Heartless A Shieldmaiden's Voice: A Covenant Keeper Novel

by S. R. Karfelt

  The memory of the earlier sentence, the one that Ted had witnessed, kept Carole sane. “Just a moment,” she managed, and rushed to bring it as demanded. Beth took it in her one-year-old hands and tipped her head back and drank greedily from the cup.

  “It’s so good,” the voice said in her head.

  “Beth?” Carole leaned over the crib to look at her daughter. “Please don’t do that.”

  “What, Mom?” The voice in her head asked as she continued to slurp the milk down.

  “Talk inside my head like that,” Carole whispered.

  Beth spilled milk down her gown when she stopped drinking and said out loud, “What’s the difference?”

  “I like it when you talk with your mouth, and I don’t think Daddy can hear in his head.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Beth said in her head, sucking from the cup again.

  Carole was still up when Ted came stumbling through the door.

  TED WASHED IN their narrow bathroom and fumbled through the bedroom closet for pajamas. On his way to the living room, he paused beside the foot of Carole’s bed. “You’re up?”

  “Yes. Beth wanted a cup of milk.”

  He must have heard something in her voice. “Did she talk again?”

  “Yes.”

  Ted sat down beside her, a grin on his face, “Really? What did she say?”

  “She said, ‘Don’t we have milk?’”

  “Are you kidding me? That’s amazing. Don’t you think that’s amazing?”

  “I think it’s a little disorienting.”

  Ted threw his head back and laughed loudly. He looked down at her with an amused smile. “Welcome to my world.”

  Carole smiled back at him, a genuine smile that lit her heart. He had a point. “I guess now I know what it’s like, but I don’t think she gets this from me. I can remember my Mom worrying that I didn’t talk when I was three. Maybe this is from you, were you a progeny?”

  “Probably,” Ted admitted slyly.

  “I love you.” It slipped out. She bit her lip. It usually sent Ted scampering. Tonight he rubbed his hand over her messy hair and swallowed.

  “Soft, like Beth’s. Only you can look breathtaking in an old T-shirt. Carole, you are truly beautiful.”

  “So are you.”

  Ted leaned forward. Cupping his hand behind her head he held her firmly and kissed her like he meant it. Carole’s heart puddled in her chest and melted into an ache somewhere low. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to her. It had been so long.

  Ted was rough, and he tasted like whiskey. She didn’t care. She loved every touch, every taste of his mouth, every sigh and groan that came from his lips. She loved the weight of his body on hers, the way he pinned her against the bed and tried to get closer, and closer. Preoccupied, he left his heart open and unguarded, and Carole wrapped her limbs around him, trying to get closer, trying to touch that elusive heart.

  “No!” he pleaded as he finished. Rolling away, he breathed heavily for a couple of minutes and started to get up.

  “Please, don’t go. I won’t do it, if you don’t want me to.”

  Leaning to kiss her he said, “I’m coming right back. I’m just going to get some—protection for round two.”

  Protection? “Ted, do you mean those rubber things?”

  Sighing, he shook his head. “Don’t tell me, you don’t like latex. They don’t have natural ones, I checked. I’m assuming you won’t take the pill?”

  It hurt. He didn’t want more children. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t have children anymore,” she whispered it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The same reason I couldn’t breastfeed anymore.”

  Settling in beside her, Ted ran a hand down her naked flesh and she shivered.

  “Are you all right otherwise?” he whispered back.

  “I think so.”

  “I’m sorry, Carole.”

  She was quiet and he leaned close, whiskey fumes in her face. “I mean it. I am sorry. A few minutes ago, I was thinking that it was too soon. That we needed time—and now, now I just feel—sad.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you before you married me.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Come here.” Ted started kissing her. By morning she was sore, tired, and extremely happy.

  “MOM? DO WE have any bananas? The good kind, not Daddy’s?”

  “Beth? If you don’t say it with your mouth, I’m not going to give you anything.”

  “Moooom!” Beth fussed loudly. Carole tugged her out of the high-chair.

  “Really? You can speak in perfect sentences and you are still pooping in your diaper?”

  “Change it,” Beth said sweetly.

  On the changing table in the pink and white striped alcove, with the pink and white striped bedding, wall hangings, and curtains over a painting of a fake window, Beth assisted with the changing process by issuing orders. “No wipees, they itch me.”

  “Aren’t you picky?” Carole grinned at her.

  “Soft diapies.”

  “But of course.”

  “No yucky powder.”

  “No, never.”

  “It makes sneezes and itchies.”

  Carole picked up the baby powder and tossed it, and Beth grinned approvingly. The door opened and slammed and Ted crossed the hardwood floor with heavy footsteps.

  “Da!” Beth cooed, grabbing her feet like any one-year-old and wriggling with joy. “Da! Da! Da!”

  Ted leaned over Beth to smile into her face. “How’s my girl?”

  Beth squealed happily. Carole froze, dropping the sodden diaper to the floor.

  Ted picked Beth up and she snuggled against him. He glanced at the nasty diaper on the floor and said, “Yuck, Mommy, glad you had to change that one.” He went to the kitchen. “Do you want some nana, Sweetie? Nana and some of Mommy’s cookies?”

  Carole left the diaper on the floor and headed for the front door, grabbed her running shoes and bolted out. She got a block away before she bent over double and opened her mouth in a silent scream of agony. Did Ted not realize how keen a woman’s sense of smell was? She could recognize the scent of another woman in seconds, especially when it was on her husband’s mouth. Carole retched. It felt like her heart was being torn from her chest. Again.

  WHEN CAROLE RETURNED, Beth slept blissfully unaware, tucked in her little alcove. Ted sat watching TV.

  “You forgot to clean that diaper, Babe. I put it in that bathroom pail to soak, and washed the other ones. They’re in the dryer downstairs—no, don’t go, I’ll get it in a couple. Go take your shower. I bought some of those nuts you like from that shop on the corner. The almonds with cinnamon only, no sugar, they’re in the kitchen. Want some?”

  “I’ll shower first.” Did her voice always sound like that?

  “How about a cup of your tea? I picked up a jar of that honey you like too.”

  “That would be nice.”

  She sobbed, sitting on the shower floor. It was impossible to hold the tears in. Did he think gifts could fix it? What am I going to do?

  The voices answered for her. “You’ve made your choice.”

  No sound came from Beth, and Carole was certain her pain was so large that it wouldn’t fit into Beth’s sweet baby heart. Thank God.

  THE TEA SAT waiting on her bedside stand when she came to bed. Ted had already tucked into the far side, pretending to read a magazine. His casual nonchalance shouted his crime at her, and the voices, the same ones that insisted she had no choice but to stay, condemned him. “Fornication. Dishonor. Death.”

  Carole tried to ignore them and sipped her tea. Ted had only slept beside her once, and some sick and desperate part of her heart found a drop of comfort in the fact that he was there again tonight. After what he had done. Surely he regretted it. Surely he would never do it again. Please. I am a fool.

  “Your choice is made,” the voices heartlessly reminded.

  “Carole?” he reached over and ran a hand slo
wly down her back invoking a shiver of grotesque hope. “Are you very tired from your run?”

  “I’m not tired at all.” He’d brushed his teeth and showered. For the first time ever Carole forced herself into his arms, wondering if this is the way it always felt for Ted.

  SPRINGTIME TRIED TO come early to Washington, DC. Buds and cherry blossoms argued with unseasonable snow flurries. Ted brought Carole an arrangement of pussy willow he’d cut himself. It grew along the edge of the park across the street, the park where he took Beth and spent Saturday mornings, the park where he chatted with pretty joggers and dog walkers. At first Carole had watched him from the window in the front room. Even after she forced herself not to look she still sensed him. While pushing Beth gently in a swing he’d accept a phone number, laugh with friendly young women, kiss a hand or sometimes even willing lips.

  He usually gave Carole flowers after a tryst; mostly roses and daffodils, but lilies were his favorite. Today the offering of pussy willow sat in the middle of the table in an expensive crystal vase that said only one thing to Carole. I did it again, sorry. She avoided looking at the immoral gift. She’d never liked picked flowers anyway. She didn’t like gifts. If her heart would ever let her kill him, she’d find a way to do it with flowers.

  Busy grinding seeds to make her bread she pulverized them a bit more than the recipe called for. The ringing telephone interrupted.

  Ted hollered from the front room. “Can you get that, Babe? I think Beth is going to tie her own shoes.”

  “The potty would be more impressive,” Carole groused, and went to the phone. “Hello?” She held the device safely away from her ear, she didn’t completely trust it. Sometimes she wondered how much of her behavior was from the voices and how much was her own strange phobias.

  “Montague. Pirate ship in the park—ten minutes.” The phone went dead. Carole looked at her half-mixed bread. Ted would never have the patience to finish it. Beth would be stuck eating oatmeal, fruit, and vegetables for a while.

  Emptying her pockets of money and identification, Carole tugged on socks and shoes. Hurrying to Beth’s alcove, she changed the crib sheets and folded all her clean clothes from the laundry basket. Flitting past the bathroom, she dashed in, cleaned Ted’s stubble out of the sink, scrubbed the toilet, washed her hands and brushed her teeth. She put Beth’s little toothbrush right beside Ted’s. Then she dashed to the front room. Beth sat on the floor with her shoes on the wrong feet, tugging at the laces with her tongue sticking out.

  “Did she do it?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.” Ted grinned.

  “Remember she can’t eat nuts or popcorn.”

  “I know that, why—do we have some?”

  “No, just wanted to remind you because I have to go to work.”

  Ted’s expression went dark and he looked away from her.

  Carole squatted beside Beth and told her, “Mommy has to go bye-bye.”

  “To work,” her sixteen-month-old corrected.

  Carole leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back.”

  Ted didn’t look at her as she walked towards the steps.

  “Hey?” He called, as though an afterthought. “I think I might get transferred. If you’re gone awhile, call my office before you head home, I’ll leave a message with my secretary.”

  “Back to San Diego?”

  “Likely.” He shook his head as though in disbelief. “I suppose we’ll be bunking with Anne.”

  “Oh. Well, you’ll have a sitter. Ted? I love you.” Because despite it all, she did.

  “Bye, hon.” He kept his head turned towards Beth. Carole wondered, if it weren’t for Beth, what she would do.

  Carole jogged down the steps and into the spring sunshine, her step lightening as she went.

  WEST OF SANTA Fe, the Desert Veil Casino and Resort sprawled across acres of desert. Mammoth adobe buildings covered half those acres. The main building had the look of a museum, in an Art Deco meets Native American style. Gaze flitting over décor, Carole glided through the adobe entrance, stilettos gnawing on her feet. A pile of realistic auburn curls itched against bare shoulders, and rhinestone studded sunglasses covered half her face. Inside the lobby, a western-themed three-story stained-glass window illuminated an elaborate curving staircase. It filled the lobby with a column of bright desert light. Life-size bronze sculptures hid in cool shadows. Carole peeked curiously over the rim of her glasses. Something about the space drew her. It felt open, empty, both cool and warm, like the desert itself. Within her mind she could sense the enormous casino in the basement level just below her, but right here, this place reminded her of old memories of New Mexico.

  “Welcome to the Desert Veil. Are you here for the Southwest Singles Go for Broke Weekend?” The native hotel manager, wearing a leather sport coat and bolo tie, didn’t wait for her answer. He snapped his fingers at a bellhop. “Karl will take your luggage.”

  Reluctantly Carole handed over her suitcase, pretending not to notice that petite Karl almost dropped it from the weight. Though her contact had given it to her just moments ago, she knew there was a high powered rifle, tripod, and silencing equipment inside, all swathed in sparkly, sequined gowns and more uncomfortable shoes.

  “Miss…?” The manager asked, ushering her to the front desk.

  “Anderson,” she supplied, sliding two fingers of her left hand into the tiny pocket of her incredibly tight slacks to hide her wedding band. How could she have forgotten her wedding band? The distracted manager hurried to greet more guests. With her ring now safely tucked in her pocket, Carole plopped her designer bag on the marble desk and fished out a phony credit card.

  “I have reservations,” she told the clerk. Something about the stance of the waiting bellman made her think he’d seen the ring maneuver. Oh well, a judgmental hotel employee was the least of her problems. Shooting a twenty-year-old drug dealer seemed a far bigger problem. This assignment worried her. The voices were incensed, their enraged tirade made it hard to focus on a back-up plan, and she had only fifteen hours to complete the mission.

  Standing at the front desk while she checked in, the bellman stared rudely the entire time she gave false information to the desk clerk. Dark eyes roved from her ridiculously heeled shoes, over the shiny tube top, to the curls of her wig, and back again. Carole resisted the urge to kick him across the lobby. Shoving the sunglasses further up her nose, she settled the huge handbag over a shoulder, and took the room key from the clerk.

  “If you need anything, Miss Anderson, anything at all, just dial the front desk.”

  Carole ignored the clerk’s comment, which seemed to be directed at her tube top. Several men lingering at the lobby bar raised their glasses at her as she headed for the stairs. She ignored them too, and followed the bellman, still studying her through critical eyes, up the stairs. With obvious effort, he lugged the heavy bag. It thumped against each wooden step up three flights of stairs. Carole hoped it damaged the gun. It would be a justifiable reason to not use the weapon.

  After dragging her bag down a sunlit hallway, the sweating bellman insisted on unlocking the door for her. Carole saw his eyes dart to the outline of the wedding ring in her tight pants pocket. Once the door finally swung open, she dismissed his condemning looks and left her little critic to haul her suitcase over the threshold. The room continued the southwest theme, and she crossed posh carpeting patterned with a turquoise abstract of the horizon and rising sun. Sliding a glass door open she stepped onto the balcony. Peering across beautifully landscaped desert towards a building of luxury suites, she put both hands on the railing. The drug lord’s suite stood within easy shooting distance of her room, on the third floor, just opposite hers. At night even a poor shot like her couldn’t miss. I can’t do it, she decided. I won’t. Not like this. What if the hit is innocent?

  The bellman loitered annoyingly in her room, tugging and shoving the suitcase onto the luggage stand. Carole reached into her expensive handbag, fishing for a small b
ill in the obscene pile of cash. The disguise of wealthy divorcee with a gambling problem made her as uncomfortable as the assignment. Changing her mind, she chose a larger bill. Maybe Karl was a family man. Turning towards the sliding glass door, Carole sensed danger a split second too late. The small wiry man hadn’t been judging her, he’d been reading her. Her gaze slid over his cold expression to the gun in his hands at the exact moment he fired it. Carole toppled off the third floor balcony, backwards, the last thought in her mind a reprimand that she hadn’t sensed the weapon. Fatal error.

  IS IT NIGHT? Or have I gone blind? It doesn’t matter, Carole concluded. Each beat of her heart thumped further apart than the last, every shallow breath demanded greater effort. And the pain, how could one woman hold so much pain? It wouldn’t take much longer to die, the voices reassured. Unable to feel the bullet wound, she remembered the angle, knew it missed her heart because she’d stepped almost imperceptibly towards it at the last moment. It had hit a lung, and she was bleeding out, barely able to breathe. Not sure if she was face up or down, unable to feel her body, Carole reasoned that she must be lying face down. Probably alongside someone’s balcony. The wig had to have fallen off. They’ll find my suitcase, she worried, and the gun, and my cover will be blown. No! She tried to move, or thought she did, but couldn’t tell if it made any difference. Maybe the bullet hit my spine? No, the angle was wrong. I fell, maybe I broke my neck.

  “Don’t move. It will make it worse,” the voices warned. “Time is short. Make your peace.”

  Carole timed her heartbeats. Ten minutes left? Maybe. Oh God, she prayed, her mind drifting to Ted and Beth.

  “Hush, Cahrul. Do not try to move.” The name and voice sounded vaguely familiar, but thoughts of Beth crowded out any curiosity.

  “She’s dying, losing too much blood. There’s nothing we can do.” The volume of these voices rose and fell like a child playing with a radio dial, vibrating oddly as though they spoke into a fan.