Color Her Red (22 page)

Kate was ecstatic when I told her that, of course, s
he would be the godmother.  I’d held that little tidbit from her; I had to wait to tell her in person.  Her reaction was worth the wait; she was ecstatic.  The pompom-loaded cheerleader was back in full force, screaming so loudly that it deafened the audience, the security team still following us, the other shoppers in the mall, and my poor ears that were way too close to her mouth.

“Are you serious?”  She grabbed me, wrapping me tightly in her arms and slamming the bags in her hands into my back, “I’m so happy, Emma!”  She kept thanking me over and over again.  I smiled at the thought that when the terrible two’s roll around, I can remind her that not only did she
want to be godmother, but she also thanked me profusely for the title. 

Her eyes watered up, “I’m going to give this baby whatever she wants regardless of what Thomas says.  If she wants candy, she’s getting candy.  If she wants a princess racecar, she’s getting one.  Tell your control freak of a husband, that I love him dearly, but I love this baby more and she will have anything and everything that she wants.”

“She?”  I laughed, I was definitely not going to repeat that message to Thomas, she can do that and she can receive the brunt of his response herself.

“You’re having a girl Emma, I have a sense for this kind of thing.”  She wiped her eyes and started moving frantically around the store.  “We have so much to do.”

She just dropped me off at the house after spending four hours in the baby department at Saks.  The sight of miniature clothes and shoes made both of us insanely elated.  I’m folding the newly purchased baby clothes into little piles and organize them in the old guest room closet.  I didn’t let her buy anything pink, it’s all neutral until the doctor confirms Kate’s belief that I am, in fact, having a girl.  Rose helped me bring up the outrageous number of bags before she left for the weekend.  She attempted to take the clothes from me, so she could fold them, but I wanted to do it.  She gave me a warm smile and caved, letting me clean the soon-to-be baby’s room.

I look around the room, thinking about how it will look as the nursery.  It’s spacious and close to the master.  Plenty of room for everything the baby will need, and then some.  There are still a few boxes that need to be cleared out, but other than that, it’s empty.
I decide I’ll make one of the two large bay windows a reading nook.  I saw an adorable set up online with cute shelves attached to the wall and floor pillows everywhere.  There are built-ins on the far wall that will need to be taken down, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.  The walls are a cool cream.  We want to wait to paint until we know what the sex will be: a little Thomas or a little Emma.  The thought delights me.  The doctor said in another month or two we should know.  I can’t wait to find out.

I put the last pair of yell
ow booties on the shelf.  They’re adorable, one of many gifts from Kate.  I rub my thumb along the soft laces.  Happiness overwhelms me.  I turn to take in the room, it doesn’t look much like a nursery yet, but it’s getting there.  I do my best to fold the stiff gift bags and neatly place them into the largest basket.  So many gifts already, everyone has been so kind and supportive.  It warms my heart as I let out a small sigh and allow myself to be consumed by happiness.

My smile vanishes as I hear a loud bang and then another, quickly one after the other. 
Every hair on my body stands upright as my skin freezes.  I scramble to the ground and frantically pick up my phone.  I hear the front door slam hard. 
No, no, she’s here. 
I’m temporarily immobilized.  I don’t know if I can speak quietly enough, I don’t want to make noise, I don’t want her to hear me and know where I am.  I back myself into the closet and text the last person on my phone:  Kate.

I heard gunshots.  She’s in the house.  Call 911. 

Staring at my phone I attempt to copy the text with my shaking hands so I can send it to Thomas, but it’s too late; I can hear her in the hallway.  My body stills.  I should have moved.  I should have gone to the panic room.
 
Regret and stupidity wash over me, draining the blood from my face.  I’m trapped in the room with no escape as I hear her walk up the stairs.  I tremble; fear weighs my legs, holding them motionless. 

I hear her footsteps move into the room.  My back is
against the wall of the closet and I am huddled, terrified.  I pray she doesn’t see me but the door to the closet is slightly open.  I know if she takes a few more steps she’ll see me.  Silent tears fall down my face as I listen to the calculated footsteps creep further into the room.

“What are those?”  A low seething voice whispers.

My heart stops.  She knows I’m here.

No, no she can’t be here.

I can’t breath.  I know she’
s just feet into the room, but I can’t see her through the crack just yet. Fear has taken hold of me.  I try to raise my arms but they are motionless, frozen with fear. My phone vibrates in my hand making me drop it, I don’t see who’s calling. 
It’s too late.
  I swallow hard and breathe in haphazardly. 
Just breathe.
  I lower my arms to my side and open the door wider, stepping out slightly. 

She has a nasty scowl on her face.  Her blonde hair looks greasy and unkempt.  Her face is pale and her eyes are sunken in.  Her lips are chapped.  She looked so beautiful in the photos, but in person… she looks ghostly and gaunt.

“Did you think having his baby would make him want to keep you?”  She takes a step towards me and I unconsciously take a step back, hitting the door with my back.  She’s close to the door leaving me no option to run, the realization petrifies me.  I have no choice but to stand here and wait for help.  There’s nowhere for me to go, no way for me to escape.

“I’m not quite sure what to do about your condition.” 

I’m so frightened.  I feel my lips shaking.  I don’t know if I should respond. 
How can I respond to that?

“Thomas never said he wanted a child.”  She looks at me in the eyes reaching into her waistband she pulls out a gun and moves its weight between her right and left hands.  Her right index finger slips around the hole in the barrel of the gun. 

“He’s happy.  He wants the baby.”  My voice is low and I stutter the words. 
Please, don’t hurt my baby.
Tears run down my cheeks as the horrific thoughts creep into my mind.  “Please don’t hurt me.  Please don’t hurt my baby.”  My lower lip shakes helplessly as I make my plea.  My eyes are filled with tears blurring my vision, but I can see her face.  She squints her eyes and leans into me, taking another step.

“Your baby?”  She looks angered.  “I don’t give a fuck about your baby.”  She hesitates and looks at the gun in her hands.  “I don’t even know if he would care.”  She stands up straight and points the gun at her head
moving the barrel in small circles.  “He’s crazy.  Did you know that?”  She laughs and points the gun at me.  She emphasizes each word, “He.  Is.  Insane.”  She laughs again, a foolish laugh with her mouth wide open.  “He’s constantly giving me mixed signals.”  She takes another step closer to me, a wider step.  “He may have told you that he wanted the baby, but he doesn’t really want a baby.  That’s not what my Thomas wants.”  Her eyes become large, digging deep into my heart, twisting it in agonizing pain, and a vicious smile appears over her face.

“Please don’t hurt me.”  My face is wet with tears and my legs feel weak.  My breathing is quickening, I feel like I am going to pass out. 

“Why shouldn’t I?  You’ve taken what was mine.  You hurt me more than you can know.”  She takes another step and I move backwards; my back is against the wall.

“When I saw your picture, you holding him.  I was supposed to be holding him.  I wasn’t gone that long," she sneers and her eyes narrow at me.  She waves the gun in the air carelessly.   She has a deadly look on her face and her voice rises, “I was getting better for him.  And you stole him out from under me.” 

              She grins a wild demonic smile and moves towards me. 

             
I feel her breath on my face and panic.  I throw my fists at her, landing hard on her chest and knocking her back.   She lets out a wicked yelp as I dart out the door.  I try to shut it behind me but she grabs it and rips it open forcing it out of my hand.  I stumble down the hall and attempt to run.

She chases me and violently grabs a handful of my hair.  She rips it backwards and my neck is jerked.  I scream out. 

“You think you can run from me?”  She smashes my face into the wall.  My face feels raw and stings from the forceful blows.  I try to push her away but she is too strong.  My finger reaches up and finds her face.  I push my index finger hard into her eye socket.  She screams and grabs her face, releasing me.  For a second I am free and I run towards the stairs.  I hear her launch behind me; fear tightens my body. 

I trip as I rush down the stairs.  My legs tangle and I fall violently, hitting each step with my shoulder, arms, my head, I tumble viciously landing at the bottom on my stomach.  She follows me down the stairs with the gun in her hand waving it carelessly in the air.  I feel my stomach; the pain is unbearable.  I feel warmth between my legs and my hand run between my
legs, blood.  I look at my fingers; they’re covered in blood.

My eyes fill with tears as I see the unforgiving
, smiling face fill my sight.

“Well, that problem solved itself.”  She laughs at my tragedy.  My body shakes and trembles as I sob.  She walks calmly towards me and swiftly kicks me in the stomach.  The unbearable pain races through my body as I let out an unheard cry and move my legs up, trying to protect my stomach.

“No,” I weep in agony.  I curl my body around my stomach and let out painful sobs.  She kneels down next to me and brushes my hair away from my face with the gun. 

“I gave you
a fair warning, I told you he was mine.”  She speaks so calmly with a maddening smile across her face. 

I can only think about my baby. 
There is so much blood, my baby. 
The thought sickens me.  My teeth clench and my body shudders.  She cocks the gun back and points it between my eyes; I feel the cold metal close to my skin.  I stiffen with fear, and then some other emotion, wretched anger and agony, overcomes me.  I reach up and forcefully grab the gun with my left hand and punch her in the face with my right, causing my abdomen to twist in brutal pain.  I’m shocked but I don’t have time to think about what I’m doing.  I blindly throw my fists at her furiously.  I hold back my heaving sobs and try to move my body, attempting to get to my feet; I stumble and slip the blood.  The pain is mounting in my abdomen. 

I slam the butt of the gun down hitting her in her chest. 
My baby, my baby.  What has she done?
  I shut my eyes and continue the blows.  I can’t look.  I feel her struggle but I lean in holding her down with my weigh.  Her fists hit me over and over again and her nails are scratching my face and my neck.  The cuts sting and I feel the blood dripping down my shoulders. 

The pain is nothing compared to my stomach.  The hollow pain is seething.  I feel the warm blood drip down my thighs and my eyes fill with overwhelming tears.  I slam the gun down hard again and again.  I open my eyes to see her hateful stare and piercing eyes.  Her mouth is grimacing but bloody.  She attempts to push me off
of her, forcefully whipping her legs.  I smack the gun hard across her face before she shoves me across the room, her long legs nailing me again in my gut.  I hold onto the gun tight and when I hit the ground it goes off in my hand.  The bullet lands somewhere in the staircase, but the sound startles me, making me jolt with fear.  I look up; there’s blood everywhere.  The blood that catches my eyes is the streak trailing from where I was to where I am now. 

I feel an overwhelming wave of resentment and anger rush through me.  My eyes widen with fury and an unforgiving urge to release my sadness haunts the heaving in my body.  Through my blurry vision, I see her barreling towards me and I quickly turn the gun towards her with both hands and fire.   I feel the heat of the gun and my heart races.  I can’t hear anything; it’s silent.  I reluctantly open my eyes.  Her face changes from wildly deranged to shocked.  She looks down at her chest where the blood is slowly soaking in her shirt.  Her eyes narrow at me and she moves forward.  I fire again
as I push my feet out in front of me moving me inches at a time, pushing myself against the wall, into a corner.  I have nowhere to go.  She’s still standing and I fire a third time, holding the gun with my sweaty, shaking hands, and feeling the sting and heat of the backfire.  She falls to the floor, first to her knees and then flat on her stomach.  Her face is smooth on the ground, but her blue eyes stare at me from across the room, still watching me, hating me, wanting me dead.  She doesn’t move.  Her body is still and the blood is slowly pooling around her chest.  I succumb to my sadness, releasing my anger. 
What have I done?
My body shakes as I realize what has happened.

I don’t know how many bullets
are left, but if she moves, I’ll fire again.   All of my body is quivering and the gun moves chaotically in my hands.  My breathing becomes sporadic as I desperately try to maintain control.    She still hasn’t moved.  I wait, I don’t know how long.  The pool around her is growing and she isn’t moving.  I lower the gun, slightly, so that I can see her lying in front of me.   I try to slow my breathing.  I watch her chest.  Waiting for movement.  I don’t think she’s breathing.  I move, dragging my numb heavy body closer to her.