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“What’s the treatment?”
“We administered epinephrine yesterday, which increased her heart rate. However, today it’s dropping again. I can give her more, but it’s a temporary fix. If it gets too low, we can insert a pacemaker.”
Hawke had waited, knowing that there was more.
“The pacemaker can moderate her heartbeat to an acceptable level, but it won’t fix the underlying problem. Even if her heart rate returns to normal, she’s still not waking up.”
“But it will buy us time.”
“Yes, but not a whole lot. Her respiration is slowing, too. The epinephrine has helped some, but again, it’s not going to fix the underlying cause. Unless we can identify the chemical or find an antidote, we’re just prolonging the inevitable.”
Hawke was a stickler for straight talk and blunt assessments, but hearing those words had just about done him in. Olivia was dying, and there wasn’t a thing anyone could do to stop it.
After the doctor had walked out, Hawke had pulled up a chair, taken her hand, and resumed what he’d been doing for the last two days. He had to reach her, had to make her fight. She had to return to him.
“I called McCall…just to let him know what’s going on.” Hawke swallowed around the lump in his throat. Having that conversation with Noah McCall hadn’t been an easy one. Just saying the words outloud had almost put him down. But Livvy’s boss deserved to know what was going on. Hawke and the OZ team weren’t the only people who cared for her. McCall had been understandably concerned and had offered to help in any way he could.
He’d thanked McCall and promised to alert him of any change in her condition. Using that terminology scared the shit out of him. The way things were going, a change in her condition right now would be devastating.
He could not think like that. She had to wake up—there was no other option.
Hawke cleared his throat and continued, “Livvy, I know you can hear me. I know you’re in there, listening. Please, baby, please come back to me.” His voice was almost hoarse, but he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
It had been decades since he’d uttered a prayer. His parents hadn’t been churchgoers. The only exposure to religion he’d received had come when a neighbor lady, Dottie Mae Wiggins, had come by on Sunday mornings to take him to Sunday school. His old man hadn’t known, or he would’ve put a stop to it. Fortunately for Hawke, his dad had always slept till late afternoon on Sundays, since Saturday nights had usually been spent drinking with his buddies.
Escaping his miserable life for a short while each Sunday had given him hope, something he’d desperately needed. He had learned about good and evil, right and wrong, and the power of prayer. He had never really practiced that belief, though. Figured he’d messed up too many times for anyone to really care what he wanted. But now…now he was willing to try.
For Livvy, he would do anything.
Still holding her hand, he closed his eyes and scrambled for words. In his lifetime, he’d heard eloquent and heartfelt prayers. He dug deep for something that would convey his gut-wrenching heartache, but the only words that came to his mind were, “Lord God, please, please, please.”
As prayers went, it was a pathetic attempt, but he continued to say the same thing over and over, hoping he was being heard somehow, that something miraculous would occur, and Livvy would be spared.
Several minutes later, he lifted his head. He didn’t know what he expected, but seeing no change, he swallowed his disappointment. After all he’d done in his life, had he really thought a higher power would be interested in granting him a miracle?
Unable to watch her lying there all alone, Hawke stood. Scooting her over a bit, he lay down beside her. Careful of the attached tubes and wires, he pulled her into his arms, pressed his lips against her silky cheek, breathed in her scent. She was warm, still vital. Still alive.
“Livvy,” he whispered in her ear. “Listen to me, my darling. You have to come back. You have to. There are so many people who love you. So many people depending on you to get better. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for how I behaved. I’ll give you babies, Livvy. If that’s what you want. One, a dozen. However many it will take to make you happy. Just please come back to me.”
He kissed her face, her lips. Taking her left hand, he kissed her finger where her wedding ring had been. They had removed it when she’d been brought here. “I loved you from the moment I heard your voice, Livvy, and I will love you until the end of time. Please, please, please come back to me. I’m begging you, baby, please.”
Pressing his forehead against hers, he tried to will her to wake up, tried to will her to hear him. He couldn’t stop talking. Some of it was probably gibberish. He hadn’t slept more than an hour or so the last two nights. What if she slipped away while he slept? He couldn’t risk it.
The ringing of his cellphone was a distant irritant. He ignored it. Nothing was going to take his mind off Olivia. Nothing mattered but her.
A minute later, another tone sounded, letting him know he had a text message.
Still holding Olivia with one arm, he slid the phone out of his pocket and stared blearily at the screen. He frowned, rubbing the tears from his eyes, trying to clear his vision, because the words from Bruce, the overseer of the Arizona facility, made no sense.
Iris Gates’s body has been stolen. All medical records have disappeared. Tissue and blood samples are gone, too.
Why? What would be the point of stealing Iris’s body? None of this made sense.
If Olivia could hear, he didn’t want her to know this. She didn’t need to worry about anything except waking up. Pressing one more kiss to her cheek, Hawke got up from the bed and went to the corner of the room. He pressed the number for the Arizona facility.
The minute Bruce answered, Hawke said, “What the hell happened?”
“Not sure. No alarm was triggered. Nothing else is missing.”
