Chapter 5 - The Night Jacob Ryan Stood Again
Hospital security wanted Jacob transferred.
Jacob refused.
Claire wanted him moved to another facility.
Jacob refused that too.
“Do you ever agree with anyone?” she asked.
“Occasionally.”
“When?”
“When they're right.”
Claire stared at him.
“So never.”
“Rarely.”
Despite the danger, his medical condition still required treatment.
And Claire refused to let the conspiracy become an excuse for abandoning rehabilitation.
The next morning she wheeled him into the private therapy gym.
Jacob looked at the parallel bars.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I was almost assassinated.”
“Yesterday.”
“Your compassion overwhelms me.”
“You're welcome.”
Physical therapist Elena Morris hid a smile.
Jacob had regained partial sensation over the previous year following experimental nerve surgery.
Doctors believed he might eventually stand with assistance.
Jacob believed doctors enjoyed lying.
Claire positioned the support harness.
“Hands here.”
“I know.”
“Then do it.”
He glared.
She waited.
Jacob gripped the bars.
His arms flexed.
Nothing happened.
“Again,” Claire said.
He tried.
Pain shot through his back.
His legs trembled but did not support him.
Jacob collapsed into the harness.
“Enough.”
Claire crouched.
“You moved your left foot.”
“No.”
“I saw it.”
“So?”
“So yesterday you couldn't.”
Jacob looked down.
Hope terrified him more than hopelessness.
Hopelessness was predictable.
Hope created something to lose.
“I said enough.”
Claire nodded.
“Fine.”
He looked surprised.
“No argument?”
“You’ll try tomorrow.”
“Presumptuous.”
“You're predictable.”
Later, Mateo brought disturbing news.
The captured attacker had been killed during transport.
Supposed seizure.
No autopsy yet.
Jacob knew what that meant.
Cleanup.
Voss was removing links.
Claire’s evidence needed to go public immediately.
Her attorney scheduled the release for 8:00 the following morning.
Jacob had one request.
“Add my statement.”
Claire frowned.
“What statement?”
“My responsibility.”
“You were framed.”
“I commanded the mission.”
“That doesn’t make you guilty.”
“It makes me responsible for bringing my men home.”
Claire sat beside him.
“You spent eleven years punishing yourself.”
“I survived.”
“So did I.”
Jacob looked at her.
“I had a life before the blast.”
“You still have one.”
He glanced at the wheelchair.
Claire followed his gaze.
Then she placed her hand over his.
“This is not your life.”
She touched the chair.
“This is equipment.”
He looked at her.
“You don't know what it’s like.”
“No.”
She didn't pretend.
“But I know you.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His voice dropped.
“Then why did you stay away?”
Claire’s eyes filled.
“Because every time I thought about finding you, I remembered what happened to the investigator. I thought being near me could get you killed.”
Jacob almost laughed.
“I inherited a mafia empire.”
“Exactly. Your survival instincts were already questionable.”
He smiled.
Then the smile faded.
“You should have come.”
“I know.”
“Eleven years.”
“I know.”
Jacob raised her hand.
Not romantically at first.
Almost as if confirming she was real.
Claire did not pull away.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“I remembered something.”
Her breathing changed.
“What?”
“Before Black Lantern.”
He paused.
“You kissed me.”
Claire turned red.
“That is not how I remember it.”
“You didn't?”
“You kissed me.”
“I’m fairly certain—”
“You were very confident for a man completely wrong.”
Jacob smiled.
It transformed his entire face.
Claire had forgotten that smile.
“You kissed me back,” he said.
“That part may be accurate.”
The moment grew quiet.
Jacob’s thumb moved across her fingers.
Then someone knocked.
Dr. Hale entered.
Both withdrew their hands.
Hale looked uncomfortable.
“I need to speak with you.”
Jacob’s expression hardened.
“What?”
Hale closed the door.
“I owe both of you an apology.”
Claire stood.
He continued.
“Mr. Ryan’s prior episodes were repeatedly labeled anxiety because certain consultants discouraged further neurological testing.”
Jacob stared.
“Who?”
Hale handed them paperwork.
A neurologist.
Private consultant.
Former military physician.
Claire recognized the name.
Dr. Samuel Rourke.
He had worked under Voss.
“They've been interfering with Jacob’s care,” she whispered.
Hale nodded.
“I believe so.”
Jacob looked toward the hallway.
The mystery deepened.
Why?
Claire saw it first.
“They wanted his symptoms dismissed.”
“Because?” Jacob asked.
“What happens during those episodes?”
“Headaches. Flashbacks sometimes.”
Claire’s eyes widened.
“Memory.”
Jacob understood.
“They thought neurological recovery might restore memories of Black Lantern.”
Hale went pale.
“That sounds impossible.”
“Not to Voss,” Claire said.
Jacob had undergone new nerve treatment six months ago.
Soon afterward, fragments returned.
Faces.
Voices.
Coordinates.
Someone had known.
Someone had tried to slow his treatment.
Now Jacob understood why doctors avoided his room.
Not all fear came from his reputation.
Some had been pressured.
His rage became very quiet.
Claire recognized that version of Jacob.
The dangerous one.
“Don't,” she said.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re thinking about it.”
“That isn't illegal.”
“Probably because lawmakers haven't met you.”
Before sunrise the following morning, Claire’s attorney received the final evidence package.
At 7:43, he called.
“Everything ready.”
At 7:51, he stopped answering.
At 7:56, Mateo reported that the attorney’s office alarm had triggered.
At 7:58, Claire received a photograph.
Her attorney unconscious on the floor.
A message beneath it:
STOP THE RELEASE.
Claire’s face went white.
Jacob read it.
“Can the files still publish?”
She nodded.
“Automatic release. Eight o’clock.”
Jacob checked the clock.
7:59.
Claire’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Voss.
His voice had aged.
But she recognized it.
“Claire.”
She felt twenty-three again.
“Adrian.”
“Cancel the release.”
“You killed Ethan.”
“I protected national interests.”
“You murdered Americans.”
“I made decisions you were too young to understand.”
Jacob held out his hand.
Claire gave him the phone.
“Voss.”
Silence.
Then:
“Ghost.”
Jacob’s eyes became ice.
“You should have made sure I was dead.”
Voss chuckled.
“I tried.”
That confession was all Jacob needed.
Claire’s phone was recording.
Voss continued.
“You think the public will believe a crippled mobster and a traumatized nurse?”
Jacob looked at Claire.
“Yes.”
Clock.
7:59:58.
7:59:59.
8:00.
Claire’s encrypted archive released automatically.
Evidence went simultaneously to federal prosecutors, investigative journalists, military oversight offices, and attorneys representing families of the dead.
Voss stopped speaking.
Jacob smiled faintly.
“You should check the news.”
The line disconnected.
Three hours later, national networks began reporting allegations surrounding Operation Black Lantern.
By afternoon, federal agents raided two offices connected to Voss.
By evening, his government access was suspended.
But Voss disappeared before agents reached his home.
The war wasn't finished.
That night Jacob returned to rehabilitation.
Claire stared.
“You volunteered?”
“Don't make it sentimental.”
She positioned herself nearby.
Jacob gripped the parallel bars.
He pulled.
His legs shook.
One knee locked.
Then the other.
Claire held her breath.
Slowly, painfully, impossibly—
Jacob Ryan rose from his wheelchair.
Only inches.
Only for three seconds.
But he stood.
Claire covered her mouth.
Jacob looked at her.
His face crumpled with an emotion he had refused for years.
Hope.
Then his legs gave way.
Claire caught him with the harness.
Jacob laughed breathlessly.
“I stood.”
“Yes.”
“I stood.”
Claire was crying now.
“Yes, Ghost.”
May you like
This time the name did not hurt him.
It brought him home.
