Deeper Illusions (37 page)

Chapter Sixty-One

Somebody was screaming, but I didn’t know who. My beautiful husband was lying on the floor. There was blood. So much blood. I desperately put my hands on his wound, and the screaming sound seemed to come from everywhere around me. There was another body next to me, but I didn’t know who it was. I could only concentrate on my impotent hands, my bright red impotent hands that were desperately trying to stop the bleeding. I could hear an ambulance in the distance, screaming to a stop in front of our house.

Somebody was prying me off my husband. “Miss, you need to come with me,” the person said. “Miss, please, you need to come with me.”

“NO, NO, NO,” the screaming voice said. “NO.”

Then it was like I was floating above the room, watching myself, screaming and crying, being violently pulled off my husband while the ambulance workers loaded him onto a gurney, a bag of blood having been infused into him. Somebody had his arms wrapped around me, and I beat into his chest while I writhed and cried. There were police in the room, too, then a yellow tape was brought out that clearly said the words “crime scene.” I had a blanket wrapped around me by somebody, then I saw myself demanding to be taken in the ambulance with Ryan. Somebody else then escorted me out of the house, and I saw myself getting into a police car.

Then I was back in my body again. I was in the back of a squad car that was screaming down the street at a mad pace, the blanket still wrapped around me, and a feminine voice soothingly telling me to calm down. “Shhh,” the voice said. “We’re going to join your husband at the hospital. Everything’s going to be ok.”

No. It wasn’t going to be ok. Nothing would ever be ok again. If my husband was dead, then I would be dead, too.

Not literally. I had to live for Dalilah.

But I would be as good as dead.

Acknowledgments

To my mother, Dolores, for always believing in me. To Joey, for supporting me through all the craziness. To Debbie, Florence and Carol for giving me courage and confidence. To Nancy for giving me courage, confidence, and some wicked ideas. To my father, Thomas, for giving me my writing ability. To my sister, Christine, just for being you. I love you all.