Chapter 8
We walk in silence back toward the aquarium, me not sure what to say and him- too angry with me to say anymore.
Finally he stops walking and turns to me. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” I tell him. Not willing to let him off the hook that easily.
“I was just…”
Acting like a psycho? I wanted to ask.
“Frustrated.” He finishes. I wait for him to further explain but his words come out in a jumble of emotion. “I didn’t know if you’d live at first. Then you were in a coma. I didn’t know if you would wake up. Then you did… and you didn’t know me… You didn’t love me anymore.” He takes a step away. “ When you kissed me like that…” He turns away from me and paces away several feet and then back. “And then you pulled away… it was like… you were playing with me… teasing me… I know you weren’t. You don’t remember what it was like… before. I’m sorry, Andrea. I was mean.”
“Terrible.” I correct him. Like a psycho wife abusing husband. Mean doesn’t cut it.
“Terrible. There’s no excuse. You don’t know about—.” He stops. “What happened before.”
What happened before?
“We were getting better when the accident happened.” His voice rises a little like he’s trying to convince himself more than me. “We were happy.” His voice trembles a little and he pushes the hair out of my face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. I…have needs… I’m just a man…All I want is my wife back.”
He knows how to flip my emotions, this man. Just a few minutes ago I was ready to head for the hills and now I catch myself feeling sorry for him.
“I’m sorry too.” I tell him though, for the life of me I don’t know why.
He holds out his hand and I take it. We walk back to the aquarium hand in hand. It is late. There are very few people out at this time.
“Hey, fella, can you spare a couple dollars?” A voice asks from the darkness.
“No!” Doyle snaps and we keep walking. The man follows behind us- only an outline in the darkness. I feel my hair stand on end. This is what I was afraid of when he suggested going out after dark! This is how people get killed- being in the wrong place at the wrong time! We are parked around the corner from the visitor center. I can’t even see the car from here. I start to walk faster.
“Oh, comon’ man.” The man continues to follow us. “Just a couple dollars? You look like you could spare it.”
Doyle turns, suddenly. “Did you misunderstand me? I said no! You need money. Get a Job!” He growls and my eyes grow wider. What in the world is he thinking?
There is a glint of metal from the streetlight but the rest of the man is just a shadow.
“How about your wallet then?”
Doyle stops and just stands there, and I am ready to run for my life. “Go get in the car.” He instructs me and pushes the keys into my hand.
“Awww,” The man purrs and rubs the front of his jeans suggestively. “Stay. I’ll take care of you after I finish with your boyfriend here.”
I feel a cold wave of fear and disgust wash over me and despite my first inclination to run; I am rooted in my place. The man takes a step forward and waves the knife menacingly.
“Andrea. Go to the car.”
I don’t move. “Go to the car now!” Doyle screams and pushes me away. I obey, too afraid of either men to put up any kind of fight.
The last thing I hear besides the sound of my frantic flight was my husband’s very calm response to the man in the darkness.
“You’ve made a very bad mistake my friend. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
Oh, gosh! He’s going to try to impress him with his credentials? This thug isn’t going to be impressed with the fact he’s a surgeon and he knows people! He’s going to get killed! I couldn’t help but think as I rush toward the BMW. There had to be a tire iron or something in there. I can help him! I need to call the police, but I don’t have a cell phone. I had left mine at home; Doyle had his own in his pocket. I’m crying by the time I get to the BMW, I fumble with the keys and then drop them. In the dark I can’t tell one key from another. I wonder why Doyle needs this many keys. One more and he’d be a janitor! I try the keypad but in my lessened state of mind I type in the wrong code. I can’t get my fingers to move! I’m hyperventilating, I can’t think straight and Doyle’s going to be dead before I get help! Finally the key slips into the lock and turns. I look behind me and see no one. I pull the trunk release and find the tire iron but about the same time hands pull me away from the car!
I scream bloody murder and swing the tire iron at the assailant. The metal hits ribcage and there is a satisfying “oomph” before I’m tackled and pinned against the car.
“What the hell, Andrea? Are you trying to kill me?”
“Doyle!” I cry out and he releases me and tries to take a breath. “You’re okay!”
“I was!” An asthmatic wheeze escapes from the doubled over form in front of me. “Until you hit me with a tire iron! Get in the car! We have to go! Now!”
“What? What happened?” I gasp as he pushes me around to my side and that’s when I spot the blood. His long sleeved formerly white shirt is covered in blood! “Oh, Crap, Doyle!”
“GET IN NOW!” He screams at me. “Do you want him to come back?”
I try to get in my door but everything seems to be going in slow motion. “Get in, get in, GET IN!” He rushes me and as soon as my door slams we tear out of the parking lot and into the darkened city.
“Lock your seat belt.” He tells me and my hands are trembling so badly that it takes minutes before I get it locked. He reprimands me while I struggle with the lock.
“Do you realize you left the door open with the keys inside?” He snaps like I’m a child. “If I were the attacker I could have thrown you in the trunk, stolen the car and done who knows what with you!”
“You’re bleeding!” I wheeze and ignore him. “We have to go to the hospital!”
“It’s not mine.” He says matter-of-factually. “I took the knife away, but he fought me. I cut him. He ran away.”
“What? How? Doyle! You have to call the police!”
“Why? I’m the one who was attacked!”
“You have to call them! He could be out there somewhere! What if he hurts someone else?”
“Baby.” There is a menacing chuckle. “He won’t hurt anyone else.”
What? My mind can’t get around all the blood on his shirt. It looks like he cut the man’s throat. My stomach turns. How would he know he won’t hurt someone else? How badly did he cut the man? I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“Doyle. Did—did—you-- kill him?”
“Of course not.” He says too hastily, as if he’s making this up on the fly.
“Then you have to call the police!” My voice hits a fevered pitch and he groans, pulls the cell phone from his pocket and speaks into it.
“John Murphy.” He says to the phone and waits a moment while it dials. I turn and frantically look out the window behind me like I’m afraid the attacker might somehow manage to run our car down.
“Hey, it’s Doctor Connelly.” He says. “Yeah, no. Listen. My wife and I were out on Ross’ Landing and someone tried to mug us. No. No, we’re fine. But as you can imagine, she’s rather upset. I’m taking her home. Can you send an officer around to our house in about 20 minutes?” He gives me a withering look. “Thanks, buddy. I will.” He tosses the phone into the seat beside me. “You happy?”
No! I’m not happy! I have a mental conversation with myself. I’m freaking out! I’ve been on my first date in months, had a fight, almost got mugged, my husband is covered in someone else's blood while giving me a lecture and arguing with me about reporting this to the police!
I start to cry and I cry until my nose is c
ompletely closed up and I can’t breathe. I hear him groan but he keeps driving.
“There’s tissue in the glove compartment.” He says flatly, like he is not impressed nor moved by my hysterics.
It seems like hours before we drive into our garage. He has to let me out because it seems that I have forgotten how 1) a seat belt and 2) a door handle works. He takes both my hands and pulls me to my feet. I spot his bloody shirt and I feel my knees give way as a feral sounding moan escapes me. The tears come back and I teeter on the edge of consciousness. Exasperated, he rips the shirt off, popping buttons left and right and throws it behind him. There is blood on his chest, and I check him just to make sure he hasn’t been hurt and wasn’t telling me.
“I told you I wasn’t cut.” He says and wraps his arms around me. For the first time it feels right. And wrong at the same time. It’s almost like I’m caught in some sort of duplicity. I don’t understand it.
“I thought you’d be killed.” I confess and he kisses my hair.
“It’ll take a lot more than some two bit thug to kill me.” He informs me. Sounds macho but he must be stronger than he looks because the guy that tried to mug us was huge.
“Come on.” He tells me. “An officer will be here in a bit. Lets get you in bed and I’ll wash this off me.”
Against my protests, he gives me my sleeping pills and instructs me to go to bed and I hear the shower running. He steps out wearing jeans and a tee shirt and tells me that he is going downstairs to speak with the officer.
I hear muffled men’s voices speaking softly downstairs. I can barely keep my eyes open. I don’t know when the officer leaves. I wake up sometime in the night and Doyle isn’t in the bed with me.
I pull myself out of my cocoon and go in search of him. I hear water and I know he’s in the pool.
He doesn’t see me as he slices through the water. I walk to the edge and sit down, allowing my feet to dangle in the warm water. I watch him swim underwater. He must have incredible lung capacity; he hasn’t come up for a breath since I walked in. Finally he surfaces and flings his head back, water droplets showering me. He smiles at me.
“Feeling better?” He asks and I nod. He motions to me. “Whyn’t you come in?”
I giggle. Who uses words like “Whyn’t?” I want to ask what century he’s from but I giggle again. The sleeping pills make me giddy and I notice that he’s waiting for my response.
“Oh, I’m not wearing my bathing suit.” I tell him and he gives a shake of his head like I’m crazy.
“Clothing is optional here unless we have guests, which we do not.”
He’s got a point but I don’t feel comfortable undressing in front of him yet. I shrug my robe away and slip into the warm water wearing only a pair of soft cotton sleep shorts and a tank top.
We swim around each other for a few minutes like children at play, splashing and playing an improvised game like Marco Polo. He pushes me under when he catches me and I suddenly discover that I’m more competitive than I had earlier imagined and I try to retaliate. I am never completely successful in dunking him on my own and I end up under water more times than I can count. My one success was a hollow victory as I am fairly sure he allowed me to win out of pity. We even have a race to the end of the pool, which he wins, of course. Finally the conversation turns back to what took place earlier.
“You sure you’re okay?” He moves closer to me.
“Just a little shaken.” I reassure him.
“Me too.” He admits and he reaches out for me and pulls me close to him. This time, I don’t flinch or pull away. “I could have lost you again.” He says in my ear. I feel drawn to him, our bodies touching, I realize that I want more of him.
I move to kiss him but he stops me.
“No. Don’t. Don’t play with me like that. I can’t handle it. Not until you’re ready.”
I kiss him. He’s my husband. This is the way it should be. I tell myself. Part of me wants to believe it's true. The other part feels like I'm about to give myself to a stranger which in some way makes it more exciting and alluring.
“I am.”
There is a seductive yet sinister look in his eyes as he moves closer to me and he kisses me passionately. At that moment I feel like I have no energy. No strength of my own as he lifts me out of the pool. I feel him lay me on the tile floor next to the pool, and he is over me, his mouth on mine and I am powerless to resist him. I feel completely helpless, almost as if I have been paralyzed. He is all around me, smothering me, draining me. I don't know where I end and he begins. This... is not right... I think to myself but it is too late. This is how an insect feels before the spider kills it... The thought scares me but I cannot move or breathe. The darkness comes next.
The Life I Left Behind Page 9