Chapter 4 - The Sound of the Past
The hum continued, low and steady, weaving through the sterile hum of the medical equipment like a thread of gold through iron.
The silver moon is climbing high... And watching ships go sailing by...
Lily’s head turned by a fraction of an inch. Her dark eyes, hollowed out by days of terror, shifted away from the invisible window where the Escalade’s bullets had shattered glass. They drifted toward the floor, toward the woman sitting cross-legged in a frayed sweater, humming a tune that smelled faintly of rain and old paper.
It was the same tune.
That was the thought that tore through Lily’s shattered four-year-old brain. It wasn't the fancy doctors who smelled like antiseptic. It wasn't the guards with their cold guns and heavy boots.
It was the song the nice lady in the front seat had sung before the world went loud.
Before the glass burst inward like frozen rain. Before her mother pushed her down beneath the dashboard, whispering, “Don't look, my sweet girl, keep your eyes closed.” Before the smell of hot metal and blood filled the leather cabin.
"Mama?" Lily’s voice was a dry, rasping croak, the first word spoken in ninety-six hours.
The heart monitor spiked slightly.
Claire stopped humming instantly. She didn't lunge forward. She didn't smile too brightly. She kept her hands resting palms-up on her knees, open and harmless.
"Not your mama, sweet girl," Claire said softly, her voice barely louder than a breath. "Just Claire. Do you want some water? Just a little drop on your lips. No pressure. You don't have to swallow if you don't want to."
Claire reached out very slowly, picking up a small plastic cup with a soft sponge swab from the bedside tray. She dipped it in bottled water, squeezed out the excess until it was just damp, and held it out at arm's length.
For three excruciating seconds, time stopped.
Lily stared at the wet sponge. Her small, chapped lips parted slightly. Her breathing hitched, a shudder racking her frail frame. Then, with a pathetic, gasping lurch, she leaned forward—not toward the doctors, not toward her powerful father standing outside—but toward the broke nanny from Astoria.
May you like
She bit down weakly on the damp sponge.
Outside the door, Gabriel Varrick closed his eyes. A single, heavy breath escaped his lungs, sounding like a man who had just crawled out from under a collapsed bridge.
