Jesus Christ, how do women not commit more violent crimes?
Jess keeps her wide eyes trained on the screen as she searches for signs of life. Seconds later, her face lights up and she points to the black and grey blobs wobbling over the screen. She might be the most excited person in the room, considering the alternative if there was bad news.
“There’s the heartbeat,” she smiles, “we have a heartrate of…150 beats per minute and…yolk sak intact…”
Jess continues her evaluation, but after confirming the heartbeat, I’m barely listening anymore. I’m just staring at Brett, the calmest I’ve been since we set foot in this hospital, taking in her flushed, tear-stained face that I still think is the most stunning I’ve ever seen. And when I smile, she does, too, like a weight’s been lifted. Like it’s OK to be happy again.
While Jess extracts her torture device from Brett’s cervix and tells her that an OB resident is on his way down to go over the results, I go to the sink and start wetting a handful of paper towels with warm water. As soon as she leaves, probably planning on having a strong drink after her shift, I sit down at the end of the bed and lift the blanket up to Brett’s knees again.
“They must go through lube here like a Vegas brothel,” I joke, gently wiping the excess gel from between her legs, “I mean, this is excessive,” I glance up skeptically.
“Would you want to feel them shove something inside you without it?” she chuckles, “Too much is better than not enough.”
“And then they just leave you a goddamn mess,” I continue, tossing the used paper towels in the trash and going to the sink for more.
Her eyes track me as I move about the room, “You could call one of the nurses out there…” she makes a show of craning her neck to read the dry erase board by the door, “I’m sure Tony wouldn’t mind doing it,” she shoots me a shit-eating grin as she reads the board.
Even though she’s threatening to have some strange guy come in and wipe down her pussy, I’ll take it all day long because she’s starting to sound like herself again. This time when I return with more wet paper towels, I sit down at her side and brush her hair away from her eyes to clean the blood off her neck and face.
“What do I say to them?” Brett murmurs as I hold the paper towels over the dried blood on her neck to loosen it up.
“You’re a pregnant woman who was almost murdered by a serial killer,” I reply, “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
“What happened?” Brett lowers her voice to a whisper, so there’s not a chance anyone within four feet can hear her.
I lean closer, continuing to blot at her skin as I speak, “Do you remember what happened in the house?”
“Yes,” she whispers, “I forgot to lock the door when I left, so I checked the whole house when I came back. But he was there, standing in the bedroom doorway, because I forgot to check the hall clos—” her voice cracks in frustration, a sob threatening to break through.
“Shhh…” I bring my hand to the side of her face and tilt her head, blotting and wiping her chin, “then what?”
“I talked to him,” she says as though she just remembered.
“Did you?” I crack a smile, “How’d that go?” I ask with genuine curiosity.
“He’s still a fucking asshole,” she deadpans in a whisper, eliciting a disdainful snicker from me.
“I had him coming out of the woods and heading to the house,” I start, finally answering her question, “but then something…” I can’t help but smile, “happened to the camera.”
She knits her brow in confusion, “Like what?”
“You know that buck that’s been destroying your garden?” As soon as I say it, Brett’s eyes go wide with disbelief. I run the paper towel over her cheekbone and press my mouth together with a nod, “It only took that few seconds for Bowen to get inside after that.” I have to laugh about the goddamn deer or else I’ll tear the cords out of the wall and smash all the equipment in a fit of rage. “Don’t worry,” I cock my head as I gently tuck her hair behind her ear, “he’ll be in the freezer by winter. Do you remember what happened after you ran into the barn?”
“Yes,” she whispers, “you were fighting, and then the roof collapsed.”
“What happened after that?” I lift her chin to wipe away a few dots at the top of her neck.
“Bowen stabbed his Buck knife through the front door. It was still in my pocket when I ran, and I took it out right after I saw you knock him down.” She pauses for a moment as she plays the scene over, “You were coming toward me, then I saw him running toward you. And then I swung my arm out and jumped in front of you right when he got to you.”
I know what happened after that. The knife went in, Bowen’s own speed and velocity slicing it through his chest like butter. I was half in shock myself after the barn almost collapsed, but I’ll never forget his face, staring into his black eyes transfixed on mine. The last time I saw him was at the railroad bridge, but the last time I was that close to his face was on that rodent-chewed couch in Leland Wiltshire’s pole building, wishing to God he’d get the hell away from me. But, today, in our barn, it was exactly where I wanted him, so close that we were breathing each other’s air.
“Why didn’t he shoot either of us?” Brett whispers, searching my face.
“You know why,” I reply as I run the paper towel down her jawline, beneath her chin, and up the other side, making sure there’s no sign of blood left on her skin.
The look in her eyes tells me I’m right. She knows Bowen enjoys the feeling of someone in his hands. With most people, it’s the euphoria of holding the one you love in your arms—feeling the electric charge from the warm body of the one you want. But for people like Bowen, taking a life with his bare hands feels just as good, if not better.
I wad up the spent paper towels and toss them in the trash can next to the door, noticing a couple of deputies still standing at the desk outside flirting with a few nurses. I recognize one of the deputies from work. He has zero game, so he’s in for some disappointment later. Laughing to myself, I return to Brett’s bedside.
When I sit down, she reaches for me, grasping the sides of my neck and pulling my forehead to her lips. She closes her eyes and inhales slowly, filling up her lungs, and then lets it out, just as slow, over and over. My breaths fall in line with hers as she runs her thumbs back and forth along my jawline at the same pace.
“My only,” she exhales with a gentle smile before opening her eyes.
If there was ever a woman who could slay me with my own words…
“You’re OK,” I whisper, “she’s OK,” I glance down at Brett’s belly, now the other object of my affection, “we’re OK,” I return her smile, gently sliding my arms around her back, “and as soon as I can get you out of here, I’ll take you back to our house, wait for our baby to be born, and give you anything you want for the rest of your life.”
“What if you die before I do?” she rakes her fingertips up the back of scalp, sending a shiver down my spine, “What would I do then?”
I brush my nose across hers, “I’d never leave you all alone like that.”
“You’ve never left me alone…” she mutters.
“It’s why you like me,” I lean in to kiss her, “jealous girl,” I murmur as I pull away.
Brett gives me a good slap on the shoulder and then gently tugs my arm. Knowing exactly what she wants, I wait for her to scoot over before I recline in the bed next to her. As soon as I lift my arm, she curls into my side and wraps her arm across my chest. She still fits perfectly, and even though it’s a hospital bed in Gunnison rather than the gothic four-post in our bedroom, it feels like we’ve always been this way.
It’s not long after that the glass door slides open and a lanky kid in teal scrubs pops out from behind the curtain. His dirty blonde hair is gelled up in chaotic swaths and he’d look like he was about 12 if not for the fact that he’s almost as tall as me. While rubbing sanitizer on his hands, he introduces himself as Dr. Meyers…the OB resident.
