Unbroken

by A. J. Matthews

  Why the hell is Nate looking so worried? . . . He isn’t the one who has to face this . . . He might even welcome this.

  “Lights . . . ?” she said distantly. “Umm, yeah. Yes . . . I’ve been seeing flashing lights and . . . and sometimes dark shapes that look like . . .”

  She let her voice drift away. She had been about to tell them about the figure she had seen during the CAT scan, but she realized it had started long before this, when she had seen a person’s silhouette in the streak of frozen white lightning.

  But this couldn’t have been the same person. She was convinced the one she had seen before had been Billy Carroll.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” she finished lamely. Out of habit, she started massaging her left eyebrow. She couldn’t help but think both the doctor and her husband were aware that she was hiding something from them.

  “It’s no surprise,” Dr. Martindale said. “The optic nerve connects directly to the brain, so any pressure on it could produce the light patterns you described. When you were a kid, did you ever close your eyes and press against your eyelids until you saw shapes and flashes of light?”

  Kiera nodded, barely registering what he was saying.

  “It’s pretty much the same thing.”

  “Is this what’s causing the migraines, too?” Kiera asked, struggling to pull her attention back into the room.

  “It could be,” Dr. Martindale replied. “We’ll know more once we get in there and have a look at what’s going on.”

  “Have a look,” Kiera said, shuddering at the thought of someone operating on her brain. Nate reached out and took her hand, giving it a firm squeeze, but she didn’t feel the least bit reassured. Her hand was cold and lifeless in his grip, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how she might prefer to face this ordeal on her own.

  “So . . . ummm, when will we do this biopsy?” she asked.

  “As soon as possible,” Dr. Martindale said. “Like I said, we’re lucky we caught it so early. Even if it is serious, which I doubt, we can take care of it now.”

  “I just . . . I can’t believe there’s a tumor in my brain.” Kiera slowly shook her head from side to side. She was tense, waiting for a stab of pain, but nothing happened.

  “Let me reiterate,” Dr. Martindale said, leaning forward. “The prognosis is very positive. I’d like to get you in for the biopsy tomorrow morning, if that will work for you.”

  Kiera glanced at Nate, then at the doctor and nodded.

  “Sure . . . Whatever’s best.”

  “Good,” Dr. Martindale said. He stood up and rubbed his hands together. “I’ll schedule it and have someone give you a call at home to confirm.”

  Kiera wasn’t sure if her legs were strong enough to support her as she stood up. She placed both hands on the desk to steady herself and noticed that Nate didn’t reach out to help her.

  “I know it sounds like empty advice,” Dr. Martindale said, “but please—don’t worry. You’re in good hands here.”

  Kiera nodded before starting for the door, but even with Nate at her side, she didn’t feel the least bit reassured. Her only thought was that she should be satisfied; she had gotten the death sentence she had been expecting all along.

  4

  It was late in the afternoon, and daylight was rapidly fading, bringing a chill with it. Blue shadows from the trees striped the backyard, and Nate still wasn’t home. He’d told her he’d be at school, but Kiera was beginning to have her doubts. She didn’t remember him needing this much prep time last year or the year before. Plus, he wasn’t answering his cell. Those two things alone were enough to make her wonder if he might be off somewhere doing something else.

  Like what? she wondered. Is he off somewhere getting drunk with his friends, drowning his misery and complaining about me . . . or is he having a fling with someone, maybe one of the female teachers?

  As much as it hurt, she had to admit because of the way their marriage had been going—especially lately—it wouldn’t be all that surprising if he was having an affair. When she was honest with herself, she had to admit that for most of their marriage, neither one of them seemed truly satisfied. She knew she certainly wasn’t. But it bothered her that now, when she really needed some loving support, she wasn’t getting it from either her husband or daughter.

  She felt so alone . . . so isolated, and ever since the visit to the hospital this morning, she’d been feeling restless. With the telephone in hand, she paced back and forth, from the deck to the kitchen to the living room and then out to the deck again.

  She needed to talk to someone, but she had no idea who to call. Both of her parents had died within a year of each other more than six years ago, so she couldn’t very well talk to them. Her brother Mike lived in Oregon, where he taught phys ed at a community college, but because he was five years younger than her, they had never been very close. She had plenty of friends she could call or even drop by to visit—Joanie or Marsha or Jon and Liz—but she wasn’t sure she wanted to tell anyone about what was happening.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Where would she start? If she got started on how worried she was about the tumor in her head, it wouldn’t be long before she spilled it all and confessed that she was worried . . . no, not worried; she was all but convinced Nate was sleeping around. He’d done it in the past. She knew the signs. It’s just that now, feeling so vulnerable, she wasn’t sure she was seeing clearly. The tumor was just her most recent crisis. She didn’t want to unload her crap on any of her friends.

  She had to face this on her own.

  Besides, like Dr. Martindale had told her, he had to do more tests before they really knew how serious this was. Why get anyone else worried?

  “It may not even be serious at all,” she whispered as she stared at the long, thin shadows that reached across the lawn. Still, like in the hospital, she couldn’t stop thinking she’d been handed a death sentence. She’d deal with this, then she’d figure out what to do about her marriage.

  “If I survive,” she whispered. “And if I don’t . . . then I won’t have to worry about anything . . . I’ll be dead.”

  No matter how hard she tried to remain positive, though, she felt as though she—or at least an important piece of her—had already died. In a way, it was like she had known all along that she wouldn’t live past middle age. She had known it all her life—or at least ever since that night Billy died.

  “Jesus, stop thinking like that!” she shouted, but the nervousness gnawing at her insides just wouldn’t let up.

  She walked back into the kitchen and looked around, desperate to find something to do . . . anything to keep herself busy; but the dishes and laundry were done, and there was no cleaning to do unless she wanted to tackle cleaning the stove, and she didn’t have that much energy. She had already tried reading and watching TV, but her mind kept sifting through what had happened this morning . . . especially that woman she had seen inside the scanner who looked like her.

  She was positive she had imagined that. The CAT scan machine was much too narrow. She could barely fit into it. In fact, she was surprised she hadn’t felt more claustrophobic. There was no way anyone else could have been in there with her.

  Before she left the exam room, she had checked the scanner to see if there were any chrome or reflective surfaces that might have mirrored her face. She was sure there had to be something inside the machine that had given her a distorted image of herself. She hadn’t seen anything, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

  “No, it’s all in your head . . . all in your head,” she whispered as she walked into the living room and looked around. Her grip on the phone was slick with sweat, and she was going to replace it on its base, but she squeezed it as she turned and walked back out onto the deck. The sun was below the horizon, and the blue shadows on the lawn had deepened. If she stared into the woods for any length of time, she was convinced she could see figures shifting about in the deepest shadows.

  “Stop it!
. . . Please . . . Stop it!”

  She clenched the phone in her fist and shook it, and then let out a startled yelp when it suddenly rang. For a moment long enough for the phone to ring a second time, she just stood there staring at it like she had no idea what it was or what to do with it. Then, on the third ring, she flicked the switch and put it to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  For a heartbeat or two there was only silence on the other end of the line . . . a silence so complete she wondered if she had imagined hearing the phone ring. If that was the case, though, she should hear a dial tone, and there was nothing—only silence on the other end of the line.

  “Who . . . who is it?” she asked, a note of rising desperation twisting her voice.

  She was holding the phone so tightly her hand began to ache. Her own breathing was the only sound in the earpiece, but then, very faintly, whoever was on the other end of the line took a slow, shuddering breath.

  “I’m hanging up now. Don’t call again,” she said, but before she took the phone away from her ear, a voice said, “Don’t.”

  “Who is this?”

  Kiera’s eyes darted around the backyard. She was convinced more than ever that out there in the gathering gloom, someone was watching her.

  “Where is he?” the voice at the other end of the line asked.

  “What are you talking about? What do you want?” Kiera said. “Who are you?”

  “A friend,” the voice said with a rasp.

  Kiera thought it was a woman, but the voice was so low and distorted, almost lost in the faint static, she wasn’t sure.

  “Tell me what you want, or else I’m hanging up,” Kiera said nervously.

  “Where is he?”

  The voice modulated oddly, and Kiera assumed the caller had a bad cell connection.

  “Who?” Kiera asked, but even as she said the word, she was sure the person meant Nate. Whoever this was, she was playing coy, hinting at the reason Nate wasn’t home because he was having an affair.

  “Billy,” the voice said through a wash of distortion. “Where’s Billy?”

  Kiera’s throat closed off with an audible click. Without thinking, she said, “I’m sorry. You have the wrong number. There’s no—”

  “Billy Carroll . . . What did you do to him?” the voice whispered.

  Panic raced like electricity up and down Kiera’s back. She was still staring at the backyard. The shadows under the trees suddenly deepened as if someone had thrown a light switch. The sky above the trees was a deep, rich violet that throbbed in time with her pulse.

  “I don’t . . .”

  But that was all she could say before her throat closed off as if fingers wrapped around her neck like steel springs and began to squeeze.

  Kiera staggered and almost fell. A tingling sensation rushed through her, making her body feel lifeless and numb. Her hand opened involuntarily, and the phone dropped to the deck, clattering on the floorboards so loud it sounded like a sudden clap of thunder.

  “Tell me . . . Where’s Billy Carroll?”

  The voice was so faint Kiera thought it had to be inside her head. How could this be happening?

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Kiera said as she started backing away from the phone. “I really don’t know.”

  “Oh, but I think you do . . . I know you do.”

  She kept backing up until she bumped into the side of the house, hitting the wall hard enough to throw her head back and bang it against the siding. The sudden jolt shot pinpricks of light across her vision like a shower of sparks that sizzled and sputtered as they swirled around her. Somehow, though, she remained on her feet and realized she was staring at the phone she had dropped. In the gathering gloom, it was a faint cream-colored blob on the deck.

  “You know perfectly well where he is,” the voice said, buzzing and faint, “but you’d better not tell anyone else.”

  The phone was far enough away so Kiera wasn’t positive that’s what the person had said, but it didn’t matter. The voice screaming inside her head was all too clear.

  “It was an accident.” Her voice was a raw whisper that grated in the gathering darkness. “I swear to God it was an accident!”

  A sudden blast of bright light broke across the backyard. Though her panic and confusion, Kiera realized a car was pulling into the driveway. It had to be either Nate or Trista.

  Come on, she told herself. Pull it together, but rushes of fear were still playing up and down her back. She doubted that she could move, much less put on a happy face as if everything was all right.

  What just happened? she kept asking herself.

  Moving stiffly, she walked back to the phone, looking at it like it was a rattlesnake curled up and ready to strike. When the door from the garage opened and slammed shut, she sucked in a quick breath, bent down, and picked up the phone. It was cool, almost cold in her hand.

  “Hello . . . ? Hey! Where are you . . . ?” Nate called out.

  “Out on the deck,” Kiera replied.

  She wasn’t sure her voice was strong enough to carry, but the screen door slid open, and Nate stepped out onto the deck. He looked at her with a confused expression and asked, “You all right?”

  “Sure,” Kiera replied shakily, but she knew she didn’t sound at all convincing.

  “You on the phone?” Nate indicated the phone in her hand.

  “Uh—no. No. Just finished.”

  “Who you talking to?” he asked, but Kiera didn’t answer him. For several seconds, neither one of them said anything. They just looked at each other. Kiera was almost overwhelmed by the feeling that she was looking at a total stranger.

  “You hear back from the hospital?” Nate asked.

  Kiera was relieved he had broken the silence, but she was still almost overwhelmed by the tension inside her. She held the phone out and looked at it like she had no idea what it was or what she was supposed to do with it.

  “The message machine was blinking,” Nate said. “I thought maybe they called, and you missed it.”

  Kiera shook her head. “No. I’ve been here the whole time. Just trying to unwind.”

  “Can’t say as I blame you,” Nate said as he walked over and put a hand on her upper arm. “It’s been a tough day.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Kiera couldn’t help but notice how perfunctory it was, but she didn’t say anything. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him, convinced all the more that her suspicions must be true. But even if he had been out with another woman, now wasn’t the time to confront him about it.

  “I’ll check the messages. Maybe it was important.” Nate turned away quickly, but not before she caught a brief look of . . . what—?

  Was that worry or guilt or maybe panic in his eyes?

  Kiera nodded but didn’t follow him back into the house. The light came on in the kitchen, spilling a warm, buttery glow onto the deck. Turning so the light was behind her, she looked out at the woods again. They were shrouded in darkness now, but she was still convinced someone was out there, watching her. A shivery feeling tickled the back of her neck, but still she didn’t go into the house, even when she heard the message machine inside beep and the message begin to play. The volume was too low for her to make out what the caller was saying. It sounded like a man’s voice. All Kiera could think of was the distorted voice she’d heard, asking if she knew where Billy Carroll was.

  “Did you hear that?” Nate called out from the kitchen.

  “No,” Kiera said.

  She still didn’t move. The feeling of being watched pinned her where she stood. It was almost as if the person watching her shifted from one side to the other so he was always behind her, no matter which way she looked.

  “It was the hospital. Dr. Martindale says he can’t do the procedure until the day after tomorrow. He’s scheduled you for Thursday at seven o’clock.”

  Nate’s shadow suddenly filled the doorway before he stepped out onto the porch. Kiera didn’t know why she was feeling so v
ulnerable, but the tingling sensation rushing up her back was getting steadily stronger.

  “Oh, man. That’s the first day of school.” Nate shook his head, and after a slight pause said, “But don’t worry. I’ll get a sub. We don’t do much the first day, anyway. And it’s not like I don’t know the students.”

  The cold clenching in Kiera’s stomach got worse as she considered which prospect seemed least appealing—not having Nate there with her or having him come with her.

  “Crap,” she muttered.

  “I know. It really sucks.”

  Nate walked over to her and gave her a hug, but Kiera noticed again how fleeting it was, as if he was doing it out of obligation, not real affection.

  “Were you taking a shower or something so you didn’t hear it?” Nate asked. “I called, too, but didn’t leave a message.”

  Kiera wondered if that was a convenient lie. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from letting out the scream that was building up inside her.

  “I was out here most of the afternoon and evening,” she said.

  Nate frowned. “Well, Martindale wants you to call his office in the morning to confirm. He left his number. It’s on the caller ID.”

  As soon as he said that, Kiera jumped as though startled.

  Of course, she thought. The caller ID.

  She raised her hand holding the phone and pressed the backward arrow button to get the number for the last call. Her heart skipped a beat when she looked at the small, illuminated screen and saw the name Martindale and his office number. She pressed the arrow again, but the next call that had come in was from Jon, who—according to the time on the caller ID—had called the house a little after noon. Apparently he hadn’t left a message, but Kiera assumed he was calling because she hadn’t made it to tennis the day before. The call before that had been a little after eight o’clock that morning, from Townsend. That hadn’t been long after she and Nate had left for the hospital. Kiera flashed with anger, thinking about what Trista and her boyfriend might have done while she was at the hospital.