Page 59 of The Last Knight

“How are you holding up?”

“Still very sad. Now I’m very confused,” Aubrey said and then hurriedly explained everything to Erin, who interjected with exclamations of surprise and confusion.

Aubrey took a breath. “I am not sure what happened, but I have to find out. I’m headed to St. John’s.”

“What if…” Erin began. “The darkness…”

“I have my suspicions as to how he came to be here,” Aubrey interrupted. “If what I think is true, then we don’t have to worry about any evil being attached to him.”

“But how will you know for sure? I insist you wait and not go alone. Padriag should come with you.”

She wasn’t about to sit around and wait for Padriag. It would mean having to explain the new situation and then field more questions.

“You can tell him if you feel you have to. I am heading there now and, when he’s released, I plan to bring him to the house.”

The drive should’ve taken twenty minutes. It felt like fifty. Every red light was a personal affront, and by the time she reached the hospital, her nerves were coiled tight. The parking lot was a nightmare. She circled again and again, heart pounding louder with every pass. Finally, a set of brake lights blinked ahead. She hit her turn signal and slid into the spot the second the other car cleared it.

Her hands trembled as she pulled the keys from the ignition. Get it together, she told herself, but her stomach churned with nerves. What if she couldn’t get in to see him? If Gunther was in the Intensive Care Unit, would they even let her in?

Inside, the sterile smell helped steady her, but only a bit. She followed the signs toward Intensive Care, her footsteps too fast, her breathing uneven. At the nurses’ station, she didn’t hesitate. “I’m Gunther Janssen’s fiancée,” she said, voice steady, face calm, heart hammering like mad.

The nurse glanced at her screen, then gave a small nod. “He’s been moved to a standard room. Fourth floor.”

Relief hit so hard it nearly buckled her knees. She muttered a quick thank you and practically ran to the elevator, jabbing the button like her life depended on it. When the doors opened on the fourth floor, she didn’t pause to look around or second-guess, she walked straight to the room number she’d been given.

No one stopped her. No questions. Just the quiet, antiseptic hallway stretching ahead.

She reached his door and froze, her hand hovering just inches from the handle, her breath snagging in her throat. For one aching heartbeat, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Was it real? Was Gunther on the other side of the door? What if it wasn’t him, but a cruel misunderstanding?

Finally, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The air in the room was thick with antiseptic and quiet hums from machines. Her gaze landed on him, Gunther, lying very still beneath crisp white sheets. An EKG beeped steadily at his side, wires curling from his chest. An IV snaked into his left arm. His right was cradled in a sling, propped carefully against the pillows.

The detective had warned her that he was injured, but the reality hit harder than she’d prepared for. His face was swollen, mottled with deep bruises, his bottom lip split and bloodied. A swollen black eye was beginning to fade into shades of angry purple and yellow. She could only imagine what bruises hid beneath the gown, on his ribs, his back, his legs. Her stomach twisted.

She didn’t dare wake him.

Quietly, she sank into the chair beside his bed, her heart aching just looking at him. The minutes stretched, blurred, softened. She didn’t move, just watched the rise and fall of his chest, grounding herself in the rhythm of it.

About an hour had passed when a nurse entered, her smile gentle and knowing. “You must be Aubrey,” she said warmly.

Aubrey nodded, eyes flicking back to Gunther. “Has he been awake at all?”

“Only a bit here and there,” the nurse replied, checking the machines with practiced ease. “But that’s to be expected. He’s on strong pain meds for the bruised ribs, and he had both heart and lung surgery. Your friend was in bad shape when he came in.”

Aubrey blinked rapidly, tears threatening again. She turned away and wiped her cheeks before they could fall.

The nurse gave her a moment, then spoke again, softer now. “He’s making progress, love. Got out of bed today with help, even managed a short walk to the restroom. He’s strong. Healing.”

Aubrey nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Strong. Yes, he was. But right now, he looked so fragile.

And still, he was alive. That, for now, was enough.

The nurse touched Gunther on his left shoulder, jostling him gently.

“Mr. Janssen, you have a visitor. Time for tea.”