The Housekeeper's Daughter

by Palmer, Dee

  “When you what, Logan?” she sneers, and I can see him curse himself. His knuckles are white with impotent rage. “When you were brainwashed by this whore?” Stars flit across my vision when she pushes the blade in once more. I don’t remember it being that long but surely it must be at the end by now. I cough and fold at the unbearable pain the muscle contraction caused, choking up some blood and letting out a bitter laugh when I manage to speak.

  “If we could maybe stop calling me a whore. I’d quite like the last words I hear not to be that.” My legs feel weak with the icy chill saturating my cells, and each breath is getting harder.

  “No one is hearing their last words, stop being so dramatic, Tia.” Atticus’s deep commanding voice makes me smile. A momentary warm burst hits my chest, and I relish the respite. “We are all going to calm the fuck down and drop the weapons.”

  “Atticus is it?” Lilith inches her body closer to mine. I should perhaps feel body heat with her being so close but then that would suppose she’s not the psychotic ice queen bitch she is.

  “It is.”

  “Shall we play a game?” she croons seductively. I want to vomit.

  “I don’t like games.”

  “Now that’s not true. Tia said you and she used to play games all the time.” She looks between me and Atticus, and his eyes fix on me, the crystal blue deep with worry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so scared. That’s not good.

  “I don’t like your games, Lilith. Please put the knife down.” Logan steps forward, his hand out waving slowly in a downward motion, calming and encouraging her to drop the weapons.

  “You think she’ll choose you, Logan, but she won’t. Even if I kill Atticus, she won’t choose you!” Her voice waivers, pitched with hysteria and vitriol. Her hands are shaking, and her neck is red with an angry rash colouring her skin.

  “No! Please, please don’t—” I plead but Logan cuts in.

  “I don’t care if she doesn’t choose me. She loves us both. I don’t deserve her anyway, so I’m fine if she chooses him.”

  “Liar! You need to see the truth, Logan, then you’ll be free.” She raises the gun and turns her evil gaze at me.

  “Choose, Tia, choose who dies.”

  “What? Are you fucking insane? No!” My body starts to shake, adrenaline, nerves, and a sick fear coursing through me.

  “The only way she’s going to choose you, Logan, is if he’s dead. Now do you see the trick? She never loved you. I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved you.”

  “I love them both, you crazy fucking bitch, and there is no fucking way I’m going to choose, and I’m not your fucking pin cushion.” I lunge forward, grabbing the knife as it sinks to the hilt into my stomach. I knock her hand free of the hilt as I press my body against hers, twisting us and slamming her against the wall. Everything slows down and as if I’m seeing only a few frames at a time as the end of my life plays out in slow motion. My hand slips on the grip, there’s so much blood but I manage to pull the blade from my body.

  “No!” Deep voices boom above me and the sudden rush of lightness and a cool gushing of blood over my stomach makes me realise, a little too late, that move wasn’t such a great idea, but it was necessary. With strength slipping faster than I can hold on to, I manage to plunge the knife into Ghosts neck. The noise of the gun explodes in my ear and we both crumple in a heap. A mass of weighty bodies and far too many limbs for it to be just me and Ghost. Logan and Atticus try to detangle the twisted limbs. The light, tender touch of someone’s hands on my face feels like nirvana and is all too fleeting. There’s an almighty cracking sound, like the heavens are being torn in two and hell is opening up to consume us all. A brief weightlessness dissolves into an agonising fall, as floor after floor we crash through burnt and rotten wood, hitting the ground in a pile of broken bones and bleeding bodies.

  I know I must be dead, because I’m floating. A warm, fuzzy blanket cossets my broken bones, and I feel no pain, only woozy and light and a little bit happy. The bright light I’m staring at doesn’t hurt my eyes but my eyelids feel way too heavy to open. I wonder if this is heaven, because when we fell through each floor and the tower timbers crashed over our bodies, that most definitely felt like I was plummeting into hell.

  I felt bones snap like twigs, yet the excruciating pain in every nerve was nothing compared to the image as the ancient dust settled, revealing Atticus and Logan’s limp and lifeless bodies tangled beside mine; that was unbearable.

  My heart breaks to a million painful pieces with the agonising recall, and it’s why I know this light dreamy feeling isn’t real. This isn’t heaven and the respite from that unbearable pain is merely a result of the drugs sedating my nightmare reality. Utter exhaustion blissfully mixes with the numbing cocktail swirling in my veins and once more takes me under. The soft darkness draws around me, and I sink back into sweet oblivion.

  Voices I recognise wake me, and its like my heart jolts to life with a pure shot of electricity. My eyes spring open, and I’m faced with the most wonderful sight imaginable, coupled with the painful reality that the drugs are wearing off. I don’t care; I’ll endure the agony ripping through my body to have this vision of crystal blues and chocolate brown eyes staring right back of me. Their expressions are a comical mirror of each other even if they look so completely different, a perfect picture of wonder, relief and love on ridiculously handsome faces.

  “Hey,” I say, but no sound escapes. My mouth feels like the Sahara, gritty, rough and horribly dry. My tongue sticks on my chapped lips, and I struggle to swallow since there is absolutely no moisture in my mouth.

  “Here.”

  Atticus hands Logan a small cup since he is closest to me. Logan fishes out a few ice chips and slips them into my parched mouth. I smile but don’t attempt another word. I simply drink in the sight before me. Fresh dark bruises colour Atticus’s right arm and spread under the cap of his t-shirt. His brow has several strips of white tape pulling the skin together, and his lip is very swollen and mottled purple. Logan seems to have fared slightly better, but it’s difficult to tell since his arms are covered in ink. His hairline has some blood matted in it and a single piece of tape over the cut on his forehead. First impressions make me think I haven’t been unconscious for long. As if reading my mind, Atticus speaks, easing himself gently on the edge of my bed.

  “You’ve been unconscious for two days. The surgery went well, we think, but they won’t tell us much more than that since we’re not family or next of kin.” He grumbles the last few words, and darkness clouds his expression and forces his brows to knit together.

  “Something that gets fixed as soon as you get out,” Logan adds, his tone equally irritated.

  “Agreed.” Atticus and Logan share a knowing glance that would pique my interest if my brain wasn’t mush. What the hell was that? “You lost a lot of blood, had two transfusions, but you’re very pale and weak from the surgery. The knife wound was deep but by some fucking miracle missed any of your major organs, may have clipped your pancreas, here. ” He points to his torso where I took the brunt of the knife, as if I could forget. “But they repaired the damage. Your humerus is broken, and the ulna bone fractured in three places and needed to be pinned. It’s your left arm though so won’t affect you being able to paint.” He continues to pinpoint each injury on his own body and I almost crack a smile through the pain, which seems to spark each time he identifies where my injuries are. “Your left leg had a clean break, which means you’re going to be in a cast like this for a little while.” My leg is suspended and my arm is crooked at an angle, fully cast in white plaster and also supported by ties and some sort of trapeze frame.

  It could be worse. It seems Logan can read my mind too.

  “Ghost died…not from the knife,” Logan is quick to insist. Since she nearly killed all of us, I don’t much care how she died. Even so, he seems keen to ease my mind and continues to clarify. “She broke her neck in the fall. We only survived because a lar
ge piece of flooring caught on a window ledge and took most of the impact of the falling timber and loose stones. Battered and bruised and, in your case, a little bit broken but we’re all lucky to be alive.”

  “Thought we’d lost you, Tia.” Logan’s hand covers mine, and Atticus lays his large palm tentatively on my thigh, the one that isn’t encased in plaster. He squeezes and Logan does the same, both sets of eyes fixed on me and are filled with the same sentiment: utter relief.

  “Oh good you’re awake.” The nurse’s bright smile widens when she takes in the two men at my side. I don’t blame her. They are enough to keep my heart thumping near the point of arrest. Not least of which because they seem to be friends. “I’ll get the doctor.” She disappears, not before her cheeks flush the same pink as her uniform.

  “You think you can take a shower now?” Atticus leans back and chokes out an exaggerated cough, holding his nose with his free hand.

  “I’ll take a shower when I know she’s going to be all right.” Logan raises an accusatory brow, his tone very matter of fact.

  “You could’ve left her side for an hour. I said I wouldn’t leave her side while you took a much needed shower.”

  “I might smell, but you’re the idiot risking his fucking life coming out of hiding like you have.” Logan rolls his eyes and my jaw nigh on hits the floor. They’re bantering…maybe I’m high?

  “You fixed that, and maybe now’s not the time to discuss this.”

  Logan dismisses Atticus’s curt, tight-lipped reply with a shrug, pointing his thumb over his shoulder as he explains. “Numb-nuts here seemed to think paying his debt was enough and the Russians would understand his girlfriend needed him. I just gave them something else to worry about. They had a rat problem. I simply enlightened them about the issue in exchange for calling it even with Atticus.” Logan winks at me, an easy air settles between them. It’s surreal. I mean, I’m glad Atticus is not going to be hunted down, but this is just weird. Logan continues, even the events he’s describing make much more sense than this inconceivable outcome, that he and Atticus are friends. “It took about forty minutes to find the source of the leak. That’s the thing with criminal organisations, they’re full of…fucking criminals.”

  “If you can’t trust a crook… Thanks again, Logan. I owe you.”

  “I’ll take this one here as payment.” Logan leans up to plant a possessive kiss on my forehead, nose, and lightly on my lips.

  “Yeah not gonna happen” Atticus’s tone is lightly taunting. He eases his way in front of Logan and does the same. I’m reeling. What the hell?

  “Miss Parker, good to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?” A dark haired, dark skinned kindly looking doctor enters the room, leading what looks to be a train of young student doctors who look paler than their white coats, a mix of terror and exhaustion rimming their collective wide-eyed expressions.

  “Like I’ve been hit by a ten wheeler.” I wince at the muscles moving in my tummy. Who knew they were connected to my mouth?

  “A fair analogy from what I understand, although survived an earthquake might be more apt.” He chuckles, and Logan lets out a disapproving low-level growl. “You are all very lucky to be alive.”

  “We barely got a scratch in comparison, doc.” Logan scoffs and makes only just enough room for the doctor to approach my side.

  “I wasn’t referring to you two gentlemen.” The doctor shakes his head at the notion, irritation testing the limits of his polite game face. “I meant the Miss Parker and the babies.”

  “Babies? If this is a joke, it’s really not fucking funny.” Logan stiffens, and I wince over at the sudden tightening of all my tummy muscles as my guts twist and roll at the doctor’s cruel words.

  “Why would it be a joke?” The doctor straightens to his not so considerable height, but still manages to hold his own against the new wall of both Logan and Atticus shoulder-to-shoulder and fuming. “Perhaps you two gentlemen should step outside and give Miss Parker and I a little privacy.” He turns back to me. His words aren’t making any sense, blood is rushing in my ears so damn loud it’s not helping, and my heart feels like is going to explode. “I’m sorry, Miss Parker. I assumed you had told the father, and I definitely jumped to the conclusion that one of these gentlemen was the father since they haven’t left your side.”

  “I’m not pregnant Doctor. I’ve had a hysterectomy.” My eyes spring with tears and a surge of sorrow chokes the words as I let them out of my mouth.

  “Excuse me? No, that can’t be right.” He briskly shakes his head, a deep line furrows his brow, anger or confusion I’m not sure but he snaps his hand out to retrieve the chart that is immediately being offered to him by one of the students.

  “She had one when she was…” Logan looks at me, pain etching his dark eyes, his jaw clenched, forcing himself to speak on my behalf. I’m sinking, spiralling down. “She was attacked when she was nineteen. She had emergency surgery. The only way to stop the bleeding was to perform a hysterectomy. So whatever tests you’ve done they’re wrong, understand?”

  “I’m sorry Miss Parker, truly I am, only that’s impossible. The tests aren’t wrong. Look.”

  “You’re upsetting her; stop fucking around.” Atticus steps in front of Logan, both men have their fists clenched so I’m not sure who is the calming factor. The doctor is trying his best to diffuse the situation, and all I can do is endure this new level of hell. What I wouldn’t give to hear those words one day when the brutal reality is I never will, never; not in my future and certainly not today.

  “No!…no. Please make it stop.” An unearthly guttural cry escapes from the back of my throat. A pain so deeply ingrained in my soul it rips me apart, something deep inside, something dark and unbearable consumes me. The doctor flips pages of paper over on the chart he’s holding and turns it to face me. Time suspends as my blurry eyes focus for a split second and my world spins out of my control. Two fuzzy images as clear as the constellation on a dark night make no more sense that his ridiculous claim. I can hear my pulse peaking at maximum speed on the monitor in the room. It’s so damn fast, yet it seems to slow to a painful thump-thump in my chest. I close my eyes as every muscle in my body explodes and I scream in silent agony; every fibre, every nerve, every cell in my body is shredded with a seizure to end all seizures.

  “What happened?” I’m asking but my voice sounds a lot like Logan. Oh, it is Logan. Why can’t they hear me? Why is it so dark? Am I dreaming? I want to wake up. I want to know what the hell is happening.

  “We’re not sure.” A female voice, softly spoken, her tone trying to comfort where her words are failing. “She had a seizure. The scan showed she’s had some swelling on the left side of her brain but there’s no damage that we can tell. We’ll know more when she wakes up.”

  “When will that be?” Atticus’s voice I recognise, and I know from the distinct tone he’s worried, the edge is sharp, almost hostile.

  “I’m sorry Mr Kraus, Mr Mathews, I wish I could answer that. She’s had a massive shock, on top of major surgery, her brain has decided to shut down for a bit. She’ll wake when she’s ready.”

  I’m ready…I’m so ready! I can feel tingles up my arms as the nerves try to fire the muscles into action, a wave, a twitch, anything to let them know, I’m ready. Nothing.

  “Can she hear us?” Logan asks, and it kills me that his voice catches. Yes, yes, I can hear you.

  “We don’t know for sure, but its standard practice to assume all coma patients can hear, and it certainly won’t do any harm reminding her what she missing by staying asleep.”

  “And the babies, they will be okay while she’s sleeping?” This is my worst fucking nightmare, but at least they are asking the questions I want to hear the answers too, just as much as they do.

  “We are keeping a close eye on them, but they are strong. She’s taken good care of them so far even if she didn’t know it. They will be fine. They simply need their mother back.”

  “
They’re not the only ones,” Logan says.

  The nurse replies, and I can almost hear her swallow down her own sad take on this sorry situation. “Quite.”

  Her footsteps fade, and all I can hear is the steady beep of the heart monitor.

  Wait, don’t go! What babies? How the fuck am I pregnant if I don’t have a womb? Wake the fuck up, Tia!

  I’m screaming at myself, frustration and fear suffocating my fragile breaths. I’m awake. I can feel it. I can hear them, I’m cognisant enough to ask questions I desperately want answered, but my useless fucking body is holding me hostage. The irony is thick, I survived a life threatening stab wound, massive blood loss, and a castle collapsing on top of me but this silent impotence, this is what’s going to kill me.

  “Shhh baby…shhhh.” Two different voices are at my face, their hands holding mine and their loving touch indistinguishable from each other. This might be a fresh hell, but with them here at least I’m not alone. I sigh and feel the calming wave of their nearness wash over me.

  “Well, that answers that question. She can definitely hear us,” Atticus says, his warm mouth presses to my cheek, his lips curve against me in a barely there smile.

  I can feel you too.

  The bed shifts again as they both lie either side of me. They must be balanced right on the edge or this is the world’s biggest hospital bed. I smile. God I hope I smile because their touch feels so good. I can feel strong hands trace like feathers across my cheek, around my ears, and boop my nose. “Can’t you, princess? You can hear every word. Can you feel this too?”

  His lips press softly against mine, and a tear trickles from my eye, down my face, along the juncture of our lips and seals the kiss.