Won't Let Go (23 page)

The jostling stops. Danielle’s given up trying to hurt her father. I can’t see her from my position. Their brute of a father is as wide as a house, but her sobs and sniffles are enough for me to know she's still there. 

Danielle’s voice lowers to a whisper, “Is that what Momma did? Ruin your life? She got pregnant in high school.”

My eyes find Allison, who’s crept just a little bit closer to us, but still too far away to do anything. Her hands clutch what I can now make out as the lamp from the living room. My eyes grow wide trying to urge her closer.

Do it. Just do it
, I scream on the inside.

She doesn’t move a step, not one. Hopefully she’s just biding her time.

“At least I did the right thing. I married her, didn’t I? Better than that trash who walked away from you. It’s not the life I wanted, but I did the right thing.”

“He was never going to walk away. You were wrong! And don’t talk to me about the
right
thing. If you were right, then why did she leave you? Not such a great catch after all?”

Why is Danielle baiting him? Making him angrier than he already is?

“She wanted to leave. I couldn’t have that.”

Danielle raises a hand to her mouth, backing off, taking a few steps away from us. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t. You’re sick! Disgusting! You deserve to rot in hell,” she screams.

And in that instant, while their father’s attention is on Danielle, Allison rushes forward. She brings the lamp high over her head and with all her strength smashes it against the back of her father’s head. The glass shatters on contact, and the impact is enough for me to twist out of his grasp as he staggers in place, stunned. I think I’ve made it a safe distance, but…

Regaining his footing, he shakes off the injury, grabs me and throws me like a sack of flour. The scream that escapes my lips rings through my ears as I fly—no soar —through the air.

I try to protect myself, curl up into a ball, the fetal position, but there’s just not enough time. I make contact with the coffee table. It collapses against my weight.

I thought being punched in the face hurt, slammed against a wall was agony, but neither compares to the searing, aching pain of smashing into a coffee table. Splinters of wood pierce my skin like a million needles. I try to lift myself up, but it’s heavy, too heavy. I force my eyes open, and see Danielle and Allison struggling with their father. Their screams seem to be a million miles away, and I can’t make anything out. My eyes grow as heavy as my body. I try to keep them open, but I can’t. If I close them, maybe the pain in my wrist, my back, my entire body will disappear.

“Alex? I said, can you move?”

I force my eyes to open, to listen to her voice. I shake my head “I—I”

Allison leans down. Her mascara streaked eyes look into mine. She wraps an arm around mine and pulls. I scream in pain.

“Don’t, please—” I cry.

Allison lets go. My arms fall limp to my side. “Please, we have to. We have to get out of here.” Allison puts both arms around me and hauls me forward. I grit my teeth and hold back the scream that’s begging to be released. When Allison gets me in a sitting position she releases her grasp but supports me from falling.

“C’mon. You have to try harder. Have to get out of here. Please. I’m trying to help.”

“Your—your father?”

As my mind clears, the pain subsiding just enough, I’m able to concentrate. Off in the distance I see Danielle slumped against the wall. Her father lies motionless at her feet.

“I think he’s passed out. It took a lot, but we have to move.” Her face floats away from my view and over to Danielle. “Danielle! Come on.”

Cradling her stomach, Danielle’s own tear streaked face holds only worry. “I—I don’t—something’s wrong.” Her hand moves from her stomach, disappearing for a brief second between her legs. “Allison?” She looks at her hand. It’s dripping with crimson wetness—blood.

Allison springs up and rushes towards her sister, but their father isn’t as unconscious as they thought.

Mr. Blake scrambles to stand. “I tried to make things right. You ruined everything. Don’t you see you are the one who tore this family apart!” he yells at Allison. “If you would have just kept that damn mouth of yours shut!”

“I’m sorry. I’ve kept your secrets long enough!”

Allison’s dad cackles. “What about yours! Did you tell your sister your secret?”

Danielle, barely able to move, still staring down at her bloody hand says, “Allison?”

Mr. Blake sneers. “Oh I see. Make me the bad guy. Why don’t you tell her, Allison? Tell your sister the secret you’ve been keeping all along?”

Allison shakes her head.

“Tell her, dammit!”

“Allison? What secret? What is he talking about?”

Allison shuts her eyes. “I’m sorry, Danielle. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s right, your precious sister has secrets of her own. Didn’t she tell you? She knew. She knew everything this whole time!”

Danielle gasps. “You knew?” she cries.

“Of course I knew! Who do you think helped cover it up? He made me, Danielle. He promised me it was for the best. I helped his drunken body out of the car. I struggled and fought and forced Elliot into the driver seat. But I did it for us. He told me it was for us!”

I look away, powerless to stop the argument going on, or am I? I suck in a deep breath of air and pain pierces my lungs. “Embry!” I scream. He was here. I know he was. It wasn’t a dream. “Embry!” I shriek with all my might. Please. Please come.

Everything stops as I scream out his name again. Mr. Blake looks over at me. Allison and Danielle’s eyes grow wide with confusion.

“Embry! Please.” Having used up my energy, my voice comes out quieter. I begin to sway back and forth.

Just as I’m about to lose all hope, I see him. I see the tiny grains of color pulling together to form a body. And without hesitation, Embry grabs Mr. Blake.

He struggles to yank Mr. Blake away from Allison and Daniel.

Danielle wails, “What’s happening! What’s—”

She must not be able to see him, my knight in shining armor.

To Danielle and Allison it must look like their dad’s flailing is from some kind of seizure.

Allison screams, “Stop! What’s happening?”

I open my eyes. “Call 911.”

Allison hears, and slowly getting to her feet, limps towards the kitchen. She disappears, and I hope she can make the call. Danielle and her baby are in danger.

My attention leaves Danielle long enough to notice Embry still beating their father. “Embry! Embry. That’s enough.”

His fist pounds against Mr. Blake’s cheek again. “He. Needs. To. Pay.”

I shake my head. “No. Not like this.”

But Embry continues, ignoring me. His hands are stained with blood and each connection with the bloody face of Mr. Blake sends a spray of red against his clothes and the wall.

“That’s enough. He’ll pay. I swear he will. Please stop.”

He hits him again.

I lower my voice and urge, “Please. Please stop.” It’s a side of Embry I hope I never have to see again. Of unimaginable anger fueled by a torrent of pain. “Please.”

I hear a wheeze from Embry’s lungs. His eyes grow wide as if seeing what he’s done for the first time. And it’s surprised him, caught him off guard. He releases the fabric clutched in his hands. The unconscious body of Mr. Blake slides to the ground in a heap. Embry brings his hands in front of his face. Blood drips from them and drops to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, ashamed.

Then, the tiny grains of color that make up Embry’s body collapse to the floor, a pile of dust, before they disappear completely.

I reach out my own hand. “Wait!”

It’s no use.

His body doesn’t take form.

Off in the distance I hear the wail of sirens, the screeches of tires on the black top as they make their way here. Relief bubbles inside me, but also so much emotion. New tears well in my eyes. It’s enough to send me over the edge. The exhaustion slowly consumes me. I slump back against the broken coffee table. I force my eyes to stay open, but I can’t fight against my weakened state.

The door crashes open and footsteps pound through the hallway. My eyes reopen to a flurry of activity. “Over here,” I hear someone say.

I hope they reach Danielle first. She needs the most help.

“We need a gurney!”

Steps thump against the stairs as multiple people arrive. “Clear,” voices yell on top of each other as they search the house

Finally, someone reaches me. He kneels against the floor, hovering on top of me.

“I need another gurney over here. She’s in pretty bad shape.” The man, a paramedic judging by his red duffle bag, says, “Can you tell me your name?” He holds a finger in front of my eyes, moving it slowly back and forth. Naturally I follow it as it slides in and out of view. “Can you hear me? Do you know your name?”

The paramedic takes something out of his bag and pulls it apart with a loud scratching sound—Velcro. Lifting my arm slightly, he wraps the stiff material around it. I gasp, grimacing against the pain. Gently he rests my arm back down. I can feel his warm hands check my wrist.

The fabric of my shirt gets lifted up. Small touches speckle my skin as the paramedic assesses my body.

“Miss, I need you to keep your eyes open . Tell me your name if you can.”

I swallow, choking on my own saliva. “Alexia—Alexia Stone.”

“That’s good, that’s really good. Can you tell me what happened?”

Other men surround us as I lift my head slightly.

“Don’t move. Please just lie still.”

“I-I don’t...” I stammer.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” he says, sliding back to rest on his heels. “We’ve got a possible concussion, what looks like a fractured wrist, maybe internal bleeding...”

My eyes slide shut. I don’t want to hear. I don’t want to know what the damage is.

“Alexia?” It’s the smooth voice of Embry, and no matter how tired I feel, or how much pain I’m in, I can’t help but open my eyes at the sound of his voice.

He came back.

His ghostly, almost see through body is standing next to several paramedics. They must not see him because they go about their business as if he’s not there.

Without saying a word, I nod.

I see you
, I say in my head.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so...so angry. Forgive me.” His eyes betray the calm, collected stance he’s taken on. They still show so much remorse it nearly breaks my heart.

Since a nod doesn’t cut it, I whisper, “Always.”

The paramedic who was assessing me leans closer. “What was that?”

I shake my head.

Outside there are cop cars, ambulances, and fire trucks, all with their red, blue, and white lights flashing. It casts such a gross glow on everything and stings my eyes. As I’m wheeled down the sidewalk, snooping neighbors stick their heads out of doors or stand on perfectly manicured lawns to ogle the scene before them.

I cringe when I catch sight of the one person I hope I never have to see again. Mr. Blake is standing, surrounded by police just a few feet away. His hands are cuffed behind his back. I strain to hear what they are saying.

Embry also notices, and his attention drifts from me to the man who tried to take his life.

“Jason Blake, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Embry Winston as well as three charges of assault. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will...” As he speaks, the police officer takes Mr. Blake to the closest police car, shoves him inside and closes the door with a
bang
!

A wave of relief washes over me and even Embry’s shoulders seem to fall slightly with reprieve. There’s talk, a few grunts, and then I’m lifted inside the ambulance. Embry follows and finds a space by my feet. Two paramedics hop in and the door is closed. It doesn’t take long before we are on the move, sirens blaring and lights blazing.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” Embry coos.

And I want to speak, to say something back but think better of it. They’ll add delusional to the long list of injuries I have. Instead, I hope my eyes convey what I can’t say with words.

“Honey?” I feel my body being nudged. “Honey, are you awake?”

I’m not sure when I fell asleep, or how long I’ve been out, but when I open my eyes, I’m lying in a hospital bed. There’s a fluorescent light directly above me. It flickers and hums, giving off a dim amount of light. Mom is up and leaning forward, only inches from my face. She’s looking pretty ragged. She’s wearing her coffee inspired pajamas. A wool sweater hangs over her top, covering up the various cups of steaming Joe. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and there’s not a hint of makeup anywhere on her skin. Without it, you can notice the laugh lines and the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. Even her lips look pale, dried, and cracked.

“Mom?”

“Oh, sweetie. We’ve been so worried.” She presses the back of her hand against my cheek, then slides it to my forehead—parental instincts kicking in.

“I’m sorry,” I reply. Even though it probably isn’t enough for the worry I put them through.

She lets out a huff of air. “It’s—it’s not your fault. You just got mixed up in it.”

I nod. Mixed up isn’t quite how I’d put it. I pretty much threw myself into it. I could have left Allison. I could have done things
so
differently. But I stand by what I did, even if I can’t explain it to Mom. It was still the right thing to do.

“Where’s Daddy?”

Her hand, now away from my face, gently rubs up and down my arm. “He’s around. He said he’d be back to check on you later.”

“Oh, okay.”

Mom pulls away and pushes up from the chair. “I’m supposed to get the nurse. They were worried about a concussion. We’ve been waking you every two hours.”

Funny, I don’t remember any of that. Then she pulls her sweater tight around her waist. Her body shakes imitating the feeling of cold. “Brrr. It’s really drafty in here. I’m going to get you an extra blanket.”