Time to Control
Page 21
Eddie was sleeping more comfortably, and so I stripped down and curled up next to my husband on the bed and cried myself to sleep.
“You agree with me?” I blinked at my husband as he leaned against the wall at the head of the bed.
“Don't sound so surprised,” he answered, sarcastically.
“You just generally have a better head for strategy.”
“I've taught you well, young Padawan.”
I blushed, and went back to removing the bandages on his shoulder. I wasn't a medic or anything, but it certainly looked better after a long day's sleep. As much as I wanted to keep the bandages on to keep the wound clean, I knew we had to “reset” ourselves.
Eddie flexed his hand, and I slapped it to stop him. “Hey! I'm not feeling too bad. We can go now, as far as I'm concerned.”
“Well, I'm concerned, and I'm in control.” I covered the ring with my opposite hand. “And moving your fingers is one thing – although it is great. I don't see you stretching above your head – no!” Again, I slapped at him as he tried raising his right arm up. “Seriously, stop that. It'll start bleeding again. Besides, we need to plan this out better. Like, what happens when we get back and you have a partially healed gunshot wound?”
My husband scowled at me, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes belied his lighter (although pained) mood. “You said you had my sweatshirt, right? I stick that on after taking Alan out. Get through the police interview, then go back home and call a doctor to make a house call.”
I nodded approval. For once, I'd be a fan of him throwing money at a problem. We could buy a doctor's silence, if it even came to that.
“We've practiced enough? You're good with what to do?” I had let Eddie out of bed a few times to slowly, and gently, resume the positions we had left from and coordinate getting up and moving. We had time to practice and get it right, and I was going to take it.
“Schroeder, yes. It'll be okay.” My husband gave me a kiss on the forehead. “And worse comes to worse, we hightail it back here.”
I bit back the horrid thoughts that had come to me over the past hours. What if Alan was quicker than we expected, and had better aim the second time? What if this time, the ring didn't work? What if....what if. I was losing control, and took some deep breaths to center myself again. My hand poised over my ring finger, I raised an eyebrow to check that he was ready, then slid the metal off.
* * *
It worked, just not as planned, I thought, cradling my left hand with the obviously dislocated ring finger. Eddie finished slipping on the sweatshirt, and gave the belt-trussed up Alan another kick.
“That's for breaking my wife's hand, you bastard.”
Honestly, I was more worried about the ring. My hand had swollen up seconds after the ricocheting bullet shattered the ruby and knocked my finger out of the joint. There was no way the ring was getting off intact, if the remains would even be called that. I hoped the ER had ring cutters, otherwise I was in for a world of hurt once the adrenaline wore off. I knew deep down, though, that there was no more time travel from the ring. It was done.
Eddie put his arm around me protectively, both of me and of his hidden injured shoulder. My former coworkers were now crowding around us, slapping Eddie on the back for the flying tackle that took down Alan. I turned into the hug as sirens sounded down the street.
“You did it, hon,” I whispered into his neck.
“We did it, Schroeder,” He replied. “The ring's a goner?”
“Yeah, but it served its purpose. It brought me you.”
THE END.