Our eyes lock and I embrace the demon, his black eyes rimmed with fire and his mouth dripping with blood stolen from the ones who didn’t get away.
Digging my fingers into his muscles, I bare my teeth, “This is over,” I snarl with such fury that our heads touch.
I keep him there until I see the nerves fire for the last time and the light behind his eyes finally go out. And, this time when he falls away, I know he won’t get back up.
Looking down at Bowen laying on the dirt floor, bleeding out from the knife wound made larger by the struggle, it feels like I’m outside my body. I’ve had dreams about this and it seemed so real—I nearly killed Brett while having one—but now it seems surreal.
It doesn’t last, though. I look up in time to see Brett stumble forward and collapse onto Bowen’s legs. She catches herself on his body and stares at him for a moment. I reach for her, but pull back as her arm comes flying out and she sinks the knife into his chest, over and over and over…
Motionless, I watch Brett tear at his flesh with screams of both rage and horror, blood spattering across her face and chest. Finally, she slows, out of breath, and drops the knife onto the dirt floor, lifting her hands to look at them. Her own blood runs down her wrists from cuts made by the knife as it slipped from her hand. She tries to push herself up, but her movements are slow and disoriented. She mumbles to herself, shaking her hands furiously when she realizes she’s touching Bowen’s bloody body.
I step over his legs and crouch down next to Brett, examining her face. She runs her eyes over his body, lingering on his vacant eyes. She makes little sounds like she’s trying to talk, but it only comes out as shallow breaths. Her muscles tremble and she searches around on the ground like she’s lost something. And when her fingertips brush Bowen’s pants, she flinches like she forgot he was there.
I’ve seen her look this way before, trapped in a nightmare...
I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her up to get her away from the carnage, but she feels like dead weight. When I try to stand her up, her legs won’t hold her, and when her head falls back onto my shoulder, I see her face is ashen and her lips don’t have any color.
I reach up and grab her chin, “Baby, what’s wrong?”
It’s a stupid question. There’s a lot wrong right now, but she looks like she’s the one whose blood is draining out of her instead of him. Brett doesn’t answer me, only fights to focus on my eyes while hers drift away. She’s in shock.
“No,” I say, like I can stop it, “stay with me…”
In one motion, I sweep my elbow behind her knees and hoist her into my arms. She still doesn’t talk, but manages to squeeze my shoulders enough to stabilize herself as I run out of the barn and take off through the woods. I whistle over my shoulder as I follow the path that no one else can see but us and soon I see Pony racing through the brush. He passes me in no time, heading in the direction of the house.
“Talk to me!” I shout between breaths, climbing the needle-laden slope and sliding down the other side.
Brett still doesn’t respond. Her eyes are open, but she’s staring at nothing and blinking like she can’t focus. All the color is gone from her face and her head starts rolling like she can’t hold it up. I’ve seen death before, she hasn’t. And, I swear to God, if witnessing Bowen Garrison’s last breath takes her out as his final act of destruction...
“Brett, stay awake!” I jostle her against my shoulder.
I keep a good pace for a while, but begin to slow down about halfway back. My phone is in my pocket, but I can’t stop. If I stop, I slow down. And if I slow down, it’ll just take that much longer to get back. But then I’ll still have to get her out of here…
With a furious growl, I come to a halt at the ridge. It’s all downhill from here, and it won’t be long until the tree line comes into view and the trail spills out into our yard. But there’s no time to wait once we get there.
I crouch down, balancing Brett on my knee while the rest of her hangs over my shoulder. As soon as I do, she grabs under her belly and lets out a jarring scream into my neck, the first sound she’s made since we left the barn. Letting out one curse after another, I roll her off and onto the ground, giving her a once-over before jerking up her bloody shirt.
Her belly is stained with the blood that soaked through, but it’s otherwise devoid of injuries. Still, she’s grabbing at it and pressing her fingers against her bump like she’s in immense pain. I grab the sides of her face and tilt her head up to look at me.
“Look at me, baby,” I hold her eyes, struggling to focus on me, “you’re in shock. I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to stay awake.”
Brett cringes and holds her breath for a few moments, “Something’s…wrong…” she gasps and grabs my arm, digging her fingertips into my wrist. My eyes dart between her belly and her pallid face while she tries to speak. “It’s cold…” her voice cracks through clenched teeth.
“No!” I roar, “Fuck no!”
And then, instantly, I’m back in those woods, somewhere between Palomino and Wyandot, and her skin is getting colder and colder.
Please, don’t do this to me. Just fucking don’t…
I let go of Brett and feel my back pocket for my phone. Thankfully, it’s there and it didn’t fall out back at the barn. It only takes a couple seconds for me to make the call and another second for Dallas to answer.
“She’s hurt! Get everyone up here, now!”
●●●
Brett doesn’t cry. It takes a lot to make her that upset. Technically, she’s cried in front of me twice. Once after she broke out of Bowen’s house, and the other was when I put a gun to her head. That time, I didn’t see her face—I just saw Bowen’s—but it was no less traumatizing.
In any event, she’s more of a scream and get angry kind of person. But she’s crying now, before the ultrasound tech even squirts the KY onto the wand.
With Dallas’s help, a convoy of medics and law enforcement descended on the property only minutes after I brought Brett out of the woods…alive. By the time we got to the ER and they hooked her up to all their equipment, Brett’s cheeks and lips were starting to gain some of their color back. I can’t say the same for everyone else. When the paramedics wheeled her in, both of us covered in blood, the nurses and doctors started shouting back and forth about not being prepared for this level of trauma.
But once they realized only some of the blood was Brett’s, their shouting stopped and then it was my voice shouting at them to get an obstetrician down here immediately. In true irony, now we’re shut behind another sliding glass door, waiting for an ultrasound. Brett’s pain has dulled, but she’s still at the brink of panic. One minute she’s Zen, ready to face whatever’s coming, and the next she’s bawling into her hands.
Now, she covers her face with one hand and shudders silently so maybe no one will notice. But of course, they do. Everyone does, because she just got wheeled in from the site of a homicide—justified, but a homicide nonetheless. That, and there are six sheriff deputies posted up outside the door and a couple of guys in suits just arrived and started speaking with them.
Take a number…
I sit next to Brett, clasping her hand and jiggling my foot impatiently. My phone’s been vibrating non-stop, but I don’t look at it. All I can think about is whether she’s OK after being attacked by that son of a bitch lying dead in my barn on the side of our mountain. Fortunately, Brett seems to be improving quickly, but I swear, if he took my child from me, I’ll take one of these officer’s weapons, shoot myself right here in the ER, and hunt him down in the afterlife.
I can tell, as soon as the ultrasound tech walks through the door, she wishes she didn’t come to work today. She expected gallstones and intestinal blockages, but she got us; dirty, sweaty, and covered in blood stains. They should’ve sent in one of the more hardened, jaded techs; some short, round woman with 40 years of experience who doesn’t bat an eye except to complain about her own artificial hips and knees. But instead, they send in a pretty, fresh-faced blonde named Jess who looks like she’s 17.
She pulls the curtain shut behind her and sits down on her little wheely stool next to Brett’s bed, hoping to God she doesn’t have to deal with the hell that’ll be unleashed if a tiny heartbeat doesn’t show up on her screen.
Brett just stares straight ahead while Jess lubes up her wand and flips Brett’s blanket over her knees.
“Sorry, this’ll be a little cold…you’ll feel some brief discomfort…”
Excuse me while I shove this plastic beat stick up your snatch. And, by the way, stay still…
