Page 35 of Shadows of Recovery

Suddenly, his heart stopped. The national news anchor reported on a hostage situation in South Dakota. The cameras cut to the Citizen app, which showed drone footage of Damon Whitlock holding Sophie at the hospital doors. Tristan recognized her immediately, covered in blood spatter. His heart raced, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

"James, look," Tristan whispered, his voice trembling as he pointed to the screen.

James's eyes widened in shock. "Oh my God, Tristan. Is that Sophie?"

Tristan’s medical training kicked in as he noticed her bobble-head appearance. "She might have a head injury."

The news footage showed Sophie at a distance, being used as a human shield by Damon. The sight of her, so vulnerable and broken, filled Tristan with a rage and helplessness he had never felt before. Not even with his wife’s death. His stomach churned violently, and he felt like he might be sick.

James quickly reached for the airsick bag and handed it to him. "Breathe, Tristan. We’re almost there. We have to stay strong for her."

“How the hell can they show that?” Tristan took deep breaths, trying to calm himself, but the feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. Seeing Sophie in such a state and knowing he was powerless to help her was almost too much to bear. He clutched the armrests of his seat, his knuckles turning white.

"Why haven't they done something?" Tristan muttered, his voice shaking with anger and despair. "Why haven't they rescued her yet?"

"I’m sure they’re doing everything they can," James said, trying to reassure his brother while sounding strong himself. "We’ll be there soon, and we’ll do whatever it takes to help her. Right now, we have to trust that they’re doing their best."

The rest of the flight passed in a blur of anxiety and silent prayers. When they finally landed in Sioux Falls, Tristan and James hurried through the airport to catch their connecting flight. The wait felt interminable, every minute stretching into an eternity.

As the small plane took off toward Waverly Junction, Tristan's mind replayed the horrific images of Sophie over and over. He felt as if he were teetering on the edge of an abyss, desperate to hold on to hope but constantly pulled back by fear.

Thirteen

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor cast stark shadows as Damon continued to drag Sophie through the halls, directing his men on what he wanted them to do. With his grip tight on her hair, her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart pounding with fear.

"Take me to the central supply room, pretty lady doctor," Damon sneered.

Sophie clenched her jaw, her resolve steeling as she bent her knees, trying to pitch her weight to the floor. "No," she spat defiantly. "I'm not showing you anywhere unless you release a hostage."

Damon's grip tightened, his patience wearing thin. With a swift motion, he yanked her up and tossed her into the wall, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her head. Sophie's vision swam, and she fought to stay conscious again.

"Release… a… hostage," she demanded, her voice trembling with adrenaline and defiance.

Damon pressed the barrel of his gun against her forehead, his eyes cold and calculating. "Where's the supplies?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Sophie refused once more, her jaw set. “No.”

"You need to learn to say ‘yes, sir,’" Damon growled, his frustration boiling over. With a cruel twist of his grip, he dragged her farther down the corridor, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Who should I shoot?" he taunted, the threat hanging in the air.

“Free a hostage,” she demanded. Sophie stood her ground, her heart pounding but her voice steady as she spoke.

"Release a hostage, Damon," she said, her tone firm, though every instinct in her body screamed at her to run. "But that’s not enough. I have patients in the ICU—patients who need immediate care. And there are two critical patients back inside the ER who can’t wait any longer."

Damon studied her for a long moment, the smirk fading as he considered her request. He took a slow step closer, the menace in his movements unmistakable. "You’re pushing your luck, Doctor. I’ve already let one go. Now you want more?"

Sophie’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t back down. "These people’s lives are at stake, Damon. They need treatment now, or they won’t make it. If you’re going to keep control here, you need to show that you’re not just a monster."

Damon’s eyes narrowed, his smirk returning, though it was colder this time, more calculating. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. "You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But everything comes with a price, Sophie. You want me to let you treat your precious patients? Fine. But you’ll owe me."

A shiver ran down her spine at the implication in his words, but she refused to let him see her fear. "I’m just doing my job. If you let me help them, you’re doing the right thing."

Damon emitted a sinister chuckle. "The right thing? We’re way past that. But I’ll tell you what—I’ll let you treat your patients. The ones in the ICU and the ER. But remember this, Doctor—you’ll owe me. And I always collect."

Sophie swallowed hard, knowing she had little choice. She had to save those patients, no matter what it took. "Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just let me do my job."

Damon nodded, satisfied with her answer. He straightened up, gesturing for one of his men to step aside. "Go on then, Doctor. But don’t forget—you’re on my time now."

Sophie nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as she hurried past him, her mind racing. She had bought herself some time to save lives, but the cost of that time weighed heavily on her. As she moved through the ER, heading toward the ICU, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just made a deal with the devil—a deal that would come back to haunt her.

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