Chapter Twenty-Two
Several years ago...
A heavy machine whirred to life beside a sleeping girl. She was so small compared to the hospital bed. With eyes closed, she looked like she could be sleeping. That is if it was possible to sleep hooked up to monitors with tubes fed into her skin.
A bandage was wrapped around her head. Under it, patches of hair would be missing where the sutures dotted her skull. They'd stopped the brain bleed after hours of surgery. Somehow, they saved her life after the fall. It was nothing short of a miracle, especially for the family of believers.
Her mother watched from the doorway, clutching the hand of the little girl's brother. He stared at her like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. There was no way for them to explain it to him in words he would understand. Hell, most of it was over his mother's head.
A nurse entered, scribbling down information about Lexi's vitals. More words no one could understand.
"How is she?" Lexi's mom asked softly.
The nurse patted her arm reassuringly. "She's fighting. She's doing good."
"Yeah?" Mom whispered.
"Yeah," the nurse confirmed. "Call me if you need anything. Try to get some rest, you hear me?"
Quinton curled up beside his mother on the couch, clutching her jeans as he slept in her lap. Her husband was in the cafeteria, getting them some dinner. He'd left a while ago, undoubtedly stalling his return. It was difficult, facing their daughter as she laid in a hospital room.
She was in a coma. As long as she had some brain activity, there was hope. That restored confidence in her chances of survival.
Dennis Laughlin had been arrested hours earlier, but it wasn't over. Not for anyone in that room. Quinton was lucky to live in a state of blissful ignorance. He didn't know the horrors of what his uncle had done to his sister, and he hadn't experienced the violation. The rest of them would have to bear the guilt and shame for as long as they lived. In them, the memories and legacy of a sick bastard survived.
Her mom felt the hatred boiling, brewing. She wanted nothing more than to recreate all of the sufferings he'd inflicted on her daughter. A mother's instincts were funny like that. They could easily be turned around, used to feel an unspeakable vengeance. Her nails were biting into the skin of her hands. The composure she was maintaining under a thin veneer of control was about to break.
It wasn't a matter of if she would lose it, but when.
Lex's father sat down beside his wife, placing a kiss along her hairline. "It's gonna be okay."
She didn't speak, squeezing his hand instead.
Then, she did everything she could to bury the pain six feet under.