Durability (The LockDown Series Book 3) (4 page)

I sigh; I have done far too many wrong things in my life. “I have a long list Angel. We don’t have that long.” I giggle a little as she digs her fingers into the soft spot at the back of my neck. It makes my hand loosen, causing me to slip a little. “Silly thing, you could have killed us.” I try to slap her little hand, stopping her tormenting on me.

“Firstly, sweetheart, you are already dead and secondly tell me your sins so I can tell you if you deserve your place here.”

“Okay, so, we have my mother’s death, then bringing my friend into the home where she was abused by my father, taking drugs and putting myself through torture on the streets, cheating on my husband, taking drugs whilst pregnant, taking drugs whilst breast feeding. Oh, and let’s not forget leading Antonio on.” I clench my eyes closed to try and stop the word infiltrating my mind, those three words he had told me last time we had been intimate. ‘I love you’ he had said, his entire soul behind them.

“Stop now, Abigail, you have nothing to be sorry for. None of those things were your fault, everything you did you did for a good reason. Now wipe those bad thoughts away and get yourself out of here, because it’s clear now, real hell is your own conscious ruling you.”

I look above and continue my own personal journey.

“Look angel, its life,” I tell her, smiling into the brightness. It is weird, they say when you die you see the light, but I am seeing the light as I struggle to return to life.

“You’re doing well Abbi, keep going, we can make it.” I know she is just as desperate as me to escape from this uninviting shit heap.

“No
, we
ARE
doing it,” I tell her, knowing without her strength and guidance I would have remained in that cell, alone, cold, and frightened until eventually I shrivelled up and ceased to exist in every world there was.

“Yeah, we sure are. I can hear them Abbi, they’re calling for you. They need you; they need your help to find Melissa. Do you know who had her sweetheart?” she asks me as I continue to pull myself up the inside of this fiery inferno.

I feel angry suddenly, the horrible images that plague my brain of my last breathing seconds. “Oh god, my father.” I cry a little, if that is possible when you are a dead spirit, but I do. I can feel the salty droplets burning my aching wound, the hole lying rugged and ugly in my shoulder.

“We’ll find him, all of us, but we have to get out of here and quickly Abbi,” she tells me sternly, getting my arse into gear further. I become a speedy rock climber, clearing feet after feet of rugged rock face, my hand stinging and cut to bits, but my determination and utter focus is now on that hole.

“Argghhh!” I growl as I pull us over an overhang rock.

“We’re close Abigail, look, only a few feet to go.” I can hear dogs barking fiercely below us, at least a hundred feet between us. I am proud of myself, pulling myself up this wall and to my freedom so easily.

“Yes, yes, nearly there.” I chant to myself as I clasp the final lip, the edge, the bright light blinding my movements but I don’t care.

“We’re safe Abbi; we’re going to be ok,” the angel tells me as I heave us over the edge and onto the hard floor outside.

I roll onto my back and feel the same numb feeling I felt when I had been shot; the cold, nerveless feeling and I know that isn’t right.

What is wrong with me? I am supposed to be alive and kicking now, with my husband, finding my daughter.

WAKE UP ABIGAIL.

“Sir, please, calm down,” the doctor says sternly as I kneel on the floor in a crumpled heap. I am not going to survive this loss; I want to be there with her, cold and icy, but warm and safe in the heavens above where I know her angelic soul will be waiting for me.

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAVE HER!” I scream at him as I look at his serious face. “YOU FAILED HER!” I shout once more, my tears rapidly falling against my cheeks and soaking my shirt. My tuxedo jacket is somewhere back at the house, but my once crisp, clean white buttoned shirt is now a crimson canvas.

“Sir, calm down please. We need to talk to you about your wife’s condition,” he tells me, making my head shoot up once again.

“Her condition? I, I, I thought she was dead. Oh god. I need to see her.” I wipe my face of tears, pulling myself to my feet.

“Sir, please, before you go we need to talk,” he instructs me, pointing to the chair.

“What’s wrong, why can’t I see her?” I ask nervously.

“There were some complications with the surgery sir. We managed to stem the bleed and stitch that up fine but it seems the bullet has damaged a large majority of her nerves. We tried to reconnect and mend as many as we could but we are afraid that she may not have any movement in her right arm again.” I gasp at his answer. What would Abbi do if she couldn’t use her arm, couldn’t hold our daughter with it?

Fuck it, I am just overjoyed she is alive.

“Okay, I can deal with that. I’ll help her through it. But please, I need to see her,” I beg. My heart had been broken when I had heard that gasp from her mouth, that blood bubbling up from her throat.

“Ok, but please, do not get her riled up, she ne
eds her rest Mr Lock.” He turns
and opens the visiting area door for me to walk outside. I follow him through the never ending hallways of the hospital, the white walls all too pristine and perfect compared to my bloodstained shirt.

“Other than her arm, she’s going to be okay?” I ask him, my black dress shoes squeaking on the shiny floor as we stride the corridor.

“She should recover fine Mr Lock, but she will need to stay in for observation for a few days, maybe a week. And we will have her on intensive rehab to try and get her arm functioning again,” he informs me and it settles my anxious stomach a little.

“Thank you Doc,” I tell him, following through the double doors that lead to the recovery area.

“God, b
aby.” I cry
as I look to the bed and see Abigail wired up to various machines, her shoulder dressed and her arm in a sling. She is a little less pale than earlier and her body rid of her dress. It makes me sad that I never got to remove it from her the way I should have, enjoying her perfect body.

I walk to her side, her eyes just starting to flitter open as the anaesthetic works its way out of her system. “Hey baby.” I speak to her, kissing her forehead and swiping her hair from her face, still clogged with blood and tears.

She attempts to croak out something but the tube in her throat puts her at a disadvantage.

“One second angel, we’ll get it taken out.” I turn to the doctor who is talking with his team as they sort through my wife’s care. “Could she have the tube taken out, she is trying to talk to me?” I ask them politely, feeling happy that I can look into her blue eyes once again.

“Of course Mr Lock,” the doctor replies, pulling some gloves onto his hands. A nurse assists him, removing the tube from Abbi’s throat, her reflexes kicking in and making her gag.

“Hello Mrs Lock, good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” he asks her, and she looks around blankly. I have known the effect of anaesthetic, it made me feel like I was outside of my body, like I had no control of my movements or recollection of where I was until I was completely awake.

All I can hear is a croak. She looks to me pleadingly, pointing to her mouth. “You thirsty baby?” I ask her, stroking her hair from her face once again. She nods to me, her skin looking more vibrant than it had a few hours back as she took what I thought would be her last breath in my arms.

I help her to sit up, supporting her back and lifting the bed with the control at the same time.

I fill a plastic cup with some water from the jug, handing it over to her. She tries to move her arm to take it from me, but nothing happens. Her eyes flitter nervously and agitatedly from her arm to me, to the water.

Her eyes are begging me to help; it breaks my fragile, cracked heart into a million shards at her desperation. She begins to sniffle, tears pooling and eventually dropping down her cheeks. “Shhh, baby, it’s okay, shhh,” I tell her, standing up from my chair to sit on the edge of the bed.

She drops her head heavily onto my chest and cries, hard, fierce and gut wrenchingly. “Angel, it’s okay. Let it all out.” I soothe her, stroking her hair, twirling it in my fingers for my own benefit to feel that she is real and is here with me.

She eventually lifts her head, her eyes sore and puffy, and her cheeks blotchy and sad. “I love you baby,” I tell her simply as I lean forward and kiss her forehead. I lift the plastic cup to her lips, tipping it back lightly to allow a small trickle of water to enter her mouth.

She sighs as she swallows, clearly feeling better. “Hey,” she says quietly, her mouth in a slight frown.

“You don’t know how good it is to see you,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her and kissing her head hard. I am crying myself, tears of joy and sadness, trickling from my eyes and onto her hair.

“Back at you baby,” Abbi replies, sitting sadly in her bed.

“How you feeling?” I ask her seriously, looking into her eyes for the truth.

“Nothing, I feel nothing Leighton,” she answers me, once again crying.

“Baby, I promise you, you’ll get it back, if it’s the last thing I do, you will feel your arm again.” I hold onto her hand, squeezing gently, even though she can’t feel it, just so she can see I will love her no matter what she looks like or can or can’t do.

“Melissa?” she shouts as she clearly remembers.

“They’re looking for her baby, they have some leads, leave them to it, and they will find her,” I assure her. I know Mel is my daughter and I should be out there with my men, finding her and killing the sick fucker who has taken her, but my wife is my every breath and I have to make sure she is safe and well before I even think of leaving her side.

“You should be with them,” she pleads.

“No, I’m no good there, you need me,” I inform her. There is no way I am going anywhere, anytime soon.

“Please, Leighton, you need to find her. Call them; see if they have any news,” she asks me sweetly, her eyes pleading with me.

“Ok, I’ll be one minute.” I kiss her head and leave her with the doctor as I escape into the corridor to call Tom.

“Leighton,” he says breathlessly into the speaker. “How is she? Please tell me this call is good news.” He sounds panicky.

“She’s alive, they operated, but she’s lost all movement in her right arm with little chance of regaining it. Any news on Mel?” that is the main reason I am calling him.

“Found the guys house, the car has been stolen, the owner was knocked out cold when we arrived. He gave us a quick description of the guy who broke in, Nate is drawing it up now. His car is traceable so we have every camera within 30 miles keeping track of it.” I breathe deeply, this isn’t a good thing. We don’t know what fucked up arsehole has my daughter.

“Okay, just keep at it. I’ll be home tonight so I’ll carry on then. Can you get Nate to bring the drawing down so Abbi can try and identify him? Thanks man.” I hang up the phone and slide it in my pocket.

I brush my hands over my face and then into my hair.

“News?” Abbi asks me as I re-enter. A blood pressure cuff squeezes tightly at her arm, she isn’t flinching whatsoever. It makes me sad that she can’t feel anything there.

“They found the person
who owns the car, he gave a description of the guy, and Nate’s bringing a drawing up to see if you recognise him,” I explain to her as I sit back on the edge of the bed.

“No point Leigh, I know who has her,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What, who?” I ask hurriedly. It isn’t exactly information that should be kept from me.

“My father.” My heart stops beating completely at the mention of that animal’s name.

“What do you mean your father?” Leighton asks me. I feel fucking shit right now, my head pounds, my skin aches, my arm is numb and that pisses me off even more and now he is looking at me with an anger in his eyes I have only seen once, and it scares the ever living shit out of me.