Page 112 of Hush, Little Baby

His answer is a sound between a sob and a laugh. Then darkness pulls me under, and this time I don’t fight as I slip into oblivion.

23

Charlie

Consciousness returns slowly, like dawn’s first light seeping under heavy eyelids. At first, all I know is that something aches. Then I realize everything aches—every muscle, every bone, every inch of skin. A ragged breath escapes my clenched lips, a groan so gravelly it scarcely sounds human. Instinctively, I shift beneath the blankets, searching for relief, the movement lasting less than a heartbeat before a white-hot flare of agony shoots through my shoulders, collarbone, and skull, stealing my breath. I freeze, panic surging like ice in my veins.

But then I smell a familiar scent—Niko—and my eyes snap open.

Overhead, the bedroom ceiling comes into focus.

Home.

I’m home.

A flood of recollection drowns my lungs, and for a moment I cannot draw breath. A broken, awful sound escapes me, then another, as tears carve hot tracks down my cheeks. I make no attempt to stop them. All the fear, the helplessness, the certainty that I’d never see him again, pours out, followed by overwhelming gratitude that he came.

He found me.

He brought me back.

My body trembles with sobs. “Daddy…”

The door swings open, and there is Nikolaus, every line of his face etched with relief and exhaustion. His hair is rumpled; the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up and wrinkled, revealing forearms tense with fatigue.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough with unshed tears. His hand, warm and sure, settles into my hair, fingertips stroking my scalp gently. “I’m right here.”

In the doorway stands the doctor, and beyond the doctor in the hallway, there’s just a flicker of movement—an older woman with dark curls. I barely glimpse her before the doctor comes in fully and closes the door.

He exhales a long sigh of relief when he sees my eyes open. “Thank god,” he says, voice smooth but strained with emotion. He sets his bag on the bedside table and moves to my side. “Charlie, how are you feeling?” His tone is calm, clinical, yet threaded with kindness.

I manage a shaky laugh that ends in a wince. “Bad.” The single word tastes bitter on my tongue.

He nods sympathetically. “That sounds about right.” A small penlight appears in his hand, and he examines each pupil, shining the beam gently into my eyes. He asks a series of questions—where I am, why I’m here, who he is, and who Nikolaus is. “Good,” he says quietly, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Very good.”

I ask, “Am I dying?”

Both men react instantly—the doctor’s brow furrows in horror, and Nikolaus’s fists clench.

“No,” they answer at exactly the same moment.

The doctor clears his throat. “No, Charlie. Quite the opposite.” He perches on the edge of a nearby chair. “You’re incredibly fortunate in that regard.” His face grows serious. “Your nose was broken. I reset it while you were unconscious.”

My hand rises toward my face, but Nikolaus’s hand closes over my wrist first. “Leave it alone, sweetheart.” His tone brooks no argument, and I obey.

The doctor continues, voice soft but steady. “And I suspect several ribs are cracked.” A cold wash of understanding sweeps through me—no wonder every breath wounds me. “They don’t seem fully broken, which is good news,” he adds quickly. “The rest is significant bruising and soft-tissue injury—painful, but recoverable. Based on what you looked like… I assumed much worse.”

I probably looked dead.

The doctor glances nervously at Niko, then returns his focus to me, still looking rather uncomfortable. “I have my own conclusion based on examination, but I need to ask you this for a myriad of reasons.”

“Okay? What is it?” I ask, anxious.

He swallows, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing. “Were you penetrated by any animate or inanimate objects, either orally or anally?”

The question makes me gag.

“N–no.” I struggle to push the word out. “No, I don’t remember—no.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears.