The darkness did not lift all at once.

  It loosened its grip slowly, like fog retreating from a valley as the sun crests the peaks. Shapes drifted through the haze of my thoughts. Sounds reached me first, faint and distant.

  A steady beeping.

  Soft voices somewhere beyond the mists of my mind.

  For a while that was all there was.

  Then agony arrived.

  It radiated through my ribcage like pressure from the inside. Every breath dragged against it. My lungs felt raw, as if I’d breathed in the smoke of a thousand wildfires.

  Foolishly, I tried to move. A spike of pain shot through my side and forced a groan from my throat before I could stop it.

  The beeping beside me quickened.

  Footsteps approached.

  “Easy,” someone said. A woman’s voice. Calm. Professional. Unfamiliar. “He’s waking up.”

  My eyelids held the weight of all the world, yet I forced them open. Bright white light stabbed through my pupils, right into my skull, like a long, thin needle.

  The blurred ceiling above me swirled and sparkled, until my sight was restored to me.

  Fluorescent panels.

  A thin plastic tube rested beneath my nose. Cool air flowed into my lungs when I inhaled, though even that small breath hurt.

  I turned my head ever so slightly, and the room spun.

  “Alex?”

  The familiar voice came from beside the bed.

  Lloyd’s weathered face swam into focus above me. The old rancher looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His gray mustache was rough, uneven, and the veins in his eyes had pushed themselves to the surface.

  Relief softened his expression. “There you are, son,” he said, just above a whisper.

  Son…

  I tried to speak, but my throat felt like sandpaper. A dry rasp escaped my throat.

  “Don’t push it,” Lloyd said. “Doctor says your lungs took a beating.”

  All at once, memories of the gunfight in Lloyd’s house came rushing back into my mind. Three criminals in ski masks. Lloyd’s safe in the cellar. Carol tied to the kitchen chair. Katie shouting at the gunmen in her undying defiance. The blast of Lloyd’s shotgun. Then the rifle. The impact.

  My chest tightened, recalling the wound. I broke into an agonizing cough. The machine beside the bed chirped faster.

  “Easy!” Lloyd said.

  A nurse appeared beside the bed and adjusted something on the monitor.

  “Take slow breaths,” she said. “You had a collapsed lung. Surgery went well, but you’re going to be sore for a while.”

  Sore. The word my father used to describe the one endured after a hard workout. This hardly felt like the sort of pain that would make me stronger. I was certain a level of strength was robbed from me, and doubted it would ever return. Dipping into the River Styx would not make me invincible like Achilles, it would cripple me.

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  I swallowed and tried again.

  “Carol? Katie? Derek?”

  “They’re fine,” Lloyd said immediately. “Every one of them.” He rested a rough hand on my shoulder. “Because of you.”

  The weight of those words settled somewhere deep in my aching chest. My eyelids began to droop again.

  The nurse said something to Lloyd that I couldn’t quite hear. My thoughts drifted away before I could catch the rest.

  Sleep took me again.

  When I woke the second time, the room had changed. The bright glare of morning was gone. Soft evening light filtered through the blinds.

  The pain remained, though it felt distant now, dulled by whatever drugs they had running through the IV in my arm.

  For a moment I just lay there, breathing carefully.

  In.

  Out.

  Each breath still hurt, but it was manageable.

  Then I noticed a woman sitting beside the bed. Her hands were clasped together tightly in her lap. A hospital bracelet circled her wrist. Her shoulders trembled.

  She was crying.

  An instinctual part of me wanted to reach out to her, offer comfort, and ask her what distressed her so. I wanted to pull her into a gentle embrace and tell her it was going to be ok. Somewhere between pain and numbness, I found that I could not.

  Something about her seemed familiar. The shape of her face. The way she picked at the skin around her thumbnails when she was worried.

  My heart skipped.

  No…

  It couldn’t be her. I forced my head to turn just enough to get a good look at her.

  The movement sent another wave of pain through my ribs, but I pushed through it.

  The woman lifted her head, her eyes meeting mine.

  “Mom?” The word barely made it out of my throat.

  She froze. Then she stood so suddenly her chair scraped loudly against the floor.

  “Vincent!”

  The sound of that hateful name made me shudder.

  She reached for my hand, gripping it gently as though she was afraid I might disappear if she held too tightly. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Oh thank God,” she whispered.

  I stared at her. My mind struggled to catch up with reality. “How…” My voice failed.

  She squeezed my hand.

  “They called me,” she said.

  Confusion flickered through my head. “Who called you?”

  “The hospital staff,” she said. “I’d been praying someone would find you for so long. Then, out of the blue, they called and said you had been flown in for emergency surgery.

  “How did they know?” I winced as a sharp pain shot through my skull. “I never told…”

  “That boy… Derek is it? He told the hospital staff your real name.”

  Part of me wanted to curse him for giving me away. No doubt prison awaited me after release. Maybe there was still a chance to run. As soon as I started to feel better, I could unhook myself from all these machines and flee.

  “Their blood banks were running short,” said my mother, rolling up her sleeve to reveal a bandage on her arm. “So, I gave them my blood.”

  My heart warmed at the thought. My father had tried to kill me, but my mother, who had been silent about the abuse for so long, saved my life.

  “Vincent,” she said as more tears flowed from her eyes. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry I let you grow up in that Hell. I’m so sorry I didn’t take you far away from your father sooner.”

  “You were terrified,” I said. “I heard the way he shouted you down every time—” A sharp cough cut off my words, preventing me from finishing the sentence. I wanted to tell her that I never blamed her. How could anyone be expected to act any differently when their life partner kept them living in such a state of fear? He’d threatened to kill me so often. I could only imagine how many times he’d said the same sort of thing to her.

  “But I’m your mother,” she said. “I should have—”

  The door creaked open and my sister stood in the gap, holding a sandwich wrapped in plastic. Her already big, doe-eyes widened when she saw me. “You’re awake?”

  I shrugged and rasped out the words, “I hope so.”

  “Good!” She rushed to my side, resting a hand on our mother’s shoulder. “I was afraid for so long. Thought you’d died in a ditch or killed yourself or something.”

  “Close,” I said.

  “But you became a cowboy I hear?” my sister said with a smile. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “Hardly a cowboy,” I said with another cough. “Still can’t ride a horse.”

  A silence passed between us. I wanted to apologize for what I allowed Mark to do to her all those years ago, but I was afraid of her explosive anger. I feared she might well eviscerate me with her words as a terrible brother, a terrible protector, and a terrible human being. I’d not be able to argue with any of her words because of the magnitude of what I’d done. So, for the time being, I left that poison alone, praying it wouldn’t spread.

  Whatever the future held, I thanked Derek for this reunion with my family. Soon, though, I knew I had to face the music. I still had to speak with Lilah, and then face whatever consequences the law had in store for me. Yet, for the time being, I was happy to be alive.