Shadows of Recovery (Everhart Family #3)

Chapter 10

Ten

S ophie arrived at the emergency room with a box of cupcakes in her arms and a radiant smile on her face. The morning sunlight was just breaking through the windows, casting an eerie glow on the decorations scattered around the area. Cardboard hearts and cupids decorated the nurses’ station, and red and pink streamers adorned the halls.

Her heart was light, buoyed by the knowledge Tristan would soon be home. "Morning, loves." She flashed a bright smile at her colleagues. Laughter echoed through the ER as they indulged in some morning camaraderie.

Dr. Manish Parmar looked up from the chart he was going over with Jenna at the change of shift, an amused grin spreading across his face. "Ah, Sophie, you've brought sacrificial offerings to appease the singletons, I see."

Sophie chuckled, setting the cupcakes down on the break room table. "Absolutely. Figured everyone could use a little extra sweetness today."

Nurse Toni Watts, bustling past with a stack of charts, scoffed playfully. "Speak for yourself, Sophie. I've got a hot date with my cat and a rom-com marathon today." She paused. “I thought Tristan was due back yesterday. Is everything okay?”

Sophie sighed. “He is going to let the administration know when they get in. His dad died suddenly. He’s coming back tonight.”

After the group extended their condolences, Sophie ordered her colleagues, “No sad faces. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Dr. Cade yawned. “I’m going home to jump my husband’s bones and maybe make a baby.” Jenna, who was Sophie’s college roommate, was a newlywed.

“You’re trying?” Sophie squealed and hugged her friend. “Hurry home.”

The room erupted in laughter, the tension of the morning shift momentarily lifted. As they indulged in lighthearted conversation, the ER echoed with the warmth of friendship and the promise of sugary delights.

Sophie walked to the main desk to grab a chart before heading toward her first patient of her shift. The unit secretary smiled. “Dr. E, these are for you.”

Sophie stared at the largest bouquet of roses she ever saw. Four dozen red and four dozen pink roses filled a huge vase. She picked up the attached card and read,

Dear Sophie,

On this special day of love, I want to remind you just how much you mean to me. Your strength, your kindness, and your unwavering spirit inspire me every single day.

I am endlessly grateful for the love we share, for the laughter we bring to each other's lives, and for the comfort we find in each other's arms.

No matter the challenges we face, I promise to stand by your side, loving you with all my heart. You are my light, my love, and my everything.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my darling.

Forever yours, Tristan

Sophie took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tidal wave of tears that threatened to fall. You are my light, my love, and my everything too.

After report, and a trip to the restroom to throw water on her face, Sophie’s first patient was a young man named Ryan, whose heartbreak had driven him to a bottle of alcohol and the brink of suicide. He had been ghosted by a woman he'd been seeing for three months, and in his anguish, he had consumed an entire liter of gin. His desperate cry for help to his mother had led to his rushed admission to the emergency room.

As Sophie entered the room, she found Ryan slumped over the edge of the bed, vomiting gin into a basin held by a nurse. His eyes were glazed, and his movements sluggish, a stark contrast to the usual vibrant energy of someone his age.

“Ryan, I’m Dr. Everhart,” Sophie said gently. “We’re going to take good care of you.”

Ryan groaned in response, barely able to lift his head. Sophie immediately set to work, helping the nursing staff get him into a hospital gown. She noticed the haunted look in his eyes, confusion exacerbated by the alcohol.

“Let’s get you comfortable.” She confiscated his clothing and phone to ensure he couldn’t harm himself or leave. The nurses she worked with moved efficiently.

Once Ryan was settled, Sophie double-checked that he was stable. His vital signs were monitored closely, bloodwork was drawn and an IV was set up to help flush the alcohol from his system. Satisfied he was safe for the moment, she stepped out of the room, leaving a nurse at his side.

In the break room, Sophie made herself a cup of tea. She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering scent of gin from her senses. Her gut told her it was likely the alcohol that put him over the emotional edge.

Her mind wandered to one of her instructor’s lessons from years ago. She realized empathy wasn’t just about understanding a patient’s pain but also about managing her own responses to their suffering. That was one of Tristan’s greatest abilities.

She finished her tea, hoping Ryan’s bloodwork would be ready to reassess his alcohol levels. For the rest of the morning, she and the nurses would keep watch, monitoring him. Once he was sober, she would arrange for a psychiatrist from the Blackwell Institute to see him, and she’d make sure he and his parents were connected with resources for ongoing support.

The department was quiet in the early hour and blustery cold weather. Sophie had the rare opportunity to catch up on other material. The phone every nurse and doctor wore in the department buzzed, indicating she had another patient. As she readied to step into the next patient's room, her senses were assaulted by an unexpected sound—the unmistakable roar of motorcycles and the smell of gasoline.

Sophie paused, trying to make sense of everything. Why were there motorcycles inside the hospital?

She was headed to investigate when the door to her office suddenly burst open. She looked up, startled to see Damon Whitlock standing there, a menacing grin on his face. Those eyes held a cold, calculating gaze that sent a shiver down her spine. The sharp lines of his face only added to the harshness of his expression. His lips, pressed into a thin, unforgiving line, showed no trace of warmth or compassion. Dressed in black leathers, he took on the ethereal shape of a dementor from Harry Potter , only one wielding a gun.

Behind him was a group of rough-looking individuals. With Damon’s nod, the heavily armed and masked men began filtering into the hospital. Judging by the cries and screams Sophie heard, they were quickly taking control.

"Hello, Sophie. Miss me?" Damon’s voice made her feel like ice was dripping down her back.

Fear gripped her heart as she recognized him. She tried to keep her voice steady, but it trembled with fear. "Damon, what are you doing here? You need to leave before things get worse for you."

Damon stepped closer. "Things can’t get worse for me, Sophie. But they can definitely get worse for you and everyone else here."

Before she could react, Damon lunged forward, grabbing her ponytail and dragging her out of the office. Sophie's heart pounded in her chest, each beat reverberating in her ears as the cold, unyielding barrel of the gun pressed into her side.

A wave of fear washed over her, mingling with a sharp, visceral awareness of her own vulnerability. The metal felt impossibly cold against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat of her racing pulse. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to fight back, but the situation anchored her in place, her breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts.

She forced herself to stay calm, knowing that any sudden movement could trigger a deadly response. The heavy presence of the gun was an inescapable reminder that, for now, her only option was compliance.

Damon stormed into the quiet ER, dragging Sophie with him. The sight of the gun sent patients, their families and staff into a panic. He fired a shot into the air, the deafening sound bringing immediate silence. Two men with assault-style rifles took up a place at each door.

Damon yelled, "Everyone, listen up! I’m in charge now. If you want to stay alive, you’ll do exactly as I say!"

Nurses and the junior doctors froze, their faces pale with fear. Damon pushed Sophie to the floor and stood over her, his boot between her shoulders and the gun aimed at her head. "Sophie here is my insurance policy. Anyone tries anything, and she gets it first."

Head Nurse Sarah Franklin, despite trembling, managed to say, "Please don’t hurt her. We’ll do whatever you want."

Damon waved the gun, still with one foot on Sophie. "Good. First, everyone’s phones. Now!"

One of his men, carrying a patient belongings bag, moved through the curtained cubicles. Staff, patients and family members reluctantly handed over their phones, which Damon smashed under his boot beside Sophie’s head. Shards of flying plastic peppered her face.

From where she was lying, she could see one of his people move into the locker room. Suddenly, she heard a pop, and then the room exploded. The blast rocked through her, but the fire was contained by the cement tile walls, burning itself out.

Smoke dissipated. Any phone in there and anything else, for that matter, was destroyed.

Sophie watched, her heart refusing to slow, pounding with terror as Damon’s henchmen moved with cold precision, controlling each curtained room with the threat of a gun.

Pushing aside her initial shock, she focused on keeping her breaths even. As she lay on the floor, she heard an unmistakable sound—a bullet being racked into a gun’s chamber.

Is Damon going to kill?

Damon stepped off her back and proceeded to the nurses’ station, where he yanked all the phones off the hook and unplugged all the computers and monitors.

Dr. Parmar, the second attending ER physician for the shift, appeared, humming a tune, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, unaware of the current circumstances. He was returning from taking a patient to the ICU.

Sophie's voice stalled in her throat as she tried to warn him, but it was too late. In a swift and merciless motion, Damon turned his gun on Dr. Parmar, his expression devoid of remorse as he ended the life of the unsuspecting doctor with a single brutal shot.

Sophie's breath caught in her throat as the horrifying scene unfolded before her. Blood and brain matter spattered everywhere, painting the walls, the floor, and even her face. The warm droplets clung to her skin, mixing with the cold, silent tears that streamed down her cheeks. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, and her vision blurred as reality crashed in around her. A strangled gasp escaped her lips, followed by a choked sob as the gruesome image burned itself into her mind.

She didn’t need to check if he was alive—she knew. The finality of it, the brutal, sickening violence overwhelmed her senses. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn. She cradled her head in her hands, trying desperately to block out the horror. But the image replayed over and over in her mind, each replay more vivid, more terrifying than the last. Panic seized her, a wild, uncontrollable force that threatened to tear her apart from the inside.

Her body shook violently, racked by the shock and the raw, unfiltered terror coursing through her veins. She wanted to scream, to run, to erase the nightmare that had become her reality, but all she could do was lie there, frozen in place, drowning in the horror that had unfolded before her eyes.

The metallic tang of blood filled the air, a stark contrast to the suffocating quiet that followed the deafening bang. Damon smiled, a cruel twist of his lips that spoke of satisfaction rather than remorse.

Screams echoed through the ER. Her screams. Damon was just the tip of the iceberg—the entire hospital was being taken over by a group of heavily armed men.

Alarms began to sound at the gunshot and explosion. A recording blared over the hospital’s speakers, “Lockdown. Lockdown. Lockdown.”

"Alright, listen up. I have a few demands. I want all the drugs from the hospital and safe passage out of here," Damon snickered.

"The police will never agree to that. You’re not going to get away with this," a young resident, Dr. Daniel Reynolds, said.

"Oh, I will. Because if I don’t get what I want, people will start dying. Starting with you." He fired a shot into the doctor’s shoulder.

Sophie pushed up from the floor, wanting to help. Damon pistol-whipped her, striking her in the side of the head. She collapsed, her head bouncing against the floor.

The world spun violently around her, colors and shapes merging into a nauseating swirl. Her stomach churned, bile rising in her throat as the nausea hit her full force, but she fought to keep conscious, clinging to the edges of awareness with whatever strength she had left.

Her vision flickered, the edges darkening, but she forced herself to stay awake, to stay present. The room seemed to tilt and sway, a sickening motion that only intensified her nausea, but she refused to let herself black out.

She could barely make sense of what was happening, her mind struggling to piece together reality from the scattered, fractured images. The only thing she knew for sure was that she had to stay conscious, had to fight through the fog, even as the throbbing in her head threatened to pull her under. She lay there and watched. It was all she could do.

The hospital’s ER became the central hub of the takeover. Staff, visitors and patients were herded into the waiting area, their hands bound with medical tape. Damon stood on a table, addressing his captive audience with a chilling smile. "Welcome to the new order. The Eldon Sect is here to bring justice and power to those who deserve it. Follow my commands, and you might just survive."

With Trace Whitlock’s admission, the rumor mill had gone into overdrive. She learned his followers, dressing in plain, utilitarian clothing, reflected their leader’s austere philosophy. The Eldon Sect believed in strict discipline, unquestioning loyalty, and the supremacy of their leader’s will. Damon, as one of the six sons, spoke as the law in his father’s absence. Dissent was met with swift, brutal retribution.

A sect member turned to Dr. Reynolds, who was bleeding heavily from his gunshot wound. "You will follow Damon’s orders without question. Failure to comply will have severe consequences."

“Please, Damon, let me help him,” Sophie begged.

Damon yanked her to her knees. “If you crawl to him, you can help him.”

Sophie complied. The young doctor’s life took priority over demanding more. She did what she was allowed.

On her knees, she grabbed some supplies from a crash cart. As she worked to stop the bleeding and bandage the wound, Reynolds looked up nervously, asking Damon, "What do you want from us?"

"Simple. Total obedience." Damon grinned.