“Oh, my God.” He gagged and quickly covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow. “What have you—” Violent spasms in his throat and stomach forced him to double over. Retching, he used his knees for support and tried his damnedest to gain control of his body.
“What have you done?” he cried, his heart breaking, everything good in his world suddenly turning to shit. Dimples jerked her head toward him. Blood was smeared on her face, as if someone had used her cheeks for finger painting. It coated her t-shirt, her jeans and her…hands.
Oh, God. Her hands.
They were inside the woman lying on the floor. Inside her swollen stomach. The thick flesh surrounded Dimples’s wrists. When he finally met his wife’s gaze, utter terror caused his knees to buckle. He dropped to the tile, cracking his knees in the process. The pain functioned as a warning that this was real and not a nightmare he could ever wake from.
“I…help me,” Dimples said on a frustrated sob. “I can’t get him out.”
His first instinct was to run. To grab his wife, rush her to the truck and haul her ass out of there. But if the woman and baby died, they’d have gone from kidnapping to murder. They would be murderers. A label he couldn’t have blackening his soul.
Ever.
Not even for Dimples.
He side-stepped the puddle of blood creating a stream. “Is she alive?” he asked and crouched next to the woman.
“Who cares? We need to save the baby. He’s stuck and I don’t understand why.”
Holding the woman’s wrist, he checked for a pulse. Faint. “She’s still alive.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dimples cried. “Please, help me save my baby. God gave him to us and we can’t disappoint Him. Please, Wayne.”
God hadn’t given them this baby, He had taken away theirs and had turned Dimples into an obsessed woman. “We need to call 911 and leave. Let the paramedics save them.”
“No,” she shouted. “This baby is mine. And they’ll both be dead before anyone can save them. We have to save him. Now help me.”
He stood and took a step back, shaking his head. “This is wrong.” He stared at the poor woman. If not for Dimples, she could’ve had the baby the right way. In a hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses. Instead she lay prone on the tiles in a puddle of her own blood. “This is so wrong.”
“Stop acting righteous and help me.”
If only she could see and understand how wrong she was, that she was sick. That she needed help. “This ain’t right. We can’t—”
She ripped her hands from the woman’s stomach. Blood flowed profusely from the slice along her distended belly, as well as internal organs he couldn’t name. His throat constricted, then heaved. The acrid taste of bile now filled his parched mouth. He fought back the urge to vomit, worried about leaving any evidence behind, and quickly looked to the woman’s face. Pale, yet serene, she looked on the verge of death. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t allow them to lose their freedom and be separated. No matter the wrong Dimples had done, he loved her and didn’t know how to exist without her.
“Well, if you’re not gonna help me,” she said, and stood. “Then I guess I’ll do it my daggone self.” She started opening kitchen drawers, the blood coating her gloved hands dripping and smearing everywhere she touched. “This should do it.” She held a carving knife high, then knelt between the woman’s legs.
His stomach churned with disgust and nausea. How could he ever look at her the same? How could he ever hold her in his arms, kiss her, make love to her without seeing the blood of another woman coating her hands and face?
“I swear,” she began as he helplessly looked on, “those doctors make it look so easy on them TV shows.” She pulled a flap of the woman’s skin and began carving her flesh away as if she were slicing a Thanksgiving turkey. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve watched those baby story shows on cable?”
“Stop,” he shouted. “Look at yourself. Look what you’re doing. You’re better than this. We don’t need a baby this bad—”
“Don’t you tell me what I need,” she screamed back, wielding the bloodied knife. Then she went back to work on the woman. “You weren’t the one who had all of those miscarriages. You weren’t the one who nearly died and was in a coma.” She winced and grunted as she shoved the woman’s flesh aside and reached back inside of her. “I’ve got him.” She grinned. “Oh, Lord, Wayne, I think I finally have a good hold on him.”
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t help her. Not with this.
“Go,” she ordered. “Grab those kitchen towels behind me. I’m going to pull him out and set him on them. Then we can—”
Dimples finally slipped the baby from Missy’s stomach, then choked back a sob when she saw that the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. “No. No. No,” she wailed over and over.
This couldn’t be. It. Just. Couldn’t.
“This was God’s design.” She looked over the beautiful boy, coated in blood and mucus. So perfect. So precious. “I…I don’t understand.”
“Dimples,” Wayne said, his voice ragged. “We have to go. Now.”
She tore her gaze away from the baby that had been destined to give them what they’d needed. A new beginning. A rebirth. A new life.
And it was gone.
She pulled the little bundle closer to her heart, but the cord stopped her. Outraged, she grabbed the carving knife and quickly slit the cord. The baby freed from its mother, she hugged him close, willing him to move, to cry to—
“Maybe there’s a chance,” she gasped and hiccupped. “Get me those dish towels.”
After Wayne dropped them on the floor, she gently laid the baby down. CPR. That should do the trick. She would remove the cord around his neck and breathe life into their child, and bring him back.
She knocked the itchy wig off and bent down, but Wayne grabbed her by the back of her hair and pulled hard. So hard, tears, not from grief but from pain, stung her eyes.
“No,” he roared. “He’s gone. You’ve done enough. Anything more will get us in trouble. We have to leave. Now.”
“The baby,” she sobbed, and looked up at him. “He…it wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
Why? Why God? Answer me, please.
“Put the baby down with the mother.” Wayne eased his grip on her hair. “There’s nothing more we can do.”
“Is this—” Her throat clenched. “Is this how our Elton looked after they took him from me?”
“Yes,” he hissed, his eyes red, his face soaked with tears. “But they cleaned him up before letting me see him.” He quickly held his hand over his face and wept. His broad shoulders shook, and in that moment she realized the burden of losing their child had been on him more than it had ever been on her.
She looked down at Missy Schneider’s stomach, then to the baby on the towels. If Missy wasn’t dead yet, she would be. Which had obviously been God’s plan all along. As the scriptures said, He did work in mysterious ways. Maybe, like her and Wayne’s baby, this one wasn’t meant to live here on Earth. Maybe this was a test. A test to see if she was worthy enough, strong enough to be a real mother. To bring a new life into this world and raise the child as her own.
That moment of clarity she’d experienced when she’d first walked into Missy’s kitchen and caught the sunlight haloing her, returned. She saw it now and understood. This was nothing but a test. A test she hadn’t failed.
She looked to her husband. Wayne, on the other hand, hadn’t persevered like she had. He’d wept like a child. He’d tried to stop her. Maybe if he hadn’t… No. She picked up the baby and kissed the top of his head. This boy wasn’t meant to bless this earth, just as her Elton hadn’t. Those two were special and above all the others she’d had the grace of knowing.
After giving the baby a final kiss, she stood and walked around Missy’s blood, then carefully rested the baby on the woman’s chest. “Do you think she’s gone?”
Wayne bent and grabbed Missy’s
wrist. “I think so.”
Nodding, she stepped away from the two bodies and ripped several sheets off the roll of paper towels setting on the counter. “They’re in God’s arms now,” she said, wiping the blood from her gloves.
“And who will hold you when you die?”
She slowly met his gaze. “You don’t think God will?”
He clenched his jaw and looked away. “We have to put distance between us.”
Wayne had a right to be angry for what she’d done, but he couldn’t leave her. Panicking, she dropped the paper towel on the floor and rushed to his side. He was all she had left in the world. He was the only person she could trust. “I love you, Wayne. Please don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear—”
He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her toward the patio door. “I meant, we need to put miles between us and this place.”
She pulled free. “Wait.”
Returning to Missy’s outstretched thighs, she crouched and collected the tools from the dissecting kit, along with the wig and the ball peen hammer she’d slammed against Missy’s temple. “There’s a plastic grocery bag in my purse. Get it for me.”
When Wayne plucked the bag from her purse and held it open, she dropped the items in it. “Carry my purse for me.” She didn’t want Missy and the baby’s blood ruining her new purse. She looked down at the dark blood staining her shirt and jeans. The clothes would have to be burned. The dissecting kit and hammer would need to be bleached. Maybe she should clean the tools here. Her overnight bag was just outside in the truck. She could also remove the bloodied clothes, then burn them later.
“Come on,” Wayne demanded, slinging the purse over his shoulder and tugging on her arm. “We have to go.”
“I was just thinking that maybe I should change my clothes—”
“No.” He dragged her out the patio door and then along the back of the house. “Change in the truck.”
“And risk getting blood on the seats? You watch those crime shows. You know how easy it is for forensics people to find blood evidence.”
He let go of her when they reached the truck. “Don’t move,” he said, opening the back, passenger door and pulling out their overnight bag stashed on the floorboard. He unzipped the bag, took out the shorts and shirt she’d worn yesterday, then set them on the back seat. “Where are the baby wipes?”
“In the front pocket of the bag.”
He unzipped the pocket and then began plucking the wipes. He gave her a handful. “Make it quick.” He set the plastic grocery bag filled with the dissecting kit, wig and hammer on the driveway. “Put everything in here when you’re done,” he said, his tone cold, distant, then he moved around the front of the truck and climbed behind the wheel.
With no time to think about how Wayne had treated her, as if he were disgusted, as if she were a monster, she quickly whipped off the latex gloves, tossed them in the bag, then shed her soiled clothes and did the same. Before donning the fresh clothes, she used the baby wipes to take the blood off of her arms, then dressed. She set the bag inside the truck, slammed the door, then opened the front passenger door. Wayne had already started the truck and had the air conditioning blasting. She buckled her seatbelt and rolled up her window. When Wayne hadn’t started driving, she turned to him.
“Why aren’t we leaving?”
Tears filling his narrowed eyes, he reached in the back and handed her the baby wipes. “You have the woman’s blood on your face.”
She opened the visor and checked her reflection in the mirror. Somehow she’d smeared blood over her face, making her look like a warrior who had just come off the battlefield. Trying to take the baby from Missy had been a battle. She’d fought hard, and had lost. Fresh tears streamed down her face and helped bathe away the blood. She’d lost her baby. Again. But God would give her another. In her heart, she somehow knew this.
Her face now clean, she closed the visor and put the wipes in the bag. “Better?”
Without answering, Wayne shifted into gear and drove the F-150 down the long, winding driveway. When they reached the road, he turned right and gunned it.
“Aren’t you gonna say anything to me?” she asked, worried that what she’d done to Missy would put a barrier between them. “Well?”
When he didn’t answer her, she pressed her head against the headrest and looked out the window. “I understand that you’re mad at me.”
“Mad doesn’t begin to describe how I’m feeling.”
“If you hate me—”
“I don’t hate you.”
“If you want to leave me—”
“I ain’t leaving you, either.”
Relief broke through the grief of losing the baby.
“I can’t leave you,” he continued. “You’re the only person who knows our secrets and I need to make sure it stays that way.”
“You know I’d never tell.”
“I also thought I’d never see my wife gutting a woman.” He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “What the hell got into you? With no thought for me, you risked our freedom. Jesus Christ, you murdered a woman for her baby.”
“Wayne Cooke,” she gasped. “How dare you take the Lord’s name in vain?”
“That’s the least of my concerns. God or Jesus, or whatever the hell higher power you pray to, wasn’t there to save that woman and her baby. God wasn’t there to save our son, either. He didn’t lead you to that woman. You chose to go after what you wanted. You’re sick. When we get to Chicago we need to get you help. I ain’t doing this no more.”
Her stomach knotted. They couldn’t stop now. Not when they were so close to fulfilling their dreams. “Does this mean you won’t help me get us another baby?”
He whipped his hat off and threw it across the dash. “Didn’t you hear a word I said? I’m not doing this again. No more babies. No more running. And if you don’t get help, I’m gonna—”
“Leave?” She swiped a tear from her cheek. “I thought you needed to keep your secrets safe.”
He sent her a sideways glance and she caught her breath. Never, in all the years she’d known Wayne, had he looked at her with hatred in his eyes. Panic clawed at her chest. She loved her husband, respected him and their marriage. He was angry, and rightfully so. But his words crushed her. How could he give up on her, on God’s design for them?
“We both have horrible secrets,” he finally said. “Unless you want us to be separated and spend the rest of our lives in prison, you’ll keep quiet.”
“Why would I ever tell?”
“Why would you ever think giving a pregnant woman a C-section was okay?” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what to think anymore. For thirteen years I’ve gone along with your family planning. I’ve let you lead me around by the nose and did what I was told.”
“I never meant for you to feel like I was disrespecting you. Ever. I’m so sorry you felt that way. Please, hon, let me make it right. I don’t want what happened today to come between us.”
“It already has.” He reached for the dash and turned on the radio. “I don’t want to talk right now,” he said, settling on a classic rock radio station.
Crossing her arms, she let her head roll to the side and stared at the passing terrain. To think, less than thirty minutes ago she’d had her hands inside a woman’s body, her fingers wrapped around the baby she’d carried. He really had been perfect and, as it’d turned out, Missy was right to have been concerned about her baby’s health. She’d said she had felt the baby move earlier this morning, but not much after. The child had probably already passed on before she and Wayne had even left their hotel room. Such a shame. But the real shame was that Wayne didn’t see that God did have a plan. He’d taken Missy’s baby because he was too beautiful for this earth. He’d given her Missy as a learning tool, but also to help give Missy the mercy she deserved. The poor woman had no husband and, from what she’d learned, no money. Plus, if she’d had the baby on her own and under her doctor’s care, she would have lived only to s
pend her life grieving.
What she’d done for Missy had been decent and kind. With the grace of God, she’d sent Missy to heaven to join her baby. In return, Missy had gifted her with knowledge. The woman had given her the faith and encouragement she would need to face the future. She’d given her confidence. When the time was right, she would take those gifts and put them to good use. Now that she knew what to expect, the next C-section should go off without a hitch.
Easy-breezy.
Dang, though. Missy sure had been a perfect choice. Finding another just like her wouldn’t be easy, but Chicago was a huge city. With close to three million people living there, she was bound to find herself another Missy. Only Wayne could never know. Not until she brought the baby home and surprised him.
He thought she needed help, and she might, just not the type Wayne envisioned. She turned her head away from the window and glanced at her husband’s slim but strong arms. No. She didn’t need a head doctor examining her thoughts.
She needed help hiding the next body.
A fat raindrop hit the windshield. Followed by another, then another until the sky opened up and unleashed a torrential downpour. As Wayne put the windshield wipers on high, she glanced out the back window. Nothing but clear blue skies.
“This looks to be a bad storm. Maybe we should stop at the next town and ride it out,” she suggested.
“No way.” He exited onto another road. “Grab the GPS from the glove box. We’re gonna go around it. I want to be as far away from Montour as possible. Which is exactly where the storm is heading.”
She considered pointing out that, once again, this was God’s way of intervening. He was sending the storm west, bathing the land with his goodness and covering their tracks. For the moment, though, Wayne had fallen away from God. He’d come back around. After all, how could he not see the joy and beauty of the Lord when he looked into the eyes of a child? And she would give him a child. Very soon they’d be a family again and their lives would be complete.
Yes. Once they reached Chicago and settled themselves into an apartment, she’d begin her hunt. Beneath the tall skyscrapers and bright city lights was a woman who didn’t deserve the child she carried. And with God on her side, she’d find that woman. She’d find her and take what belonged to her.
Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) Page 15
