Pieces in Chance (5 page)

She’s sixteen, Marks. Get your shit together.

Trying to gather some semblance of dignity, he stood, the chart hanging from the end of the bed catching his attention. Curious, he picked it up and flipped through the pages, wincing at the medical terminology determining how bad her injuries really were. On the final sheet of paper, he found her personal information.

Name: Scarlet Drew Townsend

Height: 5 foot 5 inches

Weight: 97 pounds

Hair color: Red

Eye color: Brown

Date of Birth: October 2, 1997

Allergies: Penicillin

Jensen hadn’t known that Drew was her middle name rather than her first, but what really caught his gaze was her date of birth. October second.
Tomorrow,
he thought, immediately frustrated that her birthday would be spent in the confines of a silent, cold hospital bedroom. She should have been spending her seventeenth birthday with friends, partying and getting into trouble. He should be called out to tell them not to drink and drive, to keep the noise down. Instead, she was going to be stuck there, battered and shaken.

Really, what are you going to do about it, Marks? You have no ties to this girl – what do you care how her birthday is spent?
He couldn’t answer his own thoughts, but he couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut. Memories of the haunted Muslim girls he’d seen, the ones whose eyes pleaded for a better future, ran rampant in his mind, fueling him further. He wanted to do something special for her, make her smile. Maybe if he could get her to smile, a true, happy smile, some of the darkness would disappear … even for only a moment.

Well … I guess we’re gonna do this. But what?

An idea bloomed in his thoughts and Jensen walked out of the hospital room on a mission much different than his original exit.

Chapter Four
 

Jensen

One thing his father instilled in him was either go big or go home. Jensen could have kicked himself for that quality at the moment. He’d known when he’d made his plans that it was going to take some time, but he’d seriously underestimated just how much.

Now he was running on twenty-six hours with no sleep, still moving like a chicken with his head cut off, trying to get everything perfect. Every once in a while, he’d feel like giving up, to go get some rest, but images of Drew would flash through his mind, keeping him going.

Jensen still couldn’t explain or even understand why he was doing what he was, for a girl he didn’t know. But he’d decided he’d dwell on that fact later. He didn’t have much time.

With the help of Dean, who he’d flagged down on his way out of the hospital, as well as Carrigan, everything was going just the way he wanted. Of course, Drew’s brother had been skeptical, asking him the same questions he’d been asking himself, and Jensen had answered him truthfully.

“I don’t know,” he’d said simply, shrugging as he removed his shoulder rig and locked it in the trunk safe of his car. If he hadn’t been having a conversation with the young man, he would have sagged with relief at the weight lifted from him. It had been awhile since he’d worn his holster for so long and his muscles were out of shape, if the ache in them was any indication. “What I do know is your sister is in there, beat to hell, and you did shit to stop it. Don’t look at me like that – I know you got put in a shitty position. You either helped her and made it even worse for her, or did nothing and let it go on.”

The look on the Townsend kid’s face almost made Jensen regret his words, but he didn’t apologize for them. They were the truth, regardless of the fact that neither wanted them to be. And the kid really had been in a bad spot, he got it, really he did. But it didn’t make the consequences easier to stomach.

“I…” Dean started, only to stop and shake his head. “I didn’t know what to do. The police wouldn’t do shit, even though they knew what was going on. Fuck, sorry, freak, the whole town knew.”

Jensen nodded. “I understand, really. I just don’t like it any better than you do.” Grabbing the box from the trunk, he pushed it toward him, before grabbing the remaining bags and shutting the lid. “So, since we can’t change it, we’re going to fix it, starting today. That girl,” he said, motioning toward the hospital, “isn’t going to wake up to the bleakness she’s used to. I’ll be damned before I see that happen.”
Though God only knows why I care so damned much,
he added silently.

The young man made a bob of agreement and turned toward the door, following Jensen, only to come to a halt when he did.

“By the way, man, happy birthday. And I’m sorry your dad’s dead … but I’m not.”

Dean half smiled. “Thank you. And I’m not all that sorry either … more sorry that the dad I knew died a long time ago. He wasn’t always such a piece of shit.”

Jensen didn’t believe that, though he was sure the words were truth. It wasn’t always black and white when deciding how someone turned out, he knew that. He’d seen it before. People who’d always lived on the right side of the law, snapping one day and killing entire families; people everyone thought were good until they blew up banks and ran cars through buildings. With Rick Townsend, though, he could never picture him as anything but what he’d been – an abuser. A power-starved, worthless asshole who took out his anger on a defenseless girl and got better than he deserved in the end. Karma and justice must’ve been on a vacation when the man had a heart attack.

Shaking himself from the dark path his thoughts were on, he allowed his feet to move, leading them back into the hospital and to Drew’s room. After speaking with some of the nurses, he’d arranged for her to be moved for a couple hours, as long as they could stall for him to execute his plan without causing suspicion. He wasn’t sure what excuse they’d told her, taking her bed and all to another room, but he was grateful. Sure, one of them, Jean he thought her name was, had given him a sidelong look, clearly wondering what the hell a grown man was doing for a young girl, but he didn’t care.

Besides, at twenty-three, it wasn’t like he was some old Hugh Hefner of a man. Six years wasn’t that big of a difference … not that he was seeing Drew like that.
You dirty fucking liar,
he scolded himself.
She’s sixteen. Not anymore, she’s seventeen, asshat. Besides, I’m just doing something nice for a beautiful woman who hasn’t had nice in a long time.
The voice in the back of his head scoffed.
Sure you are, Officer.

Wishing he could do something to shut his brain up, he got to work, placing the bags on the floor and laying out the tools he’d brought with him. Tape, ribbons, a hammer – though he was sure the hospital would have a conniption fit if he nailed anything down – and some scissors, along with various sizes of paper and markers. In the box Dean had carried in was a small helium tank and six bags of balloons and more ribbon.

Pointing to the tank, he looked at Dean. “You know how to work that thing?” When he nodded the affirmative, Jensen smiled. “Good. Blow up as many as you possibly can. I’ll tie ‘em off and we’ll tape them around the room.”

The two set to task, working like a well-oiled machine. It wasn’t long before each balloon was inflated, the room looking like a carnival had exploded in it. Smiling at their handy work, a knock on the doorjamb startled Jensen and he turned, finding Carrigan standing in the entry way with another large box.

“Marks, Dean,” the older officer said in greeting, before placing the box on the small food tray, arranging it so it didn’t topple over. “Marks, wanna explain why Eve demanded I bring this to you?”

Jensen couldn’t help but grin. He’d called Eve’s Floral before picking up the balloons and decorations, demanding every rose they had in the place. Eve informed him they didn’t have that many, asking if he had any other preference for flowers. When he’d told her who they were for, their purpose, the elderly woman had gasped on the other line and told him she’d send as many pretty blooms as she could. Glancing into the box, he found she’d made good on her word. Roses, daisies, lilies, a whole bunch of other flowers Jensen didn’t know the names to, lay inside, along with a couple teddy bears, vases of different shapes, and a box of chocolates.

“It’s Drew’s birthday,” he told his partner, simply. The man stared at him oddly and Jensen stood his ground. That was as good a reason as any, so why was Carrigan looking at him like he’d lost his marbles?
Because you have … slightly.

“Okay….” Carrigan’s gaze moved to Dean. “When I picked that box up, my missus made me take some bags too – wanna come help me unload em, kid?”

The two left and Jensen spared a thought as to what Mrs. Carrigan could have sent – he’d figured that Eve would call around to some of the other women in town, and it seemed he was right.

Getting to work, he arranged some of the flowers in their vases, setting them on every open space he could find – the window sill, the side table. The rest he pulled their petals off, tossing them to the floor, covering the ugly tile and making it burst with color. When Carrigan and Dean came back, they went through the bags together, finding streamers and get well cards from the kids of Chance.

Finally finished, the room looked nothing like the dull, lifeless hospital room it had once been. Balloons were tied to everything they could be, flowers brightening the room. Jensen almost felt giddy, excited. He wouldn’t admit aloud that he couldn’t wait for Drew to see it. He wanted to see that smile he knew was inside her, the one that would put the light they’d brought in the room to shame.

Jean, the nurse who’d looked at him funny, entered the room, a large pink box in her hands. He arched an eyebrow as she placed it on the couch.

“No birthday party is complete without a cake. Compliments of the nurses here. We didn’t know what she’d like so we got half white and half chocolate, just in case,” she told them, her eyes moving over Jensen completely and meeting Dean’s, who shrugged.

“I don’t remember … it’s been a while. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Hearing his words made Jensen’s chest tighten. It had been so long her own brother couldn’t even remember what kind of cake she liked?

“They’re bringing her back any second, so if you’re planning a jump up, surprise thing, you should probably try to hide,” she said before leaving the room once more.

The men looked at each other and Carrigan gripped his hat, tipping it to them before moving toward the doorway.

“I’ll leave you two to it, since this is your doing. Marks…” he started and Jensen inwardly cringed, waiting for the berating he was going to get. He knew what it looked like, a grown man, officer of the law, taking interest in a seventeen-year-old beaten girl. Preparing to defend himself, he gritted his teeth. “You did good.”

Surprised, Jensen barely kept his composure, blowing his breath out slowly instead of the heave his lungs wanted. That wasn’t what he’d expected at all; he’d been waiting for a tongue lashing from the man, a scolding on the right and wrongs of what he was doing – and the ever reminder of her age, the reason for their effort to begin with.

At the sound of wheels approaching, he helped Dean gather the last of the bags and boxes and hid them in the closet. As Drew neared, Jensen held his breath, hoping she’d like his gift to her. A gift of light, a gift of hope. A gift for her and her alone.

Her eyes were closed as the nurses wheeled her bed back in the room, exhaustion and something else written on her face. Pain, maybe? The young woman had creases around her lids, her forehead scrunched, and her mouth a thin line. Some of Jensen’s nervousness disappeared, anger overpowering the lighter emotion. It frustrated him that he continued getting so mad about things he couldn’t change, but it was just wrong seeing her beauty marred by something he couldn’t fix.

The nurses situated the bed back in its original position, seeming to take forever, and all the while Drew never opened her eyes. Once her lines were reconnected, monitors connected and beeping again, the nurse situated her covers before nodding toward the men and leaving the room. Jensen shot a questioning glance to Dean, unsure of what to do. In any other situation he would have cleared his throat, maybe said her name, but none of that would help here. If he knew sign language, which he definitely didn’t, he could’ve said something, but even that, without her looking at him it would do little good. He momentarily entertained the idea of moving toward her bed, possibly placing a hand on her shoulder, but decided against it. The poor girl was hurt, her injuries beyond what he could even see, he knew, and, more than that, she’d been abused. It was his experience that victims of such despicable things were often … uncomfortable, with unfamiliar touching, regardless of the intentions behind them.

Come on, Drew, Open your eyes, beautiful girl,
he mentally urged her, as if his words could will it to happen.
See something bright when you wake for once.

Glancing at Dean once more, Jensen felt helpless and hated it. They could always just wait, hope for the chance that she would feel their presence, or, if it took that long, stay until she simply woke up. He knew himself though; he was on edge, nervous, excited, for her to see what they’d done for her. It wasn’t something he cared to think on, analyze in himself, but it was there, stirring his stomach until he felt almost sick with it. The more he thought about the feeling in his gut, the more frustrated he was getting.

Taking a step forward to leave, to say to hell with the whole thing, he was stopped by a simple movement, one single action. Drew stirred, then, finally, opened her eyes.