“Please, God,” Quinn prayed. “Help me. Soon,” she added as a wave of dizziness washed over her. “I’m not feeling very well.”
When her prayer wasn’t immediately answered, Quinn wrapped her arms about her legs and rested her head on her knees again. For some reason, sitting in that position brought her comfort.
The minutes ticked by and turned into hours. Her mobile showed it was almost seven o’clock. The cemetery would be closed by now, so there was no chance of anyone finding her until the following day, if they found her at all. The prospect of spending the night in the tomb terrified her, but there was nothing to do but try to rest. Quinn was starving and thirsty. She usually took a bottle of water with her to keep hydrated, but had forgotten the bottle in her hotel room in her excitement. There was nothing in her purse, not even a stick of gum or a mint.
As more hours passed, the air in the tomb grew cold, and the floor was hard and damp. Quinn wished she could lie down, but if she stretched out on the stone floor wearing only her thin T-shirt she’d get even colder. Her mouth was dry, and her stomach growled with hunger. She tried not to give in to despair, but tears slid unbidden down her cheeks and into her mouth. They tasted salty, and for some reason that made her cry harder. She’d never been so scared in her life. Eventually, she exhausted herself, curled into a ball, and slept.
Chapter 48
When Quinn woke, she was cold, stiff, and desperate for a pee. It felt wrong to urinate next to Madeline’s remains, but there wasn’t much else she could do. She moved closer to the back wall, hoping that the Talbots of yesteryear stowed there in burial bags would forgive her.
She looked at the time on her mobile. It was 7:27 a.m., nearly twelve hours since the last time she’d checked. She tried calling 911 again, but the call failed. How she wished that Brett had forgotten his hold-all in the tomb. A crowbar would have been of great help.
As the horror of her situation sank in anew, Quinn’s panic returned in full force. She tried to calm down, but this time the breathing and praying didn’t help. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribcage and she felt lightheaded and disoriented. A sharp pain tore through her belly, making her cry out.
“Oh, God, no,” Quinn pleaded as the pain intensified. She massaged her belly in a circular motion to try to calm her contracting womb. “Stay with me,” she begged the baby. “Please stay with me.”
So that we can die together, her mind added. Quinn turned her face up to what would be the heavens and screamed in helpless agony. “Don’t let me die here, you heartless bastard!” she yelled. She wasn’t sure if she was addressing Brett or God, but it didn’t matter. Either one had the power to save her, but she was growing convinced that neither would.
The pain in her abdomen brought her to her senses. It wasn’t as sharp as it had been a few minutes ago, but it was there, steadily growing. Quinn felt something warm and moist between her legs. “No,” she moaned as she slid her hand down her knickers. Her fingers came away wet and sticky. She brought her hand back up and shone a light on it. Blood.
Quinn screamed again, but this time it wasn’t a scream of rage but of anguish, like a wounded animal that knew it was about to die. She had cramps, she was bleeding, and her back ached. She was also dehydrated and hungry. Her body had no energy to fight for the survival of her baby. What did it matter if she lost it? She would be gone in a few days. Without water she couldn’t last long. Three days at most. The thought of spending several more days buried alive in her own grave brought on a new flood of tears.
Stop crying, she told herself. You’ll dehydrate faster. But the tears just came. They were hot and salty, and bitter. She’d seen countless people die in her visions. She’d felt their suffering and heard their thoughts, but although she’d ached with the desire to help them and mourned their loss, she had never understood how it really felt to know that you’re doomed, to finally realize there was no hope. No one was sending the cavalry, no one was racing the clock to prevent a tragic outcome. At this moment, she even envied Elise, who’d died in the arms of her lover. And Petra, whose end had been horrific, but quick.
Quinn would die slowly and alone. Had she done something to deserve this fate? She lay on her side, her arms wrapped around her belly. Was this some sort of cosmic retribution? She didn’t believe in fate or karma, but she did believe in bad decisions made in haste. She’d been extremely foolish, and now she’d pay the ultimate price.
Quinn shut her eyes. It wasn’t as if there was anything to see. She’d been inside the tomb for about eighteen hours. The pain in her belly continued, with contractions coming every few minutes, but the bleeding hadn’t gotten worse. Her pulse was racing and she felt nauseous and confused. Quinn began to see bright lights in front of her closed eyelids. They formed into geometric shapes and floated in the darkness, twisting and turning and gyrating in colorful spirals. She reached out to touch one of the bright spheres, but couldn’t find it. It seemed to have moved away, higher, out of her reach. She tried again and again, until she was overcome by crippling vertigo that threatened to suck her down into a swirling vortex.
Quinn lifted her head just as a stream of vomit erupted from her belly. She retched again and again, her body heaving in protest. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slumped to the ground, too weak to move away from the pool of vomit. The lights came back, brighter this time, as soon as she shut her eyes. They seemed to go on for hours, frolicking lazily and making Quinn feel weightless and untethered to anything earthly. The contractions grew weaker, but were still there, and the nausea came in waves, but she didn’t throw up again. She was depleted, mentally and physically. Her mind drifted, her thoughts mere fragments that made no sense. She entered a state of half-consciousness, for which she was instinctively grateful. It was a buffer between her and reality, and she hoped she would peacefully slip away, too disoriented to comprehend that the end had finally come.
At one point, all the pretty spheres merged into one. They grew brighter and Quinn squeezed her eyes tighter and covered her head with her arms, finding the light too painful to look at. She thought she heard voices, but she had to be hallucinating. Something touched her face and she tried to scream, but the pressure became firmer as she struggled for breath. She couldn’t move her head; it was in a vice. The bright lights began to explode behind her eyelids, bringing back the vertigo and the nausea. And then all went dark.
Chapter 49
Quinn’s eyes fluttered open and she immediately closed them again. The light was too bright, but so welcome. She tried opening her eyes again, slower this time, giving them time to adjust.
She was in a hospital bed, hooked up to an I.V. drip. A clip on her index finger, meant to monitor her heartrate, pinched hard. There were pins and needles in her right hand. She couldn’t move it, as though it were trapped under a heavy object. Quinn slowly turned her head to the right. Even the slightest movement caused nausea and dizziness.
Gabe’s head rested on the side of the bed. He was asleep, his cheek pressed against her hand, and his fingers curled around Quinn’s. She tried to carefully move her hand, but Gabe immediately woke up. His head shot up, his eyes searching her face until relief gradually replaced the worry in his gaze.
Quinn slowly sat up and allowed Gabe to envelop her in a hug. He was very gentle, but she felt his tightly coiled need to hold her and reassure himself she was all right. Quinn burrowed into him, desperate for his solid warmth. She listened to the steady rhythm of his heart and inhaled his familiar scent as she pressed herself even closer to him, her arms wrapped around his waist. Tears flowed down her cheeks and soaked into the fabric of Gabe’s shirt. He stroked her hair and held her close.
“I nearly lost you,” he said softly, a catch in his voice. “I nearly lost you both.”
Quinn pulled away and looked at him. Now that she saw him more clearly, she noted the dark circles beneath his eyes and the pallor of his skin. His shirt was wrinkled, his jaw darkened by thick stubble. He l
ooked emotionally and physically wrung out.
“Gabe, I’m so sorry. I was so stupid, and so trusting.”
“What happened is not your fault. You couldn’t have known what Brett intended.”
“Who found me? I can’t remember a thing,” Quinn confessed. “I thought I was going to die.” Fresh tears threatened to flow, but she managed to hold them back.
Gabe had just opened his mouth to reply when Dr. Glahn walked into the room. She wore a pristine lab coat and her trendy rimless glasses magnified her kind blue eyes. “Ah, you’re awake,” she said cheerfully. “You gave us quite a scare, Quinn.”
“The baby,” Quinn whispered. “Did I lose my baby?” She’d been so relieved to find herself in a hospital with Gabe by her side that she’d momentarily forgotten about the cramping and bleeding she’d experienced inside the tomb. She searched Dr. Glahn’s face, desperate for reassurance that she hadn’t miscarried.
“The baby is all right, but another few hours in that tomb and you probably would have miscarried. Quinn, we have you on blood pressure medication. Don’t worry, it won’t harm the little one,” she added in response to Quinn’s panicked expression. “It was imperative that we lower your blood pressure. It was through the roof. Not surprising after what you’ve been through.”
“What’s in the I.V.?” Quinn asked, eyeing the half-empty bag with suspicion.
“Just a glucose solution. You were severely dehydrated after your ordeal. Do you feel up to eating something?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll have the cafeteria send up some breakfast. No caffeine though.”
“I’m gasping for a cup of tea. And some toast would be nice.” Quinn’s stomach felt hollow with hunger. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, but she supposed it must have been breakfast the day Brett locked her in.
“Decaffeinated tea only, I’m afraid. And you need some protein. Eggs will do nicely. Doctor’s orders,” she said, checking Quinn’s chart. “Now, I don’t want to worry you, but I just got back the labs for your urine. There was protein in your sample, and combined with the high blood pressure, headaches, and swelling in your extremities, I think it’s very likely that you’re on the road to developing preeclampsia. This can be very dangerous, for both you and the baby. I need you to see your doctor as soon as you return home. I will give you a copy of your labs to take with you. I want you to rest for the rest of the day.”
“When will I be discharged?” Quinn asked. “I want to go home.”
Dr. Glahn smiled and shook her head at Quinn’s impatience. “I’m keeping you overnight. You are to do nothing but rest, drink lots of fluids, and eat. You are not going anywhere until your blood pressure is stabilized and the swelling in your ankles has gone down.”
“I understand. Thank you, Doctor,” Quinn replied, unreasonably upset. She knew that Dr. Glahn was doing the right thing, but the thought of spending another few days in New Orleans left her panicked. She would have gladly gotten on a plane this very day, if that were possible, but of course she had to think of the baby, and Gabe. By the looks of him, he needed to rest as much as she did.
“But it’s not all doom and gloom,” Dr. Glahn announced as she walked toward the door and held it open. “There’s someone who desperately wants to see you.”
Quinn nearly burst into tears again when Emma exploded into the room, followed by Kathy.
“Quinn, I missed you so much,” Emma exclaimed as she tried to hug Quinn. She managed to hug only Quinn’s arm because the hospital bed came nearly to her shoulders, but it was enough to make them both feel better. “Daddy said you’re ill. Here, you can borrow Mr. Rabbit. He always makes me feel better.”
“Thank you, darling.” Quinn sniffled. “Mr. Rabbit is exactly what I need, and Mr. Russell,” she added, smiling over Emma’s head at Gabe.
“I should have never let you go on your own,” Gabe said.
“It’s not as if you could have stopped me.”
“No, but I should have come with you.”
“What’s done is done. Please don’t beat yourself up, Gabe.”
“Quinn, can I watch TV?” Emma asked when she saw the television mounted on the wall. She was already bored and looking for a distraction. “They have different programs here, but I like them. I watched Dora the Explorer while I was waiting with Kathy.”
“Kathy, thank you for looking after her,” Gabe said.
“It was the least I could do,” Kathy muttered. She avoided looking at Quinn. “Quinn, I’m so sorry for what Brett did. I have no words…”
“What did he do?” Emma demanded. “Was he bad?”
“Yes, he was very bad.” Kathy’s voice shook with emotion as she met Quinn’s gaze over Emma’s head. “I don’t know what got into him. He’s always been so kind, so quiet.”
“People do strange things when they feel threatened,” Quinn replied. “Where is he?”
“He’s at the police station. They are holding him on charges of kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, and attempted murder. Had you lost the baby… I’m sorry.” Kathy broke down and fled the room.
“He could go to prison for years,” Gabe said in a low voice, so as not to attract Emma’s attention. She was already fixated on The Mickey Mouse Club.
“He deserves to,” Quinn said. “He left me to die. Where’s Seth?” she asked, realizing that no one had mentioned her father.
Gabe sighed and looked away for a moment.
“What? What are you not telling me?” Quinn whispered, suddenly scared.
“Seth is also in police custody.”
“What? Why?”
“He’s been arrested for assault and battery,” Gabe replied. “He nearly killed Brett when he finally chased him down. I think he’s getting out on bail today. He is desperate to speak to you.”
“I’m not ready to speak to him, Gabe,” Quinn muttered. She was too tired and weak to deal with a confrontation.
“You don’t have to speak to anyone. You will have some breakfast and then Emma and I will leave you to rest. No visitors. Promise?”
Quinn nodded. She wasn’t up to talking to anyone, not even her parents. Having to recount what had happened would be too much for her at the moment, and she had to mind her blood pressure. “Will I have to give a statement to the police?”
“Maybe later. I think they have everything they need for now. Ah, here’s breakfast.”
“Good. I’m ravenous.”
Chapter 50
Quinn felt an acute sense of loss as soon as the door closed behind Gabe and Emma. Without Emma’s chatter and the squeaky voice of Mickey Mouse, the room was unbearably quiet. They would come back later, but for now Quinn had to follow Dr. Glahn’s orders. She removed the lid and faced her breakfast. Scrambled eggs, toast, butter, and a packet of grape jelly. There was also weak tea and a container of orange juice. Despite her hunger, the sight of the food brought back the nausea. For one terrible moment, she was right back in the dark tomb, terrified and alone.
Not alone. The baby gave Quinn a vicious kick and she laughed out loud. “All right, you. I get the message. I’m eating,” she said to her belly and picked up a forkful of egg. It wasn’t the best breakfast she’d ever had, but it would suffice. Once she began eating, she actually felt better. The nausea receded and the terrible weakness in her limbs began to ebb, replaced by a feeling of wellbeing, or something close to it. Quinn ate as much as she could and pushed the tray away.
The blinds were partially closed, but shafts of sunlight peeked between the plastic slats. Sunlight. She’d thought she’d never see it again. Funny how so many things in life could be friend or foe, depending on the situation. When on a dig in the Middle Eastern desert, there were days when Quinn had thought the sun would burn her to cinders and made sure to cover every part of her body before leaving her tent in the morning. There, the sun was a ruthless enemy that took no prisoners. But when she had been locked in that tomb, she’d have given anything for one more g
limpse of the light, one more sunrise, and one more chance to look up at the vast blueness of the sky.
Quinn leaned back and closed her eyes against the light that crept along the wall and caressed her face with its gentle fingers. She’d mistaken Brett for a friend. She’d liked and trusted him, and believed they had something in common and would have a link for the rest of their lives, but he had callously left her and her baby to die. He’d have had the deaths of two people on his hands had Gabe not found her in time.
As she sank deeper into the pillows, Quinn wondered if the propensity for violence ran in families. Sybil had shown no remorse after shooting Clara and Madeline. She had been cool and matter-of-fact when she spoke to Joe about the disposal of their remains. Seeing Clara and Madeline as a threat, she had felt justified in doing whatever was necessary to protect her interests. Was that how Brett saw Quinn, as a hindrance to be disposed of? They’d spent hours together walking, talking, and exchanging ideas and stories of their lives. Did he not see her as a human being, a person whose life mattered? Was she nothing more to him than an obstacle to his future? And what sort of future would he have now?
Quinn looked up when there was a soft knock on her door. She thought it might be the hospital porter, come to take her tray away, but instead, Seth stepped carefully into the room, his hands held up as if warding off an attack. “Please, give me a couple of minutes, Quinn. I beg you.”
“All right,” she replied, although the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Seth. She didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to rage at him, make accusations, and vent her anger, since she couldn’t take it out on Brett. But another part of her felt overwhelming sympathy for him. Brett had been his only child up until a few weeks ago. Brett was his baby, his dream. Perhaps if Brett had assaulted a stranger, or someone who’d physically threatened him, Seth would be able to reason his actions away, but Quinn was Seth’s daughter, the mother-to-be of his first grandchild, and Brett’s sister. No amount of reasoning could justify what Brett had tried to do. No amount of love could blind a parent to such a crime.
The Unforgiven Page 32