Utterances

by Jo Michaels

  Tristan was smiling when they stepped out of the metal box, and he only released her arm for a second to unlock the door.

  Loud snapping sounds echoed through the air, and pain screamed through her calves as her torso made a beeline for the floor. She felt her hips and ribs break when she collided, and the agony searing her brain caused it to shut down.

  All she heard was Tristan screaming her name and yelling for help.

  Hiss.

  Beep.

  Hiss.

  Beep, beep.

  Hiss.

  Those sounds were unmistakable, and she opened her eyes to find herself in a hospital bed, a mask over her face, several tubes and wires sprouting from her body. She looked left and right, searching, and when her gaze found her target, she smiled, giving a little cough.

  It took only a second for him to be on his feet, hovering over her, his brows pinched together in the middle of the bridge of his nose. “Hi there,” he whispered, brushing the hair back off her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  She took a moment to assess. Everything hurt, but she couldn’t really feel the pain; it was dull and in the background. “I’m okay.”

  “They gave you some pretty good drugs, I think.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not okay, sweetheart.”

  “How are we in the hospital? Don’t they know who I am? They’ll turn me into a science project, huh?” Worries surfaced, and she started to sit up.

  Tristan’s hand found her shoulder, and he held her in place, gently. “No, no, sweetie. You can’t get up.”

  “Why not?” She wriggled.

  “Your bones are turning into something like sand, they said. They’re just crumbling.”

  “Oh.” The full weight of what she’d done to herself, and those around her, forced its way in and demanded attention. But then, she thought about all those kids in the ward that she saved, and rather than cry, her lips curled upward. “Any news on those little ones?”

  Picking up a remote, Tristan clicked a button and grinned. “You bet. It’s been all over the TV the last two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” She said it so loudly it sent her into a coughing fit.

  He brought her a cup of water with a straw, and she drank until her throat calmed down.

  “Yes, sweetie, two weeks. You think you can be so hard on your old body and it not do some kind of major damage?” He cupped her chin in his palm. “But you’re a stunning older woman, and I feel lucky to have ever been allowed to call you mine.”

  Love radiated off his body, smacking into her with the force of a major league pitch.

  “…and is there no way to find out who this woman was?” the news anchor asked.

  Simone turned her attention to the TV, and her jaw dropped.

  It was none other than Grandma Moses from the front desk, and she was sitting on a stage with a man in a black suit. Her head was up high, and her shoulders were pulled back. She grimaced. “I already made my statement. Our hospital doesn’t release that kind of information. If you want to know who she was, you’ll have to look into it yourself.”

  “I understand, ma’am. Could you look at this photo, and tell us if this is the same person that infiltrated your establishment?”

  He passed over a large photograph that the station superimposed in the top corner of the broadcast. It was the image of Simone in the blonde wig. She held her breath.

  “I can.”

  “Is it?”

  “No clue.” Grandma passed the photo back.

  “So you won’t, am I getting that right, Mrs. McCullen?”

  “Exactly.” She winked. “Now you’re catching on.”

  “Do you know this young lady is wanted by the FBI on felony charges?” As though revealing something super-secret, the man cocked his head to one side and quirked his eyebrows cockeyed.

  “I did, but if that’s the same young woman that was at our hospital, which I neither confirm nor deny, she was the loveliest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

  Like a bulldog on a pork chop, the man took hold of that statement and gnawed on it. “Did she ask for anything from the hospital? Money? Drugs? Other things?”

  Mrs. McCullen twisted her lips to one side. “Well, aren’t you the sudden detective. No, sir, the young lady at our hospital asked only to read to a group of sick children, which we were more than happy to let her do.”

  Simone liked the woman even more than during their first meeting. It was her protective nature and quick wit.

  Standing, Mrs. McCullen dusted her hands. “Well, if that’s all you wanted to ask me, you naughty man, I have work to get back to.” Her body suddenly turned fully toward the camera. “You people at home, if you’re looking for that young lady, stop. Whatever she’s doing, it’s not extortion. Ten kids at our hospital, some that were declared terminal, were pronounced cured and were sent home. She’s a miracle. Leave. Her. Alone.” Then, she turned and marched out of the newsroom.

  Unable to stop it, tears poured from Simone’s eyes as her heart filled with joy and love. She’d done it. Ten lives. Thirteen if she counted Mrs. Shandy, Yvette, and Kelly, too. Just one life to save so many.

  Simone’s heart skipped a beat, and it felt like she stuck her finger in a light socket. Her hand squeezed Tristan’s, and he spun around, eyes wide.

  He moved closer and leaned toward her, petting her face with soft fingertips.

  “L… Lay with…” That was all she had the breath to say.

  Understanding, he climbed in beside her, fluffing the pillow so he wouldn’t have to put his head on her shoulder.

  They clasped hands over the book on her belly.

  “I love you, Simone. I’m so sorry I didn’t understand, but watching the news this last week, and the families of those kids—especially the ones the doctors said couldn’t be saved… Well, what you’ve done is amazing, and I’m glad you let me come along for the ride.”

  Her insides buzzed, and her heart beat faster for a moment, sending the beeping of the machine into overdrive. She turned and sought his eyes, locking him into a look she hoped conveyed the massive depths of her love and appreciation for him finding her, loving her, and being in her life. When she tried to say everything she wanted, her breath was stolen, and she gasped for oxygen.

  His hand released hers and moved to stroke her hair. “I know. You don’t have to try and speak.” Tears soaked her shoulder, and her own eyes released even more, running under the edges of the mask and cooling much faster than should’ve been possible.

  She gave him a long blink in response. Her short life had been a full one, and she knew how lucky she was to have stumbled upon a man like Tristan, a man who could enrich everything without really trying.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can let go. I’m here, and I’m not leaving this spot until you do.”

  They lay that way for a long while, and the life-sustaining organ in her chest swelled and slowed. Beeps from the machine grew further apart, and a hiss indicated pain medication was being pushed into her vein. Her left hand found the spine of the book, and she gripped it, silently thanking it for finding her, wishing she’d had more to give, knowing Tristan would take care of it.

  Slowly, her heart stalled on doing its job, and alarms sounded in the room.

  A nurse walked in, and Simone could just make out the woman’s voice as the beeping came to an abrupt halt. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

  Tristan’s voice came through loud and clear. “I know. She’s ready. It’s okay.”

  There was a soft click as the door closed.

  Light blinded her, and her body dropped all its weight as she was lifted and spun through the air. Gently, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw Tristan’s body shaking with sobs. She whispered, “I love you now, and I’ll love you always.” Then she surrendered to the feeling of flying and gasped when the beauty of the place struck her.

  Tristan was beside himself. He’d done what he’d promised her, but he
hated himself for it. It was like handing a child who wanted to commit suicide a knife and telling them to do it.

  She’d used that infernal book until it sucked her dry, and all he wanted to do with it then was set fire to the pages so it could never rip another loved one from him. After Simone took her last breath, he lay near her and held on until they came to take away her body. As tempting as it was to allow them to bury the damned book with her, it was all he had left, and he wasn’t about to let it go that way.

  Her fingers had hardened around the leather spine, and several broke as he pried them off, peeling the tome out of her grasp. Even after death, she hangs on. It disgusted him.

  He gave instructions on how to reach her family for burial, and then he grabbed her backpack and left. Their hotel room had been surrendered the day she collapsed, so there was no packing to be done and nothing to retrieve.

  Once he was in the car, he put the book on her seat and turned toward home, keeping up a one-sided conversation, as though it would answer him in her voice at any moment, and he’d get to hear her again. His nav brought him past the diner where they’d had breakfast that first morning, and he pulled into the lot, giving himself a moment to reminisce over the previous few weeks. Without warning, sobs tore loose from him, filling the car with the sounds of grief. He pounded the steering wheel and screamed at nothing and no one, asking why, cursing the universe, until his voice grew hoarse.

  His hands tightened to a vice-like grip on the wheel, and he breathed deeply for a few minutes, pulling himself together, before grabbing the book, getting out, and heading in for breakfast.

  After he ordered, he sat there, contemplating what he should do with the damned thing. Just throwing it away probably wouldn’t be enough. Someone might find it and let it kill them, too. Realizing he was stroking the infinity symbol on the cover, he jerked his hand back like it was on fire and shook it. “I’m cracking the fuck up.”

  The food arrived, and he dug in, letting the warm oatmeal send his belly to a happy place.

  “Do you need anything else, honey?” the waitress asked.

  “Can I get a coffee to go?” He tried to smile, but it wasn’t happening.

  She pursed her lips. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just tired. Thanks.”

  It was only a moment before she returned with the check and a carry cup. “Here you go. Thanks for coming in. Have a wonderful day.”

  He dropped twenty bucks on the table, picked up the cup and book, and left, eager to get the hell out of Florida and the painful memories there.

  Once he was back in the car, he turned toward the interstate, but then he thought better of it and pulled into the first gas station he saw. There, he bought a lighter and a can of fluid.

  The book was still lying innocently on the seat, and he scowled at it. “You’re about to die a fiery death, you son of a bitch.”

  On the way up the road, he called his mother to let her know he was on his way home.

  “That’s wonderful. You and Simone doing okay?”

  At the mention of Simone’s name, he choked, but tried to recover quickly. “Yeah, yeah, we’re fine.”

  “Tristan Joseph Cardre, are you lying to your mother?”

  He knew better, but he couldn’t help lying again. “No, ma’am. I just had a sip of water, and it went down the wrong way.”

  “Promise?”

  “I’ll see you soon, and then we need to sit down and have a very long conversation, okay?” There was no way he could promise her he wasn’t lying when he was. His moral compass wavered.

  “Okay. I can tell you don’t want to talk about it right now. We’ll see you soon. Your father and I have missed you around here, but we took care of everything with school like you asked us to. They’re holding your spot for spring classes next year.”

  “That’s great, Mom. Thanks for doing that.”

  “Mmm hm. Of course.”

  “All right. I’ll see you guys later. Love you.”

  “We love you, too. Tell Simone we can’t wait to see her. Stay safe!”

  He clicked the button and threw the phone into the floorboard on the passenger’s side as he glared at the book.

  It took a little while, but he finally found a spot to pull over and light a fire that wouldn’t be readily noticed from the road. Lighter, fluid, and book in hand, he walked a short way into the trees and started making a small firebreak in the pine straw. Some of it, he kept, and fluffed it into a pile, dousing it with the lighter fluid. He then turned his attention to the book, pulling back the cover and grasping several of the pages in his fist.

  He pulled, craving the satisfying ripping sound of the paper coming apart.

  Nothing.

  No matter how few pages he tried to yank out, they wouldn’t budge.

  Angry, he threw the book on the ground and stomped on it, cussing at the top of his lungs, asking the heavens why the infernal thing wouldn’t burn when it was obviously a tool of the Devil. He kicked it, sending it sailing into the trees, and then he retrieved it, throwing it on the fluid-soaked straw and striking the lighter. He held the flame close until it caught and stood back, arms folded across his chest, eager to watch the possessed item turn to ash.

  Fire licked and tickled the edges of the book, burning blue, and then bright white, ultimately deepening to a ruby red.

  Eventually, it went out, and he leaned closer to see the damage.

  There wasn’t even a curled edge of a page. No smudge marks of soot, and no dirt from his beating. He turned and stomped out of the woods, intending to leave the damned thing there on the ground to rot, but his conscience made him turn around, plod back in, and pick the infernal thing up, worried someone else might happen upon it accidentally.

  “Fuuuuuuuuuck!” he screamed as he chucked the tome into the car.

  Tristan started the engine and sat there a long time, staring through the windshield, determined to put the book somewhere that no one would ever find, or use, it again. An idea pricked at his mind, and he punched the new destination in his nav. It said five minutes, so he settled in and drove, sipping on the cold coffee from the diner.

  When he arrived at the location, he got out and walked the fifteen feet or so down the pier, clutching the book under one arm. He held it out over the water and froze.

  If he dropped it, he was guaranteeing it would be out of his sight and out of his control. Anyone could get hold of it, even a child, and they might read it, not understanding the awesome power it held. It would suck the life from them and leave their family bereft.

  His fingers loosened for the briefest of moments, and then he snatched the book to his chest. “You piece of shit. Fine. I’ll keep you, and I’ll lock your ass up so you can never inflict this kind of pain on anyone else.”

  Resolute, he stalked back to the car and threw the tome in once again, turning for home.

  Miles of asphalt rolled by under the tires, and he pushed the pedal to take the car to the utmost point of the speed limit, all the while thinking about what Simone had done, and why she was willing to sacrifice as much as she did.

  Suddenly, he pulled over and hung his head between his arms, sitting there a long while as everything inside him went to war. He alternated between crying and pride, and when he glanced at the book, something told him to pick it up, open the cover, touch the pages, and really look at what was inside.

  He carefully plucked the volume off the seat and reclined a bit, placing it comfortably in his lap. Tingles erupted in his fingertips where they contacted the paper, and he pulled them away and looked at them. There was nothing there.

  All the pages in the book were blank, but he leafed through them anyway, losing himself in the wonders and power of the invisible force lurking under the surface.

  When dawn broke over the horizon, he shook his head and lifted it, his mouth falling open. Somehow, he’d lost the whole evening and night. With robotic movements, he started the car, put it into gear, and pulled away from the
shoulder, the book clutched to his chest like a life preserver.

  His fingers seemed to move of their own accord, and he typed a new destination into his nav. It took him six hours to drive there, and he’d only had to stop once for gas.

  Since it was early afternoon, the young lady at the desk still looked chipper when she greeted him. “Can I help you, sir?”

  Tristan gave her his best smile, causing her to turn bright red. “Yes. I was wondering if you had a group of children here that might want to hear a story.”

  The End

  Review Request

  Thank you so much for reading Utterances! I hope you enjoyed it! If you wouldn’t mind, please take a moment to leave a review wherever you picked the book up. Good, bad, whichever, I appreciate them all.

  About the Author

  Jo Michaels is...

  Hi, I'm Jo. Let's forget all the "Jo Michaels is blah, blah, blah" stuff and just go with it. I'm a voracious reader (often reading more than one book at a time), a writer, a book reviewer, a mom, a wife, and one of the EICs at INDIE Books Gone Wild. I have an almost photographic memory and tend to make people cringe at the number of details I can recall about them and/or their book(s). My imagination follows me around like a conjoined twin and causes me to space out pretty often or laugh out loud randomly in completely inappropriate situations.

  I have a degree in graphic design, and my journey to the end was one few students who begin that program ever complete. However, this was one case where my memory and OCD tendencies helped me. Graduation was one of the most amazing days of my life. But, my most amazing day was when my now husband proposed. Every little girl dreams of being Cinderella someday, and he pulled off the proposal of fantasies.

  At the risk of sounding cliché, I'm going to let it out there and say how much I absolutely adore the man I'm married to. Along with my children, he's my whole world.