Hell, Fire & Freedom (Fighting for Freedom) (18 page)

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 deep 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 offering 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.”

“Thank you,” I say warmly. “I’m saddened on some level. I’m not heartless, but I guess I’m just hardened. I don’t think I’ve ever had a meaningful conversation with her. The only time she ever spoke to me was to fetch her another bottle.”

“You are not heartless, not in the slightest. I can’t say I would even be standing where you are if I was in your shoes,” he says kindly. “UNOS does not want to give her a liver, given the circumstances. I wanted to get you both here to say goodbye and to ask if you would like to sign a DNR. It’s a form that states should anything happen to your mother again, we would not resuscitate her, thereby prolonging her suffering. I can have one of our nurses go over it with you and explain it to you if you’d like,” he offers.

“I’ll sign,” I say, looking over at her. “I don’t want her to suffer any longer. Nobody deserves that.”

“All right, I’ll have her bring in the forms soon. Does she have a will in place, any plans for a funeral?

“Not that I’m aware of. Her will would consist of who to donate her empties to, although I’m sure they’ve already been stolen from the trailer park. Funeral, I’m unsure of, but Marie would know what she wants. Ma was never close to either of us, but Marie has a kinder soul than I could ever hope to possess. She would know what to do,” I say.

“Now, it’s possible she could hang on for a few more months, but I suspect it’s more like days or weeks at this point.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Doctor Duchene. Could you have the nurse bring the form in before Marie comes back? I would like it if she didn’t have to see this,” I ask.

“Yes, of course. I’ll get her now,” he says, leaving the room. The kind nurse from earlier comes in with the form and quickly goes over it with me. I sign on all of the dotted lines, and leave it in God’s hands—at least I pray that’s whose hands it’s in. Hopefully she can finally find her peace.

Chapter 14

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Marie and I said our tearful goodbyes to ma. I was shocked that I did end up crying, but seeing the pain in Marie’s eyes, made it all come pouring out of me. Henry and Weston met us at the hospital and drove us back to the airport. I didn’t catch sight of Carl again, but I started to doubt I had done the right thing by not calling the police.

Carl couldn’t be hiring a hit man, though. Carl doesn’t even know any hit men ... does he?

Marie and I boarded the plane, and this time when they sat us in first class, I didn’t object. I simply parked my butt and ordered a vodka cranberry the second Marie fell asleep. Probably not the best thing to do when you’re taking care of your sixteen year old sister, but my head and my stomach were throbbing in pain from my bathroom brawl with Carl. Having to act like I wasn’t in agony at the hospital was excruciating, but today wasn’t about me.