Healing a Broken Nightingale

Chapter 1: Lost and Found

~Elizabeth~

The sound of her pulse was playing a rhytmic warfare on her senses. Every singular beat a blast like mortor to her frazzled nerves. Her breaths, ragged and uneven, exploded from her lungs like cannon fire burning her throat. Her eyes, puffy and swollen, opened encountering only darkness. Had she gone blind? She was disoriented and confused. Elizabeth couldn't remember if the cell that had become her home had a window. No memories of moonlight could be summoned from the deep recesses of her mind. She could feel the aching of her muscles, many times abused, eveytime she tried to shift her position. The cold of the stone floor seeped into her every pore but she no longer shivered. The cold her only indication that she was still alive. Her skin felt caked with dirt and some sticky sutance. And then she remembered the blood. She had watched helplessly as it had slid against her naked body. It has traveled over her skin ozzing from the wounds that never seemed to heal. Her wounds were continuously reopened with the repeated assaults. She was no longer able to tell if new wounds were inflicted. Closing her eyes, she wished for death to come. She prayed for the relief oblivion would bring her. And then she heard it. The small quiet sniffle. Everything came rushing back to her in an instant. The Children! She couldn't leave them. Who would protect them? She felt a soft gentle touch upon her face. A wet cloth was gently wiping away the blood from her face. Angel, the smallest, often tried to nurse her after she returned from the interrogations, as their captors liked to call them. She called them her beatings. No questions were ever asked of her. She reached up, hoping to still the child's hand only to encounter the soft hair that graced Angels head. The gentle wiping continued, refusing to stop. Elizabeth was becoming annoyed. Every touch sending her on a spiraling path of anxiey and fear. Her nerves so raw and exposed were ravaged and hypersensitive.

Elizabeth opened her eyes again prepared to ask Angel to stop her minstrations only to find, not Angel, but Mojo licking her face. Mojo was her Rottwieler, therapy dog, and only friend. Her bedroom was awash in the morning sunlight that streamed from her floor to ceiling bedroom windows that she never covered. She required open floor plans with lots of windows to prevent the suffocating feeling of being trapped that has never left her side. She had been dreaming. She lay there in her bed in utter shock. It has been five years since her last nightmare. She had learned her triggers and was careful to take precautions avoiding them. Her body was trembling now, unlike back then. Her cover lay discarded in the floor where her thrashing must have forced it. It had been 12 years since she left that horrible room behind. She had spent years working diligently to put it behind her. SHe knew she had to get moving. s much as she wanted to stay wrapped in her cocoon of safety, she didn't have time to laze about. As she left the comfort of her bed, she reached for Mojo taking comfort in his touch. She was hesitant to let him out into the yard needing his calming demeanor to ground herself and escape the terror that was lingering. But she knew she couldn't be selfish and keep him from his potty time. She opened the door of her bedroom that led to the backyard. Mojo hesitated, looking to her for confirmation. "I'm OK big boy, I'll leave the door open so you can come back in if you need to". He waited just a moment more before trotting out to handle his business.

She headed into her bathroom and turned the shower on to the hottest setting. Stepping inside and closing her eyes, allowing the hot spray to wash away the chill from her nightmare. She instantly saw his eyes. After 12 years, she could still picture them perfectly. Her superman. He had rescued her, carrying her from the building and boarding the chopper that flew her to safety. He never once let her go or left her side. Holding her to his chest and calling her brave over and over was the only thing that she focused on during their daring escape. She absorbed his strength holding on to his voice and the promise of survival. The last time she saw him she was being rolled down the corridor of the hospital and into surgery. Despite the doctors surrounding her, his eyes never left hers. His vibrant emerald green eyes locked in an embrace, reassuring, proud, and kind. "Just a little bit longer my brave one, don't give up". His last words were forever engraved in her memory.

The days in the hospital blended together. She was there for 53 days, underwent 13 surgeries, and had been interviewed hundreds of times. Once she was healed enough to leave, she was given a new identity for protection. The terrorist cell was very dangerous and no one could be sure that there were not more of them. She knew she would never leave her time in captivity behind but she didn't want to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder so she readily agreed. She wanted to keep her first name. It had been her grandmother's. And she wanted to always remember him. Her new name became Elizabeth Lois Lane. Some part of her always hoped her superman would come find his Lois Lane. She was sent to college and she became a pediatric surgeon.

She exited the shower and went to her jewelry box where she retrieved the unique St. Christopher Medal that hung eloquently from the silver chain. A lone emerald shone bright from the center. Her superman had placed it around her neck as they flew to the hospital. "Here, this will keep you safe. I'm going to want that back later, it's my good luck charm." She always thought how fitting the color was similar to kyrtonite. On her bad days she always wore it to remind her that someone once thought her brave. It always brought her the same comfort that riding in his arms had that fateful night. He had lied to her. He never came back for the necklace. She often wondered if he had forgotten about her. And as she held the beautiful pendant, she could feel the comfort slide through her veins.

Sighing she acknowledged that she would need that comfort today. Crowds made her nervous and combined with the nightmare, today would be more than exhausting. The pumpkin festival was today and she had been volun-told by her boss to attend the hospital-sponsored craft area. She was to mingle with the locals, make friends, and build relationships. The hospital's reputation for community focus was vital to the local patients' trust in the doctors. And now that she had joined the team, it was well past time for her to become one of the townspeople. Or so her boss had informed her last month when he jotted her name down on the schedule.

She stared at herself in the mirror. She would never fit in anywhere. She was a loner and a recluse by choice and by necessity. She trusted no one. She had moved here hoping she could disappear and avoid the hustle and bustle of the big city that overwhelmed her. No such luck. Shaking her head, she placed the necklace around her neck and turned walking to her closet. She focused on getting dressed and tried to dislodge the memories her nightmare had caused to resurface. Why was the dream happening now? She racked her brain reviewing the events of the previous several days. Nothing stood out to her. Did she have a new trigger? She absently worried the charm between her thumb and finger as she often did when she was anxious. The surface now almost rubbed smooth from her frequent need for reassurance and comfort over the years. St christopher was still visable but the details had dimed and the writing faded. She luaghed at how she and the necklace had that in common. She worked hard to blend into the background. To be invisible. Shaking her head, she picked up her keys, dropped some kibble in Mojo's bowl, and headed out the door.

Brandon could already feel the headache building. Why in the world had he agreed to this? A family outing was not what he normally agreed to, but he could never say no to his mother and she had played the guilt card to her full advantage. His father was driving the Yukon on the family adventure. His mother, chatting away happily in the front seat, had decided she wanted to go to a pumpkin festival in Seymore, Conneticuit. He, his two brothers, two nieces, and nephew were piled into back. The kids were having a sing along to what song, he couldn't tell. None of them were singing the same words. He rubbed at his temples willing the dual throb to go away. His father started to slow and he could see the parking signs up ahead. Thank God. As his father parked, his nephews began to squeal with excitement. He heard his brother chuckle from beside him and looked over.

"One day you will love this sound"

"Yeah right, not happening."

"We'll see"

Michael really pissed him off when he said s**t like that. They all piled out of the truck and made their way to the ticket booths. Once inside, brandon snatched his niece Angel and headed for the crafts booths. "We'll be over here, catch ya'll later". Once out of ear shot, his niece elbowed him chuckling, "Anything to get away, huh. Even hanging with me in the craft area". He berated her with a smirk "Nope, I wanted to paint. Maybe a nice field of daisies to hang in my kithen" His heart filled with joy to hear the laugh burst from her lips. It seemed like only yesterday she had been kidnapped. They family held hostage in their fear while she was held captive in hers. She had spent years in therapy, learning how to get past the trauma. He felt his skin run cold even now just thinking about what could have happened to her. What would have happened to her had that brave young woman not intervened. He felt the pang of sadness that always followed with the thoughts of that time and of her. He was too late to save her and he would never forget it. He had held her cold body, skin like ice from prolonged exposure. When he found her, she was naked and the room was open to the winter elements. The children had clothing and blankets but his niece said she had given hers to them. Just as she had taken all of the physical abuse, she protected them from the cold as well. Once he had seen her and touched her, she belonged to him. He was only able let her go when they had reached the hospital so she could get treated. But it was to late and her injuries to severe. She had died shortly after arriving. He never got to thank her for saving his niece. He never got the necklace back he had placed around her neck, his good luck charm that had run out out of luck. The irony was not lost on him, the patron saint of lost things, St Christopher had lost his heart and then disappeared with it. He was so lost in thought he didn't relaize his niece was talking to him.

"What was that?"

"Geez Unc, you really know how to make a girl feel good about herself" rolling her eyes with a smirk.

"Shut it brat"

"I asked you if you wanted to go over to the beer garden while I painted"

"That sounds like a stellar idea, you sure you're ok without me?"

"Yup, I'm good. Go, I know you want to."

"Love you squirt, you know you're my favorite"

"Of course, no one else even likes you" sticking her toungue out at him.

"Hethen"

"Bully"

Brandon began to walk away when he looked back to check that she was OK. He still worried for her. She would always be that tiny little four year old that had the personality of a T-Rex squashed to pieces to him. No matter how many years passed, he would still see the broken little girl who cried with him for months over his little brave one. They both blaming themsleves for her death. He was to late and Angel's torture was given to her instead. His eyes fell on a redheaded volunteer who was handing out the paint brushes. He froze. Those eyes, ice blue, almost invisable excpet for the pupil. She looked like an older version of his brave one. She bet over to answer a childs question and a neclace swung forward. Silver, oval, emerald in the center, St Christopher medal. He couldn't move. She was alive. He had been lied to. His heart started racing. Another volunteer leaned over and spoke quietly to her. And she looked up right at him. The sounds of the crowd faded away to nothing. She was only feet from him. It seemed like hours passed as he stared into her eyes but it was only moments. The same woman spoke to her again and eye contact ws lost. She turned away and walked quickly away. Where could she be going and why was she leaving? He was in such shock she was almost out of sight before he realize he needed to follow her. He began to weave between people trying to catch up to her. The crowd was thick and he lost sight of her several times. He pushed several people out of his way hearing thier grunts of displeasure and several angry comments but he didn't care. All that mattered was getting to her. He broke through a gape and found the crowd thinned out. He looked left and right but couldn't find her. He had lost her. Again.

Elizabeth was beyond tired and frustrated. She had been working the craft booth at the pumpkin festival for hours and now her releif was late. Her shift was over twenty minutes ago but Candy was late. She shouldn't be surprised, that girl had the attention of a gold fish and would probably be late for her own funeral. Elizabeth had helped so many children start and finish thier crafts, handed out paper towels and paint brushes, and cleaned up mess after mess. She was feeling the stress of so much interaction. She had never been very social but now she was just plain awkward and had no plans to change that. Her boss however, felt she should be more present in the community. "For the good of the hospital" he would say. But she was aware of the subtle flirting he always subjected her to. She was careful to never be anything more than polite and professional. She didn't want to give anyone the wrong idea which would lead to uncomfortable situations. Right now, she needed the quiet of her home and the comfort of her Mojo. This day had been to much and she knew her sleep would be disrupted again tonight with all the tension should could feel pulsing through her body. She wasn't sure she could handle another night like last night but she had little choice in the matter. Thank goodness she was off tomorrow.

She was handing brushes to a teenager when her replacement, Candy, finally arrived. Candy checked in with Brian, their boss, andcame over to where Elizabeth was working. Candy leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"I'm here. Looks like I got here just in time, you have an admirer that I wouldn't mind giving a private lesson to. He can paint me anyday, mmm mmm mmm."

Elizabeth looked up to see who she was talking about. Candy had good taste in men even if she was a bit overly friendly with one to many of them. A habit that earned her quite the reputation. She skimmed the crowd not seeing anyone worthy of that comment. The crowd shifted and Vivid emerald green eyes lit with electric fire pierced her to her core. She knew those eyes. They had the signs of age now, wrinkling slightly at the corners but just as beautiful as ever. She had seen them when he approached her in the cell and removed his shirt. She had been sure he was going to r**e her. His coloring similar to her abusers had her fearing he was one of them. And then as he gently covered her naked body with his shirt, he had blocked her from view of the men who had fought by his side to rescue her. She had stared into their depths as he lifted her from the dirty floor and carried her from the cell she had been locked in. She had held onto his gaze as they boarded the helicopter and throughout the entire flight. She had looked at them for comfort when the doctors rolled her away on a gurney into surgery. She saw them in her dreams last night. He was here. But he wasn't moving. He didn't approach her.

The voice inside her head told her that he hadn't come for her. It was obvious he was surprised to see her. Her face heated and she felt like an utter fool. Candy leaned back down and whispered, "Are you OK? You look like you saw a ghost?" Elizabeth mental shook herself and the spell was broken., She handed the brushes and paint over, and ran. Ok maybe run isn't the right word, but she wasted no time and she desparately needed to get away from him before she made an even bigger fool of herself. Over the years, she had mastered the art of escaping large crowds, weaving herself through the throng of festival goers with ease. She changed directions multiple times, ducking down lower than her already short stature. Once she was past the beer garden she took one last turned, darting between the food booths and went straight to her jeep. Jumping in she wasted no time starting it up and backing out of her spot. She had parked, like always, with a fast escape in mind so she was quickly out of the parking lot. She could feel the attack coming.

"Not now, please let me get home. I can't do this now." She sped through the downtown streets, never looking back until she had made it to the city limits. She glanced in her rearview to ensure she had not been followed. Her chest was tightening, her pulse was racing, she could feel the cold sweat trickling down her spine. Her breaths quickened and she was almost panting. She could feel the tremors in her hands making it hard to shift gears in her jeep. She took some deep breaths and focused on her driving.

She started her grounding exercises. Five things she could see; a white Toyota truck with red trim and a bumper sticker that she couldn't read, a "Welcome to Seymore" sign painted in bright yellow to match the flowers planted at it's base, the blue house on the corner that had the prettiest rose bushes out front in every color, her neighbors pale blue '57 Chevy with the black leather seats, and her aqua front door with the windows at the top that were spread out in the shape of an orange slice. She was home. She barely remembered turning her jeep off and unlocking her door. She ran to her room with Mojo quick on her heels. She rushed to her bedside table, where she kept a water bottle and her anxiety medicine which she fumbled to open. She tossed two of the sweet blue pills into her mouth and chased them with water. She finished off the bottle and then dived under the covers of her king size bed. Mojo bounded up behind her. He layed on top of her using his weight to fight off the anxiety attack that was holding her in it's grip. She started to count off the five things she could hear; Mojo's even deep breathes, the tick of the grandfather clock in the foyer that was loud and reverbrated throughout the house, the hum of her ceiling fan as it oscalted the air around her room, the rustle of her curtains in the wind from the fan, and the soft crinkling of the fall leaves outside her window. She began to slowly relax. Her heart had slowed and her breathing returning to normal. Her eyes began to droop from the effects of her medicine and she surrendered to the pull, falling into a slumber. Where she met his eyes again.

When next she awoke, the sun had gone down and Mojo had moved to lay beside her. She reach out and ruffled his hair thanking him for his intervention. He was always quick to take action, reading her better than if she had a neon sign announcing her pending attacks. He was the best thing to ever happen to her and she wasn't sure where she would be without him.

She knew she had dreamed but was unable to recall any details, just that his eyes had been in it. For years she had known he didn't really care for her, she was just another mission. But part of her had held on to the hope that he had felt a small amount of what she did. Her therapists had all told her it was a common for victims of trauma to romantisize their victors and sometimes their captors. SHe could not fathom finding any morsel of affection for those monsters. She had argued with them telling them that they didn't understand. She had seen how he had looked at her. Today, however, banished all those remenents of hope. She felt close to shattering and very stupid. That hope had been part of her strength, what had helped ease her anxiety. She didn't know what she would do now. She needed to call her therapist and get in as soon as she could. She had to rework her plan. But it would have to wait until morning. She just needed to make it until then. She kept coming back to one thing that bothered her. What was he doing here? Why now?

~Brandon~

Brandon was in a horrible mood. His family had sensed it and given him a very wide berth. He wasn't sure which was worse, the quiet or the concerned looks his mother and father kept flicking his way. He knew they were concerned. And he knew when they got home, his father would expect answers. When they pulled in the drive way, Angel climbed out behind him. "Unc, are you OK?"

"I told you I would never lie to you so please don't ask." He hesitated only a moment and as she shook her head and turned to go, he stopped her pulling her back for a hug. "Angel, do you remember......" He wasn't sure he should ask her. She had come so far and asking her might bring it all back.

"Yes?" eyebrows raised she faced him. So strong for a sixteen year old.

"The woman..."

"My gaurdian?" she glanced down.

"Yes."

"DId you happen to.."

"See her? Yes! I thought I was seeing things."

"So did I. I love you brat."

"Hey unc? Find her please"

"I intend too."

She released him from the embrace and he was reluctant to let her go. She was the one person who could truly understand what she meant to him. Hell, what she meant to them. He had to find her for the both of them. Angel needed closure and to say thank you. He needed his heart back. He watched Angel walk into the house as his father waited for him beside the truck. He knew his time was up and he had some questions to answer. He turned and silently followed his dad to the barn. Their whole lives, they communicated best when working at each other's sides. The horsees needed brushing and the most important lessons he had learned from his father always came at the side of or from the back of a horse. They both retrieved a horse from the paddock, tbringing them into the barn and tieing them up. They both worked side by side in silence for a while. The routine of caring for the horse easing some of his nerves. Brandon had finished the first horse, secured him in the stall and retrieved his next when his father finally broke the silence.

"What's the story, Bran?"

Brandon sighed. "I don't even know where to start."

"Well son, something changed at the festival for you so why don't you start there."

"I saw her pops, she is alive."

"Who, son"

He looked directly at his father pausing in mid stroke with the curry comb. "Her" He had had so many conversations with his father about his brave one. So many sleepless night filled with phone calls to talk him off the ledge. So much guilt and grief shared during those calls. So many nights he had laid in his bed with regret rolling through him so thick he thought he would smother in it. He was too late. He didn't figure it out fast enough. The helo was to far out becasue he didn't call it in when he should have, waiting for confirmation that they had found them.

"Are you sure it was her, they told you she died.You have seen her before, many times over the years, son. Was this another false vision?"

"Angel saw her too." His father was quiet for a long time after that. Both working on the horses.

"Well that changes things, doesn't it. I guess we need to find her then. I'll make some call in the morning. See what I can find out. Until we get some answers, I don't want you saying anything to your brothers. I don't want them muddy up the waters until we know what we are dealing with. I'll handle your mother"

"Can we wait to tell her too?"

His father laughed, "what do you think son?" His mother would not let it rest until she knew why her youngest was in such a state. Mary Catherine was a warrior when it came to her children. She didn't care that they were all grown and could defend themsevles very easily, she was a momma bear through and through.

"Yeah, I guess not."