Saving Her

by B E Brouillard

  “Babe! Are you up yet? Let’s get going, the doc said he’d be waiting for us,” Jules called from the other side of the room. Desirée gingerly swung her feet off the side of the bed, heaving a breath as she hefted her weight onto buckling legs.

  “You can do this, Desirée, trust me,” Axel murmured, curling a steadying arm around her waist. If the asshole wondered why she was moving in such a strangely stilted manner, he didn’t bother asking why. She reached Jules’s side and grabbed for his bicep, clutching him as she staggered down the hallway out the front door towards the car.

  Axel fought the urge to tear her away. Hated the thought of her reaching for the other man, but knew, right now, he couldn’t help her through sheer willpower alone. The man had to get her to the hospital. If he could stop preening at his own reflection for long enough to get there. At least he had the good grace to open the car door for her and slam it shut before sliding in behind the wheel.

  Desirée slumped sideways, resting her head on his lap as he reversed down the driveway and headed out onto the open road, soon reaching the motorway and picking up a turn of speed.

  Axel could barely contain his growing sense of anxiety. If there was ever a time he’d prayed, now was it. Prayed for her safety. Prayed for her unborn child. Prayed that the motherfucker would pay for what he’d done to her. The maelstrom of emotions that raged within him was probably the strongest sensation his heart had ever endured. Even his own death had been less traumatic. He wanted to envelop her in a soft cloud of comfort, particularly with each tortured groan that left her.

  ◆◆◆

  “Axel.” A voice seemed to filter into his consciousness from some otherworldly place. “Axel.” He felt something brush around him, as if some had put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him close.

  “Alaric?” The name was torn from him with a sob.

  “Yes, son.” The reply was more gentle than the man had ever been with him.

  “She’s going to lose it. Her baby. The baby is going to die.” His voice was choked.

  “Yes.” Alaric’s response was matter-of-fact, yet still gentle.

  “That…that bastard! If he’d listened. If he’d tried to—” Axel’s voice choked to a halt.

  “No, son. This child was not intended for them,” Alaric replied in that same gentle tone. “She was part of their journey, but not meant to share their lives.”

  Axel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t under—” His words came to a sudden halt as Desirée let out a cry of pain that ended with a series of sobs that should not have emerged from a human throat. Curled against the side of the asshole’s shoulder, she clutched both hands between her legs and folded down over herself, dark, sticky blood oozing between her fingers.

  “No-no-no-no-no….” Her voice was a babble. Axel reached forward to stroke her hair again, then froze as a flickering light began to shimmer around her, a glowing aura that slowly brightened until the whole vehicle seemed flooded with it. A soft whisper seemed to build around them until he was certain he could hear the murmur of a little voice.

  “Is that—” he began, a sense of wonder overwhelming him. Alaric smiled.

  “Yes,” he whispered back, as if, he too, was in awe. “She’s going home.” Alaric settled back and let his arms stretch out as if embracing the light. The look that crossed his face reminded Axel of the expressions he’d seen on religious converts sensing the presence of their chosen deity. The murmuring voice swirled around him, and he felt himself swept up in the same sense of intoxication. For a moment, he was sure he could sense…childlike laughter.

  In that same instant, he felt the tension leave Desirée, as if the fight had left her. She released a sigh that almost seemed relieved. And then great, fat tears began to roll down her face. Her shoulders heaved with her sobs. The man beside her continued to drive, oblivious, as Axel stroked her cheek, her hair, her face.

  “It’s okay…she’s safe…she’s home…” He wasn’t sure if his words were reaching her, but there was little else he could offer by way of comfort. He became aware as Alaric began to recede from the scene, and turned to the other man, almost needing to find guidance from him.

  “You’re going to handle this from here, biker,” Alaric said. “It’s up to you now. But I think the right answers are going to come to you.” He smiled.

  “What—” Axel began, but he was gone.

  ◆◆◆

  What followed was a blur of activity as the car pulled into the emergency entrance of the hospital. Two porters rushed out with a gurney and gently eased Desirée onto it, swiftly wheeling her into a nearby examination room. A white-coated man walked briskly towards them, reaching a hand to take her wrist between his fingers and checking her pulse before directing his attention to Jules.

  “We expected you sooner – how is she?” His firm tone masked an air of urgency. A nurse stood at the ready, just behind him.

  Jules shrugged. “I dunno, doc. She was pretty upset, but she seems fine now. Maybe just a false alarm?”

  The doctor glanced down at the silent woman on the gurney, the blood-soaked nightdress clinging to her thighs, her hands still clutched protectively between her legs; his mouth set in a grim line.

  “Desirée,” his voice was gentle. “Can you tell me what symptoms you experienced?” When she remained speechless, he pressed on. “I’m going to need to examine you, is that alright?” She’d turned her tear-stained face towards the wall. A tiny nod of the head was her only response. Dr. Morrisson faced Jules. “I’d like to you give us a moment of privacy, Mr. Brown…please.” His words brooked no argument, but Axel didn’t expect Jules to object.

  “Sure thing, doc. I’ll grab a cup of coffee. Been a long morning.” He yawned and rubbed the back of his neck, strolling out of the room.

  In his unseen space, Axel hovered at the head of the gurney, stroking his hands down her shoulders as the doctor gently pried her hands from where she still cupped them between her thighs, reached for the hem of her nightdress and rolled it up her legs. The nurse inhaled a little too sharply as the doctor glanced up at her and then shook his head.

  “My dear, I’m afraid that you’ve had a miscarriage,” he murmured. Axel felt the little sob ripple through her rather than heard it. She gave a silent nod. He continued to run his hands over her shoulders, her hair.

  “It’s okay, my love, she’s home, you’re going to be alright.” Again, he wasn’t sure if the words helped, but somehow, he felt sure it was what she needed.

  “We will need to conduct a D&C to remove the…products of pregnancy,” Dr. Morrisson continued. “Sister will give you a mild sedative before we take you to theatre. It’s a minor procedure, and once you’ve had some time to recuperate, it will assist in making your next attempt a little less complicated.” Desirée stared at him as if the words weren’t registering. Axel had a hard time processing the conversation himself. Was this supposed to make her feel better about losing her child? For the second time in just a few hours he had an urge to hit someone in the face.

  While the doctor had been speaking, the sister had busied herself around the patient, administering a drip with such efficiency Desirée hadn’t even flinched as the needle had pierced the fine skin of her wrist. Somehow though, Axel suspected that had a lot to do with the dark cloud of numbness that had settled over her. She nodded again, eyelids fluttering shut as the drug began to take effect. The curtains around the bed rustled and parted as Jules stepped in, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. “Stuff tastes like camel piss,” he muttered before turning to the doctor. “So, what’s the deal, doc. She good to go?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Brown. I’m very sorry, but the baby…didn’t make it. Your…partner will need to go in for a procedure. I’m scheduling her to go in now.”

  Jules looked confused for a moment and then… Axel had to blink to be sure he hadn’t mistaken the expression, but he was certain it had been a look of relief.

  “Well, I guess everything wo
rks out for the best, eh, doc?” Jules mumbled, sipping loudly at his disposable coffee cup. “When’s she gonna be up and about?”

  Dr. Morrisson frowned and then continued. “She’s stable, but once she’s out of theatre, I’d like to keep her in for observation. There’s a waiting area down the hall where you can take a seat until she’s out of—”

  Jules shrugged. “Nah, no real point, right? I mean, she’s gonna be out of it and all, isn’t she? Won’t even know if I’m here or not.”

  The doctor’s frown deepened, but he remained silent, merely nodding curtly before turning to the sister. “Get Miss Wright prepped and down to theatre. We can move her to the ward later.”

  “Certainly, Doctor,” the sister replied, her disapproval of Jules’s callous attitude barely masked by her brusque manner. At the head of the bed, Axel quietly seethed.

  ◆◆◆

  “The man needs to die!” Axel roared as he paced around the clubroom in Purgatory, where Alaric had settled himself into an overstuffed armchair. He watched the raging man silently.

  “How? How could he do that to her? I don’t understand…I just don’t get it! What lets a person do that to another human being??” He continued his rant, peppering his sentences with curses that would have made a hardened sailor blush.

  “We can’t interfere with their paths, Axel,” Alaric quietly intruded. “This is her journey. Ultimately, it’s the path that will bring her to you. In a way, you should be grateful.”

  “Grateful?” Axel spat. “How could I be grateful for something that would cause her so much pain?” He whirled and paced across the room, lashing out at a nearby coffee table with a booted foot. The wood splintered and smashed beneath the impact. And then miraculously reconstituted itself in a way that seemed to incense him further.

  “Fuck!” he yelled.

  “Axel, this is hard, but now is when she needs you most,” Alaric quietly intoned. He’d learned not to push the hotheaded youngster, who, at his words, stopped in his tracks as if he’d just been splashed with ice water.

  “Oh, God, you’re right.” His voice was a groan. “I’ve been so focused on that asshole that I didn’t spare a moment for her.” Without another word, he vanished. Alaric settled back into his seat and rubbed his eyes. Despite the kid’s bravado and bad attitude, there truly was something special about him.

  ◆◆◆

  Desirée’s eyelids flickered open, and she looked around in confusion. At first, she felt as if she’d just woken from the best sleep she’d had in years. Part of her didn’t want to let consciousness seep in. But then the reality of her situation flooded back, and she bit back a sob, one hand pressing over her belly instinctively.

  She sat up abruptly, feeling the tug of the drip line still connected to her wrist. She moved gingerly, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and then remaining there, frozen, almost afraid that the motion would jar the needle in her vein. She was in a small ward, the room shared by two other women, both asleep. All seemed dark and silent as she sat there, overwhelmed by a sense of utter aloneness. Her eyes burned for a moment, and then the tears began.

  ‘Oh…baby… Oh…sweet baby…’

  Her sobs were silent, just the heaving of her shoulders betraying the emotion washing through her, arms still wrapped about the belly that had held life just a few short hours before.

  ‘You’re not alone.’

  Her head shot up, her face still streaked with tears. The voice had seemed to come from all around her, but apart from the sleeping figures in the nearby beds, there was no one else in the room.

  “Hello?” she whispered.

  ‘I’m here,’ the voice continued. ‘I’ll always be here.’

  She peered around herself in the dark. She recognized the voice. That voice. His voice.

  But how could that be?

  “Am I going mad?” she murmured to herself.

  ‘Not mad…’ the voice was soothing. ‘Shhhhhh…rest. I’m here.’ And then the feeling of being wrapped in a blanket of absolute contentment. Her body sagged, and she allowed herself to sink back into the warmth of her bed and the solace of sleep. And something…someone else. Him.

  And it felt right.

  ◆◆◆

  Desirée stirred and shifted in the bed. It continued to surprise her how comfortable she was in this narrow bunk, surrounded by the smell of disinfectant. The night had passed without incident, and she knew she would be ready to leave soon.

  “Yoh, babe!” A voice pierced her cocoon, harsh and unwelcome. She forced her eyes open; curled on her side, she peered straight ahead of her and fixed on the sight of those camo-patterned shorts.

  Those fucking shorts!

  The events of the previous day came back to her in a rush, and she looked up at the man sitting at her bedside with a mixture of confusion and revulsion.

  “Jules. What…What are—” she began.

  “Hey, babe! You’re looking a damn sight better today. Great job! So yeah, I spoke to the doc. He says he cleaned you up good and you’re good as new. Excellent news, huh?” he rambled on, picking through a plate of food that must have been left for her by a nurse at some point. She frowned.

  “Oh…so yeah…sucks about the kid, I know. But hey, that’s the roll of the dice, right?” He spoke around a mouthful of jello. A dollop of it slid down onto his chin, and she fought back an overwhelming urge to gag. “Anyhow, he’s due to come in for his rounds now, so he can give us the all-clear, and we can get you out of here.”

  She didn’t respond, somehow transfixed by the green slime on his chin. Part of her wanted to throw something at him. To scream at him to get out. Out of the room. Out of the hospital. Out of her life. But the words didn’t come. What was there to say?

  “Anyhow, maybe this whole baby thing isn’t for us right now, ya know? I mean…that’s the kinda shit that makes a chick fat, know what I mean? And it’s not like you got a lot of room in those jeans of yours,” he chuckled.

  ‘Is this his idea of a pep talk?’ she wondered, suddenly staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. Had she never noticed how weak his jawline was? Highlighted by green muck, it suddenly caught her attention. And his ears…Holy shit, they were huge! He grinned, utterly oblivious to her uncharitable observation. Suddenly, the door eased open, and Dr. Morrisson entered the room.

  “Ah…Miss Wright, I’m glad to see you’re up. How are you feeling today?” His voice maintained a practiced balance of concern and neutrality. “Mr. Brown, good morning.” His attitude became more formal. “I was hoping I’d catch you both together. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” He glanced around the room. “In private.”

  Desirée blinked, watching him with caution.

  “Sure thing, doc, what’s up?” Jules piped up.

  Dr. Morrisson closed the screen around Desirée’s bed, glancing around the room as he did so. The bed closest seemed to have been vacated since the day before, while the remaining patient, on the far side of the ward, appeared to be in a deep sleep. He walked to the end of the bed and took up a firm stance, almost looking as if he was bracing himself before launching into what he had to say.

  “During the course of Miss Wright’s treatment, we ran several standard tests to determine the cause of the…erm…termination,” he began. Jules nodded, seemingly unaffected by the doctor’s obvious discomfort. “It would appear that Miss Wright’s pregnancy was impeded by an…infection.” He cleared his throat.

  Jules had become aware of the jello on his chin and wiped it off with the back of his hand, merely succeeding in smearing it further across his face.

  “Infection? Like one of those chick things?” he asked, turning an accusing glance at Desirée.

  The doctor cleared his throat again. “Not quite,” he continued. “Miss Wright contracted a…sexually transmitted disease.” Desirée’s mouth dropped open. She raised a hand to her mouth to cover it. Jules was uncharacteristically silent. “It is most likely the result of
unprotected sex with an infected party. I’d suggest that both of you seek treatment. In fact, we’ve already started Miss Wright on a course of medication. Mr. Brown, I’d advise you to do the same.”

  Neither Desirée nor Jules breathed a word as the doctor continued with his explanation of the treatment, as well as advising when she would be safe to return home. As he turned and left the room, Desirée found herself recoiling from the man in the chair beside her. Jules glanced up at her and then quickly looked away. It was all she could do to simply stare at him in horror.

  “Jules—?”

  “What?” he snapped back. “What are you thinking of asking me?” Her mouth opened and closed, still soundless. “So, what are you planning to accuse me of?” he snarled. “I haven’t done a fucking thing. Not a fucking thing! Who have you been dicking on the side?” His voice was a hoarse sneer. She remained silent, her eyes speaking more volumes than mere words could express. She’d already voiced her suspicions in the past, so he knew exactly what was on her mind.

  “What? What?” he snarled again. “So, you think it’s me? You think I’m the one with some disease? A disease that killed your baby?” He’d grabbed her by the wrist and almost seemed about to shake her but realized where they were and thought better of it. “Well, fuck you! That baby died because of you, you drunken piece of shit. And so what if I see other women? What do you expect, when you’re such a frigid bitch. We go days…weeks without fucking. What do you want from me? I’m a man, not some spineless pussy. Men have needs. And you don’t know how to meet them.”

  Desirée simply shook her head, mind reeling at the enormity of what she was hearing.

  “So yeah, you think you’re better than me?” His fingers tightened around her wrist, dislodging the needle that fed into her vein and causing a tiny spray of blood to ripple beneath the bandage intended to hold the drip in place. The sight of her blood seemed to shock him back to reality. He stood abruptly and backed away from her.

  “I don’t need this shit in my life,” he sneered at her. “You’re pathetic. Pitiful! I kept you around because I felt sorry for you!”