Sloane Monroe 06-Hush Now Baby

by Bradshaw, Cheryl

  I shrugged off the onslaught of tears, tried to remain focused, even though the hope of saving Hannah’s life was slipping away.

  The bedroom door broke open. Aaron, Ann, and Renee entered.

  “What in the—?” Aaron looked at Hannah, looked at my hands, looked at me. “You! Get off my daughter. Get away from her!”

  “No one touches her,” I said. “No one comes near her until medics arrive.”

  “What do you mean, medics?” Renee asked.

  “Ma’am,” the woman on the phone said, “What’s happening? I’m going to need you to stay on the—”

  “Not now,” I shouted to the phone operator. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but I need you to stop talking.”

  “Who is that?” Aaron demanded. “Who are you talking to? What’s happened to Hannah? Why is she laying there? Why isn’t she moving? Answer me!”

  A terror-stricken Ann sagged to her daughter’s side. “She’s not … I mean, she’s really not … breathing, Aaron.”

  Renee had been right to panic, to get in her car and drive here. Hannah had been in danger—only tonight, her biggest danger had been herself.

  Aaron seized my waist with his hands, hurling my body to the side in one, swift movement. My head smacked against the wall. I turned, watched Aaron toss Hannah around like a rag doll.

  He was too late.

  They all were.

  There was no pulse.

  No breath.

  Her body was cold and tired.

  She was gone.

  CHAPTER 27

  For the second time that day, I listened to the faint sound of sirens whine in the distance. Another minute or two and they would arrive, realize there was nothing they could do. Hannah was dead. She’d be zipped into a bag and carted away. It was a reality I couldn’t allow myself to accept. Not when I’d done so little to save her.

  “I’ll meet the medics at the door when they get here.” I tipped my head toward Aaron, hushed my voice, warned Renee. “Watch him. Don’t let him touch anything. Not one thing. Got it?”

  Her head bobbed up and down, though she was still in shock. We all were.

  I staggered down the hall in a state of catatonia. The sirens were louder now, blazing in my ears. They were close. So close. Thirty minutes ago it might have meant something to me, might have given me hope. Now it meant nothing.

  I hugged my arms around my body and squeezed. A single tear trailed down my cheek, its salty flavor stinging the edge of my chapped lips. I didn’t wipe it away, I just let it puddle there. A text message came in from Cade. He asked how things were going. I stared at the words on the screen of my phone for a moment. When I couldn’t produce anything logical to say, I shoved the phone back inside my pocket again.

  My eyes caught the ruffled edge of the bottom of a flowery nightgown as it raced past me. Ann. Headed toward Hannah’s room. Where had she been, and what was she doing scampering around?

  I had one foot out the door ready to greet the ambulance when a piercing scream stopped me. The sound came from a woman. Whether that woman was Ann or Renee, I wasn’t sure yet.

  “You did this!” Ann yelled. “You killed her! My baby. My bay…bee!”

  The realization was setting in.

  “No, Ann,” Renee yelled. “No! Stop it!”

  Stop what?

  I didn’t walk back to Hannah’s room—I ran, although nothing could have prepared me for the vision I beheld when I reentered the room. Aaron had dropped to one knee, his hand gripping the wood post at the end of Hannah’s bed like it was a lifeline. His thin, white nightshirt was no longer white. It was red.

  A bloody knife jutted from the end of Ann’s hand.

  “I … I …” Renee started when she saw me. “I tried to stop her, Sloane. I wanted to—”

  “Ann, drop the knife,” I said.

  Keep calm. Don’t freak out.

  Aaron made no attempt to rise, no attempt to defend himself.

  “Drop the knife!” I repeated. “Now!”

  It was one of those surreal moments when, even though I didn’t believe he should die, part of me almost wanted to see him get what was coming to him. There I was, standing over a man I hated, trying to save his miserable life.

  Ann wielded her knife through the air, the tip pointed at Aaron. “Don’t you see? Can’t you see? It’s him. It’s all because of him. He did this! He took her from me! I’d rather waste away in jail for the rest of my life than see him get away with it.”

  She’d cracked, finally found the red button in her mind and pressed it, although I never thought it would happen like this. After years of abuse, a no-longer-timid Ann had exacted her revenge. Only her newfound strength had come too late to save her daughter.

  As I caught sight of the medics ushering themselves down the hall, I swung, my hand grappling for the knife. Ann bounced back just in time, and my hand grasped nothing more than a fistful of air. I felt a stinging sensation and glanced down. My forearm was bleeding, dripping blood. In my attempt to recover the knife, Ann had sliced a five-inch cut into my skin. It wasn’t deep, but that didn’t stop the blood from gushing.

  Ann’s eyes widened, realizing her misstep. The jolt of reality was just what she needed. She straightened her hand, let the knife slip to the floor.

  “Miss Monroe,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to—”

  “You didn’t mean it, Ann. It’s okay.”

  Three female medics entered the room, with a fourth, a male, close behind. The women glassed the room, took in the surroundings, stared at each other, didn’t speak. The male took one step inside and backed out. “Let’s go,” he said while palming his phone, dialing. It wasn’t hard to discern where they were going or who he was calling. The fact Aaron and I were injured was secondary to the threat posed by them being in a home that hadn’t been secured. We had no choice. We’d have to sit and wait.

  CHAPTER 28

  “You three, don’t move.”

  The order had been barked by a runty, yet muscular man wearing a navy windbreaker, jeans reminiscent of the mid-eighties, and multi-colored tennis shoes. A few minutes earlier he’d introduced himself as Proctor, said he was the captain of the Detectives Division. He had thick, dark circles under his eyes, and several strands of his peppery hair were askew. I almost had to interlock my fingers together to keep from reaching out and smoothing them back into place.

  I didn’t talk.

  I didn’t move.

  I waited for the captain to ask his questions.

  Waited for Cade to arrive.

  In between the removal of Hannah and Aaron from the house, I’d managed a quick phone call while one of the medics attended to the laceration on my arm. I didn’t go into details, I just said I needed him. It was all I needed to say.

  It was recommended that I go to the hospital to get checked out, even though there wasn’t much wrong with me. I rebuffed the request. I’d seen enough of the inside of a hospital for one week.

  Renee was crouched in the corner of the living room, sobbing. The waterworks had commenced when the paramedics arrived, and it didn’t look like they’d be stopping anytime soon. I didn’t blame her. A dead niece, a slave driver of a brother, a newly crazed sister-in-law. Even in the most dysfunctional of families, the week she was having trumped them all.

  Ann sat on the edge of a reclining chair in an entirely different state of mind. Her eyes were glossed over, face stolid. All sense of emotion seemed to have ebbed from her body, having been replaced by a void I wasn’t sure she’d ever bounce back from. If she had any regrets about stabbing her husband, it sure didn’t seem like it.

  It wasn’t hard to determine how Hannah had reached a mental state where helplessness took over and suicide was her only way out. I sat with Proctor, Renee, and a handful of cops, the lot of us concentrating on Ann as she recalled the events leading up to Hannah’s death. On the car ride from Jackson Hole to Idaho Falls, Aaron had told Hannah he was moving her back home. For good.
Hannah protested, saying he would no longer run her, no longer control her life. She was old enough to make her own decisions. This incited one of Aaron’s epic fits of rage that continued long into the evening. In the end, when he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he backed Hannah against the wall, repeatedly striking her in the face until she relented. He’d worn her down, as he had all the women in his life.

  When Proctor questioned Ann about where she was when the physical abuse occurred, she said she was in the room, witnessing it all. His next question as to whether she made any attempt to intervene was met with a simple, regretful response. “Nothing. I did nothing.”

  Once Aaron had what he wanted, the plan he’d already decided upon was revealed. He would find Hannah the kind of job that would keep her close by, living at home, so he could monitor her every move. He didn’t need her messing up again. He didn’t need her disappointing him, “tainting” their wholesome family image more than she already had. Until further notice, she was on house arrest, only to be allowed out with his express permission. Boys were out of the question.

  The weight of her bleak future had pushed Hannah to take a drastic measure. She was like a fragile bird who, after graduating, had been let out of the cage just long enough to get a taste of life before she was forced back into captivity. Hannah had pleaded, begged her father, even though she must have known in the end, it would all be for naught. Despondent, she saw one way out, one way to free herself—her mother’s antidepressant pills. Ann had refilled the prescription only a day before, which meant since the bottle turned up empty, Hannah hadn’t just swallowed a few … she’d swallowed them all.

  When Ann finished, Proctor asked her to explain why she’d taken the knife to Aaron’s back. It seemed like a ridiculous question to me. The motive couldn’t have been more obvious, even to him. I quickly figured out his motive. He was baiting her, pressing her in a nonchalant way to admit what she’d done, confess to trying to kill, or maim, her husband.

  Ann was unaffected. She clicked her wrists together, stuck them out toward Proctor. “What does it matter why I drove the knife into him? What does any of it matter now? I stabbed my husband. Twice. I hope he dies. Go ahead. Arrest me.”

  Proctor was taken aback by her frankness, allowing several seconds to pass before speaking. “Ma’am, I can feel your frustration from here. But why resort to such extreme measures?”

  “He deserved it, that’s why.”

  “You’re admitting to the attempted murder of your husband?”

  She nodded, her hands still gelled together in invisible handcuffs. “And just so you know, I would have finished the job if Miss Monroe hadn’t stopped me. There’s nothing you can do to me now that he hasn’t already done. He’s taken everything I care about and crushed it all—my hopes, my dreams, my sweet, innocent daughter. My life is over.”

  Proctor shook his head, tapped the shoulder of one of the officers in the room standing around like a misplaced piece of furniture. “Go on, take her in.”

  Ann stood, accepted her fate. Her hands were zip-tied behind her back, and she was led outside.

  “Now,” Proctor said. “Which one of you is Sloane Monroe?”

  I lifted a finger.

  He produced a clear, plastic baggie. Inside was a sliver of lined paper about the size of a rectangular refrigerator magnet. “How do you explain this?”

  I bent down, recollected seeing the torn piece of paper in Hannah’s notebook. “Where’d you find it?”

  “Taped to the back of the ultrasound photo. Now answer the question.”

  I glanced at the words a second time, even though I didn’t need to—they’d remain etched into my soul forever: MISS MONROE: SAVE HIM. FIND HIM. BRING HIM HOME.

  “Who’s she referring to?” Proctor prodded. “Who’s him?”

  “Her baby. I mean to say, the baby she gave up for adoption.”

  “What does the kid need saving from?”

  “Several days ago, he was kidnapped.”

  Proctor scratched his head. “From who? Birth father or something?”

  I shrugged. “We don’t know yet.”

  “Are you talking about the AMBER Alert baby? The same kid that’s been all over the news?”

  I nodded. I wasn’t in the mood to furnish him with the rest of the details, but I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to leave until I pieced it all together for him, helped him grasp how I managed to end up at Aaron’s house with Renee on the same night Hannah decided to end her life. I gave him a quick, five-minute recap, satisfying all his questions.

  “This is one heck of a mess you got yourself here,” he said.

  My mess.

  I suppose in a way, it was.

  I’d gotten involved, agreed to help find Finn. Now, standing inside a house where I’d witnessed yet another innocent death, I doubted myself and my abilities, just like I had months before. I’d failed Hannah at every turn. She counted on me, asked me for one thing and one thing only—to find Finn—and I’d let her down. I felt responsible for her, for him, for all of it.

  How could I save him?

  I couldn’t even save her.

  CHAPTER 29

  We arrived back at Cade’s house at daybreak after a long ride home where I pretended to sleep, even though I hadn’t slept a wink. I assumed Cade was well aware that I never dozed off. If he was, he never said anything. He just draped an arm around my shoulder and kept on driving.

  Renee stayed behind to support Ann. The knife, which Ann managed to pierce Aaron with not once, but twice, had passed through the cavities in his ribs, causing one of his lungs to collapse. He also sustained a severed artery. Injuries aside, he’d live long enough to press charges against Ann for attempted murder, which was exactly what he said he intended to do, along with filing for a divorce. I wonder what he thought of his perfect family now.

  I showered and changed into something I could lounge in. Sleep wasn’t an option. Even if I could calm my nerves enough to catch a wink or two, I never napped in the middle of the day.

  I found Cade in the kitchen whipping up a batch of steel-cut oats. For such a tough guy, he sure knew his way around a kitchen.

  “Can I make you somethin’ to eat?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Thanks, I’m fine.”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  Good question. Lunch the day before. On the downside, I was starving, but my stomach was unsettled. On the upside, it felt like I’d shed a few pounds in the last couple days. Not that I needed it, but I didn’t know a woman on earth who was opposed to a fair amount of weight loss.

  “I’ll eat, just not right now.”

  He pulled up a chair, sat beside me. “You doin’ okay?”

  I didn’t know what “okay” felt like anymore. The very notion was fleeting. It burst into my life, taunting me with a sense of calm and serenity before withdrawing again.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “You know what happened with Hannah wasn’t your fault, right?”

  I didn’t respond. I couldn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say. There was a good chance any discussion about Hannah would lead to tears, an emotion I had no interest stirring up after I’d worked so diligently the last few hours to tuck it away.

  We sat in silence, absorbed the moment together. Cade rubbed a hand along my leg. He looked distraught, like he longed to lift my spirits. Remaining by my side helped more than he could ever know. I wanted to tell him. I couldn’t do that either.

  Cade glanced at a horseshoe-shaped clock on the wall made of barn wood. “I better get showered.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Serena’s funeral is today.”

  The last twenty-four hours had been so astonishing, the funeral had fled my mind.

  “We can talk again later, after I get back,” he continued, “… that is, if you decide you want to. No pressure.”
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  He slipped off the stool, leaned in like he was about to embrace me, gave my back a quick scratch instead.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I’d like to go. I mean, would it be all right with you if I went?”

  “’Course it would. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want you there. I just assumed you needed some rest, maybe some time to yourself. I know what it’s like to need a breather.”

  Rest. I probably needed it. I just didn’t want it.

  CHAPTER 30

  I sat in a rectangular-shaped, oak pew next to Cade and Shelby. I’d dressed in a charcoal-colored, button-up shirt I had in my suitcase and a black skirt that belonged to Shelby. The skirt could have been an inch or two longer. Under the circumstances, I didn’t have much choice.

  As far as ceremonies go, Serena’s was one of the loveliest I’d attended. We arrived to the soft melody of a harp, played by a teenage boy sitting in the far corner in the back. The service started with a couple musical numbers, one by a small group of Serena’s nieces and nephews, and another, a ballad, sung by a woman who had the chops to headline a show on Broadway. Serena’s father presided, giving a spiritual, heartfelt speech that left most people in the room uplifted instead of in tears.

  At the end of his speech, Serena’s father invited attendees to come up to the front and share a memory, a thought, a sentiment of some kind. A handful of people lined up to express their gratitude, including Wendy, who, up until that moment, I had no idea was in attendance. And I wasn’t the only one. Cade tensed at the sight of her. Others who knew who she was held a hand to their mouths, shocked to see she was back in town. And those who weren’t shocked couldn’t tear their eyes away from her puffy, black eye, courtesy of her hotel beating the day before.

  Wendy was dressed in a rainbow of colors, donning a paisley dress that made my skirt look long and her look like a hippie. Paired with five-inch wedge shoes and clunky metal jewelry, she looked like a celebrity who’d just incurred a fine on TV’s Fashion Police.