It’s not the same as an ER workup, but it’ll tell us if there’s anything urgent.”
She disappeared into the downstairs bathroom and came back with the small first-aid kit plus a penlight from the junk drawer.
“Is this okay?” Nora crouched in front of Christian’s chair. “I just want to check a few things. You can tell me to stop anytime.”
Christian went still but nodded.
Nora pressed two fingers to his wrist first, counting under her breath, her eyes on the clock over the stove. “Your pulse is a little fast but not alarming. Given the day you’ve had, that tracks.” She clicked the penlight on and leaned in close. “Follow my finger for me.”
Christian’s eyes tracked the light, steady enough that Nora’s shoulders eased a fraction.
“Pupils are even. That’s good.” She sat back on her heels. “If someone gave you something and it was still in your system, I’d expect to see it here—pupils blown or pinned, one or the other. I’m not seeing that.”
“So I wasn’t drugged?” He squinted.
“I can’t rule it out completely. Whatever it was could’ve worn off days ago, and I’d have no way to tell now, not without bloodwork.” She held his gaze. “But this at least is telling me you don’t appear drugged right now.”
Christian nodded slowly, some of the tension easing from his body.
“Any dizziness? Headache? Anything hurt that shouldn’t?”
“I have a headache,” Christian admitted. “Since I woke up on the road. It hasn’t really stopped.”
“On a scale of one to ten?”
“I don’t know. A four? Maybe a five.” He rubbed the heel of his hand against his knee, the same gesture Wren had already learned to watch for.
“That could be a lot of things.” Nora’s frown didn’t clear. “Or something we can’t rule out without imaging.”
She checked his forearm next, fingers light against the old scar. If the scar meant anything to her, she didn’t show it.
Wren looked at him again. The sharp line of his collarbone where his shirt gapped at the neck. His wrist inside Nora’s fingers, too narrow.
“You’re dehydrated.” Nora sat back. “And I don’t think you’ve eaten enough. Not for a while.” She glanced at Wren and Marlowe, then back at him. “Nothing here is screaming emergency. That’s not the same as fine. You need to be seen, and I’m not going to keep pretending that’s optional.”
“Okay.” Christian said the word quietly. “Soon. Not today.”
Nora studied him a moment longer, then lowered the penlight.
Nora had checked everything she could check, but they still didn’t know for sure who was sitting at their table.
Wren wanted him to be Christian so badly it scared her.
Wren watched Christian finish a second sandwich and more potato chips. Nobody talked while he ate, and the quiet went on long enough that she started reaching for something to fill it.
“Your room’s still here,” she said. “We never touched it.”
Christian looked up from the empty plate. “Really? I’d like to see it.”
They all stood. Wren followed Nora and Christian up the stairs, part of her bracing herself, though she didn’t know for what exactly.
At the top, nobody said anything.
Wren opened her mouth to tell him which door and stopped. Nora had halted one step short of the landing, and Marlowe hung back near the wall.
Nobody was going to point.
They wanted to see if he knew.
Wren’s face went hot. It was a cruel thing to do to a boy who’d walked out of the woods that morning, and she was doing it anyway. So were her sisters. None of them had said a word about it.
He walked to the end of the hall and put his hand on the knob.
Relief came up so fast it embarrassed her.
He knew where his room was. Of course, he did.
Christian didn’t go inside right away. Instead, he stared at the space.
They gave him a moment.
Finally, he stepped inside.
The room hadn’t changed. Their mother had insisted on that for years, long after therapists gently suggested otherwise.
It still had the same navy comforter. The same insect decals—butterflies and caterpillars and ants—peeling at the corners by the window.
The same shelf of toy trucks arranged in an order none of them had ever dared disturb.
Christian gripped the doorframe. “It’s exactly as I remember it.”
“Mom wanted to leave it for you in case you ever came home,” Wren murmured.
Christian crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it as if he weren’t sure it would hold his weight. He ran one hand over the comforter.
Wren watched, feeling a moment of certainty about who he was.
This man-child wasn’t a fake, was he? He was her brother. Christian really was back.
Tears pressed at her eyes.
“You should shower, if you want,” Nora said from the doorway. “There’s a towel in the hall closet, same as always. And you should try to sleep, even if it’s just an hour. We’ll be right downstairs when you wake up.”
“Okay,” Christian finally said. “Yeah, okay. I think that’s a good idea. Maybe things will make more sense if I get some sleep.”
“I think so,” Nora agreed.
Silence stretched a moment.
Then the ringing of the phone cut through the quiet.
They still had a landline here at the house. Their mother insisted on it—in case Christian ever tried to call. Wren had thought it was silly and desperate. She’d been certain Christian was gone forever.
Now it didn’t seem so silly or desperate.
“I’ll get that.” Wren almost felt relieved to have a break. Nora was handling this situation like a pro.
She hurried downstairs and picked up the beige receiver on the wall.
“Hello?” she answered.
There was nothing on the other line.
She shifted her weight, feeling unusually annoyed. “Hello?”
More silence.
Then . . . was that someone breathing?
A shiver raced down her spine.
Who would call, only to breathe on the line? Yesterday, she might have wondered if it was Christian. But not anymore.
However, his abductor—because she felt certain he’d been abducted—was still out there . . .
What if he was trying to find Christian? What if that monster was on the other end of this phone line?
Panic rushed through her, and she slammed the phone back onto the cradle.