by J. Conrad
I was lying on my back with my head on the pillow. I laughed and pushed myself up on my elbows. “Of course I mean it. Do you think I’d say it if I didn’t?”
Mary shrugged and smiled. “Some people would.” She crawled forward, coming to lay next to me. “You can’t take it back, you know. If you say it and you really mean it, you can’t take it back.” She looked over at me with her eyebrows raised, still giving me that quirky smile and blushing. Her blue eyes consumed me. She knew I meant it.
I grinned back at her, pushing her hair out of her face. “I mean it.”
She wriggled closer to me and I wrapped my arms around her warm body. Mary said quietly, “Then say it again. Tell me again.”
“I love you,” I said softly into her ear.
“Trent. I love you too.” She put her hand on my heart and rested her head in the crook of my arm. We lay there like that for a long time and I knew I was happy. Happy to be with my beautiful girl, who was also smart, funny, and kind – and she was mine.
Slowly, I came back to myself, sitting there on the bench in the swelling Austin heat, holding the post card. The brilliant morning mocked me. The piece of misrouted mail, bearing a poem I didn’t understand, was a harbinger of death. A herald from an Inquisitor sent to torture me until only God was left to judge me.
You can’t take it back. And she was right, I couldn’t. I couldn’t take back loving her. I couldn’t take back not loving her, breaking her heart, ruining her life. Killing her. I couldn’t take it back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
March 1st
“Mr. Lemend,” a voice said. The voice was a great distance away, calling out to me from a desolate road between the cedar trees. I think it was a man. Or maybe it was a woman. “Can you hear me?”
The light was blinding me. It must be from the passing cars. Maybe someone was finally pulling over.
“Mr. Lemend,” the voice insisted. I moaned and put my hand in front of my face, trying to shield my eyes from the brilliance. A sharp, stabbing pain ribboned around from my back to the front of my ribs, where it dug in like a knife blade.
“Ah God, what the –” I tried to turn my head but couldn’t. I opened my eyes slowly, blinking in case the headlights were too close. My vision was white, blurry, and unstable.
“It’s all right. Try not to move too much. You’ve been unconscious for three days,” the same voice said. It was a woman, after all. I squinted and tried to focus on her. She had dark skin, round glasses and black hair put up in skinny braids.
A beeping sound in the background increased its tempo as I again tried to turn my head, but wasn’t able to for some reason. None of what I was seeing made any sense. This reminded me a lot of being in the hospital when I shattered my tailbone, and I knew I was still on that unfamiliar road trying to flag down a car. What was the name of that road I’d just come from? County Road something. I’d never seen it before.
I grabbed handfuls of the sheets, balling up the fabric in my fists. The smell of rubbing alcohol made my stomach turn. As I bent one of my knees, my tailbone, back and ribs screamed in agony. I screamed back.
“Okay, okay,” the woman said, putting her hands on my shoulders and pushing down firmly. “Mr. Lemend, I need you to calm down. You’re in shock. You’ve been unconscious for three days and you have some serious injuries. You are in shock,” she repeated. “Do you understand? Blink twice if you do.”
I panted, glancing around furtively at the bright, unfocused white room. I didn’t want to throw up again. My throat ached as I mumbled “no.”
“All right. It’s all right,” the nurse said. “Just stay calm. Can you tell me your name?”
“Yeah,” I said. My voice sounded raw and it hurt to talk. I tried to put my hand to my throat, but my fingers hit something soft and I couldn’t touch my neck. “My name is Trent Lemend. I live in Georgetown.”
“Good,” she said, nodding and patting my shoulder. She removed her hands. “Do you remember what happened?”
The nausea rose back up in my stomach and I put my hand over my mouth. I swallowed down the bile.
“Are you gonna be sick?” she asked.
“No. I’m good,” I said, though I didn’t believe myself. I tried to think back so I could answer her first question. “He tried to kill me. I was in the trunk. I got – I got away and it was County Road um, something. I didn’t know where I was. I tried to get help. Elizabeth? Is Elizabeth okay?” I squeezed my eyes closed tightly. Smothering the grief just made my chest hurt worse. Elizabeth was dead.
“Someone else was with you?” the nurse asked.
“No, sorry. I’m not thinking straight. No, I was alone when I – I know who did this. I need to talk to someone at the sheriff’s office.”
“And you will, but not right now. Mr. Lemend, you were found on the side of FM 2657 in Florence. You have a fractured skull, two broken ribs, and part of your right kidney had to be removed. Fortunately the doctors were able to stop the internal bleeding. You’re very lucky to be alive, especially with that head injury.
I gingerly raised my right hand, feeling at my throat again, and realized it was a neck brace I touched.
“You have a neck injury as well. The brace will help it to heal,” she said.
“When can I speak to the detective? I need to talk to Gerald Menard in Williamson County,” I said, swallowing again. “The guy who did this took my phone again. I don’t want him putting it anywhere.” That sounded mental.
My face contorted into a grimace and I stared up at the ceiling tiles. I could just make out the square edges around each one. The rims of my eyes were wet and I felt my chest heaving up and down, but I kept my mouth shut, gritting my teeth. I wasn’t okay with being constrained and helpless. I wanted to do something effective.
“You’ll be able to speak to the police when you’ve healed enough to do that,” Nurse said. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” I said.
“We just removed the feeding tube a few hours ago. You’re okay to start eating light foods when you’re ready.”
“Oh God,” I said, still glaring up. My voice came out in a scratchy croak. “How long will I be in here?”
“At least another week,” she said. “Do you have any pain right now?”
“Only when I move or talk,” I said.
Nurse gave a little chuckle. “I know, you’re going to be sore for a while. We can see about increasing your meds. How’s your vision?”
“Horrible.”
“Any dizziness?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Okay. That’s from the concussion and your neck injury. It should improve with time,” she said.
Nurse and I exchanged a few more words and I told her the name of my insurance carrier. When she left the room, I slowly lifted my hands to my skull. I felt the coarse gauze bandages which were wound all the way around. I couldn’t recall exactly where on my head I had been struck. No, I recalled that he had hit me twice. I wondered which blow had fractured the bone.
I ran my fingers down the sides of my head and found a bandage covering my ear. Then there was the neck brace. Struggling awkwardly, I tugged away the fabric of the thin bed sheet and lifted my hospital gown. A thick bandage was wrapped snugly around my torso. I didn’t even want to think about my tailbone.
My eyes were heavy and I could barely stay awake. I tried to collect my thoughts so I could explain what happened to Menard when I spoke to him. Maybe I’d even get to speak to Reyes. I liked Reyes. There were too many holes in my memory. I dozed on and off, succumbing to the mind-numbing fuzziness of the morphine and whatever else they were giving me. I fell into dark dreams, reaching out my hand in my sleep. My fingers touched something coarse, and I dragged my hand over a rounded surface. A wheel well.
I jerked awake in a cold sweat, accidentally knocking a cup of water off the side table. The splashing sound as it hit the tiled floor made me jump. I swore and wiped my face. The heart monitor’s rhythm mirrored
my rabbiting pulse. I felt nauseous again.
A hand pushed open the white curtain at the edge of my room, and the nurse from earlier came in with a chart in her hand. She smiled as she walked over and sat in the chair next to the bed.
“Mr. Lemend, I have some good news. Doctor Pennington gave the okay to increase your pain meds, so that should help keep you more comfortable,” she said.
“Thanks, but I feel sick. Are the meds going to make it worse?”
“No, these shouldn’t make that any worse. The upset stomach is likely from the concussion, the neck injury, and the anesthesia we gave you before surgery. But I can get you something for the nausea too, if you’d like.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “It’s fine as long as it doesn’t get worse.”
Nurse opened the chart and took a pen from the pocket of her top. I could finally read her name tag: Bella Norton. She made a few notes.
“You also have a visitor,” Ms. Norton said. “There’s a Ms. Owen here to see you. Are you feeling up to it?”
“Yes, definitely,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll let her know,” Ms. Norton said. “Glad you’re feeling a bit better.” She patted my hand, turned and her braids disappeared through the curtain.
Several minutes ticked by and I frowned. Did Aria change her mind? I closed my eyes against a pang I didn’t understand. Maybe she decided it best not to see me in this condition. I had no idea what my face looked like, but it must be bad.
When I had resigned myself to try and go back to sleep, the curtain rustled and Aria appeared. She wasn’t completely in focus, but I could make out her dark hair. As she slowly walked over to me, I tried to stop the double vision and shaking camera effect. Aria forced her mouth closed and blinked, staring at me with wide, brown terrified eyes. She took the seat next to me.
“Trent.” Now that she was this close, I could see her red eyes and puffy lids. Her face had filled out all the way. “I’m really glad you’re alive.” She started to reach out her hand, but withdrew it.
Somehow I cracked a smile. “I’m really glad to see you. God, you have no idea.”
Kyle didn’t even know about this. No one did, except Aria, and I had no idea how she knew. She smiled and gave in to the urge to reach up and put her hand over mine after all.
“You wouldn’t return my calls or texts,” she said. “So I started checking around at the hospitals.” When I didn’t reply, she said, “I knew something was wrong. It was either this, or...”
“Dead. Yeah, I was on my way,” I said. “But you were right.”
“Right?” she asked.
I swallowed. “It wasn’t Nemeth. It had nothing to do with him.”
Aria blinked, nodding. “Oh, yeah. I knew it couldn’t be. Did you see who did this? I mean, did you see his face?”
“I saw him. I know who he is. I know his name. I want to tell you what happened, but I can’t remember all of it, only bits and pieces.”
“You have a head injury,” she said. “I’m sure your memory will come back as it heals.”
Forgetting about the neck brace, I tried to nod but couldn’t.
“Want to tell me the parts you can remember?” Aria asked. “It helps.” She squeezed my hand.
That was the moment I realized how strong she was. The woman who first appeared to me like a starving adolescent girl, with her gaunt cheekbones and too-large eyes, sobbing and talking nonsense at Seton Southwest. After surviving something ten times worse than what I had experienced, Aria had recovered physically and was trying to live again. Now she was here, trying to help me through my own trauma, which didn’t seem that bad in comparison.
“He hit me over the head with a crow bar,” I said. The heart monitor’s rhythm followed right along as I evoked the grim terror of falling to the ground outside my home. “I woke up in the trunk of a car. For some reason he didn’t tie my hands and feet. I don’t know why.” I had to stop. I didn’t remember what came next. “Then, I don’t know, there’s a gap. But later, we must have fought. I must have knocked him out, because he was on the ground and I pulled his ski mask off. Then I ran down the road in the dark. And that’s it. That’s all I can remember.”
Aria’s brows knitted and she gave a faint, sad smile. “That’s a lot, Trent. I’d say you remember very well.”
“I wish I could remember the name of that road. It was somewhere I’ve never been before. The nurse said they found me in, uh,” I strained, trying to penetrate the fog of medication. “Florence, I think. That’s northwest of Georgetown. I’ll get the nurse to tell me the intersection. I think I can find the place I was taken to once I wake up more.”
Aria nodded. “I can help too. We can look it up on a map together.”
I laughed and my ribs protested. “Are you being my guardian angel now?”
“Yep. God wants me to return the favor. That’s the way the universe works. Or at least, that’s the way it’s supposed to.” She grinned. If she was telling me that karma was real, it was no wonder my life was a living hell.
“Karma,” I said, fighting to keep my eyes open. The increased meds were working. “I wish it always worked in the good way.”
“Trust me, Trent, everyone wishes that,” Aria said. She dragged her hand across mine and her voice faded into the background. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
March 7th
I spent the next week doing basically nothing, as I was in no condition to go anywhere and would have probably fallen flat on my face if I tried. The highlight of my days were Aria’s visits and she’d usually stay for hours. There were still things I couldn’t figure out and it was nice to have an outside viewpoint. Sitting up in bed, I gave her the particulars of the night my house was broken into.
Aria said, “He must have got in while you were out. I know it seems incredible, but he could have used locksmith’s tools to open the door. Then he hid somewhere, and while you were asleep he came out, took your things and left through the front door.”
“Impossible. I checked everywhere when I got back. I know I did,” I said.
“I believe you,” said Aria. “But even if you were really thorough, there was probably someplace you didn’t think of. Like under the sink. Did you check there?”
I shook my head. “No, but a grown man can’t fit under there.”
“Yes he can. It’s tight, but in a lot of kitchens you can squeeze your body in. Uncomfortable, but doable.”
“Not at my house. You should see how small it is. It’s like a crusty little shot gun shack out of a Western movie,” I laughed. She was thinking in the right direction, but it couldn’t be that simple.
“Do you keep your trash can under there?” she asked.
I frowned and tilted my head. It was nice having the next brace off. “No. Why?”
“Because if you did, that would be a place you might have looked when you got home. You know, to throw something away.”
I nodded slowly. “The trash can is in the corner by the cabinets and the wall. But I keep other stuff under the sink.”
“Like what?” Aria said. She raised an eyebrow, proud of her logic, and anticipating my frank answer.
“Uh, a couple bottles of cleaner and some bug traps. I guess he could have moved them.”
Aria grinned. “I guarantee it.” Her smile faded and she folded her hands, falling into contemplation before speaking again. “Ever since what happened, I think about everything. I try to reason situations out. I never used to do that. I remember finding it strange when people dissected things too much. But it’s good to think about the little details – the long shots, or the possible but unlikely. Those are sometimes the most important.”
That made me think of something else. “Why didn’t he tie my hands and feet? If he would have done that, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Trent, you had a fractured skull,” Aria said. She glanced back at the curtain, and though there was no one nearby who we could could
see, she said more quietly, “I listen to the doctors and nurses when I can. The nurses in this wing see a lot of trauma patients. I heard one of them say it’s a miracle you’re alive. When he hit you with that crow bar, he didn’t expect you to wake up, or at least not so soon. When people have a head injury that severe, they’re usually unconscious for hours, and when they wake up they can’t do much. You’re alive because you woke up. I don’t know how you woke up. I don’t know how you were able to fight and escape, but you did. It’s… well, it’s a miracle, like the nurse said. I guess it’s yet another sign that the universe is paying you back.” Aria smiled slightly.
“But how could he see that my skull was fractured in the dark?” I asked.
“He probably didn’t need to see it. He heard it crack and he would have seen blood everywhere when he loaded you in the trunk. Head wounds bleed a lot,” she said.
I nodded, meeting her eyes which were so dark they were almost black. “What you said earlier, about the little details being the most important. You’re right. If I would have learned that sooner…”
I didn’t know what. What would I have done? I would have committed to Mary. I would have got married, I wouldn’t have met Elizabeth and she wouldn’t have left me. I wouldn’t have moved to Georgetown. I would never have looked into that back room of the house on County Road 118, and I wouldn’t have saved Aria’s life. Seemed like she wasn’t the only one who thought about the long shots these days.
Then it all came out. Blame it on the morphine, but somehow I spilled the entire story of Mary and the sins of my youth. I shed my secrets like I was talking about a bad breakup to a bartender and they flowed out of me into a bottomless shot glass. But I wasn’t drunk. I couldn’t recall the last time I had a beer.
Aria sat motionless at the bedside, barely blinking. Sometimes she nodded. And after probably an hour, when I had milked every pathetic detail from my shameful past, it dawned on me that the reservoir was empty. I told it all, and there was nothing else to tell.
