Come Back To Me

by Melissa Foster

  ***

  The sour, woody smell of the cabin hung in the stale air. He threw his aching body on the matted and worn plaid couch, his eyes drawn to the gun mounted above the ancient wood-burning stove, a gun Kevin had used several times. Kevin’s grandfather’s hunting cabin had served as a place of contemplation for Beau many times in the past—when he had been thinking of proposing to Tess, and more recently, before he’d accepted the assignment in Iraq. In both of those cases, he’d been in control of the decisions. He knew what he’d wanted when he’d arrived, and he’d used the cabin as a sort of driving-home of his decisions, a place to rationalize his thoughts. Now, his world was spiraling out of control, and he couldn’t stop it. Fatigue clouded his mind, his nerves burned. He had no idea what he wanted, and to make matters worse, the woman he loved most in the world may not live long enough for him to decide. The realization startled him. He leaned forward and ran his hand through his hair. How would he live without her? It was one thing to get a divorce. She’d go her way and he’d go his, leaving town if he had to, to escape the pain of seeing her with him. She’d still be around, safe, even if hate bore a hole in his gut. She’d be alive. If she died, he’d no longer be able to reach out if he wanted to. There’d be no chance. No chance for what? Reconciliation? For him to steal her back from him? Fuck that! His head swam in circles.

  The warped wooden planks creaked beneath Beau’s weight as he paced the floor, each heavy step an echo of his pain. His nostrils flared. Veins rose across his forehead and down his neck. He lifted his eyes to the gun. He crossed the room.

  His fingers fit perfectly around the smooth wooden stock of the gun. He ran his other hand along the barrel. Beau backed onto the couch, the weight of the gun comforting across his lap. He worked his jaw muscles until a stabbing pain shot up past his ear, snapping him out of his stupor. A deep breath later he retrieved a shotgun shell from the bureau in the corner and loaded the gun. Beau hoisted the gun over his shoulder, holding the butt of the gun in his right hand, and walked out back.

  Moments later, a single shot rang out and echoed within the umbrella of the forest.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The door closed behind Samira, reverberating in the cold, industrial room. She stood, frozen in despair, staring at the white sheet before her under which Suha’s body lay atop a stainless steel table. A putrid smell hung in the air—rotting eggs and something sharp, like ammonia. Samira tried to breathe through her mouth, the aroma drenching even the taste buds on her tongue. She looked over her shoulder toward the door, desperately wanting to turn and run, to escape the reality of Suha’s death. She knew she could not. Goosebumps climbed up her arms in rapid succession. She turned back toward the table, feeling the emptiness of the room closing in around her. She had to do this. Suha had already missed the proper burial she should have had, and knowing that had crushed Samira’s heart. She’d thought that Beau had deserted her, and though she’d been wrong, she still hadn’t been able to shake the loneliness that had engulfed her. She summoned every bit of her courage. It was up to her to properly wash and pray for Suha, and she prayed for the strength to carry out the task.

  Her feet moved forward in short, tentative shuffles. Suha was the strong one, not Samira. How would she do this? She thought of Suha’s ability to push past the gruesome or difficult, and tried to glean strength from her memory. Images of Beau sailed through her mind: the night Suha had found him, his body bloodied and broken; the way she and Suha had struggled to carry him into the tent; and the unfamiliar tension that had clenched her stomach the first time she’d seen him. She thought of the camera she’d found in the desert and hidden from him like a child, guilty of thievery. She pushed past that guilt. This was not Beau. There would be no healing—for Suha or Samira. She closed her eyes and willed herself to be strong, turning again toward the door, debating retreat. No, she thought. She would not desert Suha, the woman who had saved her and her children from sure demise. Suha would have done this for her. Samira pressed on.

  ***

  Samira repeatedly drenched the washcloth and squeezed it out. Anything to give her a little more time, a bit of space between her and Suha’s dead body. Her hands shook so badly that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to actually manage the task. She knew she was stalling, a flush warmed her cheeks. Samira lowered her head in shame and prayed, then set her shoulders back, gritted her teeth, and gathered her courage like a protective shield around her.

  The sheet covered Suha’s body and face, drawn up to her scalp. Her thin, greasy hair was exposed, a sticky dark mass. Samira lifted a trembling hand and touched the sheet, then quickly pulled her hand back, tears slipping down her cheeks. A quick, sharp whimper shot from her throat. She closed her eyes again and prayed—this time for her own strength. She squeezed her eyes closed as hard as she could until she saw red and yellow dots. When she opened them, there was a gray film cast before her. She waited for it to clear. Samira swallowed hard, then lowered the sheet from Suha’s face.

  Her hand flew to her gaping mouth. Unable to stifle the declaration of her pain and sorrow, she cried out. Bile rose in her throat, causing her to turn away. She rocked back onto her heels. The thumbs of her fisted hands pressed hard against her chin. Closing her eyes, she willed away the harsh image of the green/blue tint of Suha’s face, the waxy sheen of her skin. She prayed for many minutes, her heart galloping within her small chest. Blood rushed to her ears, muffling the world around her. Several moments passed before the rushing blood calmed and she could once again hear the silence in the room.

  Samira’s stomach churned, pushing the tea she’d had for breakfast into her throat. She swallowed against the acidic intruder, her muscles tense, and went to work washing Suha with careful, tentative movements. Strokes of the washcloth left indentations in Suha’s skin, unnerving Samira anew each time one appeared. She moved her way down to Suha’s chest, three dry wounds stared back at her, accusing, haunting. The shock of the vicious holes knocked her off balance. Samira stepped back from the table. Her knees weakened, sending her down to the cold floor in an awkward hunched over mound, her pigeon-toed feet crossed beneath her. The washcloth lay in a wet heap on the floor, water bleeding into a puddle.

  ***

  Forty minutes later Samira had finished the macabre job of washing Suha’s front and sides. She’d pushed past the disgust, shifting into automaton mode. Her thin fingers pushed Suha’s body, rolling her from her back onto her stomach. The sheet fell away, landing on the water-specked floor. Purple bruises covered Suha’s back, sending a shock through Samira. She dropped Suha’s body like a hot coal, stepping backward, as it connected with the cold stainless steel with a loud Thud! The backs of Suha’s thick thighs were deep purple and black, the backs of her knees a morbid gray. Bruises, thick like mortar, hid the waxy sheen of the aged flesh of Suha’s buttocks, the backs of her arms, and her heels. Samira tried to regain a steady breath. Prayers tumbled from her mouth. The slight blistering of Suha’s skin repulsed her. She moved forward to finish the job, her face pinched, the final images of Suha’s battered body seared into her mind like a nightmare.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “I’ve called his house several times, his cell phone, checked with his parents—I can’t find him anywhere.” Kevin hadn’t been worried when he’d first set out to find Beau. Beau was a sensible man, after all. He might have been angry about Louie, but he’d walk it off. Unless. A disturbing sensation began to nag at the back of his mind.

  “Maybe he’s around the hospital somewhere,” Alice lifted the blinds. Moonlight streaked across Tess’s bed. Halos of light illuminated areas of the parking lot. She turned back toward Kevin, thinking of Tess and the baby. “Have you checked the cafeteria? How about the bathrooms? He’s got to be somewhere. He wouldn’t leave Tess,” Tess’s name fell timidly from her lips. “Oh no, Kevin, what if he thinks—”

  “I’m two steps ahead of you,” Kevin rushed out the door as realization struck them both.
<
br />   ***

  The NICU was a flourish of activity, nurses rushed from one room to the next. The pink and blue scrubs somehow lightened the severity of the environment. Alice found Robert leaning on his elbows, his face in his hands, and Carol, staring at nothing in particular. They were the only people in the waiting room.

  The distraught look in Carol’s eyes was almost too much for Alice to take. Her son was, in essence, missing again, and her premature granddaughter was gravely ill. Alice reached out to touch her arm, then pulled back, uncomfortable with the gesture. She sat, back straight, hands in her lap. Even Carol’s hair had lost its sheen over the past several hours. Alice’s face softened. She reached again for Carol’s arm, touching it lightly.

  Carol turned toward her, her eyelids heavy.

  “How’re you doing?” The caring tone of her own voice surprised her.

  Carol lifted the ends of her lips, reaching for a smile, but falling short.

  “How’s the baby?” Alice asked.

  Robert sat up, inhaling deeply through his nose, exhaling slowly through his mouth, the sadness in his eyes unmistakable.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Alice said.

  Robert shook his head. “They’re doing all they can,” he said quietly.

  Carol turned her blank stare to the entrance again.

  “I’m sure she’ll be okay. The doctors here are very good. Sibley is one of the best hospitals in the area.” Alice knew her words sounded as hollow to them as they did to her.

  Robert nodded, looked down at his lap.

  “Have you seen Beau?” Alice’s confidence had disappeared, replaced with a tentative, unfamiliar nature.

  Robert shook his head.

  “Kevin’s looking for him.” Alice closed her eyes and willed herself to be strong. This was her fault, the pain, Beau’s disappearance. “I’m sorry,” she offered.

  Robert looked up, met her eyes, and held them.

  “About inviting Louie—I’m sorry. I just thought—”

  “That man didn’t cause this,” he said in a calm, even voice.

  “No, but I think Beau left because of him, and that’s my fault.” She held his gaze.

  “Alice, life isn’t full of easy choices. For whatever reason, you thought he should be here. I respect that. All that matters at this moment is that the baby and Tess pull through. Beau’s back, and that, in and of itself, is a gift. Now we need to hold the rest of his family together.” The weight of the situation bound them together in the small room.

  ***

  Kevin raced from floor to floor of the hospital, checking bathrooms, waiting rooms, and hallways. He pushed through the front doors and checked the perimeter of the building. Where the hell was he?

  Driving in D.C. after seven in the evening has its advantages. Kevin made it to Bethesda in twenty minutes. He parked along the curb in front of Beau’s house and raced to the garage—Beau’s car was gone. He looked away from the mangled tree, struck by its gnarled beauty in the moonlight. He focused on finding Beau. His mind ran through a list of Beau’s hangouts, which included only his house, the ESPN Sports Bar during football season (and only if Kevin agreed to watch the game with him), and the hunting camp. He climbed into his truck and headed north.

  ***

  The hood of Beau’s car was cool, he’d been there a while. Kevin opened the front door, sure he’d find Beau on the couch. The emptiness of the pitch black room worried him.

  “Beau?” he called.

  He was met with silence.

  Kevin turned on the overhead light and looked around the small cabin. Nothing was out of place. He stepped back outside and onto the back porch. “Beau?” he hollered.

  He turned back, eying the kitchen. The bureau drawer was open. He walked slowly toward it, wondering what Beau could have taken from the junk-filled drawer. The open box of shells answered his thoughts. Kevin’s eyes shot to the empty wall above the stove. “Shit.” He rushed back outside. “Beau?” he yelled. He hurried to the edge of the woods and called out again.

  There was no answer.

  The silent forest reached for him. Kevin took a step toward the woods, then heard a Thud! behind him.

  “Beau?” He ran toward the sound. “Beau!” he yelled into the night.

  Kevin had become accustomed to the darkness, able to make out the shapes of the small shed and wooden table his father had built when he was just a boy.

  “Beau?” He yanked the shed door open, feeling his way through the camping equipment, tools, and hunting paraphernalia. Adrenaline drove him toward the forest. His heart pounded like a hammer against his chest.

  “Go away.”

  Kevin spun around at the sound of Beau’s weary, broken voice.

  “Beau?” he scanned the forest.

  “Get outta here,” Beau spat.

  Kevin followed his voice and found Beau sitting on the forest floor, his back against a tree. The coppery, sour stench of blood stopped Kevin in his tracks. He reached for Beau, then he saw the gun lying on the ground, the butt against Beau’s leg, his shirt saturated with blood. Kevin grabbed him by the collar and shook him, “What did you do?” he yelled.

  Beau’s head lolled back against the tree. A mocking laugh escaped his lips.

  Kevin tried to pull him to his feet. Beau pushed away from him, staggering backward.

  “I got the mother fucker,” he laughed.

  Kevin’s pulse raced, he kicked the gun away with his foot. “Jesus, Beau,” his voice cracked. Kevin walked slowly toward Beau, his hands up, fingers spread. “Beau, come on. Let’s get you to the—”

  Beau’s face lit into an eerie, unstable smile. Just as Kevin touched his shirt, Beau sidestepped him and dove for the gun, turning it on Kevin.

  Kevin put his hands up and backed away, “Beau, man, come on. What’re you doin’?”

  “What the fuck’m I doin’, he asks.” Beau staggered backwards, deeper into the woods. “I’ll tell you what I’m doin’.” Beau took two steps and collapsed on the forest floor.

  “Jesus!” Kevin ran to his side, grabbed the gun, and snapped open the now-empty chamber. He threw the gun behind him.

  Beau lifted his head. “I got ’im, Kev. I got that mother fucker.” The laugh that followed was a wicked little laugh, the likes of which Kevin could never imagine coming from his best friend.

  “We’ve got to get you to the hospital.” Kevin looped his arms under Beau’s armpits and dragged him toward the truck.

  Beau’s feet dragged on his heels, his legs dangled limply. His arm sprang out to the side, index finger extended. “There he is!”

  Kevin looked in the direction he pointed. There, on the ground, lay a raccoon the size of a small dog, its fur matted with blood, its legs reaching for the sky.

  Beau pried himself from Kevin’s arms, wobbling toward the raccoon. “Mother fucker,” he kicked the dead raccoon.

  “Whoa, man. What’re you doing?” Kevin tried to pull Beau away from the dead animal.

  Beau pushed out of his grip like a crazed animal, grunting and fighting. He kicked the carcass again and again. “Mother fucker ruined my life.” His rage exploded through his toes, sending the raccoon’s limp body hurtling into a tree. “Goddamn son of a bitch.”

  Kevin watched his friend destroy the body of the animal. He moved swift and hard. Sweat covered his face. Thank God, Kevin thought, at least Beau didn’t shoot himself.

  Beau panted, grunting against his own body’s fatigue. He picked up the raccoon and heaved it into the woods with a primitive, indecipherable yell, then sank down onto his heels, his head in his hands, and sobbed.

  ***

  The fight had left Beau’s body. It had taken Kevin thirty minutes to get Beau into the truck. Beau stared straight ahead, his head resting against the window, bobbing against it with each dip in the road. Beau’s chest, stomach, and arms were a map of scratches and punctures. It was two o’clock in the morning, and Beau hadn’t slept in days—more accurately, it had probably b
een months. As he neared Beau’s street, Kevin watched Beau in his peripheral vision, worried about what seeing what had just been an accident scene would do to Beau in his tenuous state.

  “Hey, buddy, why don’t we get cleaned up at my place?” he suggested.

  Beau didn’t respond.

  Kevin took that as agreement and passed Beau’s street.

  “Go back,” Beau’s words were robotic, cold.

  “Are you sure? I’m not sure it’s a good—”

  “Go back.” This time he meant it.

  Kevin turned the truck around and headed up the steep hill toward Beau’s house. The street was dark, punctuated by patches of streetlight illumination. Kevin was thankful for the camouflage of night. He parked the truck in the driveway.

  Beau didn’t stir.

  Worried for his friend, Kevin let out a loud breath. When Beau didn’t move, he said, “Ready?”

  Beau spoke quietly, “How could she do it?” He stared at the house.

  Kevin fidgeted with his keys. He’d always been straightforward with Beau, and now he wasn’t sure if he should be honest or whether he should sugarcoat the whole Louie situation.

  Beau didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Did Alice know?”

  Kevin looked down at his keys and nodded, “Mm-hmm.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t—”