Chapter 5 - The Sleeping Beauty
The room was bathed in the soft, blue glow of medical monitors. The rhythmic, steady beep... beep... beep of a heart rate tracker was the only sound breaking the silence, accompanied by the quiet, mechanical hum of an oxygen machine.
In the center of the room sat a narrow hospital bed.
Dario stepped inside, his heavy boots making no sound against the rubberized flooring. He dropped his weapon into his holster, his eyes fixed entirely on the figure lying beneath the white blankets.
Her hair was longer than he remembered, dark brown waves spilling across the white pillowcase. Her face was thin, pale, and drawn, but the delicate curve of her jaw, the slight arch of her brow, and the tiny scar near her temple from a childhood fall were unmistakable.
It was Elena.
Dario felt his knees go weak. He stumbled forward, reaching out a trembling hand, his fingers touching her cheek. Her skin was warm, soft, but terribly pale from five years away from the sunlight.
"Elena..." Dario whispered, his voice cracking completely.
Tears welled up in his eyes, unbidden and unstoppable, spilling down his face as he sank to his knees beside the hospital bed. He took her frail, thin hand in his own, pressing her knuckles against his lips.
Her fingers were limp, completely relaxed under the heavy sedatives flowing into her IV line.
"I found you," Dario choked out, pressing his forehead against the side of her mattress. "My God, Elena... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't come sooner. I thought... I thought you were gone."
The heart monitor gave a slight, subtle jump—the rate quickening from sixty beats per minute to sixty-eight.
Dario looked up quickly. Elena’s eyelids fluttered slightly, her pale lips parting as if she were trying to catch a breath in the deep fog of her medically induced sleep. The sound of his voice—a voice she hadn't heard in five agonizing years—seemed to pierce through the thick veil of drugs controlling her brain.
"Elena?" Dario called out gently, squeezing her hand. "Can you hear me, sweetheart? It's Dario. It's your husband."
Her fingers twitched slightly against his palm—a faint, almost imperceptible pressure, but to Dario, it felt like an electric shock straight to his soul.
Suddenly, the heavy door behind him slammed open with a sharp violence.
"Step away from the patient!" a harsh, commanding voice shouted.
Dario stood up slowly, turning around to face the doorway.
Standing in the frame was Dr. Howard Sterling—a thin, silver-haired man in a white lab coat, holding a heavy revolver in his trembling hand. Behind him stood two burly security guards dressed in dark blue uniforms, both drawing their stun weapons.
"I don't know how you got past the front gate, mister," Dr. Sterling said, his eyes narrow and vicious behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "But this is a private facility, and that patient is under my exclusive care!"
Dario looked at Sterling, his tears disappearing in an instant, replaced by a cold, lethal focus that turned his eyes into shards of obsidian. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out Elena's wedding ring, and slipped it onto her ring finger. It fit perfectly, resting against her pale skin where it belonged.
"Her name is Elena Cross," Dario said, stepping into a defensive stance between the bed and the three armed men. "She is my wife. And you are going to prison for the rest of your natural life."
Dr. Sterling laughed bitterly, though his gun hand trembled slightly as he looked into Dario's terrifying gaze. "Elena Cross died five years ago down a cliffside, my friend! This woman is Claire Vance, an unidentified ward of the state under my legal guardianship! No one knows she's here, and no one is coming to save you!"
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Sterling turned to the two security guards. "Put him down! Inject him with the paralytic and dump his car in the lake! We'll clear out Ward 4 before the sun comes up!"
The two security guards lunged forward through the doorway.
