by Poppet
But to protect 'god' I had to prepare a number of escape routes and hideouts, without his knowledge. Thank fuck for small mercies because now I'm implementing my own plan, for Shauna and me.
Getting her to the recovery room, I rest her down on the hospital gurney, reaching for the blood pressure armband, securing it and pumping air pressure.
She seems more than traumatised.
Jude strolls in, leaning his shoulder against the door frame, smiling at me as if he just escaped the death penalty and was told to walk free.
The feeling is entirely mutual.
“We did it,” he announces gleefully.
Nodding, reading her BPM and blood pressure, I nod, “Yup.”
Picking up on my tension, he joins me, standing on her other side, bending to pry open her eyelids, checking her irises and pupils. “She's dehydrated. Are the IV's in the fridge?”
“Yup,” I affirm, fighting the panic at her weak pulse.
Snatching the stethoscope I rest it on her lungs, then her heart, then on her bulging belly.
She's fading. Fuck!
Snatching the IV and catheter from Jude when he returns, I snap, “Pulse is very weak, she's experiencing cardiac arrhythmia–”
Not needing me to spell it out, he turns to the defibrillation paddles, switching them on. She's at high risk for myocardial infarction and it's better to be prudent than overconfident at this junction.
Leaving him to map her pulse, planting the self-adhering anodes to her chest, I insert the catheter, attaching the IV into her vein, withdrawing the needle to look at him, my despair acute.
We came so far only to be faced with this?
It would be a fucking cruel fate to have rescued her from Hades only to have her die the second we get her to safety.
Grinning at me, his jubilation refusing to be quashed, he says, “If I can rescue you from death's door, this will be a walk in the park.”
He's suffering the high of victory, my only victory will be when she opens her eyes, is lucid and healthy, holding me in her delicate hands and kissing me the way she used to.
Fear ratchets higher and my sorrow is interfering with my impartial ability to work without emotion.
He reads me, having spent so much vulnerable time in his company, that he barks, “Out. If I need you I'll call you. Go get that sweaty gear off, take a shower, have a stiff drink. I've got this.”
“No Jude, I can't just –”
“OUT! You're a hindrance until you get your head straight. Move!”
“FUCK!” I shout at him, rage warring with sanity.
Pissed off, I follow my logic instead of my heart, storming out of the room, into the dusty digs of the dilapidated house. Kicking the first chair in my path, the leg splinters, the item skittering across the floor to thud into the wall.
Fucking fuck!
Slumping into a crouch I lean my back against the wall, cradling my head with elbows on my knees, wishing I could pray for her but knowing there's no god to pray to. The spirit is within us, not without. Only blind fools adhere to separatism.
Laughing with deprecation, I choke on the lump murdering my Adam's apple.
I've come so far out of my darkness that I can now see hypocrisy in his 'perfect book'. I can see the war over souls and minds blatantly in the written creeds and testimonials.
And it's all too little too late.
My love refuses to give up. Maybe her love kept me alive when I was 'dead'. It's time for me to return the favour.
After I clean up and scoff fuel to resurrect my flagging sugar levels, I'll stay by her side indefinitely. She will return.
She has to!
Chapter 25
Sometimes they (photos) are a matter of patience,
waiting for an effect to be repeated that he has seen and lost
or for one that he anticipates.
~ Bill Brandt
Victor:
It's with a weird sense of déjà vu that I administer to my angel. I cannot deny the evidence riddling her body, it wears the map of her torment, a conglomeration of torture induced by my blind faith. She has suffered by my hand and His, and for this atrocity I will live the rest of my days overcompensating for my sins.
I erased the hard evidence of my inflictions and afflictions after I destroyed her, as though... if I couldn't see them it would simultaneously erase my transgressions against her heart and mind, but this...
This is blatant disregard for her beauty, as if it was an aphrodisiac for him to see the evidence of his fanaticism externally. Again it's an act of denial, as if only the outside was wounded, that when the skin heals the psychological damage fades with it. What we have done is wrought heinous acts on her mind and soul, we've snuffed her spirit with the asphyxiation of cruelty, and we justified it with religion. Her body will heal but the trauma to her unseen beauty is permanent. We can deny it when we look at a person who appears 'healed', but the only person we convince are ourselves.
She's had to live with the repercussions of our actions. She has cried more tears than any woman should. What kind of religion takes joy in causing emotional duress and desperation? This world needs to be rescued from the cult of the cruel one. He's a liar and a thief, and he has been from inception.
Fuck, I have so much to atone for. So much!
No cruelty is justified. Love does not harm, it heals. There is no love where there is fear and pain; it's as simple as that. And I am persecuted by my guilt, at what she's lived through on my account.
As soon as Shauna was stabilised I drove Jude to the rendezvous point. I have a message service set up in case he ever needs to get hold of me, and likewise. We'll no longer carry cell phones because they all have GPS tracking. It's too risky.
He's a mastermind at digital espionage, securing fake identities for us, along with offshore bank accounts with our stash from emptying out John's accumulated drug money.
The future looks hopeful. I have a cottage we'll end up living in on the outskirts of Norway. My father's reach has focused mainly on the colonies and English speaking nations, and I'm hoping our isolation in a rural location will ensure Shauna and myself can grow old together without worry. We'll never have to work as financially we are secure, and I will dedicate the rest of my life to keeping her safe.
Jude steps in, slapping my shoulder heartily before moving back and shaking my hand in twenty different combinations. “I'm going to miss you, buddy. We make one heckuva team.”
Nodding, grinning, I punch his arm, “It's mutual. I can't thank you enough. Whenever you need me, do not hesitate to call. I owe you my life, and hers.”
He looks like a rascal, his smile so naughty I can only imagine what he's planning next, “Get out of here. I'll check in once a month. If you don't hear from me, you have the key to the safety deposit. It contains everything you need.”
The fact that he's planned so far in advance gives me unease. He's thorough, every one of his back up plans has a back-up plan. I imagine if something happens to him every computer used within the brotherhood will develop an instant worm, feeding archived intel to law enforcement agencies, cc'ing news agencies the world over. If this man goes down he will take an empire into the dust with him.
Fuck, Alpha trained us so well. Did he never realise we'd make his worst enemies?
Shaking his hand again, I look up the deserted road, “You sure they're coming for you?”
“I'm sure, they're just waiting for you to fuck off before they show themselves. And if I know my guys you currently have thirty-three sniper rifles trained on your left eye.”
Laughing, I incline my head, “And on that cheerful note, I bid you a safe journey. You are forever my brother.”
Making the brotherhood sign, he looks emotional, “And you are mine. A brother I'd lay down my life for. Thank you, Victor. May you live up to your name and remain victorious.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I leave it at that, stalking to the pickup truck and heading back to my hideaway.
He knows our location which means I have to move us out today. One can never be too paranoid.
I'm a dead man, who might become a wanted man if word leeks that I'm still alive and am wholly responsible for the attack on Alpha's command central.
But who will issue the order?
The only ghost haunting me is the uncertainty of his death. If he was in the compound at the time of the assault then he is now a pile of ash, but if he wasn't he'll be raping the minds of every one of his men to get to the truth. All fingers will point at Jude because he'll be the only one missing.
Fuck.
I can hope, but hope is futile. I must make certain, and by trying to find my father I risk being spotted.
I should just let it go and run away with my lady. My priority should be keeping her safe, but I owe Jude our lives. I can't abandon him to fate. If I do, I may get his SOS too late.
Driving back under the camouflage of the jungle's thick canopy, I'm relieved to be alone with her. Shutting the engine off, I hop down, moving to the other vehicle. It's a mobile hospital now. Checking the water, oil, and battery, I head indoors to grab my gear and ready my babe for transit.
The big van is packed with supplies and our meagre belongings. I desperately need to get to a location where I can order clothes for her online. She can't wear my t-shirts for the rest of her life.
Striding to her room to wheel her out to the van, I release the IV from the hook, attaching it to the bed frame, ready to wheel her out and relocate us expeditiously, when her hand moving from her side onto her stomach stalls me.
Frozen behind her head, looking down at her from behind when she lolls her head left and clears her throat, I pounce into action, moving quickly to her side, inspecting eyes reacting to daylight.
You're back! Thank fuck!
Pulling the rickety stool to her side, I sit, stroking her cheek, then surreptitiously moving my hand down her arm to 'hold her hand', checking her pulse as I do. “How are you feeling?”
She's been unconscious for a week and it's driven me near insane. I don't know how Jude coped with me in a coma for more than two months, it would have driven me barmy.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, blinking slowly, looking disoriented.
Reaching to the table I grab an ice-cube, running it over her lips, watching as she licks the melted residue.
She's still so beautiful. Looking at her watching me melts my heart right along with the ice.
Giving it a rest, I smooth her hair back, “Shauna? How are you feeling?”
Blinking some more, she frowns at me, saying curtly, “Fine.”
Wow. I thought she'd be overjoyed to see me alive and kicking, but I guess not.
Holding up my finger, I check, “Follow my finger.”
She does.
“How many fingers am I now holding up?”
“Three.”
Well she's back, but I'm pretty miserable with her bland reaction to me.
“How are you?” I ask again, holding her hand tighter.
“Fine.”
One word answers. O-kay.
“Are you thirsty, hungry? Can I get you anything?”
“No.”
Hang on a sec, I know these symptoms. Rifling in my pocket I extract the keys, taking the pin out of my utility knife. Holding her finger, I prick it, waiting for a reaction.
She just lies there, staring at me with nothing but a blank expression.
“Did you feel that?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Yes.”
Sitting back, releasing her, I cross my arms, “Why didn't you react?”
“The flesh is weak. It must be disciplined.”
Fuck! FUCK!
Snapping into a stand, I push the stool out of my way, pocketing my knife, staring out the dirty window.
She's not here. She's not who I hoped she would be when she regained consciousness.
Deriding myself mentally, I turn back to her, putting on a brave face, “I'm relocating you to a safer location. Okay?”
“Yes.”
And just when you think redemption is at your door and the people you've hurt will forgive you when you have the chance to tell them how damn sorry you are, they will no longer hear you because you alone have turned their hearts to stone and made their minds deaf to your pleas.
Lifting her hand, I kiss the back of it, looking into her eyes and stating the only fact that matters. “I love you.”
She blinks slowly, staring somewhere into the distance, sliding her attention far far away from me.
“Did you hear me, Shauna?”
“Yes.”
“Will you drink some water for me?”
“Yes.”
Picking up the unused tumbler I fill it with the melted ice-water, cupping her head and helping her drink. That'll lubricate her throat, easing the parched scratch.
Looking out the window again, the dawn of my freedom seems bleak. I was hoping for a reunion, what I get instead is karma.
And it's biting my ass.
Chapter 26
There is no fear in love;
Perfect love drives out all fear.
~ 1 John 4:18
Victor:
The antithesis of fear is kindness. The antidote to pain is love. I know exactly what kind of madness she was exposed to in order to force her emotional centre to shut down.
It's an act of self-preservation when survival overrides inherent human traits. The lady who was my wife is so far beyond being able to experience fear, or entertain her own opinions, to rationalise actions or experiences.
We've been here for thirteen weeks, on the outskirts of civilisation, and every day I wake her with a kiss, putting her coffee down, replacing the flowers on her night-stand.
I hold her hand, I've played only jovial music, bought only comedies and romances off iTunes to while away evenings, asked her to dance with me, hike with me, be playful with me, but still the breakthrough I've been pining for is frustratingly beyond my reach.
I chose Norway because it's so far removed from the desert of her captivity. It's lush and verdant, the air soothing and clean, the dry dustiness no longer a constant in her environment. I don't know what her triggers are but I've done my best to remove every reminder of that place.
So far life is peaceful, without threat. By my reckoning, even if Alpha survived that assault to his compound, it will be assumed that Shauna is as dead as 'her husband'.
To him we are both dead, so there is no reason to search for us. The blessing and curse for her is that after six months of pregnancy the baby stopped moving. I cannot fathom the catalyst for it, perhaps it was everything combined. Being proficient as a surgeon has its perks, but she showed no remorse or reaction to losing the child. She speaks only when spoken to, often looking away from me rather than make eye contact.
It's deplorable. This status quo breaks my heart daily. If she wanted revenge she has exacted it multiple times.
Closing the curtains, lighting the candles, I walk through the cabin to the bathroom, running her bubble bath. She has a diabolical aversion to what used to be her favourite foods, so now I'm just playing it by ear. I have a casserole in the oven which we'll tuck into after she's had her bath and is bundled up against the chill in the air. Perhaps I'll light a fire this evening.
Her perfume of choice used to be First, and in my inferior wisdom I purchased copious amounts of the stuff, making a bubble bath solution for her using it as the fragrance base.
It pulls the edges of my mouth down recalling why she picked that perfume out of the hordes of variety in this world. She said she had always wanted to come first to somebody. Just once in her life she wished someone would put her first, to make her feel special and cherished.
Again, I embody this characteristic too late for it to do an ounce of good. I can't fix all the mistakes I've made, or balm the hurt I've inflicted over the years, but there is one person who I can still save from my previous madness
. I will never give up on her. I will dedicate my life to this rescue. I owe her everything and more, this is no hardship when the motivation is sound, the roots deep, drinking from the subspiritual well of love.
Love is unconditional. That's why all those scriptures about punishment can't possibly come from a source of love. Love would never inflict an egotistical motive into something so pure. It's emotional blackmail and extortion which debases and corrupts the concept and reality of love without cost. Love without payment. Love which requires no-thing in return. Love can't run out or deplete, it's endless and infinite, it requires no 'fuel' or allegiance to exist. It simply 'is'.
It's spiritual, it makes me repentant and contrite, it makes me ashamed for my mistakes, it brings me to task because when you truly know love you want to give it away, to show it, to share it, with the ones you love.
I know after so much reflection and self-analysis that I love Shauna. I don't resent her for putting me through nights of cold silence and stilted interaction. I just want her to heal. Even if when she comes back to her mind and emotions she wishes me dead and gone. Just to have her whole again will make me grateful beyond measure.
Testing the water, I turn off the taps. Readying her towel and bathrobe, I exit the steamed up room, stalking to the lounge to escort her.
Holding out both my hands, I coax, “Time for your bath m'lady. Take my hands and I'll spoil you like the princess you are.”
This is almost like living with someone afflicted with Alzheimer's. We go through the same motions with the exact same result, daily.
Putting her hands in mine she lets me draw her out of her seat at the window, walking with my arm around her waist to the en-suite bathroom.
Undressing her, I get her settled into the water, picking up the bath sponge and lathering it with gel, foaming it and then lifting her foot out of the water, softly squishing the sea-sponge between her toes, pausing to appreciate her rosy cheeks and perfect complexion.
