Hell, Fire & Freedom (Fighting for Freedom)

by Callahan, Shannon

  The next six hours I sleep with a pillow and blanket that the flight attendant provided me with. I make a mental note to thank Blaze, again. Coupled with the direct flight, this has gone a million times better than our flight here.

  We land about twenty minutes early. Marie and I gather our things from the overhead compartment and make our way into the busy airport. I look around for the detective, but he’s nowhere to be found. I’m completely on edge, and begin scanning the airport for Carl, his mother, or anyone else he may know.

  I grab ahold of Marie’s hand, and we make our way over to the luggage carousel. I turn my cell phone back on, keeping a tight grasp on it. I’m ready to yield it as a weapon if need be. I know I’m being paranoid, and there’s no way Carl could possibly know I’m here, but I can’t help feeling this way. All of those threats he’s made to kill me if I ever left him come rushing back, and even worse, his threats to kill Marie. I give her hand a firm squeeze. I scan the room again, but there’s too many people. I can feel eyes boring into my skin, and I attempt to shake it off. He can’t be here watching me. He should be at work right now.

  I hear a loud noise and jump, but it’s only the belt starting as the luggage begins pouring out. It’s only then that I realize we didn’t even check any luggage. I attempt to lighten up some, so I loosen my grip from Marie.

  “I’m completely zoned out. We didn’t even check anything, did we?” I say with a forced laugh.

  “No, I don’t think we did. Are you all right, Brynn?” she asks in a small voice.

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  I look around the airport again for the detective and come up with nothing. Not even a security guard. I check my watch, but there’s still ten minutes before he’s supposed to be here. I spot an empty bench and lead Marie over to it. Its public, so I figure it’s as safe as we’re going to get.

  My phone starts ringing, and I jump again. Marie gives me a terrified look, and I scold myself for scaring her. She doesn’t need this, not today.

  “Hello?” I ask cautiously.

  “Brynn, you’re there already?” Blaze asks.

  “Yes, isn’t that why you’re be calling me?” I ask, my voice shaking slightly.

  “Ah, yeah, I was actually just looking to leave a voicemail,” he says awkwardly. “Brynn, are you all right?”

  “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay,” I lie.

  “Are you on the way to the hospital now?”

  “Actually, no. I can’t find the detective,” I say uncomfortably. I really don’t want him to worry either, but I’m petrified, and I don’t know what else to do.

  “He isn’t there? Did you check by the front door?” he asks, and his concern seems to rattle me more.

  “No, I didn’t, actually,” I say, a little embarrassed for not thinking of it.

  “Stay on the phone with me, Brynn; keep Marie close by and walk to the front doors. Don’t walk outside, though,” he orders.

  I pull on Marie’s hand, and lead her over to the front door where, lo and behold, I see a uniformed officer, and who I’m guessing is the detective looking around.

  “They’re here.” I sigh in relief.

  “Go up and ask them for their names,” he says, and I freeze for a moment.

  I gather up some courage and approach the two men who seem to recognize us. The one I’m guessing is the detective is a little over six feet and has dark brown hair, deep blue eyes, and stubble along his jawline. He looks to be about thirty, and he is beautiful in the most rugged sort of way. The shorter of the two has fiery red hair, freckles, and is probably a hundred and thirty pounds, soaking wet. He looks to be about twelve, but is probably in his early twenties. I wonder how in the hell he’s supposed to protect me. At least he has a gun, right?

  “Brynn and Marie Vincent?” the detective asks.

  “Could I bother you for your names?” I ask, quietly.

  “Louder, Brynn,” I hear Blaze growl into the phone.

  The one with the fiery red hair answers before I have the chance to repeat myself. “Henry O’Donnell,” he says, reaching his hand out. “This here’s detective Weston Hoss,” he says pointing to the taller man. I nod, blushing slightly.

  “Did you get that?” I ask Blaze, ignoring the man’s handshake. I’m already shaken, and the thought of a strange man’s touch is putting me dangerously close to the edge.

  “I did. Hold tight,” he orders. He’s silent a moment, and it’s incredibly awkward as I wait for him to reply again.

  “Shit. Weston Hoss, brown hair, blue eyes, looks like a pissed off mountain man? And Henry—short redhead?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “All right babe, you’re safe. They work for the local station. Good luck today, and I’ll see you tonight. Call me if you need anything at all. I mean that, too.” he says.

  “Thanks Blaze.” I say quietly before hanging up the phone.

  “We good?” detective Hoss asks.

  I nod again, and we make our way out to the police cruiser. Marie and I sit in the back seat, and they throw our bags into the trunk.

  We have an awkward drive over as Henry makes small talk, and Weston completely ignores our existence. I’m guessing he isn’t too happy about this babysitting gig.

  The detective’s phone rings, and he answers it.

  “Hoss … When? … Tell Vi and Jack I said congratulations … Yeah, I’ll be over once she’s rested … Bye Lana,” he says and hangs up the phone. Lana? I knew a Lana once, but I doubt it’s the same one. I’d love to connect with her again.

  “What was that about?” Henry asks.

  “Personal call,” he clips in response.

  We pull up in front of the hospital, and Hoss speaks to me for the first time since we left the airport.

  “Did you need us to walk you in there?” he asks.

  I slink into my seat even lower, feeling like I just need to escape his presence.

  “No, I think we’ll manage,” I say quietly. I look over at Marie who’s all but fanning herself. Henry hops out of the passenger seat and opens the trunk for us.

  “Well, have a good day,” Henry says politely. I’m guessing nobody has even bothered to inform him what we’re doing here.

  “Thanks Henry,” I say, grabbing our bags from the trunk. I hand Marie hers, and we sling them over our shoulders.

  “Take care, and don’t worry Brynn, we’re going to get him,” Hoss hollers after us. I nod and thank him. We head into the hospital, and I scan the front entrance, but notice nothing out of the ordinary.

  After speaking with the front desk, we make our way to the fourth floor intensive care unit. We find room four-twenty-six easily. I take a deep breath outside the door, wondering how in the hell I’m supposed to face her after all of this time. I don’t think it would be polite to confront her under these circumstances. Can I forgive and forget? My mind is on absolute overdrive today, and I start to feel a little nauseous.

  “Are you coming in?” Marie asks.

  I take a peek inside the room and see all of the machines surrounding a pale looking Ma, blankets drawn to her chest, and her eyes closed. My stomach churns again.

  “You head in. I need to use the washroom and find a nurse to give us an update,” I say, trying to appear much calmer than I actually am.

  “You sure Brynn? You look a little pale,” Marie says sympathetically.

  “I’m fine, really, just need to splash a little water on my face. It was a long flight,” I lie.

  Marie nods and heads into Ma’s room. I watch as she takes the chair beside her bed. I walk over to the nurse’s station and ask a kind, plump nurse with beautiful blue eyes to go in and talk with Marie.

  I look down the hall for a washroom, but I can’t see any, so I head back toward the elevators, finding one there. I walk into the sterile, white female washroom. There are three stalls, none of which seem to be occupied. I enter the farthest one, and put the seat down, sitting on the lid. I push my hands through my hair, and take a dee
p breath. Probably not the smartest thing to do in a public washroom. Gross. The smell makes me queasier than I already am.

  I let a few tears fall down my face as the situation washes over me. As much as I hate this woman, it’s still going to be difficult to say goodbye to her, to see the heartbreak on Marie’s face, and to finally let my childhood go. She can’t hurt us anymore.

  I hear someone come into the stall beside me, so I pull myself together. I wipe my tears, and open the door, making my way over to the sinks. I turn on the tap, letting the cold water run. I scoop some into my hands, and splash it over my face as I hear the stall open behind me. I vaguely think to myself that I didn’t hear them use the washroom before I have a hand clamped over my mouth and an arm wrapped roughly around my middle, dragging me back into the bathroom stall. The door slams shut, and I have a horrible feeling I’m going to die.

  “Darling, I’m so glad you came back to see your dear husband,” Carl hisses into my ear.

  I try and scream through his hand, but it’s clamped like a vice. I kick my feet back at him, but it’s no use, he’s too strong. I’m going to meet my demise in a hospital bathroom that reeks like fecal matter. If this isn’t white trash, I don’t know what is. I guess this is what I deserve …

  NO! I hear my mind scream. I refuse to accept going out this way. I pull my arm as far away from his grip as I can and ram it into his stomach.

  Nothing.

  I smash my head backward into his, and I know I must have done some damage because my head starts spinning.

  “Fuck you, bitch,” he growls, pulling out his fist, which was wrapped around my middle and slamming it back into my stomach. I try and curl into the fetal position from the sting of the pain, but he’s holding my head into place with the hand covering my mouth.

  “Thought you could get away from me, didn’t you? I don’t break my promises, darling. I knew you’d be by to see your ma. Came to thank the filthy cunt for giving your sorry ass life? Don’t bother, you’re not going to have it much longer,” he seethes.

  I’m breathing heavily now, and tears start streaming down my face.

  “This isn’t it, though, bitch. I’m not losing my freedom over you.”

  He slips his hand up inside my shirt as I thrash around, trying to throw him off. He pinches my nipple hard, and I let out a silenced scream.

  “You say anything, Darling, anything at all, and I will fucking kill you and that dirty sister of yours too. If you think you’re safe, you’re not. I know where you live Brynn, so get nice and cozy there. I can, and I will find you anywhere you go, and if you think it all ends with me, then you’re more of a fucking moron than I thought. If I go to prison, or if anything happens to me, I’ve got a hit out on you and Marie, and he’s not going to stop until the job is done,” he threatens. I stop thrashing as fear takes over my body.

  I feel his erection pushing up against my back, and I pray to God he doesn’t rape me. He throws me up against the wall and opens the door to the stall.

  “Not a fucking word, you dumb cunt,” he fumes, spitting on me.

  I stare in silence as he grabs some paper towel and wipes the blood from his lip where my head made contact.

  “And you’ll pay for this, too,” he promises before turning his broad shoulders and walking out the door.

  I close the stall door, and punch in the numbers 9-1-1 on my cell phone. Before I hit send, I think of Carl’s promise. I panic, wondering if he’s going after Marie now, but remember I sent the nurse in with her and Ma before coming to the bathroom. She’s safe, for now at least.

  I finally give in to the pain and bend down in front of the toilet seat, letting the waves of nausea roll over me until I begin vomiting uncontrollably. When I finish, I wipe my mouth with toilet paper, close the toilet lid, and sit down before doubling over. I sob hysterically, attempting to get it all out, so Marie doesn’t have to see it. The more I cry, the more my stomach hurts, and doesn’t that make me want to cry even more. Time is passing, and I know I need to get back and keep an eye on her.

  I fetch the compact from my bag and check my face. My cheeks are flushed and full of smeared mascara and tears. My eyes are blood red, and my hair is an absolute mess. I grab some toilet paper, spit on it, and try to wipe my face as best I can. I pull an elastic out of my bag and throw my hair into a high ponytail. That’s as much as I can do from inside the stall, so I open the door and walk over to the mirror as cautiously as possible. There’s no lock on the washroom door, so I work quickly in case Carl decides to return and finish the job.

  Maybe that would be easier.

  I push the thought to the back of my mind. Ma is dying, Marie will have nobody. I need to be strong and get through this for her. I throw a heavy layer of foundation on, something I haven’t had to do since a week after my escape. I put on some more mascara and eyeliner that I had packed as well. I notice Carl’s spit landed on the front of my coral boat neck top so I pull it off quickly, completely disgusted. I rush into the stall and throw it where the disposed pads and tampons go.

  I look down and see the bruises already starting to form on my stomach, and I cringe. Why me? Why did I have to meet Carl before I met Blaze? I grab the light grey tank top I have in my bag and the white zip up sweater I had planned to wear tonight when it got cooler. I pull them on, careful of my throbbing stomach.

  I emerge from the stall and check myself in the mirror. Everything but my eyes look presentable. I guess I can pass that off as crying over Ma. How terrible is that? I look back down at my phone, which still has the number entered for 911. What’s the best way to keep Marie and me safe?

  I take one last look in the mirror, delete the number from my phone, and walk out of the bathroom. I rush back to Ma’s room and peek inside. The nurse is writing notes on her chart on one side of the bed, and Marie is still sitting on the other, holding Ma’s hand. I can’t see her face, but her shoulders are slumped, and I’m sure she’s been crying.

  “Hey,” I say, greeting the nurse. Marie doesn’t bother to look up.

  “Hey, we were just waiting for you. I’m going to run and see if the doctor has a minute to come in and talk to you about your mother, okay?” she asks, crossing the room and giving me a sympathetic rub on my back.

  “Thank you,” I manage to croak out.

  I take the seat on the opposite side of Ma. Her skin is sunken and yellow, her wrinkles now more prominent than ever. She looks dead already, but then again, she’s never looked particularly good. I saw a photograph of her once from when she was a child. She was beautiful; she reminded me a lot of Marie. Not this woman, though. She looks like she belongs in a zombie film. I look her over, and notice the IVs, heart monitors, and the breathing tubes in her mouth. Is that all that’s keeping her alive now?

  I keep glancing into the hallway, terrified that Carl is going to show up at any minute with a gun, or something that will help him easily finish the job. I take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. Carl wouldn’t kill us in public—he wants to do it and still be a free man. His selfishness is actually saving my life right now. How ironic.

  I look over to Marie who has her eyes closed and is sobbing quietly. I search for some comforting words, but come up short. Instead, I reach across the bed and lay my hand over hers. She looks up at me, sadly, and my heart breaks all over again. “I’m so sorry,” I mouth to her. She manages to keeps eye contact until her lips start quivering too badly, and she’s forced to look away. She wipes her eyes with a tissue from the nightstand beside Ma’s bed.

  A tall, balding man in his thirties comes into her room in a long white lab coat. I guess it’s Ma’s doctor, and when he speaks, I’m certain it is. It’s the same doctor I’ve been speaking to over the phone since we moved to New York.

  “Doctor Patrick Duchene,” he says, extending his hand, “and you must be Brynn.”

  I take his hand into mine, and he gives it a firm shake. He looks over to Marie. “And you must be Marie,” he says, once again of
fering his hand. Marie accepts, and I watch as they shake hands a little awkwardly.

  “I’ve been the primary doctor on your mom’s case since she arrived. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you both.” He walks over to the end of her bed and picks up the chart her nurse had been working on.

  “She’s put up quite a fight since she’s been here, but unfortunately, her liver just isn’t working as it should. We put her on the transplant list, but that can take years under good circumstances. A week ago when her condition became critical, we put her on the emergency list but her history of alcohol abuse, coupled with her unwillingness to change, even after talking to our therapists, has put her on the bottom of that list. I’d love to say that I thought it was possible she’d get a transplant in time, but I don’t want to give you hope where there isn’t any either.”

  I see Marie shaking now, and I walk over and pull her into a hug. Doctor Duchene stays silent, looking through Ma’s chart. I’m sure this isn’t easy for him either. I watch him beckon a nurse from the hallway, who comes in to speak with Marie.

  “Two doors down is a waiting room with juice, cookies, crackers, and toast. How about we go and grab you something to eat?” she asks, loosening the grip Marie has on me.

  “Okay,” Marie says through sobs. She follows the nurse out of the room.

  “Please, have a seat,” Doctor Duchene says, motioning to a chair. I take the seat and look at Ma’s sad shell of a body. “From the time we have spent with your mother while she was lucid, and awake, we gather that you were not very close. Please, correct me if I’m wrong,” he says gently.

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “If you would like my complete honesty, Brynn, I don’t think your mother is going to make it much longer. We had to resuscitate her earlier this morning,” he says, searching my face for signs that I might be upset by the news. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted Marie to hear that, which is why I sent her away.”