In the yard, most of the men stayed back, but once in a while, a newcomer would challenge the quiet man who sat by himself during free time. They would approach him like a rooster, ruffling their feathers and crowing about their greatness.
Most of the other prisoners would let the new ones approach Manson, as if he might have gotten soft since the last time. They too wanted to see just how far he could be pushed. But Manson didn’t flinch as they approached. He never looked away from his book.
Usually a guard would see and stop the new prisoner, but once in a while, Manson would rip out their esophagus and leave them dying at his feet while he went back to what he was reading. He’d lean down and wipe the miniscule amount of blood he’d gotten on his fingers onto the stubbly grass by his shoes.
That would earn him more time in the hole. He would always get released early because his presence kept the overall violence down in the prison yard. No one knew what his end goal was, which meant no one knew how to get on his good side. If he even had a good side. Not giving away anything kept him in power. He needed the power. He claimed it with a fervor that he’d sought everything else in his life.
He wedged the end of the crowbar into the metal lacing and yanked, pulling out the mesh and leaving a hole big enough to reach a hand through. But that wouldn’t be enough. Locks weren’t in control at that point, or he would be able to unlock it from his side.
No, he had to hook the crowbar through the small hole, place his boots on the edge of the wall and pull.
Seeing what Manson was doing, Luke shifted into place, pushing on the door at the same time that Manson pulled.
The metal gave, bending under the pressure.
“We just need a little bit more.” Manson doubled his grip, interlacing his fingers and setting his chin.
“Why are you trying to get back in? Is there any way you can get out?” Luke glanced past Manson, toward the light from the office. He had to be thinking that with Manson gone, he could run the prison. Smart, but at the same time, stupid. Luke wasn’t leadership material. He was too hot-headed and didn’t think more than reactionary in effort.
Manson shook his head. “There’s less possibility that way, for now. Triple-paned glass and lined with lead. I need the power to go out first. We’re going to take control of the prison and get this place back into shape.”
Luke dropped his jaw. Maybe because Manson had included him in his domination plans or maybe because of the sheer size of the statement. Why wasn’t important. Luke was in shock and Manson had even more up his sleeve.
By the time he was done, they were all going to wish they had died from the virus.
Chapter 7
Beth
Beth crawled backward, edging out of the bedroom. She closed her eyes as she sobbed without tears. All of her tears were spent. She had nothing left in her to cry. Closing the door on S.J.’s room, she sat in the hallway, rubbing her eyes with a desperation she knew would never go away.
She didn’t want to see the image of his bloated body. When she closed her eyes, there it was. She’d stared at it, waiting, wishing, hoping he’d been faking, hoping he’d wake up. What could she have done differently? Could she have saved him?
Dragging in a painful breath, Beth struggled to her feet. She couldn’t stop living. She had two other children who needed her. She could do this. Maybe she could numb her emotions until she stabilized her daughter and son.
She leaned on the wall beside the bathroom doorway and struggled to find energy to go on. Beth walked crookedly to Liv’s room. She heaved a sigh before pushing open the door and entering the pink and purple bedroom. Breathing out of her mouth, she blinked heavily. There was so much she didn’t want to face. Holding Liv’s hand would make all the bad things better – at least for a bit.
Should it have been so quiet? Liv hadn’t been able to stop moaning earlier. When had that been? How long had Beth lain in S.J.’s room, clutching her phone and alternating her gaze from the posters on his wall and his pale, still face. Hours and hours had passed after she’d talked to Cady. Beth hadn’t tracked the time. She hadn’t even tracked how many heart beats she’d had after S.J. died.
Had she been in his room for days? How long had it been? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t remember getting up and going to the bathroom or eating and drinking anything. All she remembered were the shots and yelling at night, the ins and outs of sleep where she’d escaped the hell of losing her son.
Her throat ached. Beth wasn’t sure if it was because she was getting sick or because she had cried herself to sleep feet from her oldest son’s dead body.
When was she going to wake up from the nightmare?
Maybe leaving Liv alone had helped her daughter get through the worst of the illness. Beth scuffed her feet across the floor, the sound loud in the overwhelming silence of the house. She flipped on the light in the Liv’s room, blinking at the garish orange glow from the round globe in the ceiling.
Approaching the bed, Beth winced as she coughed, the act painful and demanding. She sure knew how to make an entrance. Hopefully, she didn’t wake Liv up. Her daughter needed her rest. As soon as Beth checked on Liv, she’d check on Tim in the master bedroom.
Certain the sound of her coughing would wake Liv, Beth settled onto the edge of her daughter’s bed. At least she could try to find solace in there, away from S.J.’s remains. She couldn’t even call it his body. She reached over to gently shake Liv’s shoulder.
But as her fingers closed around the curve of Liv’s arm, Beth gasped. Yanking her fingers back, she stretched them open, then tightly squeezed her hand into a fist.
Liv’s body was cold and stiff. Not cool like a blanket had fallen off, but cold, like there was no blood pumping through her. The blankets situated on her held no more heat under them.
Beth raised her other hand to her mouth, clamping the soft flesh of her palm against the sharp lines of her teeth. She bit down to prevent her moans from turning into screams. Tim. She had Tim. She… she had to…
Her daughter… Beth slowly, cautiously, reached out again, keeping her mouth covered as she rolled her daughter softly to lie on her back.
Liv’s eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling, black tar-like substance leaked from her nose and eyes like charcoal colored tears and snot. Her mouth was closed like she’d had nothing to say at the end when the truth was, she had no one to say it, too.
Beth rocked back and forth at the sight of her daughter not breathing, not… being. Liv was no longer there, but that didn’t stop Beth from shaking Liv like she was close to waking up and just needed a nudge.
“Livvie.” Beth’s sob seemed to encapsulate only a small portion of her pain. Nothing could hold together what her grief ripped apart. “Liv, Liv, no, please, no. Livvie?” She pushed gently at her arm, mortified when the body moved like stiff board.
Liv was gone. Beth couldn’t wrap her brain around the loss of both of her children. She had to push aside the loss of the two to focus on the third. Maybe Beth could still save Tim. He slept in her bed. She had to see him. He’d been the one to rest the most peacefully. She hadn’t heard him coughing or moaning, or anything. How long had she been in with S.J.?
Had her grief over her son cost her her daughter? Would the loss of both cost her the last one? What had she done to deserve this? She’d tried to help them. Why wasn’t she sick? Why hadn’t she died?
Thrusting up from the bed, Beth closed the door behind her. She didn’t want to see Liv. Not like she was. Beth would even rather Liv was flipping her attitude than lying there dead. S.J. and Liv could both say they hated her and that would be better than the images of their bodies branded on her memory.
She didn’t go into her bedroom quietly or considerately. If Tim was alive, he could do with being awoken. She needed to have one of her children stay alive. She could help at least one of them. Giving Tim more elder berry syrup would be the first thing she did. She could get the Cure. She could do that much for him.
> Cady had said no Cure, but had that cost Beth her children? They had died without the medicine. What if the medicine could have saved them?
Opening the door, she rushed to the end of her four-poster bed and stopped short of going any further.
“No, oh, no, please.” Beth closed her eyes and leaned her head on the post beside her. She pushed her forehead to the curved surface of the wood and mashed her nose against it. The grains bit into her cheek and teeth as she rolled back and forth.
Flies hovered over Tim’s body. The stench snapped through her grief and almost dropped her to her knees. Hadn’t Liv and S.J. smelled? Why hadn’t she noticed with them? She turned her head to the side and dry heaved, trying to vomit the pain, grief, and shock from her body, from her soul. Her body rejected the loss. She rejected her pain.
She didn’t stay to examine the corpse of her middle child. She dashed back out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
The images of her dead children had imprinted themselves on her brain, deep down into her soul. She would never be able to unsee them, never be able to unlive the losses she’d experienced. If her neighbors had gone through half of what she had, she understood their need to take their own lives. The pain was excruciating.
Cady’s offer to come get her had never seemed more appealing. If not for the escape, then for the simple fact that Beth could commiserate with her friend. They could wallow in their losses and, if Beth had her way, they’d get drunk together and pass out. That’s what she needed. An escape. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind. She didn’t want to kill herself. She wasn’t a defeatist, but in that moment, she could see why it was appealing.
Beth didn’t need to talk to Cady about their dead husbands. What else could Steven be? What else did Beth want for him? Nothing. Her children were dead. That’s all he had been to her there over the last few years – the father of her children and their provider. He’d been abusive and unfaithful. Saying goodbye to him was easier than the forced farewell to her children.
There was nothing left for her to need from him since they were gone. Did they have any alcohol left in the house? She’d used the majority of their vodka to make tinctures. If anything, she’d get drunk off her vanilla extract. She wasn’t too proud to get her relief from where she could. Leaving the hallway, she made her way into the living room, blinking at the bright lights from the ceiling fan shining down.
She hadn’t been in the living room for a while. She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she struggled to face her discoveries and what they truly meant. Her children… dead. Dead. Was that even possible?
Claiming a seat on the couch, Beth drew her knees up to her chest and curled her bare toes into the soft suede of her couch cushion. Her cell phone creaked under the intense pressure of her grip. She hadn’t let go, using it as an anchor as she’d passed from room to room.
Did she even have any battery left? She pushed the power button, squinting at the screen. Five percent and one bar. That was it. Did she have enough to get through to Cady? She swallowed her grief. She could ignore it for a few minutes. She would have to deal with the loss in spurts. Too much at once would drown her.
She dialed her friend, anxious to leave some of her pain with someone else, let someone else tell her how to feel. She wouldn’t be able to manage her grief, if she didn’t at least understand it. Please, please, Cady, please, be there. I need someone to tell me I’m going crazy. Wasn’t going crazy better than reality at that point?
Through the bay window, Beth watched as the sun set, casting long shadows across the lawn. The scene was fuzzily obscured by the gossamer-like veiling of the curtains. Beth pressed send, but the busy signal made her press end. She tried three more times, only to face that sound again and again. She couldn’t try again. Not now. Not when the sound would be the heralding of her failure.
Her failures piled around her, compounding in her heart and soul. Her babies. Her sweet, sweet babies. All dead. All gone. She was all alone. Hot tears poured from her eyes, opening the floodgates to her painfilled keening.
What would Cady do for Beth anyway? She didn’t want to live, now that her children were dead.
She just wanted to find peace. Finding peace wasn’t an option in that place. There was no peace in her home. Not anymore.
Maybe not ever.
Chapter 8
Cady
Cady’s eyes were red-rimmed and there was no getting around it. It didn’t matter how the light was – on, off, dimmed – her eyes gave away her illness.
Her calculations had to be off. A full three days hadn’t passed, unless she had been exposed when she’d dumped Kent’s body. Unless she was so tired and stressed it sped up the infection period. Or, worse, if she’d gotten sick faster because of her propensity toward shingles, that didn’t bode well for her theories about treatment bring shingles related.
Unfortunately, she had no way to be sure about any of it.
How scary to face down one’s death, not knowing how long she had until she would expire, but certain it was around the corner. There was no other way for the sickness to end. Cady had no evidence of anything but death as the outcome. It was only a matter of time.
She swallowed a small sip of water, wincing at the cutting sensation in her throat. She had to pick one thing to focus on. If she tried to take in all of the aches and pains, she would fall to the ground and give up. That wasn’t an option.
She looked into the mirror after brushing her teeth and shook her head. “Come on, let’s do an inventory and then pick one thing that is controllable.” She nodded to herself as if there were two people there.
Her throat hurt, but it was bearable for now. Every joint hurt in her body, even joints she didn’t know were joints like where her hair connected to her scalp. An acutely sharp pain that came in waves covered her back and neck and up under her breasts. Her hands hurt like they’d been burned deep down into the tissue. Complaining about a headache seemed like child’s play at this point, but yes, even her head hurt.
The joint and hand pain would have to be shunted to the side. A little bit of lavender might help there, but Scott had confirmed the relief the essential oils had given his skin, so sticking with that treatment plan would be the most proactive plan she could come up with.
She was going to go with the oils.
Washing her hands, she refused to meet her own gaze in the mirror. She knew what she looked like. She saw hell in her eyes. There was no reason to dwell on it. The only thing she could worry about was that Bailey would have seen and knew that Cady was sick. Trying to hide the truth wouldn’t be smart or helpful any more. Cady had to prepare the teenagers for the inevitable.
After she cleaned up, she made her way downstairs, shoring up her reserves to speak her concerns out loud.
Jason and Bailey sat on the couch watching another movie, laughing as Jason cuddled with his baby cousin. He held her gently, gazing down at her every few minutes. There was plain love there and Cady hoped nothing happened to break it or damage it.
Cady claimed a seat on the couch that ran perpendicular to them. Facing Bailey and Jason but watching the T.V., she picked at the cuticle of her thumb. She didn’t want to alarm them yet with an announcement about her health. She just wanted to sit for a minute and watch the Jim Carrey film as if nothing was wrong.
The movie was an old one about a man who the world watched on television as if he were a reality star. Staring at the screen, Cady couldn’t help wondering out loud, “Do you think anyone in Hollywood made it? Or anyone out there?”
Jason and Bailey glanced at each other. Jason spoke first, his words halting. “We were just talking about this. How would the rich know? If your friend who spread the virus had a backup plan, they most likely used it, right? This is one of those situations where it doesn’t matter what kind of preparation you have in place, or what amount of money… right?” Jason transferred his gaze questioningly between Cady and Bailey. He half-shrugged. “I mean, you knew about i
t and you’re getting sick. So, what does that say about people who had no idea? It doesn’t matter if they had an Oscar or not.”
Bailey jerked back beside him, glancing uncomfortably at Cady, folding her arms and chewing on her lower lip. When had she started looking like a young woman instead of a child? Cady didn’t want to say anything in front of Jason at the risk of embarrassing Bailey, but Cady wanted to tell her how beautiful and grown up she was looking.
Everything had taken on a sentimental tinge as Cady realized just how close her death was.
Checking Jason over more closely, she had to admit she liked his frank honesty. He didn’t pull any punches which was refreshing and something that was drastically needed.
Nodding, Cady clasped her hands together between her knees and leaned forward. “I am getting sick, you’re right. I’m actually pretty close to needing to get to bed… and stay there” She blinked back tears. Now wasn’t the time for goodbyes. No, she had to prepare them as much as possible. Glancing toward Jessica, Cady narrowed her eyes and then fell to her knees to crawl closer to the baby, peering at the hairline along the side of her neck. “When did she develop this rash?”
Bailey glanced at Jason, alarmed. “I’m not sure. I didn’t even notice anything. Did you, Jason?”
Tilting his cousin up to see her skin better, Jason’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t see that. She’s been fussier than usual, but nothing a solid rocking or feeding didn’t fix.” He lifted worried eyes to focus on Cady. “How can we fix this, Cady?”
Setting her jaw, Cady nodded. “I’ll be right back.” She rushed to the kitchen, ignoring the creaking sensation in her knees and hips as she walked. Was that the last time she would walk on her hardwood floors?
180 Days and Counting... Series Box Set books 4 - 6 Page 15
