The doctor fidgets nervously. “Um—” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and sweat begins to collect on his brow. “Three years.”
“And who attended to her before then?”
“Dr. Williams,” he tells me without hesitation.
“Anyone before him?”
The doctor shakes his head.
“Where is he now?”
His eyes dart to the room where my mother lies in a coma before they settle back on me.
“She strangled him with one of the cords from the monitor.”
Badass.
“When was the last time she was awake?” my father questions harshly.
The doctor licks his lips. “Three years ago.”
Elias must have put her back under as punishment. I can’t believe she was awake just three years ago. She has been here this whole time, right under my nose, and I didn’t know it. Itbreaks my heart to see what Elias has done to her. The medical records are detailed. There are times when she wasn’t fully unconscious. When she could hear and feel everything that Elias did or said. If that fucker wasn’t already dead…
The whir of a helicopter meets my ears.
Dr. Radick has arrived.
It takes several more minutes for the copter to shut down, but soon Dr. Radick and his team are pushing through the clinic’s door with a gurney in tow.
“I take it this is thesukin synwho’s been keeping your mother in a coma?” Disgust and contempt roll off the Russian doctor in waves as he glares down at the man on his knees.
“One of them,” I tell him. “The other one is dead.”
“Khoroshiy.” Good. “I looked over the reports, and despite the flagrant disregard for human rights, she is in good health.”
“She’s in a coma,” my father deadpans.
“That is right.” Radick nods sympathetically. “But she has been receiving not only daily physical therapy but also Botox injections to help maintain muscular efficiency.”
“Should we applaud the good doctor?”
“I’d shoot him.” Radick shrugs. “But that’s not really my decision.”
I can’t help but chuckle at his humor.
“They’ve been using a pretty heavy cocktail of propofol, phenobarbital, and thiopental,” Radick explains. “These drugs have a continuous effect on the patient, keeping them in a sustained state of unconsciousness for as long as the drugs are flowing.”
“What should I be worried about?” I ask hesitantly. There is bound to be some problems once we take her off the medications.
“Addiction is one of them,” Radick informs me honestly. “We will have to wean her off the drugs little by little, so her body doesn’t go into withdrawal and stop her heart.”
Wonderful.
“Once we start weaning her off the drugs, she’ll slowly start to gain consciousness,” he continues while he glances at the paperwork in his hand. “She’ll come off the tube once she starts breathing on her own. Her vocality will be limited, but with some speech therapy, that too can be resolved.”
“Okay,” I whisper. Dr. Radick focuses his full attention on me. His brown eyes are a calming moment in a stormy sea. He is a good doctor. Patient and understanding. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for him and his team. I trust him.
“We’ll get her set up at my clinic and keep you informed every step of the way,” he assures me. “I will give her the utmost care. I promise.”