Page 29 of Good and Gone

The other man in the room is Barry Coburn. He sits in the corner, nervous. Every so often, he checks his phone. I get the sense he'd rather not be here—especially not this late. He's not a friend or family member of Hailey's, he's just doing his job. “When can I see her?”

“Soon,” he promises. Unfortunately, I no longer trust his promises. Not after the stunt he pulled at my house.At my daughter’s birthday party.“Just give me a few minutes to get you up to speed.”

“How long will that take?”

“I need you to calm down, Tyler.”

“I am calm.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Your wife is in shock. Whatever she has gone through… Well, as you can imagine, it’s been quite traumatic.”

Barry Coburn waits to say anything else until I confirm I understood what he’s said. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We haven't been able to get many answers from Hailey. What we don’t want is to do anything that would put the investigation in jeopardy. It’s important we catch whoever did this to Hailey—and I'm sure as hell going to do everything in my power to make sure we do.”

“You said she’s stable. You said she’s okay…” I'm not intending on breaking down, on falling to my knees in front of this man, but that's exactly what happens.

“She's alive,” he says, resting his hand on my shoulder. “But she's not the same as she was the last time you saw her, Tyler. She isn't going to seem the same. Maybe not for a while. She's been through hell, and you need to prepare yourself for that.”

“I’m prepared,” I say, but I realize after the words are out how unconvincing I sound. Tears well up in my eyes. I have to fight them back. I take a minute to pull myself together. “I need to see her. Please.”

“We have a trauma specialist on hand,” he tells me. “She would like a word with you before you go in.”

I don't get the chance to respond because the double doors burst open, and a nurse walks in. Her eyes are red. She looks like she's been crying. “This way, please,” she says, motioning for me to follow her.

She guides me down a long hall and then swings a left, and I follow her down another long hall. It feels like I'm in a fog, lost in a maze.

When we come to the end of the second hall, she pushes a door open to an office on the right, and motions for me to take a seat. There’s nothing in the room but two chairs and a small table. On top rests a box of Kleenex. It feels like the room I imagine they bring you to when they tell you your loved one has died.

The nurse closes the door behind her, and a few minutes later, a woman with graying hair knocks and then enters. She introduces herself, but I won’t recall her name, just that she specializes in trauma. She takes the seat adjacent to mine and sits with her hands folded in her lap. Most of what she says next, I honestly can't recall. She explains Hailey is in shock, that she's suffered trauma, and that she may not look or act like the Hailey I know. Basically, it’s a longer and more technical version of what Barry Coburn has already conveyed.

After she tells me what to expect, she instructs me to move slowly and to talk slowly and, most importantly, to follow Hailey's lead with any form of physical touch. She explains that it’s normal for families to want to embrace one another, but that it’s always best to follow the victim’s lead. Too much too soon could set her back in her recovery.

After confirming my understanding, she quietly pushes out of her chair and leads me to a room down yet another hall. She stops in front of a door about halfway down. Through the glass panel on the door, I see Hailey laying in bed. The woman in that bed doesn’t look like my wife. She's staring at the ceiling, but the look in her eyes is vacant. She’s thin and frail looking. Her face has aged at least ten years. How can a person change so much in just a few short weeks? They were right. This version of Hailey barely resembles my wife.

My heart races. I feel sick. My palms are sweaty. On the one hand, I want to kiss her, hold her, and tell her I love her. I want her to know that if I could trade places with her, I would. I would give up my life to have her be okay again. On the other, I want to run. I can’t bear to see her this way. How will I keep a straight face? I know I have to walk on eggshells. I have to be careful with my reaction. I have to do whatever it takes to make sure not to cause further harm.

The trauma lady pushes the door open and ushers me into the room. She sort of positions me next to the bed, but Hailey doesn't move or shift or change her gaze. She does not indicate that she’s aware I've entered the room at all.

“Hailey,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Hailey, it's me. Tyler. I'm here.”

I take the moment to take her in. Her face is pale, and her eyes are puffy. She's lost weight. More than I thought. A lot in such a short amount of time. There's a cut on her forehead, and red blotches cover her arms. There’s an IV in her left hand, and she's hooked up to a heart monitor. She doesn't say anything; she doesn't move. “Hailey?”

Gently, I rest my hand on hers. She turns her head slowly toward me. I can slowly see her face relax. “Tyler?”

“It's me,” I say, my face inches from hers. “I’m here. Everything is going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry.”

20

John Doe

Iam a dead man walking. It's only a matter of time, I can feel it. Someone has to take the fall for this, and all signs point to that someone being me. They need a scapegoat, and I’m it.

If only I had someone to blame other than myself. I should have refused the job. I should have known it was too risky. You don’t target high-profile subjects and expect their disappearance to be swept under the rug.

You don’t take a woman who has pulled the wool over the eyes of millions and expect that it won’t happen to you.

If onlyhe’dhave known that. Then I wouldn’t have to live, ordie, as it turns out, with the consequences.

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