CHAPTER FIVE,
labyrinth of suffering.
( TW: self-harm descriptions & drug withdrawal  )

SHE WAS COLD.

Despite the wool blanket she was wrapped in and the hot sun that shone through the sheer curtains, she was shivering, her body temperature feeling as if it was on the verge of hitting zero when in fact, she was actually going through the worst fever imaginable. Her dopamine levels had deteriorated and the adrenaline that once coursed through her bloodstream, to remind her that she was still a habitant of the cruel world, had vanished and all she craved was death.

She wanted nothing more than to get a hold of a sharp blade to drag across the pale skin on her wrists, tearing into the frail veins and watching the rotting, crimson liquid drip from her damaged soul until she was nothing more than another deceased human vessel that would be left to decompose in the confined space of a narrow casket.

     Okay, maybe she didn't actually want to die, but at that moment, she was barely capable of going an hour without vomiting whatever was left in her stomach . . . not to mention her digestive system was going haywire which forced her to clutch her stomach in pain any time she found herself sitting on top of the toilet. A visual aid wasn't really required to realize the absolute hell she was suffering, though, and if she somehow managed to live through this, she'd remember these moments for the rest of her life.

     "How do you feel?"

     The voice pulled her from her disruptive thoughts, her neck snapping to the side where she was reminded of her whereabouts. She was struck with the realization that she was hundreds of miles from her home, the thought making her nauseous. She never thought the day would come when she'd be admitting that she missed the humid island where she'd spent her entire childhood on.

     "How do I feel! How do I fucking feel? How do you think I feel?" Jaylene snapped, her knees to her chest as she rocked back and forth on the leather sofa.

     "You're experiencing withdrawal symptoms." Dr. Hughes stated the obvious, nodding her head as she wrote something down in the pages of her notebook.

     "You don't say? I hadn't noticed." Jaylene scoffed, her eyes set on the nearby window where the sun spilled through the tense room, the sight of the greenery not being something she was accustomed to. She found it calmer than the waves, almost comforting.

"You're lucky, you know that? Most people who consume laced drugs wind up dead. If your brother hadn't found you when he did, we may not have been having this conversation right now."

     Jaylene felt a sharp pain shoot through her body at that sentence, her rib cage feeling as though it was enclosed in the viable arteries that pumped blood to her heart. She hadn't stopped feeling guilty about the emotional trauma she'd likely caused her brother that night. He didn't deserve to see her like that.

"Maybe it would've been for the best if he hadn't found me at all." She mumbled, running her hands through her hair before repositioning herself on the couch.

Replicating the move that most therapists on television often pulled, Dr. Hughes removed her eyeglasses, letting them fall from the bridge of her nose as the chain attached to them moved around her neck. She cleared her throat, crossing her legs and placing her hands on her lap. "Jaylene, I'm gonna ask you something and I'm gonna need an honest answer . . . " She trailed off, watching Jaylene raise her brows in suspicion. "Do you wish that in consuming those drugs you would have ended your life?"

________________

RECKLESSLY DRIVING ACROSS the narrow roads of Nassau, John Booker Routledge felt like his heart was about to spring out of his chest, his shaking hand struggling to maintain a grip on the steering wheel with the other reached out towards the unconscious girl sat beside him. His pulse was going haywire in his temples, a headache emerging from the panic that had engulfed him. He didn't know whether she was still breathing or not, his ability to think straight having been torn from him the second he felt her bloody hand reach out for him less than five minutes ago.

He blamed himself. Not just for Jaylene having gotten shot, but for getting people he cared about involved in a deadly treasure hunt.

     Maybe he should've just left it alone. Maybe if curiosity hadn't gotten the best of him that unfaithful day after hurricane Agatha swept across the island, he and his friends wouldn't have come across the Grady-White that had tragically become a victim of the disastrous storm alongside its sole passenger: Scooter Grubbs. He wouldn't have required scuba gear from the Camerons and he would've never spotted Jaylene Rosewood sunbathing on the private dock located behind the million-dollar Rosewood estate.

It all came down to the ultimate decision he'd decided that day.

This was his fault.

At the sudden sound of the phone Terrance had provided them with ringing, he shot his eyes over to the seat of the car where it was laid out near Jaylene's body. It had fallen from her pocket while he was helping her into the vehicle.

     He kept a hand on the wheel, his hand reaching out towards the phone that had an unrecognizable number on the screen. Given that they'd already gotten themselves into the worst danger imaginable, he accepted the call, pressing the speaker button so that he could place the phone on the seat while both of his hands were used to operate the vehicle.

     "John, listen to me, alright?"

     He recognized the voice immediately.

     Fuck!

He nodded his head—quickly realizing that Marleen couldn't actually see him which caused him to part his lips shortly afterward. "Listening."

     Though Marleen was on the verge of a breakdown, she forced herself to remain calm; one of them had to. "Is she breathing?" She questioned, her eyes squeezing shut.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! It hadn't occurred to him to check for a pulse after he watched her shut her eyes. He was hoping that the shock had just been too much for her, resulting in her passing out. What if he'd been sitting beside a corpse since then?

His face suddenly went pale—paler than it had already turned. He glanced over at Jaylene, his attention tearing itself away from the road as he slowly inched his hand to her wrist, his thumb grazing across the fragile skin with blood collecting between the crevices of his own skin in the process. He froze for a second, terrified that he wouldn't feel the rhythmic beat once he wrapped his entire hand around her wrist.

     "John." Marleen's voice snapped him from his trance, forcing him to look back up at the road where the life nearly left his own body at the sight of another vehicle almost crashing into the one he was driving.

He jerked the wheel to the side, the vehicle swerving even more than before as he dodged what could've been an accident. That seemed to be a wake-up call for him right then and there, his senses on full alert as he pushed his fear aside and gripped her wrist. He muttered inaudible words under his breath, keeping still despite the anxiety shooting throughout his body.

All of a sudden, when he was on the verge of losing hope, he felt a faint pounding between his finger and her wrist. "She's got a pulse." He confirmed, a sigh of relief falling from his lips.

Marleen nodded on the other end, her hand pressed to her mouth to refrain a sob from falling. She took a few seconds to herself, struggling to remain calm in the face of uncertainty. "Take her to the hospital, okay? I know that you have authorities looking for you, but we can't know if an important artery was punctured." She paced back and forth. It was difficult to think straight when her daughter was bleeding out by the second. "You need to check if there's an exit wound anywhere on her back, okay?"

     John B moved aside the button down that was soaked in blood, his fingers grazing her skin with his hand moving her body slightly to get a better look at her back. "No exit wound." He informed Marleen, his eyes returning to the road where he scanned his surroundings. Considering he was in a foreign country, the location of the nearest hospital was unknown to him.

     "Okay. Okay, that's good." Marleen swallowed thickly, her head feeling lighter than usual which prompted her to rest her back against the nearest wall, her body sliding down. She wasn't a religious person, none of her family was for that matter, but right then and there, she was hoping that there really was a man in the sky.

     She knew what Jaylene getting shot meant, it'd been the second thing that crossed her mind after Terrance called to inform her of what had happened. It didn't necessarily matter now given that her daughter's life was on the line, but regardless of that, her feelings were valid. She always knew that Henderson would somehow discover that she wasn't dead and deep down she hoped that when he did, he'd come looking for her shortly after, but when he never did, that possibility crumbled. Now, she wasn't sure how the hell she was supposed to inform her husband that she was alive and that their daughter had been shot.

     "Marleen."

     Marleen exhaled, shaking away all of her thoughts. "I'm here. I, Uhm, do you have a way to get back home?" She questioned, taking that time to stand from the ground where she scanned the nearby table for a set of keys that belonged to one of the parked vehicles outside. She quickly spotted them and proceeded to make her way outside, hoping that she wouldn't crash the damn thing.

"A legal way?" He sucked air in through his teeth, turning the wheel to the left where he nearly crashed into a crowd of pedestrians in the process. All he could do was cuss under his breath, ignoring the harsh glares thrown at him. "Uh, probably not." He admitted.

Marleen nodded her head in understanding, sliding her body into the vehicle with her phone safely tucked between her shoulder and her ear. "How far are you from the hospital?"

Taking a quick second to glance down at the phone screen that displayed the phone call in addition to the GPS at the top, John B parted his lips to speak. "Two minutes."

     Again, she nodded to herself. "Okay. I'll meet you there and we'll figure something out."

     It was truly a miracle that she somehow made it to the hospital despite her attention being everywhere but the road as she sat behind the wheel, but the point is, Marleen was in one piece when she rushed into the hospital building, her heart pounding in her chest as she frantically looked for the front desk.

     When she found it, she scurried towards the woman in charge, her mouth dry as she struggled to breathe properly.

     "I'm looking for Jaylene Rosewood." She spoke through ragged breaths, her anxiety visible to everyone around.

     The woman at the front desk gripped the computer mouse that rested beside her, using it to search the hospital records until Jaylene's newly input file popped up. "Relation to the patient?" She questioned, her tone calm unlike the blonde standing across from her.

     "I'm her mother."

     "ID please."

     Marleen reached into her back pocket to obtain the thin card holder she traveled with, her hands shaking as she pulled the ID card from between the faux leather and the plastic that made it visible. She proceeded to hand the woman the card, waiting impatiently as she confirmed the information.

     The name on the ID was her birth name followed by the hyphenated last name that was printed across all of her legal documents after the wedding between her and Henderson took place. So, yes, her name was still officially her name, but faking an identity was the route she'd taken after her departure. It was technically illegal, but marrying someone like Henderson Rosewood came with a huge advantage and for that she was thankful.

     Melba, which Marleen came to learn was the receptionist's name after taking a quick glance at the name tag on her scrubs, handed her the ID back. "She's currently undergoing surgery. There's no saying when or if she'll be out." She pursed her lips into a thin line, proceeding to motion toward the rows of chairs nearby. "In the meantime, you're welcome to wait over there. When there's anything to know, a doctor will come get you."

     Though all she wanted was to scream at how little information about her daughter's state was able to be provided at the time, Marleen nodded and gave the woman a gracious smile before heading toward the waiting room.

     However, before she could make herself comfortable in one of the chairs, she was quick to notice the familiar face pacing around nearby, prompting her to head in the distraught boy's direction instead of the chair.

     She reached out towards him, lightly squeezing his shoulder to gain his attention. When he jumped in surprise at her sudden presence, she took a step back, getting a clear look at the red stain on his shirt. It made her chest tighten, her hand traveling up to her mouth to refrain herself from gasping at the sight. She pictured her unconscious daughter lying in the middle of an operating room, her head spinning at the thought of Jaylene not making it out of there alive. The endless possibilities filled her mind, her breathing slowly becoming abnormal as she struggled to utter a single word. It was as if she'd suddenly forgotten the English language.

     John B, who was equally as unstable as Marleen, parted his lips to speak, gesturing towards the nearby exit so that they could both get the much-needed fresh air.

     Marleen nodded her head, unable to tear her eyes from her daughter's blood on the shirt as she pushed the door open to get out of the haunting room. She pressed her back to a nearby wall, inhaling sharply before exhaling to regulate her breathing.

     John B did the same, his hands tangled between his hair as he backed up a little to press his lower back against the nearby railing.

"Do you have a way to get back home?" Marleen raised a brow, her arms crossed over her chest.

"What?" John B looked up at the woman, his own brows shooting up as if he was trying to let her know how ridiculous that question was. "I can't go home. I need to know if she's okay." He shook his head, protesting the idea of leaving without Jaylene.

"I'm sure Terrance has a way to get you back into the country, I'll give him a quick call—"

He shook his head, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence. "Marleen, respectfully, I am not leaving until I know that she is going to be alright, okay?"

Marleen stood upright, tucking strands of her hair behind her ears so that it was out of her way. "John, I'm not asking if you want to go back home or not. I am letting you know." She sternly spoke, glancing towards the incoming ambulances with her thoughts scattered like broken glass. "There is nothing you and I can do for Jaylene right now, so you're gonna get back home and I'm going to stay here. When she gets out of surgery and is stable, I will get her transferred to St. Olive."

"I'm just supposed to believe that you're gonna go back home even though everyone thinks you're dead?" He tried to sound as polite as humanly possible, but his tone was quite betraying.

Luckily, Marleen knew where he was coming from, so she ignored the accusing tone. "If the circumstances were different, I wouldn't even be thinking about going back there, but it's the only home she's ever known and I have a son that I owe a visit." She managed a smile at the thought of reuniting with Nathaniel after so long. Of course, she'd have to reunite with Henderson as well, but she was trying to avoid that scenario for the time being.

Though he was still a bit hesitant about leaving Nassau without knowing whether Jaylene was fine, John B nodded his head to let Marleen know that he'd go to Terrance for help. He could've stayed quiet after that, but he didn't. Instead, he refused to give into the silence. "It was Rafe." He blurted out, unsure if she was aware that he was the one who had fired the gun that contained the bullet that pierced through Jaylene's abdomen. "He shot her."

She wasn't all that shocked at the revelation. Once Terrance had called to inform her that Jaylene had been shot, she immediately assumed that one of the Camerons was to blame for the incident. Of course, she was furious that Ward Cameron's son was the reason her daughter was fighting for her life, but there was nothing she could do at the moment. If given the opportunity, she'd take appropriate action another time.

"I figured." She slowly spoke, eyeing her surroundings to ensure that no one was growing suspicious. "Listen, you should probably go before someone recognizes you from that poster. And a small piece of advice for when you get home . . . don't run. It'll only make things worse."

"I didn't kill sheriff Peterkin." He felt like he'd uttered that sentence a hundred times now, the memory of the deceased woman flooding his mind every time he closed his eyes for longer than a few seconds. Though he hadn't pulled the trigger, her blood was quite literally on his hands on that runway and he was feeling a sense of deja vu now that Jaylene's had become an accessory on his skin and clothing.

Marleen nodded in understanding. "And I believe you, but the fact that you ran makes it look like you're guilty." She wasn't one to sugarcoat, so she told it like she saw the situation. "The best thing you can do is turn yourself in despite the fact that you're not to blame. It's difficult to be prosecuted when there's no evidence against you."

     "He'll find a way." John B sunk his teeth down into the flesh of his cheek, anger fueling his body at the monster that was Ward Cameron. "I'll go back, but I am not turning myself in for a crime I didn't commit."

     Marleen took a good look at him, seeing a slight resemblance between him and his father. Though he looked more like his mother, he had similar traits as his father; his stubbornness for starters. She'd