by Hart, Alana
“Come on, baby! This way!”
John yanked her to her left, banking with such speed, she stumbled, knocking her knee into the ground before righting herself again. Another gun shot rang out in the quiet, and the bark of the tree just a few feet ahead of them exploded. John stopped dead, Catherine slamming into his back, just as Bodie appeared before them, rifle aimed directly at John’s chest. Catherine held John tight against her, wrapping her arms around him.
“Step away from him, Catie,” Bodie said.
John took hold of her hand, squeezing it tight as he gave a sad smile. “You’re alright, love. Do as he says.”
“No! If he shoots you, he shoots me.” John went to shake his head, but she continued, quiet enough for only him to hear. “You’re mine.”
Bodie took a step forward, aiming the gun at John’s chin now.
Catherine tightened her hold around John, as though she might protect him from sheer force of will.
Bodie shot her a glare. “Listen to this ‘thing.’ Step away.”
The word ‘thing’ seemed to summon protest from the trees around them, rumbling in some strange growl. It was only then that she noticed the smell of musk. She and Bodie both turned just in time for a massive black shape to appear from the trees. Bodie’s eyes went wide, and he hollered, turning the gun toward the great lunging beast. Catherine moved without pause, throwing herself toward the terrifying creature just as the gun went off.
A fire as hot as the ninth ring of hell set alight in her belly, just as she fell to the ground. She heard noise, voices coupled with growls, bellows and cries, words that once made sense before –
She focused all her energy on moving her right hand, and reached for her abdomen. Where the side of her belly had once been, there was now pain, like napalm moving through her – like a million bee stings, all of them on fire. She swallowed as she lifted her hand from the hot, wet mass of her abdomen. Her hand was covered in blood.
Catherine turned, seeing figures she knew she should recognize. John was there, Bodie’s gun in his hand now as a massive shape loomed over the man she once called Uncle. Bodie was there on his knees, hands displayed in submission to the beast as it roared in his face.
“My girl, look at me. Sweetheart. Can you look at me?”
Catherine turned to John, smiling up at him as he knelt down by her side. “Hi there,” she said.
“You’re alright, Catie. Yeah? You’re gonna be alright, aren’t you? Be alright for me, ok?” His words were cheerful and sweet, but with each one he said, his eyes welled with tears. He tore off his flannel shirt, pressing it over her belly.
“Catherine!”
She fought with every ounce of energy to turn her head. Grampy was coming through the trees, leaning heavily on the shoulder of his grandson, Bennett. They stopped at the sight of her there, Bennett nearly dropping their grandfather from shock. Grampy’s face contorted in grief, visible even with his big bushy beard.
Catherine smiled at her grandfather. “You look like Santa.”
“Catherine! Baby!” John leaned down, bringing his ear closer to her face. “I can’t hear you. Talk to me a little louder.”
Catherine noticed a strange black shape at the corners of her vision. It was moving in from all around, and it made her want to close her eyes. God, how she wanted to close her eyes.
“I’m just gonna go to sleep,” she said.
John wailed beside her. “No! Stay awake! Please!”
The sound so startled her, that she was able to summon just enough strength to open her eyes again. She took in the sight of the forest, Deacon Fenn’s face was there now, the bear gone, and Uncle Bodie was still on his knees. She smiled to herself, and just as she let her eyes begin to close again, Cousin Bennett took two steps toward his father, pulled a pistol from his pocket, and pointed it at his head.
The gunshot was the last thing she heard.
CHAPTER NINE
Catherine, can you hear me?
God damn it, drive faster!
Stay with me, sweetheart. Come on, now. Stay with me.
Breathe deep, Catherine. Can you do that for me?
Every cluster of words had been familiar, but they’d sounded like dreamspeak. Everything was like dreams – softened, near but covered in mist, like a veil hanging over the world.
“Do you need anything, hon?”
These words made sense, spoken in a gentle voice, like that of a woman.
“No. Thank you, though,” a male voice responded. She recognized it, and felt herself smiling.
“Catherine?”
John said her name with a hint of desperation – a hint of hope.
“I want a ginger ale,” Catherine said, her throat biting on every syllable. She was still unwilling to open her eyes. Her head was swimming on rough seas, and she felt nauseous and heavy.
“Sweetheart!”
“I’ll get the doctor,” the female voice said. “You got it honey. One ginger ale coming up.”
Catherine could feel touch, a graze of fingers over the back of her own hand. She shifted her head, swallowing down the strange taste of metal and chemicals. She opened her eyes to the hatred of overhead lighting.
“Oh man, am I glad to see you,” John said, a sad but affectionate smile on his face.
Catherine turned to find John slunk down at her bed side, his arms propped on the mattress beside her. He was running his thumb over her hand, squeezing her fingers in his. He looked tired.
“How long have I been here?”
John smiled. “Just since last night. You tried to go Commando on all of us. Sexiest thing ever.”
Catherine chuckled and both her head and her side protested by throbbing and searing with pain. She winced, and John moved closer.
“Try not to move too much, baby. You’ve got a pretty decent hole in your side.”
Catherine let her eyes focus on the ceiling as memory crept in; the darkness of woods, Grampy hurt, bears, guns - blood.
She took the deepest breath she could, before closing her eyes.
“They’ve let me stay since you stabilized. Apparently you’ve been trying to stop breathing in your sleep.”
“My belly hurts,” she said, and tears spilled down her temples and into her ears.
John leaned down to her, kissing her temple, then her cheek, then coming to hover just over her face. She tried to smile at him, but her attempt at a jovial gesture desperately wanted to be the harbinger of tears. She’d never responded well to drugs.
“Here we go. Do you want to try to sit up a bit, sweetie?”
Catherine turned to find her nurse there, handing a cup of ginger ale to John, an impossibly long straw dangling over the edge. The nurse was a little older than her, red haired with a turned up, Irish looking nose. Catherine nodded, moving her arms to help prop herself up.
Both John and the nurse lunged forward. “No, no, honey. Don’t you move. That’s what this is for,” the nurse said, pulling a remote from the side of the bed. A moment later, Catherine was sitting upright, the icy ginger ale flowing down into her empty stomach, cooling her all the way through.
“Welcome back, Ms. Calhoun. I’m Dr. Wayne. This is Officer Bradley.”
John took the cup from her and set it aside as a tall, light haired man in a lab coat appeared in the room, a buzz cut clad State Police Officer in full uniform at his side. She swallowed. The last thing she’d ever wanted to encounter after her near brush in New Hampshire was a cop.
“How are you feeling?” The doctor asked. His hands were in his pockets, a stethoscope dangling around his neck.
Catherine nodded. “Like death.”
The doctor smiled. “As to be expected. You got yourself quite the battle scar.”
Catherine reached for her side, letting her fingers graze over the bandage that felt practically soldered to her skin.
“The bullet didn’t hit anything vital, miraculously. Surgery went
well – bullet held together. I’m sorry to say it is most likely going to be one hell of a scar, though.”
Catherine shook her head, her words coming so soft, they were barely audible. “I don’t care about a scar.”
“No, I didn’t imagine you would. You’re one of only two patients I’ve ever treated to walk away from such a shot. And the other guy was much bigger than you.”
Catherine’s brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t say I walked away, exactly.”
He laughed. “No, but you will. We’ll keep you a couple more days, and then send you home.”
“Home?” Catherine said, but the doctor was busy conferring with the nurse now. She stared down at her belly. She didn’t have a home.
“Sorry to disturb you ma’am, but I have a few questions, if you’re feeling up to it?”
Catherine glanced up at the Police Officer and nodded.
“Alright, can you tell me why were you in the woods last night?”
John stayed at her side, still holding her hand.
“I was looking for John.”
The Officer nodded. “And what brought you to the conclusion that he might be in the Parkhurst Lake area?”
Catherine closed her eyes a moment, her head getting swimmy again. “Because I found his brother in my Uncle’s shed.”
“And that brought you to Parkhurst?”
She nodded, which only exacerbated the woozy feeling. “Yes. That’s where Uncle Bodie liked to hunt. And it’s where they found Mrs. Fenn when I was a kid.”
The Officer jotted down a couple notes. “Alright – now I know other witnesses said you were already unconscious when Bodie Calhoun was shot, is that correct?”
Suddenly Catherine was in a panic. Oh God, Bennett. What’s going to happen to Bennett?
She opened her mouth – and she lied. “Bennett saved us. I know that. Bennett didn’t do anythi -”
John was reaching for her, trying to still her sudden upset movements.
The officer held his hands out to her, trying to calm her. “Bennett isn’t being charged, Ms. Calhoun. All witnesses corroborate that the gunshot was in self-defense, I’m just trying to get a clear picture.”
Catherine exhaled, searching for how to explain away what happened – that Bennett had walked up to his unarmed father, and blasted a hole in his face.
She swallowed. “I didn’t see everything that happened. It was flashes. John kept trying to talk to me and get me to stay awake. The last time I opened my eyes, I saw Bennett with a gun. Nothing else.”
Officer Brady nodded, his hat tucked politely under his arm. “Alright. We might have a detective come by to ask you a few more questions, but you rest up for now.” With that, the officer shook John’s hand and took his leave.
John produced the ginger ale before she’d even asked. She forced a smile up at him, sipping greedily. He seemed to notice her dower mood.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh my god! My baby! My poor baby!” Catherine turned toward the door of the room just in time to see her mother barreling into the hospital room, her eyes red with tears. She was at Catherine’s bedside instantly, and despite Catherine being almost three decades old, her mother dropped down to the bedside, kissing her forehead, being careful not to touch the bandage between her brows.
“Jesus, look at you. I told you not to come up here, didn’t I? I told you.”
Catherine scoffed. “Right, because you knew Bodie was gonna shoot me.”
Her mother’s face fell, and she stared at Catherine a moment, unable to speak. When the spell finally broke, tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, honey. We’ll get you all better when we get you home.”
Catherine glanced back toward the door of the hospital room, fearful that another figure may be there. “Charlie didn’t come, did he?”
Linda Calhoun shook her head, urgently. “No, no. He’s not here. It’s just me. Jacob’s on his way up from Vermont as well.”
Catherine sighed in relief.
“The doctor says you’ll be able to come home with me in a couple days, yeah?”
“No.”
Catherine and her mother both turned to look at John, confused by his sudden interjection.
“What? She won’t be ready to go in a couple days? On the phone, he said -”
“No, I mean she’s not going home with you. I’ll be taking her home – with me.”
Linda shot a glance between the two of them. Catherine didn’t have the mental fortitude to compute what was happening, let alone respond.
“She needs to be in her own home, with the people who can take care of her, John. I don’t think -”
“She’s mine, Linda. Her home is with me.”
Linda moved to protest, but Catherine stilled them both. “You should leave him, Mom.”
Linda turned toward her daughter, frowning. She set her brow, her hand involuntarily moving toward her left cheek, where despite years of practice covering bruises with makeup, her tears were uncovering the tinge of yellow purple under her eye.
“Catherine, now’s not the time.”
“Grampy needs you. He’s been up here alone, he’s needed someone to be with him. He’s going to need someone now.” Catherine was gaining strength, the words flowing as quickly as she thought them. This is it, Mom, she thought. You have a place to go now.
“I can’t ask Dad to put me up like that, after all this time? No,” she said, shaking her head.
“Bodie was hurting him, Mom. I’ve seen the bruises.”
Linda’s face contorted instantly. Catherine knew this fact would hit her mother hard. Linda couldn’t acknowledge what was happening to her, couldn’t truly accept that what her day to day life was like was a crime – that it wasn’t love. Still, if Linda couldn’t see her own turmoil from within, perhaps hearing that her own father had been suffering the same treatment, helpless in his old age – maybe that would make her see from the outside looking in.
Catherine’s mother covered her face, trying not to sob openly in front of them. “I knew Bodie – I knew he had a temper. But Dad’s so strong. He’s so big, how could Bodie do any real harm?”
“Grampy’s hands shake too much now. He can’t cook for himself anymore. He needs help with day to day stuff. Bodie wasn’t cooking for him, wasn’t doing his laundry.” Catherine watched her mother’s chin tremble, but forced her own voice to remain steady. “There are other ways to hurt someone that don’t involve lifting a finger, and you know it.”
Linda tucked a strand of highlighted honey colored hair behind her ear, the back of her hand touched gently to her bruised cheek.
Catherine continued. She could see her mother wavering – a mother who willingly lied to police about her own daughter in an effort to protect her abuser. If there was ever a moment to get through, it was now.
“You should have seen the way his face lit up when he saw me, Mom. When he heard me say I wanted to stay. He’d be the happiest man alive if he had you. Please, Mom. Just stay for a week, maybe two. Then you can decide.”
When Linda spoke, it was barely audible. “He’d be so angry with me.”
She wasn’t talking about Grampy.
Catherine tried to shift in the bed and winced. Suddenly, her head and her side rallied the still tender bruise on her ass to tag team her with pain for even thinking of moving. John came to her, helping her shift her pillows.
“You’ll be safe, Mom. I promise.”
Linda shook her head. “He has Bennett, doesn’t he?”
“Mom -”
“I don’t think Bennett is at 100% right now,” John said. Then he bowed his head, and took his leave, letting the two women have a moment alone.
“Why? What’s wrong with Bennett?”
Catherine stared up at her mother, searching for the words to share a detail she’d thought her mother already knew. “Mom, Bennett was the one that shot Uncle Bodie.”
Linda slumped down
into the nearest chair, her hands shaking as she pressed a tissue to her eyes. “Jesus Christ. Poor Benny.”
Catherine sat there, unable to move more than her arms or her head. She didn’t want to anger her body any further, but it seemed it was angry enough without provocation, and growing angrier by the second. The pain medication seemed to be wearing off at a decent clip.
“Bodie shoots you, Bennett shoots his own Dad - and you’re telling me you want to stay here?” Linda was actively sobbing now, her resolve was melting away.
“More than anything. And I want you to stay, too. You don’t have to go home right away. You don’t have to go home ever.”
Linda sat with her hands in her lap, staring at her fingers as though they’d only just sprouted. “You know, there was never any violence in our home when I was little. Never. Dad never hit us, never raised his voice at Mom. It wasn’t until Bodie turned thirteen that he started getting mean. He used to tear my hair out, threaten to cut me when Mom and Dad weren’t home. I thought he’d grown out of it.”
Catherine sighed. “No, it seems he grew into it.”
The two women sat there in silence a moment as Catherine reached for her remote. She grit her teeth against the searing sensation that was building in her abdomen. Despite the discomfort of the pain drugs on her head, she’d take nausea over this pain, any day.
She pressed the call button.
Two minutes later, Sharon appeared in the doorway. “Hey trooper, how are we feeling?”
Catherine pursed her lips and exhaled. “Not good.”
Sharon swept to the bedside like an Angel gone to war, inspected her IV and pulled a syringe from her pocket, injecting the clear sorcery into her IV drip.
Catherine inhaled.
“There we go sweetheart. That’s better, yeah?”
Catherine smiled at her beautiful nurse, reaching for her hand. Then she smiled at John, who appeared directly behind her. Then she just smiled – at the lights, at the window, at the sound of gurneys being rolled down the hall. Then Catherine smiled at sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
