Morgan's Marriage Read online

  “Oh, God…” Laura cried softly.

  Ann looked up. “He’s alive, Laura. Get a hold of yourself.”

  A lump formed in Laura’s throat. Ann’s words hit her like icy water—just what she needed to stem the rising tide of hysteria tunneling through her chest. Her fingers curved around her throat as she continued to stare in disbelief at the man on the gurney. Martin changed IVs, and she watched the clear fluid’s relentless dripping down the translucent tube into Morgan’s arm.

  “I-is it him?” she croaked.

  Ann handed Martin the blood-pressure cuff and removed the stethoscope from her ears. “Yes, it’s Morgan.” She reached out, her fingers wrapping firmly around Laura’s hand. “He’s alive, Laura. Right now, that’s what counts.”

  Nodding jerkily, Laura sat back, still gripping Ann’s fingers. The doctor’s hands were long and bony, but they were a healer’s hands, and Laura was everlastingly grateful that Ann was here with them now. “It doesn’t look like him….” she whispered.

  “He’s been starved,” Ann returned quietly. She moved to sit next to Laura. “I’ve given him a preliminary medical exam, but I’ll need to run a lot of tests once we get to the hospital.”

  “H-has he asked for me?”

  Ann’s mouth compressed. “No…he’s been moving between unconsciousness and semiconsciousness. He’s drugged, Laura. His pupils barely respond to light. My guess is he’s shot full of cocaine.”

  Pressing her hand against her mouth, Laura stared down at Morgan—a man she no longer recognized. Tears flooded into her eyes. “How could they do this to him?” Her voice broke with emotion.

  Ann put an arm around her and squeezed gently. “That’s what these men do. They’re animals,” she said, her voice vibrating with disgust and anger. “Listen to me, though, Laura. We can give Morgan back his lost weight, help him regain his strength. This is temporary.” Worriedly, she assessed her. “What about you? How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Ann smiled tiredly and patted her on the shoulder. “Sure you are. Have you been taking the tranquilizers I prescribed?”

  Laura shook her head. “I tried, but drugs make me feel out of touch, disconnected. I—I couldn’t stand the feeling, so I stopped taking them.”

  Sighing, Ann nodded. “Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

  “Don’t be upset with me, Ann. I did try.”

  The doctor’s expression gentled to one of understanding. “I’m not upset with you, Laura. I’m just trying to help you through this awful time. You haven’t had a chance to work through your own trauma at all. You had to be there for Jason when he was returned to you….” She looked over at Morgan’s deathlike pallor. “Now I’m afraid you’ll have an even bigger demand on you.”

  “I’d rather have my family with me,” Laura said in a low, broken voice, “whatever the cost.” She had been living on tenterhooks for the past three tortured months, not knowing if Jason was alive; fearing Ramirez had killed Morgan. Hell. She’d lived in a hell, with no relief, no moments of reprieve to tend the deep wounds suffered during her own kidnapping.

  “So Morgan hasn’t come out of it at all? Hasn’t asked for me…for Jason?”

  Ann shook her head. “He’s borderline semiconscious at times, Laura. But even then he’s so full of cocaine he’s not really with us.”

  “But—he did recognize you, didn’t he?”

  “No,” Ann admitted, “he didn’t….”

  Laura’s stomach began to knot with a terrible foreboding. “Is it normal, when a person’s been drugged, not to recognize friends?”

  Wearily, Ann pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose. “Sometimes, in some situations.”

  Laura looked at this woman who had done so much for all of them. Ann was in her mid-thirties, her dark brown hair glinting with reddish highlights in the ambulance’s bright interior. But her skin was taut across the bones of her face, her blue eyes dark and ringed with fatigue. Laura shouldn’t be giving her the third degree; the flight surgeon would fight with fierce loyalty through hell itself for Morgan’s recovery. It was those very qualities that had led Morgan to actively pursue the Air Force captain for Perseus. Ann’s skill not only as a medical doctor but as a psychiatrist specializing in trauma was something he wanted for his employees, who were often caught in life-and-death situations.

  No one knew better than Morgan the long-term debilitating effects of trauma. So he’d wooed Captain Parsons away from her prestigious position as one of the Air Force’s premier flight surgeons, dealing with field combat and the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder suffered by aviators who had been POWs or had experienced crashes. He’d wanted the best, and Ann had been with Perseus for six of the seven years the company had been in existence. Over the years, Morgan’s relationship with Ann had become that of a doting older brother. Ann had grown up without siblings, and Laura knew she considered the Perseus team to be like family.

  Reaching out, Laura squeezed her thin hand. “You must be as stressed over Morgan as I am.”

  Ann returned the grip. “I’m angry, Laura. I’m so angry that, I swear, if I could, I’d put a pistol to Ramirez’s head and blow his brains out for what he’s done to Morgan.” She looked at Morgan and then up at the ambulance ceiling, her voice cracking. “I’ve seen a lot of PTSD. I’m trained in emergency medicine and trauma. But when I saw Morgan as they took him off that Peruvian helicopter, I cried.” She grimaced. “Me, of all people.”

  “You love him like a brother,” Laura reminded her gently.

  Ann blinked her eyes and nodded. “Yes, I do.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at Laura. “What Ramirez has done to him is unconscionable, Laura. I’ll be glad to get him to Bethesda, where we can monitor him. I’ll be glad to get this damned cocaine washed out of his system, too. I want to see what’s left of Morgan on a mental and emotional level.”

  Laura fought back her own tears. “Yes…so do I,” she whispered.

  It was still raining. Laura stood at the window of Bethesda’s visitors’ lounge, watching the gray pall continue to fall, her arms crossed over her breasts. Time crawled by. When they’d arrived, Morgan had been quickly taken away, never regaining consciousness. That had been many hours ago.

  Laura felt more than heard someone approaching. Hoping it was Ann, who was working with the chief of internal medicine on Morgan’s many tests, she turned. It was Jake, carrying two cups of black coffee. Searching his exhausted features, she mustered a slight smile as she reached for the proffered white plastic cup.

  “Thanks, Jake.”

  He nodded and eased his bulk against the window frame. “How long is this gonna take?”

  Laura sipped the hot coffee. She wrinkled her nose, knowing she’d already drunk too much of the stuff. Still, it seemed somehow soothing and familiar, better than nothing. “I don’t know.” She sighed.

  “I wish to hell Ann could come out and tell us something—anything.”

  “It’s nearly four o’clock.” Laura felt the acidic liquid eating at her stomach and set the coffee cup on the table next to the window. The lounge was nearly empty. A young navy petty officer paced on the other side of the room, awaiting the birth of his first child. Life. Life instead of death. Laura’s mind was groggy with fatigue and she longed for sleep, but knew it would be impossible.

  “I remember,” she said softly, turning and looking out the window again, “how Morgan hates the rain. He always said it seemed as if the sky was crying. He never did like tears. When I cried, it always upset him terribly. He never knew what to do, or how to help me.” The sky was a dismal gray, though the rain had become soft and sporadic compared to this morning’s deluge.

  Jake snorted. “Most men have trouble with that. Shah tells me it’s good for us to feel a woman’s tears, to touch them—that absorbing them into our hands will help us get in touch with our own tears and soften us.” He smiled a little. “As you know, my wife is part Sioux. She comes from
a culture where people believe in showing feelings.”

  “Then I wish Morgan had some Indian blood,” Laura whispered.

  “After seven years of marriage, it still bothers him to see you cry?”

  “Yes…he’s especially sensitive when our children cry. It’s almost as if it hurts him physically.”

  “Well, Morgan has a lot of tears left inside him, Laura. Maybe that’s why.” Jake sipped the coffee thoughtfully as he gazed out at the gathering dusk. “Night comes on so fast in the winter,” he said, more to himself than her. “There’s something about this season that’s unsettling. I said that to Shah one time, and she laughed. She said winter was the time of turning deep within, of going on an inner spiritual journey. She compared people to seeds strewn over Mother Earth in the fall. We lie there in the elements, rained on, frozen and snowed on. The seed has to pull inward to survive, waiting for a warmer time to come forth.” He glanced down at Laura. “Winter is a time to look at who we are—and aren’t. The things it’s easy to hide from in the many activities of the warmer seasons—our awareness of what’s hurting within us, for example—are revealed in this season when we’re trapped indoors.”

  “It gives us time to think, to feel,” Laura agreed softly. “I’m glad Shah shared that with you. Winter used to be my favorite time of year.”

  Jake smiled a little. “You’re introspective by nature, Laura. And shy. Shah is, too. I’m more of an extrovert, but Shah has helped me understand that her quiet depth, her need for silence and time alone, isn’t wrong. It’s necessary to her survival. I like and need people around me. She doesn’t. At first, I didn’t fully understand that about her, but after we got married, she helped me appreciate introverts in general.”

  “Eighty percent of the world is made up of extroverts,” Laura said wryly. “Morgan’s an introvert like me.”

  “Yes—” Jake sighed “—he is. And maybe that’s why he hasn’t been able to shed those tears he needs to release.” He looked at her worriedly. “What about you? Have you been able to cry? To get out what you’re holding on to from your own trauma?”

  “Now you’re sounding like Ann.”

  “It’s common sense, really,” Jake told her in a low voice. “You’ve lost at least twenty pounds you couldn’t afford to lose, Laura. You look like hell warmed over and we’re all worried about you.”

  She reached out and touched his powerful arm. “I’ll make it okay, Jake. I’ve got Morgan back. That’s all I need.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not so sure, Laura. You haven’t had a chance to be by yourself and simply heal. You’ve been on an emotional roller coaster for three months with no down time. Shah’s right, I think.”

  “About what?”

  “She told me on the phone a while ago that what you and Morgan need is some quality time together—alone.”

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” It would be, but Laura didn’t see how it would be possible.

  “It’s just a thought,” he murmured, sipping the last of his coffee.

  Laura turned toward the lounge entrance, and her heart banged once, hard, in her breast. Dr. Parsons, dressed in her white smock, a stethoscope hanging from her neck like a pendant, came through the doors. Anxiously, Laura searched the doctor’s worn face.

  Automatically, Jake moved to Laura’s side and settled an arm around her shoulders, as if to steady her for whatever the doctor had to say.

  “Laura, Jake,” Ann said in greeting. She put her hands in the smock pockets and focused on Laura.

  “How is he?” Laura managed to ask.

  “Right now, he’s sleeping,” she said. “And that’s a good sign.” She gripped Laura’s arm and guided her to one of the vinyl sofas that lined the room. “Come and sit down,” she urged gently.

  Anxiety rippled through Laura as she sat down opposite Ann. The doctor pushed several strands of dark hair from her eyes.

  “The bulk of Morgan’s blood tests are back. Physiologically speaking, he’s severely malnourished, so we’re administering vitamins and minerals via IV.” Ann frowned and her voice lowered as she fought to keep the emotion from it. “Ramirez broke three fingers on each of Morgan’s hands. The fractures have healed on their own, but two of the six will have to be rebroken and properly set or he’ll have trouble with them later. His nose was broken several times, and I’m recommending surgery at a later date to try to undo the damage. His left cheekbone suffered a lateral fracture, but that’s healed cleanly. He’s lost six teeth, mostly molars—probably from the beatings he took.

  “I’ve got a dentist lined up, and eventually we’ll look at bridges to replace the teeth.” Ann stopped, took a deep breath, and went on. “Morgan was tortured extensively, Laura. His back is a mass of scars and welts. With antibiotics, all of that should heal pretty much on its own, over time. The scarring will probably be massive, but again, plastic surgery can reduce it.”

  Ann opened her hands and looked down at them. “There are innumerable cigarette burns on his body.”

  Laura took in a deep, ragged breath. “My God, Ann—”

  “There’s more,” she warned huskily. “Perhaps the most worrisome is that Morgan so far has no memory—at all. He didn’t recognize me. He—he doesn’t remember you—”

  Laura shot to her feet. “What?”

  Jake automatically rose, his hand going to her arm.

  Ann looked up at them. “I don’t know if it’s temporary or permanent, Laura,” she admitted. “I’ve talked to Dr. Williams, the head of psychiatry here, and he says that sometimes, depending on the types of drugs used, the frequency and so on, a person can sustain amnesia….”

  Laura felt the hot sting of tears coming to her eyes. “H-he doesn’t know me?”

  “He doesn’t recognize your name,” Ann said gently. “Maybe—” she slowly got to her feet “—if he sees you in person, he’ll recognize you.”

  “But he didn’t recognize you,” she said, her voice terribly off-key.

  Ann shrugged. “No…but I’m not his wife, either.”

  “Morgan’s close to you. He loves you like a sister—”

  “Laura,” Jake cautioned roughly, “let’s take this one step at time.” He stared at Ann. “Amnesia is usually temporary, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but in a case like this, as the drugs slowly leave Morgan’s bloodstream, we’ll have to see if they’ve permanently damaged his brain. Once a brain cell is destroyed, it’s gone forever. We don’t know if the memory portion of his brain has been impaired permanently or not. We’re still waiting to do an MRI on him. Right now he’s still got too high a level of drugs in his body. In a week or so, we’ll do one and see if it shows a decrease in function in that part of the brain.”

  Laura felt a cold numbness sweeping up from her feet, through her legs and into the center of her body. “I—I thought there would be a lot of physical damage,” she babbled, “but I never thought about his brain, his memory…. Oh, my God, what will I do if he doesn’t remember his own children? Or me? What—”

  “Sit down, Laura,” Jake entreated gently, guiding her back to the couch. “Take some deep breaths—you’re going pale on us. Do you feel faint?” He gripped both her hands.

  Blackness rimmed the edges of her vision. She felt Jake’s strong, caring warmth as his huge hands swallowed her small ones. Fear jagged through her, and she gasped and sank back on the couch. Closing her eyes, she tried to steady her ragged breathing. Voices began to swim around her, and she felt Ann’s hand on her head, cool palm pressed to her cheek. She felt cold. So cold. Morgan’s memory was gone. What if it was permanent? He would have no memory of her as his wife, of the intensity of their love. He wouldn’t know his own children.

  It was too horrible to contemplate, and Laura felt the icy blackness continuing to sweep upward toward her head. Ann’s and Jake’s voices became more distant. In moments, she lost touch with physical reality and was swallowed up mercifully, by a womblike darkness that sheltered her from what felt li
ke a near-lethal blow to her emotions. Of all the scenarios she’d played out in her waking hours and in her nightmares over these past terrible months, Laura had never entertained this frightening possibility: Morgan didn’t know her. Didn’t know any of them. Somewhere, as she spiraled even more deeply into the blackness, she knew that this amnesia wasn’t temporary. It was permanent.

  Chapter 2

  Morgan’s world was hazy and filled with nearly unendurable pain. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, torn pieces of voices, faces and experiences shifted in a never-ending kaleidoscope of terror, anxiety and horror. War scenes flashed behind his tightly closed eyes. Sometimes he’d find a moment’s rest in a tunnel of light, where he’d stand, looking back toward those horrific scenes.

  He felt relief in the white light of the tunnel, a sense of peace that he absorbed like a thirsty sponge and when he walked back toward the twisting, distorted events playing out at the tunnel’s end, he felt wrenching pain return on every level of his being. Though he wanted to go toward the opposite end, filled only with the comforting light, something in him said no.

  Every once in a while, he’d get a flash of a woman’s face—a petite woman with shoulder-length blond hair and the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen. She looked vaguely familiar, though he didn’t know who she was. He did know that when he saw her face amid the clashing pain and suffering, he felt a moment’s peace—much like what he experienced in the tunnel of light.

  Staring into the depth of this woman’s compassionate eyes fed him a sense of serenity and stability that his battered spirit desperately needed. Another woman’s face, a younger woman in a naval uniform with short auburn hair, sometimes looked back at him, too. He didn’t know her, either, and she didn’t bring him the sense of peace the first woman did. And then he’d see a man in his early forties in another uniform—tall, with dark hair. He also saw two very young children, but was at a loss to identify them.

  The faces paraded past him, intermixed with the terror and torture of the war scenes that frequently overtook him. He hated it when he gyrated uncontrollably into one of those states because he’d learned to anticipate the pain and anxiety that would come with it—emotions he seemed helpless to fight.