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its arc to slam against the side of my head. I fall to
the ground, the pain from my shattered arm the only
thing keeping me conscious as I gasp. Self-
preservation has me scrambling to my knees to get
away from her even as she swings the bat down
again, the hard metal rocking forceful pain through
my spine as it makes contact, stealing my breath
away.
I’m on the floor again, rolling away as the bat
comes down again, this time missing my head by
inches. This enrages her and she lets out an
animalistic screech that scares me more than any
screaming she has ever done before.
The wall is next to me and I push my throbbing
back against it, using it as leverage with my good
arm to push myself into a standing position as the
bat comes hurtling again, this time making violent
contact with my stomach. I double over involuntarily
and she swings again, bringing it down across my
upper back. That propels me forward. It’s the end
table that breaks my fall, knocking the lamp to the
floor, the light bulb popping and leaving us in inky
darkness. The only light shines in the window from
the street lamp. I roll across the table onto the couch,
using that as a temporary barrier to gain my feet.
She swings toward my face, catching me on the
cheek with shattering pain as the world swims
temporarily out
of
focus.
I fight
to
keep
consciousness as I look at her, see her face
contorted in horrible rage, and know that she will kill
me if I don’t get away. A picture of Henry flashes into
my head, and with it I find a reserve of strength from
somewhere inside. I stumble toward the kitchen, but
she anticipates me and comes around the couch
from the other side, beating me to the door.
She swings the bat up again and my good hand
intuitively comes up in defense. The end of the bat
slams into my palm and I close my hand around the
bat, my injured hand coming up to lend strength to
my grip. Before I have time to think, acting on
survival instinct, I shove it toward her, the handle
thrusting into her chest with enough force to propel
her backwards. She doesn’t expect that and so she
isn’t prepared. The force sends her reeling
backwards. Without time to try to break her fall, still
floor, the light bulb popping and leaving us in inky
clutching the bat that I quickly release, she falls to the
tile floor. I hear her head hit with a sickeningly loud
thud.
The force of it also sends me stumbling
backwards, and I land on my battered back with
crushing hurt that takes my little remaining breath
away. I lay still, gasping, knowing I have to move
before she gets up again.
Painfully, I roll onto my stomach and start to push
myself forward with my feet, unable to rise, crawling
as the world undulates around me. I have to get
away. I can feel blood pooling beneath me, smearing
with each forward push. I only move a few feet before
I can’t go
anymore. My head
is
reeling,
consciousness a barely held onto thing. Finally I lay
still, waiting for her to return, to finish what she
started.
Henry.
His name runs through my head, memories and
thoughts incoherently jumbled together. I’m not sure
how long I’ve been lying here, painfully trying to
breathe, before I realize I haven’t heard her move.
Oh please, I pray, let her be unconscious.
At the thought that I might still get away, I push
myself forward again, but the effort and pain cause
the room to spin precariously, so I stop.
Henry, I think again, and as if my thought has
summoned him, the borrowed cell phone in my front
pocket begins ringing. I manage to painfully lift my
hip up enough to reach in and pull it out, my bloody
fingers slipping the first time. I finally wriggle it out,
pushing it along the floor near my face, knowing
without looking that it’s him. I push it open and try to
say his name.
“Hey, Kate, I know I said I wouldn’t call yet, but I
couldn’t wait. I wanted to talk to you now,” I hear his
voice coming from the speaker. I take a ragged
breath.
“Henry,” it comes out a whisper.
“Kate? Are you there?”
Please, please, I plead silently.
“Hello? Kate?”
“Henry,” I gasp again. This time he hears, and in
the ragged words hears that there is something
wrong.
“Kate? What’s wrong?” There’s an edge of panic
in his voice now.
“Police…call police,” my voice is wet and torn.
“Kate! Katy, hold on.” I can hear Henry talking
frantically to his father, who immediately guesses
what has happened. He takes the phone from Henry.
“Kate? Are you still at home?” his voice is calm
and authoritative.
“Help…me,” I whisper.
“Get the police on the phone, Henry, and give
them Kate’s address,” I can hear him telling Henry.
“Kate, are you hurt?” he says into the phone to
me, his voice concerned but strong.
“Help me,” I whisper again.
“Kate, help is on the way. Try to get into a closet
or somewhere safe if you can,” I can hear the worry
beginning to creep into his words.
His words are fading. I want to tell him to tell Henry
that I love him, that I will miss him. Because I’m dying
—I can feel it. But there aren’t any words left. A soft,
warm darkness enfolds me and I give myself to it.
Chapter Seventeen
There’s white all around me as I slowly blink
my eyes open. Well, I think foggily, everyone talks
about the white light. There’s also a steady beeping
sound, and a rhythmic whoosh of air with a clicking
sound. Something is pulling heavily on one side of
my mouth, and I feel bound, as if I couldn’t move if I
tried.
“Well, well, look who finally woke up.”
A woman comes into view with a kind face, and
I’m surprised that angels dress like…nurses? I try to
speak and am unable to form any words, only
making sounds in my throat.
“You won’t be able to speak, sweetie. You have a
tube down your throat that’s helping you to breathe.” I
have to breathe in heaven? I move an arm and feel
pain shoot up into my shoulder. I wince, beginning to
suspect that I’m not in heaven at all; which means
either I’m in hell, or I’m not dead at all—neither one a
pleasant prospect.
“I can give you something for the pain if you’d
like,” she tells me. “But it will probably make you
sleep again, and there’s someone here who would
like to see you.”
She looks meaningfully across me, and I turn my
head
slightly.
There’s
Henry,
sitting
in an
uncomfortable looking chair in the corner, asleep.
His face is unshaven, several days worth of whisker
growth there, making him look older. I realize I’ve
never seen him any way but clean shaven.
Tears form in my eyes and run from the corners of
my eyes at the sight of him there. I look back at the
nurse, who looks concerned that I’m in too much
pain, but she sees something else in my eyes and
smiles.
“He hasn’t moved the whole time you’ve been
here. It’s been all we could do to get him to leave the
room while we were doing the things we needed to.
Even then, he only went outside the door. Quite a
devoted young man you have there.”
She walks across the room, which I now
recognize as a hospital room that is inexplicably
filled with flowers. She shakes him gently on the
shoulder, calling his name.
“Henry, there’s something you should see.”
Henry shoots straight up, body tense as if he’s
expecting something bad, eyes immediately flying to
me. I stare back at him, and confusion passes
across his face as he sees my eyes, then disbelief. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]