by Angel Steel
“Thank you,” I whispered to him.
Nodding he stood and marched away.
My eyes glued to my lap as I rubbed over the colors on the flag. I stroked each individual color. Red. Blue. White. I rested my other hand over my belly. The growing bundle of joy that will never feel pain like this. A pain I promised would never harm my child. Our child. A sob broke from me, as I gripped my dress. I should have told him when I’d found out the news. One thing I will never be able to share with him, the joy of bringing another human into this world.
My thoughts were interrupted as my dad grabbed my hand, I knew instantly what was about to happen. I contemplated on whether or not to have a firing squad, but this wasn’t for me. It was for Dante. I slowly stood up on my weak legs, my eyes followed where my dad was now looking. Seven men marched down the aisle toward the grave. Every step they took, a tear was shed. A supervisor stood at the end waiting for them to arrive. Once the officers were in line formation, standing still, rifles at their side, and all in full uniform, the supervisor stepped forward.
As they were all called to attention, they turned and face the grave, that’s when the supervisor straightened his posture and it began.
“Ready,” his voice yelled across the field.
The rifle squad steps forward with their left foot.
“Aim.”
They brought the rifles up to their shoulder on an angle, lowered each of their heads slightly like they were actually aiming, and placed their fingers on the triggers.
“Fire,” the supervisor shouted.
All of them immediately squeeze off a round. My body jolted as the first shot tore through me. My eyes watched on as they dropped the rifle across their body at chest level and stepped back into the position of attention.
“Ready.”
The riflemen reached up with their right hand to the forward assist and ejected the spent casing, letting the bolt slide home – and as the bolt is seating, they stepped forward with their left foot.
“Aim.”
I closed my eyes and jumped as the boom of the shots reverberated through me… again. My legs faltered as the supervisor went through it one last time. Once the last shot disappeared into the sky, I reopened my eyes and watched the final part.
I couldn’t hear anything, but the pounding of my heart as the riflemen turned and marched down the aisle and departed the area. I caught several people looking my way, tears streaming down their faces. Men and women. Several gave me a slight nod others dipped their heads and continued to grieve.
Sitting back in my seat, the chief marched up and stood aside the coffin, his hand placed at the head of it. His head was bowed forward for only a second. Then his shoulders straightened and faced everyone in front. His other hand retrieved the radio attached to his shoulder and pulled it down to his mouth. Frowning, I looked over to my dad. He reached for my hand again and laced it with his own as the chief began to talk.
“6-1… 6-1… Calling number 6-1… This is the last call for radio number 6-1.”
Bransen dropped his hand as tears began to fall from the corner of his eyes. Lifting the radio to his mouth again, his eyes found mine as he said the next words, “Radio number 6-1 is out of service after twelve years and four months of police service. Although you are gone, you will never be forgotten. Rest in Peace, our friend. The time is eleven o’clock, on the 12th of October 2009.” He dropped the radio as it fell from his hand. He placed it over his heart and looked to the sky. I copied his movement and looked toward the sky also. The now dark sky opened allowing a single path of light through. While I blinked back the tears a white dove flew across my line of sight.
Bransen moved to the end of the coffin, he leaned down and as he stood back up, the motor began to turn, slowly moving down. Time came to a standstill. Nothing moved around me. No words were said. The only sound that was heard was from the tiny motor lowering my husband into his grave. The pain ripped inside of me as I watched the coffin begin its descent. That was it. My husband was being laid to rest. Inch by painful inch the coffin lowered further and further into the ground. My sobbing became uncontrollable. I dropped to my knees in front of my seat. Pain pierced through me as I realized this was the last time I would ever see my loving, beautiful husband. The man that I gave my heart to. The one that meant everything to me in this world.
I crawled closer to the grave when I lost sight of the top of the coffin, needing that little bit of extra time with him. A hand rested on my shoulder where I knelt, my hands fisting in the dirt at my knees. Rose after rose was dropped from above me as people gave their final goodbye.
“Dante,” I cried. Dropping my head to the ground where he laid beforehand and screamed into the dirt. He was gone. Gone. I would never be able to touch him. Or feel his touch. Hear his laugh. See his smile. Feel his arms around me, his body against mine. Never again will I ever feel that from him.
Glancing down one last and final time, I was burying my heart with his. A heart that once loved that held life and hope, now it held nothing. Cold. Empty.
It had been three months since I lost Dante. The worst three months of my life. I couldn’t bring myself to leave my house, for anything but two appointments that I had with my OB doctor. Even doing that was hard. All I wanted to do was stay curled up in the bed that was once ours. The scent on his pillow was fading slowly and I wanted to spend every second smelling it, before it faded completely away. I hadn’t washed it since that day. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, just like packing up all his things. His clothes still laid where he last left them on the floor in our room, his toothbrush was still in the bathroom alongside everything else he had in there.
Several of his clothes laid all around me on the bed. I held onto them at night, wanting some part of him with me when I fell asleep. I never did though, his smell consumed me, as soon as my eyes closed, and I’d wake up instantly looking around the room for him. I thought I’d dreamt him here with me, in our bed. His touch. I swear I felt him some nights here with me, comforting me, whispering into my ear. I even saw him standing at the end of our bed, with that silly sexy grin covering his lips. Then suddenly out of nowhere flames erupted around him, as he stood there unmoving, like it didn’t affect him.
I couldn’t move from the bed. I was tired constantly. I couldn’t help him, my own screams echoed throughout the room while I watched my husband burn alive right in front of me. I couldn’t do a thing. No matter how much I struggled against the invisible rope binding me, I couldn’t get to him. I’d wake up screaming for him after the flames vanished. It was the same fucking nightmare night after night. That’s why I didn’t sleep long. An hour max at times throughout the day, but the nights were the worst. I was so tired, but I knew as my eyes closed, I’d be awake within seconds. I tried sleeping more during the day than the night because it was easier to do, just not for long. Sitting up in bed, I clutched one of his shirts to my chest, the smell of him was no longer lingering, but I couldn’t let it go.
The phone beside me flashed telling me I had messages. I couldn’t bring myself to listen to them. I’d saved the last couple of messages that Dante had left me not wanting to let go of what his voice sounded like. Most of them were from my brother, Dwayne and my dad. I had heard parts of their messages when I sat there in complete silence. It was the usual ‘answer the phone, Lia.’ ‘I’ll kick the damn door down if you don’t answer it next time,’ ‘Lia, we know you’re in pain, so are we after what’s happened, but you can’t go through this alone. We’re here for you.’ I knew some would be from the close friends that we both shared, but I didn’t want to hear how sorry they were of my loss.
Standing up on wobbly legs, I made my way toward the bathroom. My body ached. Pain I wanted to be gone, but I knew it was far from actually happening. Stripping out of my clothes that I’d worn for the last three days, I glanced at my appearance in the mirror. My eyes had sunken back into their sockets. Dark bags had formed under my eyes from lack of sleep. My skin pas
ty white. My blonde hair dirty and straw-like with not being washed or brushed for over a week.
Leaning closer toward the mirror, my cheeks were hollow and my eyes a horrible gray color instead of the sparkling blue they used to be. Standing back looking over myself, my arms were skin and bone, no muscle at all, and my collarbone stuck out. I traced over it with my finger and continued down the front of my body. My ribs were showing, I could count every single one of them if I wanted to. My hand stopped as I approached my belly. The baby bump that sat there was the size of a basketball, well half of one. My eyes stayed glued right there. My hand shook as I lightly traced over it. I’d let myself go. I wasn’t eating enough even for myself let alone for my child, our child. A tear leaked from the corner of my eye and slid down my cheek and dropped onto my protruding belly and sat there.
I was seven months pregnant, but by the look of me you wouldn’t have guessed I was that far along. My eyes didn’t believe it either, but I knew from what the doctor had told me. I’d missed several appointments. The reason I did was I didn’t want to see the sorrow in their eyes knowing I was going through this alone. It was meant for Dante to go through this with me, not my brother and Dad.
I knew not looking after myself was putting my baby at risk. I wasn’t getting what I needed for myself, so I knew my baby wasn’t getting any of it. How did I allow myself to get this far and harm my child? I could deal with it if I did this to myself, but to my unborn child? I needed to fix this now. I needed to do this so I wouldn’t lose the last part of Dante. I needed to do this for my child. Stepping over to the shower, I turned the water on and waited. After this, I was going to call my doctor and make an appointment and then start to look after myself. I needed to eat. I hadn’t done that in the last several days. It wasn’t like I hadn’t eaten at all, it was small portions, crackers, carrot or celery sticks from time to time, it wasn’t much and I knew that it was wrong, but I couldn’t stomach food.
As I stood under the warm water, the shrieking of my phone splintered the silence making me jump. Placing my head under the water knocking the sound out I stood enjoying the water cascading over me, erasing everything if only for a split second. The ringing stopped as I shifted back and started to wash my lifeless hair. After I had scrubbed my body raw, removing the dirt and grime, I brushed my teeth and got out. Turning my back to the mirror, I dried myself not wanting to see my body again, and wrapped the towel around myself and began to walk out. As I approached the door, my foot slipped out from under me, having me grip onto the door for leverage. I reached for a spare towel to wipe up the water. Getting my bearings together, I leaned over ready to place the towel over the water, and paled at what I saw.
Blood!
Quickly turning around, bloody footprints from the shower to where I stood now laid on the floor. Ripping the towel from my body, my thighs were covered in blood. Trails of it ran down the inside of my thighs and were pooling at both of my feet. My breathing froze in my throat as I stared down at the amount of blood.
No! This is not happening!
Cramming the towel between my legs, I dashed off toward the phone. I tripped over several things on my way. “Shit.” Crawling over the unmade bed I ripped the phone from the cradle and dialed the only number I knew off by heart. As the ringtone rung in my ear, I gripped the bedspread for dear life, my legs shaking but pinned together. I knew it wasn’t helping as I continued to feel the blood trickling down my legs.
“Satonic Customs, Max speaking,” his gruff voice answered.
“Max, I need Dad. Is he there?” I asked holding back the tremble in my voice.
“Hey, Amelia. Yeah, he’s just pulled up in the yard.”
“I need you to get a hold of him now, please,” my voice wavered. I have to hold it together.
“Is everything all right?” I heard him shuffling around.
“No, it’s not. Please, I really need him now, Max,” I sobbed. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I slid from the bed to the floor.
“Shit! Okay, stay on the phone with me, princess,” I heard his muffled voice as he spoke to someone else.
“Lia, what’s going on?” Dwayne asked, concerned.
“I need you or Dad. I don’t care who, just one of you get over here now. I can’t do this.”
“You can’t do what, Lia. You have to give me more than that, sis.” I could hear yelling in the background as several voices echoed over the line.
“Something’s wrong with the baby, Dwayne,” I whispered. I placed my hand over my belly, hoping I could feel any kind of movement, anything. I pressed harder feeling where the baby was, trying to evoke a movement, but nothing.
“Fuck! We’re on our way, Lia.”
“Please hurry,” I sobbed. I couldn’t lose that last part of me and Dante. I couldn’t. This was the only thing that was holding me to him.
“Everything is going to be okay, Lia. Just hold on there and stay on the phone with me. Explain what’s going on?” he asked.
“I had a shower. Once I was finished and started to walk back into my room, the towel between my legs was soaked with blood.” Gulping. “Blood… I’m bleeding Dwayne. There’s a lot of it,” I hiccupped. My hand shook while I held onto the phone.
Tires screeching and yelling coming across the line. Muffled voices. I couldn’t hear what was being said.
“We’re around the corner, baby girl. Tell me where you are in the house?” my dad’s voice comes across the line.
“In my room, Dad.”
“Okay, I need you to try to at least put on some clothing. I’m not taking my little girl into the hospital with nothing on. I’m not ending up in lockup today because some loser looked at your naked body,” he growled.
“Okay,” I replied with a shaky voice. Grabbing the closest thing to me, I pulled on one of Dante’s shirts. I needed something on below, something to stop the bleeding. Crawling into the bathroom again, I pulled out one of the maternity pads I had and reached for my boxer shorts that I’d had on the other day and slid them on. I pulled myself up as I heard my dad’s truck screeching to a stop out front. The front door banged open then heavy stomping made its way toward me.
“Lia,” Dwayne called out.
I leaned against the bathroom door, trying to calm myself down. “I’m coming,” I called out.
I had made it about two steps before both my brother and Dad were in front me. “How much blood, Lia?” my dad asked as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
“I don’t know the towel’s half way soaked with blood.”
My dad glanced over my shoulder toward where the towel laid. He looked at Dwayne, shook his head and glanced back at me. “Okay, I’m going to carry you to the truck. We need to get you to the hospital now.”
Dwayne disappeared behind me for only a second and was back with the towel that I had. He shifted around us and made a run for it down the stairs and held the front door open. I tightened my arms around my dad’s shoulders.
“Dad?”
“Princess, everything’s going to be okay, I promise,” he said as he placed me into his truck then both he and Dwayne hopped in and the truck pulled out of my driveway and headed fast toward the hospital.
I always believed him when he told me that, but I knew deep down something was terribly wrong, and nothing was going to fix this. It was too late. I didn’t want to believe it, I really didn’t. It hurt too much, but there was a tiny amount of hope that what was happening wasn’t going to tear me apart. Everything was going to be okay, for me and my unborn baby. We were going to be fine, once we arrived at the hospital. They would fix whatever was happening.
Speeding toward the hospital, everything flashed past me. Nothing was a still image as all my thoughts were on my unborn baby. My hand rested against my swollen belly, caressing the bump wanting nothing more than for everything to be okay. Pulling to a halt in the ambulance bay, my dad jumped out and carried me into emergency, demanding a doctor see me. It didn’t take too long for the nur
se to take us back into a room, after looking at both of us and the way he’d carried me into the hospital, and the fact that my hand still laid on my stomach, we were rushed through.
I wasn’t in any kind of physical pain. It was the bleeding that had me worried. As I laid on the bed, my hand continued to rest atop of my protruding belly while I waited for the nurse to finish taking my blood. I didn’t hear most of the questions she had asked, my mind was a haze. All I heard was something about checking my hormone levels.
My dad sat beside me as my brother paced back and forth at the end of my bed, waiting. Once the nurse was done she said, “Amelia, I’m going to attach this electronic monitor to your abdomen so we can keep track of your baby’s heart rate.”
Nodding, as that was all I could do. I watched as she stretched the straps over my belly and hooked them up. Once the discs were lined up, a faint beat began to come through over the speaker of the machine. The breath I was holding expelled from my lungs. Looking over toward my dad, I gripped his hand as he smiled at me.
Then all hell broke loose.
The machine shrilled. The noise loud as it echoed through the quiet room. The nurse shifted quickly to the machine and lifted the paper coming out of the machine. She never once looked at me. She dropped the paper and moved the monitor over my belly.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
The beeping continued to fill the room, still no answer, she leaned over me and pushed the button attached to the head of the bed. Within seconds, another nurse and a doctor came rushing into my room.
None of them looked at me as the nurse spoke to the doctor, “The fetus is in distress. Heartbeat is low and rapidly falling.”
