Part 14 (1/2)

Another slap came out of nowhere across her face and she whimpered, her legs folding underneath her as a band of fingers dug into her arms, nails scratching violently. She tried to struggle as hands tugged at her, pulling her up. The ringing in her ears increased and she almost vomited. A squeak left her mouth when she was roughly pushed against the refrigerator and Genevieve squeezed her throat.

”You'll pay for that, you b.i.t.c.h!” Genevieve shouted and clenched her hand tighter around her windpipe, cutting off her air.

Deborah swung her fists at Genevieve's face and chest, anything to get her to release her. Her heart pumped fast and a cold sweat covered her back. She could barely stay conscious as Genevieve strangled harder, her pointed nails cutting into her skin, killing her slowly- A loud crash sounded and she was swung around, her back pressed up against Genevieve's front as the gun pushed against her temple.

”Drop the gun now!” a man's voice rang out from the entrance of the kitchen.

Deborah blinked rapidly, trying to bring her vision back into focus. The room had become blurry and dark.

”f.u.c.k off! She's mine and no one is going to take her from me,” Genevieve screeched loudly and backed away.

Deborah's feet sc.r.a.ped across the kitchen floor as she was pulled toward the counter. The shrill sounds of sirens came from a distance, overriding the ringing in her ears.

”Put down the gun. Don't make me shoot you,” the voice ordered and Deborah reached out a hand, mouthing wordlessly for him to save her.

”You think I'm that stupid?” Genevieve said, and the gun against Deborah's temple dug in even more. ”You'll shoot me and take Deborah away from me. She's mine!”

Deborah pulled at Genevieve's arm, dragging in deep breaths through her abused throat. She whimpered when Gen's hold grew tighter.

”Shush, dearling. Soon it will be all over and we'll be together forever.” Genevieve kissed her wetly on the cheek and c.o.c.ked her gun.

”No,” Deborah bleated and coughed. New voices ordered Genevieve to release her and drop the gun.

I don't want to die! Deborah could barely stop the darkness as it rushed over her. No! Must stay awake!

Genevieve mumbled nonsense in her ear and began to cry. Deborah had lost her voice and could only whisper, begging Gen to release her. She continued crying softly, then the gun came around and tucked under her chin.

Deborah needed to do something quickly before Genevieve blew her head off. Her hand swung out and it landed against something hard. She searched around and found the carving knife she'd left to dry in the strainer. She was able to get a tight hold around it without Genevieve noticing.

”Together forever, even in death,” Genevieve hoa.r.s.ely whispered, and when her arm came down to wrap around her waist, that was when Deborah struck.

Voices rang out as she twisted and pushed Genevieve away as hard as she could. Time seemed to slow down as Genevieve stumbled and aimed the gun. Deborah tried to go for Genevieve's stomach, but she couldn't get a good enough aim and slashed the knife against Genevieve's face, cutting into her flesh and dragging the knife sideways.

A loud screech left Genevieve's mouth as she clutched her throat. She still held the gun, and as Deborah dropped to the ground and crawled away, shots rang out. A body fell on top of her as she hid her face against the linoleum.

Then there was silence, until something heavy fell in front of her. Deborah lifted up and cried out as Genevieve lay quiet on her side, her eyes open but empty as she stared at nothing. Blood dripped down her face and front onto the kitchen floor.

”Genevieve!” Deborah cried out and tried to get to her knees when arms came around her.

”It's all right now. She'll never hurt you again.” The man's voice, a familiar one she had heard before, pulled her away as uniformed officers rushed into the room.

”She's dead,” Deborah sobbed, nearly hysterical as Bryan dragged her away.

”We need you to get checked out. You're bleeding and cut up,” he said calmly, and when she turned in his arms, away from her dead wife, she grabbed hold of him tightly, suddenly remembering Bridgette.

”Bridgette!” she called out.

Bryan kept an arm around her as he helped her outside. Bright red and blue lights and too many cars to count were parked in front of her house. People across the street watched. She glanced around for any sign of Bridgette.

”She's been taken to the hospital. You'll go there to get checked out and have your statement taken.”

”She's alive?” Deborah's knees shook and would have fallen if not for Bryan's hold.

Bryan's mouth went into a tight line. ”She's alive, but with head trauma.”

”I want to see her,” Deborah said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. Her stomach cramped and her head pounded. She bent over, suddenly nauseated, the need to throw up too strong to ignore.

”You will. But first we need to take care of you,” Bryan said in a kinder voice.

As she was handed over to an EMT, Deborah vomited. And continued until she was too weak to stand. She soon ended up in the back of an ambulance, lying on a stretcher as a woman asked her questions and cleaned her cuts on her face and arms.

The sounds of the sirens and the ambulance moving helped her drift away, numb and broken, knowing she was the reason a woman was dead and another she'd come to care for could possibly be fighting for her own life.

Chapter Nineteen.

The soft moan coming from the bed made Deborah sit up in her chair. She winced over the ache in her jaw and carefully stood.

”Bridgette?” She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, almost grabbing hold of Bridgette's hand, but instead placing her own in her lap.

The heart machine let off a few beeps as Bridgette s.h.i.+fted and opened her eyes. She blinked and licked her lips. ”Water?” she requested in a croak.

Deborah limped over to the table and poured water from the plastic pitcher into a cup, then came back over to the bed. She kept an arm behind Bridgette's back as she helped her drink. Bridgette took a few sips, and when she was done she lay back down. Deborah looked away, trying to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.

”Hey you.” Bridgette lightly hit her arm and rested her hand over Deborah's cold limp ones. ”Why, your hands are so cold,” Bridgette said sadly and rubbed them.

Deborah removed her hands and sniffed. ”I was so scared you were going to die...” she whispered and wiped under her eyes.

”Come here.” Bridgette tugged on Deborah's T-s.h.i.+rt and Deborah lay down on her side as she hid her face into the side of Bridgette's arm.

Bridgette's touch against her hair and cheek soothed her, and she glanced up, wincing at the bright white bandage around Bridgette's bright hair and the black-and-blues covering her face. ”You must hate me.”

”Hate you? Why would you think such a thing?” Bridgette asked, giving her a small smile, but she flinched and touched her swollen lip with her finger.

”I'm the reason you're in the hospital,” Deborah said through her tears.

”Why would you think that? You didn't smack me around.” Wrinkles appeared on Bridgette's forehead. ”I can't remember what happened.” She lifted up her arm where the IV poked out. ”How long have I been out for?”

”Almost forty-eight hours. After I was taken care of, they let me sit in here until you woke up. All day long your friends and family have been coming in.” Deborah sat up as she thought back to seeing Bridgette's parents and being questioned by them. When she admitted everything and why Bridgette had been targeted, to say they were less than pleased with her was an understatement. Bryan barely looked at her even when he stayed with her when two detectives came to question her.

”Jesus, Deborah, if you look anything like I do, I don't even want to see a mirror for a month.”

Deborah let out a watery laugh and fingered her throat where the red handprints had yet to fade.

”I'm so, so sorry about what happened to you,” Deborah tugged on a hangnail on her thumb.