by Shae Black
I welcome it and squeeze the crude homemade weapon again, this time tighter, feeling the glass digging into my flesh I feel more alert, focused. I hear footsteps and movement in the house somewhere and my already screaming muscles stiffen. Heels? Yes, not a man’s steps but a woman in heels is approaching the bedroom. Then the soft click of a lock, oh God she has a key!
Whatever adrenaline that’s left in my fatigued body surges through my bloodstream as I hear more steps bringing this woman closer to the only barrier separating me from him, them, whoever! Another soft click and the door slowly opens. She switches the light on and when she steps in she sees me crazed and crouching in the bathtub ready to kill.
The woman gasps and covers her mouth with one hand. She steps back pressing her back against the wall and gestures with the other to stay back. Yea no worries lady I’m not moving until you do!
Chapter 6
Everything begins happening in slow motion as I move to exit the bathtub. Shards of glass bite at my feet but I ignore the pain. My goal is clear in my mind but I feel like syrup slowly pouring from a bottle. The sound of this woman's voice is warped making it difficult to grasp the meaning of her words. I squint as if my eyesight is somehow going to help me hear her better and of course it doesn’t. Something about her is familiar, I know her but this is the wrong environment to be seeing her in. I don’t know anyone other than Marcus here in Italy so I must be losing it now, finally, about time I cracked.
Maybe now I can go to a nice quiet padded cell in a psych ward where I’m safe from kidnappers, kidnapping ex-boyfriends and knife wielding intruders. No scratch that, psych ward equals psych patients and I’d rather take my chances out here thank you very much. I take a painful step toward the door where the woman is frozen up against the wall just inside. I need to get past her and out of this house, if I can escape I can run like hell until I find someone that will help me call my parents and get the fuck out of this country!
I’ll stab her if I need to, I don’t give two shits. I’ve been sitting for hours locked like an animal in this bathroom. I’m. Getting. Out! The warped voice of the familiar looking woman calls my name and it sounds stretched out like rubber glue. “Mia?” I shake my head trying to rid myself of the sludge that’s slowing my perception. “Miiaa, it’s meee…Elena.” Elena…what the? Did I really hear her right?
I take another step toward her, and she pushes herself off the wall and takes some sort of martial arts stance in front of me. “Don’t do it Imani.” Things begin to return to real time and her voice is clearing, yes this is Elena. I recognize her now, long black silky hair pulled into a ponytail, tall leggy and impeccably dressed with those boots, funny how at a time like this I remember her boots. She wore them to the hospital after Marcus’s accident while she held vigil at his bedside.
I stop my advance and stare in disbelief. “Elena?” I croak. I haven’t tried to speak since Marcus choked me and now I realize it hurts when I do. “Yes Imani, I’ve come to help you, can you please put the glass and hairspray down? I had forgotten I was holding the can in my hand, I turn my head to look at it and while I’m distracted Elena swoops in, snatching the glass shard from one hand and knocking the spray from my other, how the hell did she manage that? Shocked, frozen, defenseless and alone I wait.
Is she on his side? Is she going to attack me now too? I don’t get a chance to answer any of my own questions before Elena is talking to me, she tosses the glass in the sink beside us and picks up the spray setting it on the counter. “Please Imani, you’re in shock and injured, can we look at some of your cuts, maybe bandage them up? And your neck is quite bruised, we need to have a doctor look at you.” She pleads, offering me her outstretched hand, I surprise myself and take it.
I don’t know why or what I was thinking, actually I don’t think I was thinking about anything logical at all. My only real thoughts were about her boots, those soft 4 inch high heeled brown fucking boots! I’m going to keep focusing on the boots, that’s it, just the boots. Elena takes advantage of my lapse in judgment and leads me from the room by my elbow cautioning me all the while where not to step so I can avoid any more glass in my feet. “Elena, why, I mean how come?” “Imani don’t talk, you sound horrible, and there may be some damage to your throat please just shush.”
She raises one finger to her lips to shush me and leads me gently to the bedroom where I instinctively scan the room for any signs of Marcus. “He’s not here honey, don’t worry, he’s at our parents’ house where I’ve been staying, he can’t hurt you now.” Scooting up onto the edge of the bed I take quick inventory of my injuries, a gash on my right palm throbs and bleeds from holding the glass shard so tightly. I’ve already seen the bruised hand prints on my neck and finally I look at my feet, they’re covered in blood and full of tiny pieces of glass.
I’m a hot mess, in so many more ways than one. Elena stands before me with one hand on my shoulder steadying me before she leaves the room and returns with a first aid kit and a broom and dustpan. She grabs a towel and drops it onto the floor under my feet. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of me she opens the kit and begins working on picking each tiny particle of glass from my skin. I just stare down at her in utter disbelief.
I have so many questions first and foremost why was she in Italy? How did she know I was here? And wait a minute…did she say Marcus was at their parents’ house? That can’t be right, I must not have heard her correctly but I’m taking her advice and resting my voice because speaking is truly uncomfortable. The glass removal takes a long time and some of the deeper pieces start coming out but I never flinch or pull away. She looks up at me occasionally to see how I’m doing and I’m a little unnerved looking back into Marcus's twin sisters face.
They are remarkably similar but where he is chiseled she is soft, where he is stern she is yielding. A knock on the front door of the cottage has me scooting away from Elena making a mess of the beautiful white duvet, a trail of blood follows me and I remember not only are my feet bleeding but I’ve been on my period for 2 days now. I’m sure I need to tend to that, I’ve been awake since 10 a.m. most of that time has been spent hiding in the bathroom. “It’s all right Imani, I called a physician, I know him personally and he does house calls. You need to be examined by a professional.”
I shake my head no vigorously and make my way around to the opposite side of the bed, slide down onto my screaming feet and begin to hobble toward the bathroom again. “No you don’t Imani, get off of those feet, I’m not done yet!” she says sternly but never raising her voice. I stop and plead with my eyes, then I decide we need another way to communicate. I make an imaginary pen motion with one hand and lay my other out flat as if I were writing hoping she has pen and paper so we can “talk”. “You want to write something down?” she asks and I give her a quick nod yes. “Ok just a sec, I’ll get some paper and tell the doctor to wait in the living room is that ok?” Another quick nod yes and she’s gone.
I hear her letting someone in the front door, they speak a few words back and forth in Italian before her heels are clicking back down the hall and into the bedroom. Handing me the pen and paper she tries to get me to move back to the bed but I’m not budging until I write what I have to say. Marcus is at your parents’ house? I don’t want to see a strange doctor. I’m on my period I need to use the bathroom. I hand her the paper and she reads, frowning and then looking up at me she says “Let me sweep the glass up so you can go back in there, ok? I nod again and she goes to work removing all of the glass from the floor dumping it into a waste paper basket and disappearing to who knows where in the house to dispose of the larger pieces.
When she’s finished she leads me back and rinses the tub, grabs a box of tampons and towels from under the sink and turns to me. “Can you take a bath alone or do you need some help?” I shake my head no, she looks at me hard for a few seconds, narrowing her eyes as if she’s sizing up the situation, weighing her options. She must have come to a conclusion because
she finally leaves me alone.
No mirror to look into, I have no idea if my neck looks worse or not so I run bath water and clean up. I quickly undress and step back into the tub hissing and wincing when my feet hit the water. My throat feels thick and swollen, maybe I should let that doctor look at me. I’m having some serious trust issues right now and Elena didn’t answer any of the questions I asked via paper and pen. I can’t believe Marcus would go to his childhood home, she must be wrong.
I bathe without washing my hair; it's fine there’s no need to wear myself out. I drain the tub, tip toe to the toilet seat and sit to dry myself off. Elena knocks on the door and without waiting opens it a crack. “You need some clean clothes?” I nod yes and she returns with the matching silk pajama set I’ve been wearing to bed here. I take them and change, she motions for me to stay seated and brings the first aid kit to finish wrapping up my feet. She’s pretty good at this, they feel better when they’re all covered, none of the cuts were too deep thankfully. “Will you see Dr. Bava now Imani? Please, I know you’re traumatized and you’ve been through a lot but surely as a nurse you realize it’s important to be checked out now to rule out any permanent damage?”
I close my eyes and sigh. When I open them I make my pen and paper gesture again, she scurries off and brings them back. I tap the pen on the page where I wrote questions earlier and she looks away so I tap harder, more insistent to have my questions answered. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know if you will please let Dr. Bava look at your neck.” Oh man…seriously? Manipulation must run in the family. It’s amazing how similarly they make it sound like they are compromising. Ok, I write and she helps me into bed, time to meet Dr. Bava.
Chapter 7
A surprisingly handsome, middle aged Italian man with salt and pepper hair enters the room with Elena. They exchange a few words in Italian but the only thing I’m able to understand is my own name and Marcuss, why are they talking about him? Is she telling him what happened? Yes that must be it, he needs to know what he is examining me for after all. “Imani I’m Dr. Bava, is it ok if I come closer to you?” he speaks perfect English, thank God.
Appreciative of his caution I nod and he advances holding a small bag like physicians in old movies carry for house calls. Pausing, he looks down at me on the bed lifting his eyebrows and tucking his chin as if to ask if he can proceed and I nod yes again. “Does your throat hurt? Is it difficult to speak?” he asks, I nod yes. “You’re an ICU nurse so you must know that the first thirty six hours following a strangling injury are the most dangerous. You need a CT scan to make sure we aren’t dealing with something more serious than the external bruising and swelling.” I pick up the pen and paper from my lap and write, I understand, no CT.
He looks back at me with a scowl. “Why?” “What’s she saying?” Elena interrupts. “She doesn’t want the CT.” “Imani why not? You know this could be very serious, you should see yourself. I’m very worried about you.” I don’t want a CT scan and I have very good reasons, starting with I don’t want to go to a hospital in a foreign country. I don’t want to be vulnerable to whoever may still be after Marcus. And really I’m not having a very good track record with kidnapping so I’d like to stay right here in bed. I know the risks and for now I’m willing to accept them. As insane as it sounds, after all that’s happened I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about Marcus.
Yes, the lunatic who drugged and kidnapped me, flew me out of the country and today nearly choked me to death…I am worried about him. I saw, or more like I felt the change in him before he attacked me, the complete confusion when he fell into the coffee table, he clearly wasn’t in his right mind. That tumor must be growing, shifting, cutting off blood supply…killing him. As scared as I was during the attack I always knew it wasn’t my Marcus I was scared of, it was the other part of him, the dark, damaged and maybe even evil side of him.
I’m snapped back from my thoughts by Dr. Bava and Elena arguing quietly in Italian. I write Speak English or go away and tap my pen on the pad of paper to get their attention. The good Dr. looks over my shoulder at my message and nods in agreement. “She wants us to speak in English.” he says to Elena. “Ok, Imani you really need the CT, please.” she pleads placing her hand over mine and squeezing it tight. I remove it and write. Is he ok? I hold up the paper and she inhales a stunned breath.
“You want to know if he’s ok?” she says and I nod in the affirmative. “Uh…well...no actually he’s not. He is locked in his old bedroom. He’s a mess, he keeps repeating “I don’t know what happened” and “She’s scared of me” “I’ve ruined it.” My heart clenches in my chest, constricted by his turmoil, it actually hurts.
I thought I’d experienced a broken heart when I left Marcus, but this…this is different, intense, physical and emotional pain like nothing I’ve ever felt before, or want to feel again. This pain builds progressively inside of me, threatening to explode and destroy like a Molotov cocktail. My heart has been through a lot, but feeling the pain of someone you love so deeply, so completely is staggering. Balancing all of this fear and trauma with the love and devotion I have for him is making me weak.
I have to untangle this mess somehow…what would Marcus do in this situation to get what he wanted, how would he handle this? Manipulation, that’s how. Then it hits me, I scribble my reciprocation and Dr. Bava reads it aloud. “I’ll have a CT if he does. What do you mean Imani?” he turns to Elena and repeats the question “What does she mean?” for the first time he raises his voice marginally and a bit of urgency is there as well.
“He, he has a brain tumor Enrique, he didn’t want anyone to know. He was furious I found out after his accident.” So they are on a first name basis huh? I’m sensing that their relationship is deeper than I had first assumed. And why is he upset about Marcus? He must know him personally too, maybe a family friend? Dr. Bava or Enrique, is looking at Elena with shock and worry. “Why hasn’t he had it removed.” he says flatly and Elena turns her head to look into the fireplace. “Why Elena?” She continues to look away from him and answers in a pained hushed voice “It’s inoperable.”
Inoperable…the term bounces around my head like a little rubber ball. I hadn’t known that, and he did. He kept it from me. How long has he had it? Why didn’t he tell me? Question after question trip and fall over themselves and I sit staring at these two people that I hardly know who are essentially telling me Marcus is going to die because that fucking tumor can’t be removed! I’m up and moving before they realize it, I snatch the clothes off the foot of the bed that I had on earlier and lock myself in the bathroom which is quickly becoming my panic room.
Ripping off my pajamas I pull on my jeans loosening the bandages on my feet as I do and cram my arms into the bulky sweater and over my head, not bothering with panties or bra, I don’t know where the hell Elena has put them anyway. Shoes…where are my shoes? Dr. Bava and “Elena” as he refers to her, are knocking on the door.
The good doctor is calm and Elena is frantic. When I’m dressed I quickly unlock the door and swing it wide with so much force it yanks me with it. “I need to see him, now.” I croak. They part allowing me to walk between them and I scan the room for shoes. I spot cute grey rubber boots with white polka dots all over them next to the bedroom door. I have no idea who they belong to but they look to be about my size so they’re mine for now.
Every step I take across the cold stone floor with my bandaged feet feeds my latest adrenaline rush even more. Pain propels me forward, not only the pain from my feet but the pain in my heart as well. I tug the boots on over my jeans with the tiny handles at the top of each boot and wince from the pain. Everything I’ve ever learned in my nursing career is surfacing. I sort through a database full of information, sifting and pulling out anything pertinent to inoperable brain tumors. I think of the treatment centers all over the world, wrong diagnosis, quack doctors who don’t know what they are doing labeling something inoperable, terminal, no hope. I know so muc
h of what happens in the medical field is total bull shit, so I need to find out who’s he’s spoken to, who is on his case and exactly why it’s been labeled inoperable.
Marcus is wealthy beyond belief with a far reach all over the world, surely someone can be found who is willing to remove it. “Let’s go.” I say unable to recognize what’s left of my voice God I hope that’s not permanent. Shit, I’m going to end up in a hospital in a foreign country not speaking the language. My advantage of being a nurse means nearly nothing here when I can't communicate, but I have Dr. Bava and Elena, that’s going to have to be enough.
I stand wild eyed at the bedroom door looking back at two astounded faces that seem to be frozen while they witness my current level of crazy. I motion my arm toward the door to say let’s go.
Jumping into action they realize that we are leaving and, I’m sure they’re hoping the destination is the nearest hospital. Well they can have their wish but we are making a pit stop first. I have to see Marcus. A tiny tornado of fear and anxiety spins in my tummy but a force a million times stronger reaches out from my heart. The familiar magnetic force between us overpowers my fear. I need to see my Marcus, he has some explaining to do about his tumor and it’s inoperable status. I just hope I don’t have to encounter the other Marcus, the dark Marcus, the one that scares the fucking hell out of me.
Chapter 8
It’s not a long drive to Marcus and Elena’s childhood home. We ride in Dr. Bava's very handsome Mercedes; but the luxury of the car is lost on me. I sit in the front, biting my bottom lip, anticipating the next belly dropping dip along this roller coaster ride I’ve been forced onto. My thoughts shift back to the day in the garden with Marcus when he made me promise to let him do all the worrying for the both of us.
