Page 80 of Delivered to the Devil

I flicker my eyes across his face, trying to decide whether I should tell him.

What’s the worst that could happen? He already knows about Janos. And I do trust András. He spent twelve hours in detainment for me. I still remember the three harrowing hours spent waiting in that dingy room at the airport. He did twelve hours of that for me. So I open my mouth and let the words slip past my lips. “Istvan Gabor.”

His entire posture stiffens, and a livid storm seems to rage in his eyes as he stares off toward the window, nostrils flaring with latent fury. He knows as well as I do that the police won’t be able to do shit. Gabor will get away with this like he gets away with everything else. The worst consequence he’ll face is losing some money to bribe the police in Hungary.

Several minutes pass before András seems to regain control and sinks into the chair he’s been glued to for the past twenty-four hours. Defeat is written across his features as he says, “I’m so sorry, Rebecca.” He leans in and wraps my hand in both of his. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Two hours later, the police arrive. As he predicted, they push hard to get me talking, and if it wasn’t for András, I would crumble under the pressure and tell them everything. And then I would hate myself for betraying Janos.

András remains steadfast and unwavering. He might not be tall and broad like Janos or exude the same kind of unrelentingdanger, but he has the confidence to drive his demands home, and when it’s all too much and tears trickle down my cheeks, he shuts it all down.

“Enough,” he barks with a tone that has me startling in the bed, sending jolts of pain through my body. “Out, now!” He points an angry finger toward the door. “Unless you want a very unpleasant call from my lawyer.”

I must say, I’m a little impressed. He has always seemed like a nice, easygoing man, but when push comes to shove, he has the power to go up against authority and stand his ground. It makes me feel safe, having him at my side.

András’s support and help have no bounds. During the days I was unconscious, he took care of everything, calling my sister and making sure I have a place to stay, contacting the embassy to get me a new passport, and checking up on my insurances and even taking care of a few expenses that my insurance wouldn’t cover. And like he stayed at my side, holding my hand when the police were here, he does the same when I call my sister later in the day.

Usually, I know how to maneuver in a conversation with her. I’ve managed to keep in touch fairly well over the past six months without her finding out that something is seriously wrong. Sure, she’s had her suspicions, but I’ve always been able to dismiss them in one way or another. At first, guilt wracked me every time I told a white lie, but as I felt her willingness to believe them—how badly she wanted to keep my problems out of her life—I stopped caring and easily covered up the truth by painting pretty pictures with optimistic words.

But now, I falter. I barely answer any of her many questions. I just sit there, trembling, as she keeps pushing, and András ends up taking the phone from my hand. He gives her a brief update and says I’m doing better and will be transferred to a hospital in Denmark in a few days. Then he ends theconversation on a polite but resolute note even though I can hear her pressing with more questions on the other end.

As with the police, he hasn’t told her any specifics, and I’m deeply grateful for that. But it means that I’ll have to come up with some way to explain everything. And I have no idea how to hide when I come face to face with her and her onslaught of questions.

How am I to explain the wilted look in my eyes? The days I’ve spent in the ICU—in Austria? My pained whimpers when I move my upper body a little too quickly?

I have no idea. So for now, I’m just trying to get through the days.

CHAPTER 39

“Take Me Back to Eden”

by Sleep Token

Rebecca

I end up spending seven days at the hospital in Vienna, four of which I was unconscious.

On the eighth day, an ambulance picks me up to transfer me to a hospital in Denmark. I’m more than relieved that I got medical travel insurance when I left for Budapest almost a year ago. I nearly skipped it because I couldn’t imagine needing one, but my cautious disposition made me check the box anyway. But no amount of boxes could have saved me from the nightmare that awaited me in Budapest.

András stays with me until the moment the ambulance takes off.

“Call me any time,” he says, taking my hand. “If you need someone to talk to or just need to know that I’m there for you—it doesn’t matter. You have both my private number and my office number. Use them.”

He got me a new phone a few days earlier and must have saved his numbers on it. Until now, I’ve only used the phone to call my sister, but I do think I’ll take him up on his offer.

“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand and try to convey my sincerity through my eyes. No words can express how grateful Iam for everything he’s done for me. Without him, I couldn’t have gotten through any of this. I would have been sent home as an empty shell. András has given me a spark of will to move on and make something resembling a life for myself in Denmark.

I spend another three days in a Danish hospital before my sister comes to pick me up and take me to her place. Part of me is disappointed she never came to see me at the hospital in Vienna—or even here. She did call and send flowers, but a sister is supposed to show up when her sibling’s life is hanging by a thread. It’s not like I was halfway across the world.

I guess this is yet another testament to the nature of our relationship. Besides, I never came back to visit her during the year I was away. I might’ve had good reason, but she doesn’t know that—at least she didn’t. So I guess I can’t really blame her.

Plus, she’s making up for it more than plenty by letting me stay at her place until I get back on my feet.

I have no idea where I’ll go when it’s time to move on. I have no attachments here besides my hometown, and I’m never going back there. My parents are out of my life for good. Their blaring silence as I lay in the hospital confirmed that. I didn’t get a single phone call, a card, or even a get-well from my sister on their behalf. Dead silence.

It hurts. No matter how much I detest them, it’s painful to find out that your own parents don’t care about their daughter being hospitalized in critical condition.

So I’ll choose someplace new, probably a city where I can blend into the crowd. Thanks to the sadistic billionaire who provided for me for months, I have enough money to start over somewhere new—even if it takes some time to find a job.

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