From Dusk: A Dark Stalker Romance, page 20
Her voice shakes a little as she speaks. “And I will be the devil's daughter if I allow him to take the lives of my grandchildren.” All her Jersey was subdued, overtaken her angry German side at this point.
Spinning away from me, she heads over to the register counter. The phone is in her hand, and to her ear in a matter of seconds. “I need an ambulance to my address immediately.” Her German accent is gone again, as she finishes the conversation and hangs up. A heaviness falls on my shoulders as I watch her stare at the receiver. Her hands are shaking, her breathing unsteady… she swallows hard, then picks it up and dials another number.
Leaving her to take the phone call, I saunter up the stairs to check on Evelyn, who has been going in and out of consciousness. I kneel at her bedside, placing the back of my hand to her forehead—no fever, but she is clammy to the touch, and sweat is beading on her skin like she was sprayed with a layer of Rain-X.
“She called for help, sugar.” I trace her hair line as I speak, “You’re going to be ok, hang in there, baby.”
I brush her cheek with my forefinger as footsteps approach me from behind. I try not to be startled—five years overseas makes you skittish.
“You’ve been here a bit,” The woman’s voice is soft. “Yet I don’t know your name.”
“Christian. Ma’am.” Still looking at Evelyn, I stand, slowly. “My name is Christian.”
“Very well, Christian. I am Niven. I have called for emergency transportation. Also, I… have also,” she clears her throat, “I have also called her mother.” Her hands clasp together as she straightens her back. “Now, if you will pardon me a moment, I must get work done before everyone gets here.”
Screams erupt outside, pulling both mine and Niven’s attention in its direction. Looking back at Evelyn, I tell her, “I will be right back, baby.” The wind combs through my hair as I dash to the door. Niven is already outside, her hands clasped over her mouth in shock—following her line of sight, a clear picture of what has her frightened comes into view.
It’s that piece of shit.
Without a second to lose, I charge past Niven. The film of red that forms over my eyes almost prevents me from feeling the grip of her frail hand.
“Please don’t, she needs you.” I hate that she is right. I don’t know who the other man is, but I am grateful. I am also a little judgmental—although I admire his weapon of choice, I am also against such a shiny silver necklace decorating that doctor’s worthless throat.
I look around, and Niven is nowhere in sight. I hear her calling from the library, just as the man hollers. I glance back one last time—the man and the doctor are gone. Rushing back inside the building, I find Evelyn is seizing on the floor. Niven is holding her, “Sugar!” I only pause a moment before I slide across the hardwood floor, quickly getting within range, to help Niven keep Evelyn on her side—so she doesn’t asphyxiate on her tongue or fluids that may form. This was a useful trick I learned in the field.
“I thought I figured out the drug.” Niven is no longer fighting back her emotions. “I am sorry, I am all out of ideas. It's like there are multiple contributors to her condition.”
She is no longer trying to appear unbreakable. Watching this old woman’s walls collapse and witnessing the mix of emotions that must be spiraling within her, let me know I am not alone. Then, the realization hits me. “It was a fucking cocktail!” I scream in anger as Niven’s eyes shoot up to meet mine. The fear of not knowing what would happen next causes consternation among both of us. It doesn’t take too long until she comes out of it, but it felt like forever.
“No wonder my tonics aren’t working,” I look to Niven as she speaks, “We’ve been trying to treat one at a time.”
“Well, no matter now.” I interject, “There is no time left, and help is on the way.”
Once all has settled, Niven places her hand on my shoulder. “Bring her to the room to rest. Her mother and the ambulance will be here in due time.” Bowing my head to her, I give her my thanks, then head upstairs. Opening the door to the little bedroom using my shoulder after fighting with the handle for a moment, I lay her limp body on the bed. lean down to kiss her cold lips, and I whisper. “I want to take care of you for as long as we both shall live, sugar. Please hold on for me.”
Evelyn
The Nausea comes and goes like the rising of salt water to the ocean’s shore.
Darkness again?
Was my self-torment not enough?
Here we go, I get to relive the last time I let my sister down—
for the umpteenth time.
As the water ascends around me, so does my doubt that I will ever outlive my guilt of always letting her down. My whole life, I fought for our father's love—blaming her when he left. I was always making the wrong choices, falling in with the wrong crowd of people on my egotistic road to self-worth.
Around every corner, through every single downfall, my sister was the one who was there for me—Always. When I crashed in that five-car pile-up, who was the one who convinced Mom that something wasn’t right?
She was.
I should have taken that moment—I should have told her then that I had a problem, an addiction. I kick myself for not daring to face her judgment. When I was at my weakest, I wished that I had the strength, in that instant, to ask for her help.
All the euphoric elevations from the ecstasy, the many different rewards from the multiple divergent ‘highs’—only fed the narcissistic side of me, while the rest drifted into the shadows. As time passed, I faded further away, till I no longer recognized myself in the mirror. The only thing I saw there was: a gaunt, malnourished husk of who I once was and the ghostly whisper of potential that I could have possessed.
My wallowing is interrupted by a deep, soft voice that echoes and leaves behind a residual sense of happiness. In the state that I am in, time is but a construct at this point, and gravity is nonexistent—I am floating. Then, like the eye of a hurricane has passed over me, it all comes to a full stop. The calm before the storm, I feel my body being propped up against something firm—the soft scent of cinnamon and pine fills my nostrils.
I am overtaken by an extremely sharp but quick pain that prickles through my body as it starts to wake up. My eyes begin to flutter and fight against the bright light as I strain to open them. A blurry figure is standing over me, and I try to reach up, but my body is heavy with fatigue.
“Christy?” My voice is gentle, as I push back the urge to vomit—I am confident I placed the voice.
“Yes, sugar,” his voice is sweet and gentle, “I am here.”
He takes my hand, his warmth being a welcome reminder that—what is in front of me—is real. For so long, I was stuck in a void, lost inside my own head, drowning in my failures.
“We got help coming, baby.” I feel his hand slide across my back, “Are you ok to walk?”
Sliding my foot straight in front of me, I jokingly wiggle my toes. “No? That’s ok, I have you now.” I give him a tired half-smile. He slides his arm further around me, draping mine over his broad shoulders—then we make our way downstairs. My mother is here speaking with an elderly woman. I hobble over to stand next to them, the hope of being introduced to the woman who took us in, presses to the forefront of my mind.
Christian stops short, keeping us a few feet away—though not out of earshot. I try leaning forward to overhear their conversation and nearly fall flat on my face. “Oh, Niven, you look stunning. It’s been so long-” My mother stops mid-conversation as I approach, almost kissing the ground one more time before I get to them. “Oh, Evelyn, honey.”
“Evelyn,” Her hug is tight—the love that exists within her embrace seeps to my core. “This is your grandmother… Niven.”
My gaze falls on her gorgeous heterochromatic eyes. “Hello.” We don’t get much conversation in before the walls start changing colors, triggering a drug-enhanced episode. I fall into my mother’s arms as Niven runs out the door. I feel my body being maneuvered like a sack of potatoes as my arm is draped over my mother’s shoulder so she can guide me to the ambulance.
Halfway there, a voice on the wind reaches my ears: familiar, soft, and scared. Looking up, I scan the horizon—my gaze falling on… Emory? Her figure is trailing and blurred, so I blink many times trying to clear my vision, blaming my elevated state. Finally, she comes into view, and she is running at me, her hands outstretched—screaming my name.
I peer down and notice, subconsciously, my body is reacting to this image. I am compelled to start shoving, jabbing, and trying to break free from my mother’s hold. Once she can no longer hold me back, I run to Emory and do not look back. Hands out-stretched—screaming her name.
Am I hallucinating?
Is she really here?
I don’t care.
I must find out.
Our hands nearly touch when a massive, muscular arm yanks me away.
“No!” I shout, kicking and screaming, “It is her. Emory is right there. Please let me go.”
“Evelyn, stop! You are sick.” He carries me with ease. No matter how much I throw myself, nothing throws him off kilter. “Let me get you to the hospital, and I’ll make sure you have a bed right next to her?”
Is he serious?
Did he not see or hear her?
So much was coursing through my brain. Still full of doubt, I try to make sense of what he said, “What are you talking about?” I wrestle with him, trying to pull away, but in my debilitated state, I am no match for a man of his stature.
“We must go now, baby.” The urgency in his tone fades, “Please!” I pass out from overexertion.
Christian
Upon arriving at the hospital, the doctors advise me that it would be faster if I stay back while she is examined. I comply when I see the state her mother is in—there is no way I am going to leave her worrying by herself. While the suspense of waiting for the results is torture, the boredom has it beat.
“So,” Her mother finally breaks the silence. “We were unable to get acquainted.”
“My name is Christian, ma’am.”
“Oh, manners,” Raising an eyebrow, as a small smirk crept across her face, “How did you meet my daughter, Christian?”
“In the most unlikely of places,” I chuckle. “Rehab.” The smile fades from her face.
“Oh.” I break the awkward moment by snorting as I fail to hold in my laughter. She starts with a small giggle that gradually grows into a deep belly laugh—now I know where Evelyn gets it from. An awkward silence follows the laughter, but before the conversation can get out of hand, the hospital erupts in an endless stream of shouting.
A loud boom caused by the crashing of a crowd of medical workers bombarding the emergency entrance, attracts everyone's attention. One of the doctors runs over and grabs a clipboard from an EMTs. “What do we have?”
“Another T40, Jane Doe.” He calls out over all the other noise, “I swear that’s the fifth victim this week to fentanyl.”
The doctor nods his head, then looks to the female EMT performing chest compressions. “Can you tell me anything else?”
“Estimated mid—30s. One, two, three.” She tries to continue CPR. “Found unresponsive in a motel room. One, two, three.” She was speaking so fast, but not too fast for me to understand with my prior combat knowledge. “CPR was initiated upon arrival—alongside two doses of naloxone, they were administered with no response. One, two, three.”
As they rush to get to a room, I try to catch a glimpse of the person’s face. They said she was a Jane Doe, but that all changes once they make a sharp turn and the patient’s hand slips. There, bouncing slightly to every pump was a shimmering silver bracelet, with a singular charm. My heart is ramming against my chest as I try to slow my breathing from the sorrow swelling up like an old sponge in dirty dish water.
"Mrs. Selby-” I try to sound unfazed, “I must go check on something, I shouldn’t be too long, OK.”
She waves to me from her seat in the waiting room, as I place my hands together in prayer and mouth, ‘thank you’. I make it to the room and watch through the small window as the doctor’s muffled voice seeps through the cracks and spaces surrounding the door.
“Patient is unresponsive, still not receiving a pulse.” His voice is calm but assertive, “Get the crash cart!”
“Crash cart on the way.” A slightly shorter nurse responds, “Oxygen mask ready.”
The doctor crosses his hands, one over the other, then, picking up where the EMT left off, he starts his compressions. “One, two, three, four-” His breathing is sharp, forcing their escape with every pump. “Come on, breathe.”
Plastic crinkles as the nurse tears open the sterile packaging and clicks pieces together, just before stretching elastic around the patient's head, “Still no response. Oxygen mask in place. Bagging now.” She twists the medical bag to the mask, which clung to the patient’s face like a face hugger from the “Alien” movies.
“Next dose of naloxone—push it,” the doctor hollers amidst the commotion, calling out orders at the apex of each pump, then he takes a step back while the nurse pushes a clear fluid through an IV. A clear view opens as everyone steps to the side in preparation for the next step, and that is when my fear becomes reality.
There, lifeless on the hospital bed, is a ghost of my past, her bracelet glinting on a counter behind the doctor—a reminder of a life I left behind. The doctor then flicks a few switches on a nearby machine, “Charging the defib-” Buzzing fills the air as he rubs the paddles together, spreading the gel that one of the assistant nurses had previously applied, “Clear!”
A high-pitched pinging sound as the machine sends the charge to the pads, followed by a leaden thud as they met with her exposed chest—The shock causing her body to jolt. All is quiet for a moment, waiting for the monitor to change, but it remains flat. Then the doctor’s voice breaks the silence, “Resuming compressions-” clasping his hands back together, he is back at it, “We’re running out of time!”
Bursting through the door, no longer in control of my own actions, “Please save her!” Two nurses are at my side in seconds, their hands on my chest.
“Please, sir,” They start pushing me back, guiding me out of the room. “We need you to leave.”
“Last round of naloxone.” The nurse who has been helping the doctor calls out, “Still no pulse. Rhythm’s systole.”
Before the door closes on me and the two nurses, the doctor makes eye contact with me, a sadness, like a parasite consuming all emotion—he glances at the monitor, then looks around at the rest of his team. “Time of death-”
“Adelaide!” I scream, “No. Try again, Doc, please.” The world slows to a crawl around me. “Adelaide!” My chest is heaving as my body heats up with rage.
I know she is gone—they tried everything.
“Please let me say goodbye.” I look to the doctor with a plea in my eyes. “At least give me that.”
The nurses look to the doctor, who nods in response, “You know our patient?”
“Yes, her name is Adelaide Smith. She was 32 and had the whole world ahead of her.” Tears blur my vision, “I wish I could have saved her. At one point in time, I tried, but I couldn’t even save myself... I. Should have tried. Harder.”
The doctor places a hand on my shoulder, then looks to his staff, “Let's give him five.” He swirls his finger in the air like he is summoning some kind of magic lasso, and they all start to file out of the room, looking back at me, he says, “I am sorry for your loss, and... thank you... for helping us identify her, now we can contact her family.”
With one last pat, he leaves the room. I stare at her, then take in a deep breath and walk to the side of the bed. “Oh, Adelaide...” A single tear falls, landing on her hand. Her skin is pale, and a purplish hue presents itself like a faint blush. She looks peaceful, as though sleeping, “The universe has lost a very unique light.” I speak directly to her, knowing that everything I am about to say will literally fall on deaf ears, but for some reason, I still feel like her spirit is here, and I hope she is listening. “Your laughter was contagious, like that of an infant when they belly laugh for the first time.”
I place my hand on her wet, slicked back hair, “You faced countless struggles and fought demons that even I was unaware of.” I run my hand over her hair, from her forehead to the bed, as I continue, “My wish is that you are at peace now amongst the Angels in the heavens...” I press my lips to her cold forehead and whisper, “Say hi to my mom—she always had a soft spot for you.”
I grab her hand for the last time, plant a firm farewell kiss, and remember the jewelry that caused the tan line now visible in its absence. I turn to face it, shimmering on the counter behind me, the singular charm of two hands locked in a pinky promise, delivers a symbolic punch to my gut as our promise echoes in my psyche:
Let's promise no matter the cost, no matter the stakes, we will always do what's right by each other.
Whatever it takes.
Putting the cold steel to my lips, I whisper, “Whatever it takes.”
As I leave the room, I see the doctor who gave all his efforts to save her, leaning on the counter with a hospital phone to his ear. He looks up momentarily, and when our eyes met, he nods—I respond in kind.
In making my way to the waiting room, I see Evelyn’s mom stand and stagger to a doctor’s side, as she fights the exhaustion that is trying to conquer her body. I sit down next to the seat she was previously occupying and indolently watch. Their body language is minimal so I resort to reading what little I can of their lips.
As I fidget with Adelaide’s jewelry, my actions sit idle in a ‘no man’s zone’, trapped amidst a heated battle between my heart and mind. The news channels chatted. A toddler cries. My senses are over-stimulated and sensitive—on edge for the other shoe to drop. I catch in the periphery, Mrs. Selby’s knees buckle, and I am fast to her side, catching her before they completely give.
