Indivisible
Page 32
Had they gone into surgery knowing only one would come out? He didn’t know which would have been worse, for Liz to know Lucy would die or to lose her unprepared. Certainly Liz was wounded and unstable, but what could it possibly have to do with Piper?
He traced back through all their interactions up to Scout. His chest went cold. If she’d hurt the pup to punish him, what would she do to punish Tia? He shoved the laptop onto the table, reached down, and disconnected his IV.
Thirty-Three
We were two and had but one heart between us.
—FRANÇOIS VILLON
Two steel surgical tables side by side. Just like when they’d wheeled her, sedated but not yet anesthetized, into the bright room. She had stared at the two tables thinking that for the first time they’d have separate beds. With Lucy’s arm wrapped around her chest, her head nestled into her neck, fear had formed a taste on the back of her tongue, a bitter taste like tears held too long.
“Lizzie?” The word came into her mind since Lucy had grown too weak to speak.
“Don’t be scared, Lucy.”
“I wish I were you. You’re never scared.”
But she was. When Lucy had gone into the deep sleep the night before the surgery, they had told her, “Lizzie, the separation could give you a normal life.” And the scary, scary thing was she had wanted it—but only for a moment. Until she remembered she had a special life. They had said so from the start. She and Lucy would always have each other.
“I don’t want to be alone, Lizzie.”
“You won’t, I promise.”
Someone moaned. Liz shook herself. The horse tranquilizer was wearing off. She hadn’t intended it to take Piper through surgery. That would require anesthesia. She dragged the tarp to the nearer table, untied the thin rope threaded through the eyeholes.
Even lame, she was strong, and Piper, though taller, was slight. She looked to the other table where her mutilated sister lay, one leg hanging from a concave torso, so many missing organs. How she had survived so long was a mystery, a miracle. But they’d been miracles from the start.
Unconscious, she had felt no pain, no cutting, no untangling. But she had felt Lucy leave. She had felt the separateness begin.
As Tia drove, Miles hunched beside her, gripping his big knees. Overwhelmed with concern for Piper, he had not reacted to her touch but rushed with her into the Xterra. In a calmer voice than she could have produced, he said, “If she wanted to hurt her, why did she take her?”
Tia frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She cut the pup, but she didn’t take the pup.”
“She wanted Jonah to bring it to her.”
“She could have cut Piper. But you wouldn’t take her to a vet. You would go to a hospital.”
“So you think”—Tia turned too sharply, and the tires squealed—“she wants me to find her?”
“She could have just hurt her, but she didn’t.”
Tia tried to put herself in Liz’s place. The woman had come to the house and to the store. Both times she’d seen her with Piper. “What are you doing here?” And Piper’s “I live here.” Liz must have hoped she would guess, known she would act.
Tia drew a deeper breath than she had yet. “It does her no good to hurt Piper. If she wanted to lure me—” Or was she the real target? Maybe … “It’s Jonah she wants. She despises me.”
Miles turned. “You would call him to help Piper.”
Her knuckles whitened. “Doesn’t she know he’s in the hospital?”
Miles shrugged, miserable. “To help Piper, maybe …”
“He’s been shot, Miles. What can he do?”
“But if you called him, he might help.”
Lord. Groping, she raised her phone, speed-dialed and, when he answered, said, “Jonah. I think it might be Liz.”
“I think so too.” He sounded winded. “And pathology could be extreme.”
“What do you mean?”
“She had a sister.”
“Yes, I know. She’s ill. Liz buys her scented melts.”
“No listen. They were twins, conjoined twins. Her sister died in separation.”
“What?” She thought of Liz shopping, the tenderness in her eyes, her brittle smile. “Did you know about a sister?”
“She never said a word. Whatever she’s doing, Ti, it stems from that. The raccoons. All of it.”
The raccoons. The cats. The … pups. “I thought it was like Scout. That she was luring us—you—to her again.”
“I don’t know what it is. But you keep away from her. I’m on my way there now.”
“Well,” Tia turned in and hit the brakes. “I’m already there.”
An antiseptic smell filled the room as Liz sterilized the instruments, light glinting off the stainless steel. Attaching Lucy’s damaged organs to Piper’s would be the most tenuous part. But without that Lucy would die.
She took her twin’s limp hand and kissed it, then laid it gently back. “I wish this could be me, Lucy, but I have to perform the surgery. I’ve done the best I could.” Her twin was so small, had hardly grown at all. Piper had strong legs, a strong back, healthy organs. She could carry her, sustain her. She would not let Lucy die.
Piper stirred. Liz bent and slipped her arms under the young woman’s back, clasping her wrists over the breastbone. She pulled her up to sit, and Piper’s head lolled. She had found Lucy a beautiful body. Only the best for Lucy.
And when her twin had someone else? What then?
Rest.
She pushed the thought away. With all her strength, she rolled Piper’s upper body onto the table, pushed her hips and legs until she lay on her side. Piper blinked. Should she sedate her again? She had hoped she wouldn’t have to. Anesthesia was tricky enough, but Piper gripped the edge of the table, fighting for consciousness. She had no choice.
Liz reached for a needle, just enough to keep her still until all was ready. “I’m doing this for Lucy. She’ll die without you.”
“Liz,” Tia said behind her.
Liz snatched a scalpel from the sterilized tray and held it to Piper’s neck. She turned to Tia, frozen beside an enormous man.
“What are you doing?” Tia’s voice was calm, caring, but she knew better.
“I’m saving Lucy.” She looked at the table, saw Lucy’s pleading eyes. “She can’t make it on her own. She isn’t strong enough.”
She expected a harsh response, but Tia’s eyes softened. “You love her so much.”
“More than you could know.”
Tia took a step toward her. “But you can’t save her, Liz. As much as you want to now, as much as you wanted to then.”
Liz jerked. “She’s awake. Doctor, she’s looking.” Coming out of anesthesia. Seeing her sister, what was left of her sister … Then darkness.
“Lizzie,” Lucy moaned.
Liz shook her head. “They took you once, Luce, but they won’t take you again.”
Tia took another step. “You’ve done everything you can to keep her alive. But I know you’re tired.”
“No.”
“That’s why you needed Piper. Because you can’t do it alone. It’s too much.”
“I’m the strong one.” Liz shook away the flashes of Lucy on the operating table. She had been a whole person before they cut her away. “Stop it.”
Tia moved in again. “It must have been like losing yourself.”
“My other self,” Liz breathed in a voice closer to Lucy’s.
A siren sounded outside, another farther away.
Her whole body quaked. “I have to save her.” Tia’s voice came soft and low. “The only way you can is to save yourself.”
Liz shook her head. “Why should I?”
“You’re as valuable as Lucy.”
She clenched her jaw. “They cut her off like a tumor, a malignancy.” She heard someone at the door, saw Jonah with a gun held down along his leg. Would he shoot her? End it now? Liz trembled.
“Step back, Tia.” H
is voice was firm, commanding.
But she didn’t. Tia held out her hand. “Give Lucy the dignity she deserves. Let her die in peace.”
Liz looked over, expecting Lucy’s pleading eyes, the rasping breath, but the table was empty. A racking sorrow started deep inside, wrenching her apart with an animal groan more primitive than words.
The scalpel clattered to the floor. She stared at Tia, a woman whose friendship she had coveted, at the young woman on the table who had known that friendship. She felt Jonah’s grip on her elbow, the man she had hoped to love, saw the deep concern in his eyes. Maybe it was real, but how would she know? How would she ever know real again?
Confused and disoriented, Piper pressed up from the table.
Tia stood beside her asking questions, but before she could answer, Miles crossed the room, pulled her into a hug, and squeezed her tight.
“Wow,” she breathed. “Wow.”
Thirty-Four
For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow; but woe to him that is alone when he falleth: for he hath not another to help him up.
—ECCLESIASTES 4:10, KING JAMES VERSION
Seeing Jonah wince as he eased out of the Bronco, Tia shook her head. “You should have listened to the doctor.”
He paused to get his breath. “I don’t want another night with bars between us.”
She couldn’t argue, even if all they did was hold each other. She needed the connection of arms and hearts after witnessing the haunting solitude of Liz Rainer.
Supporting Jonah up the porch stairs, she drew in the scent of pines, of coming winter, of her incredible, obstinate husband. “If you won’t go back to the hospital, you at least need to rest.”
“I have to do one thing first.” He made his way inside to the corner shelf near the fireplace and stared at the bottle of Kentucky bourbon. She’d wondered what it was doing there, but she held her tongue when he raised his hand and stroked the long neck and fancy label. He took the bottle into his hands, then, turning, started back outside. Aching or not, if he was ending six years sober, he would do it where he felt most alive, outside on the mountain.
Clutching her shoulders, she followed, unsure how to be with him in this. They slowly crossed the clearing to the creek. He loved the water—they both did—running icy cold and tumbling golden aspen leaves over moss-slick rocks. Its burbling told the tale of long and endless travels, its voice springing from ancient stone that would stand long past their time on earth.
Jonah removed the lid, held the bottle under his nose and breathed the fumes. His throat worked. “I’ve kept this to remind me I could crash and burn.”
He closed his eyes, then drew himself up. She held her breath as he slowly tipped the bottle, sending an amber stream into the frigid creek until nothing remained.
“From now on, I want to remember I can live.” He stooped to fill the bottle from the stream, then twisted on the lid. He set the bottle on the ground and took her hands with his creek-chilled fingers. “I want what happens now and tomorrow and every day to fill me, to fill you.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. She had no bottle to pour away her past, but she let the water carry it too, down and away in its quest for the sea. She brought her fingers to his jaw and kissed him, then pressed her forehead to his chin, his neck between her hands. She felt his pulse.
The wind came through the pines, bracing, invigorating. They were alive. They were together. They would do this crazy thing. She drew a deep, hungry breath and laughed.
From somewhere in the house came the long and wild song of a coyote.
Acknowledgments
I can do nothing without the grace and power of the Holy Spirit and the love of God and of Christ my Savior. I am shored up by my family and friends and, in this endeavor, by those who pray for, read, and support my writing. Particular thanks to readers Jim, Jessie, Devin, and my mom for feedback and insight, to David Ladd for law-enforcement expertise and longsuffering through multiple revisions, and to the Minturn Police Records and municipal court clerk Lisa Osborne. My gratitude to the wonderful WaterBrook crew, especially editors Shannon Marchese and Jessica Barnes, and to Stephen Parolini and others who fine-tuned and improved this work. Special thanks to all who purchase these books and keep me writing.
About the Author
While homeschooling her four kids, Kristen wrote her first novel. It became one of a five-book historical series. Since then, she has written three more historical novels and eight contemporary romantic and psychological suspense novels including The Still of Night, nominated for the Colorado Book Award, The Tender Vine, a Christy Award finalist, and Christy Award–winning Secrets. She lives in Colorado with her husband Jim and sundry family members and pets.
INDIVISIBLE
PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked King James Version are taken from that version. Scripture quotations marked New American Standard Bible are taken from the New American Standard Bible®. © Copyright The Lockman Foundation 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org).
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Kristen Heitzmann
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.
WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Heitzmann, Kristen.
Indivisible : a novel / Kristen Heitzmann. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-45908-4
1. Colorado—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3558.E468I53 2010
813′.54—dc22
2009050305
v3.0
Table of Contents
Cover
Other Books by this Author
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
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