Struggling, Shannon sunk her teeth into Clint’s hand and bit down hard.
It felt like sharp knives slicing through his skin, but no amount of pain would make him let go.
Shannon’s body was angled at ninety degrees, the top of her head tight against Clint’s chest, the heels of her large boots scuttled back and forth wildly across the linoleum.
Winston let out short grunts as he continued to pry her fingers off the stock of the gun.
Clint’s hatred for her grew as he thought about what could have happened if Winston hadn’t have had the guts to attack her.
When Shannon’s arms and legs started to slow, he glanced at her bright red face. Her mouth gaped open; her tongue hanging out, he felt absolutely no pity for this women who’d threatened his family. “You pathetic bit—”
“Stop, Clint,” Charlie shouted. “You’re going to kill her.”
Clint started to loosen his grip right before he saw Charlie running toward him.
“Noooo,” Clint shouted, “Stay ba—”
When the shot went off, everything around Clint started to move in slow motion: Charlie falling to her knees…Winston going to her…Faith screaming as she darted out of the kitchen.
Clint let go of Shannon. When he crumbled to his knees beside her, he shook his head in disbelief. ”No, Charlie, not you. Not you.”
Her eyes were wide open, her blank stare directed at the ceiling as bright red blood spurted out of the left side of her chest.
When her head slowly rolled to the side, her eyes closed.
“Charlie?” Sobbing, Clint pushed his hands underneath her back and gently brought her close.
Rocking her slowly back and forth in his arms, his voice was thick with emotion. “Sweetheart,” Clint pleaded, “please don’t leave me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE ABBOTT HOME WAS IN TOTAL TURMOIL Winston noticed the rifle was only a foot or so away from Shannon’s hand. He quickly retrieved the gun and, holding it as far away from him as possible, he placed the weapon inside the pantry and closed the door. He hated guns and, right now, he loathed Shannon Patterson, whoever the hell she was.
“Call an ambulance,” Clint told Winston.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Faith cried over and over from the living room.
“My back,” Shannon whimpered. “Someone help me.”
When Winston dialed 9-1-1, it was all he could do to stay focused. He looked down at Charlie. As Clint rocked her, whispering to Charlie to stay with him, blood began to pool around Clint’s ankles and legs. His heart in his throat, the scene was too much for Winston to bear.
“Where’s your emergency?” dispatch answered.
“Abbott farm, Highway Thirty-Four west of town,” he said, barely recognizing his own fearful voice.
He opened every drawer until he found tea towels and grabbed a handful.
“Here.” He tossed Clint the towels. “Put Charlie down flat on the floor and press these firmly down over the wound. We need to stop the bleeding”
“Did you say the Adam’s farm?”
Suddenly Winston felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. “No, listen to me, I said Abbott Farm. Clint and Charlie Abbott. There’s been a shooting.”
“Oh God,” Shannon mumbled. “What did you make me do?”
Winston had no sympathy for this woman. He covered the mouthpiece and glanced at Shannon. “Now it’s your turn to shut up.”
Clint lay Charlie down. “Can you hear me?” He asked as he covered the wound with towels.
Winston was in a daze. None of what was happening seemed real.
“Okay, I have someone on the way,” the dispatcher told Winston. “Is the person breathing, sir?”
Winston took the few steps to Clint, bent over, and picked up Charlie’s hand. She felt so cold. Feeling a weak pulse, he answered, “Yes.” His hands damp with perspiration, he could barely hang onto the phone. “She’s losing a lot of blood.”
His heart was being torn apart. He’d never allowed himself to get close to clients, but the Abbotts were different. Saul, he thought, if you’re watching, try to connect with the big guy and ask him to please not take Charlie.
“Sir, are you there?” Winston heard. “I need you to stay on the line with me,” the women’s voice said. “Have you applied pressure to the wound?”
“Yes,” Winston responded, felt someone tug on his pants, and looked down.
“Is Charlie gonna die, Mister?” Faith asked.
“No.” He patted the top of her head. “Your mommy’s a strong lady. She’s going to be okay.”
“Are you still there?” the dispatcher said, irritating Winston.
“Yes, I’m here. Just hurry, please,” he said curtly and hung up. He’d been through this situation with his father and then Saul. Dispatchers were taught to keep the caller on the line, but Winston knew there was nothing more they could do but wait for help.
When he saw Hank whirling around in a circle under the archway, his tail between his legs, he said to Faith, “Hank needs you. Why don’t you go find him?”
Faith clasped her arms around Winston’s legs. “Is Shannon gonna shoot me too? And Daddy?”
Winston leaned over and picked her up. “No, we’re safe now.”
“I didn’t shoot anyone,” Shannon wailed. “You made me do it.”
“Charlie, can you hear me? Charlie?” Clint kept asking.
Faith wiped her eyes with a small hand. “Why’d Shannon hurt Mommy?”
This was the first time Winston had ever heard Faith call Charlie Mommy. “I think Mommy is—”
“Her eyes are open,” Clint interrupted. “Charlie?”
Winston put Faith down. One of Charlie’s eyes was partially open, but her breathing was slow and labored.
“Take her… Winston…” Charlie coughed softly . “Hurry.”
“What?” Clint leaned in closer.
“She asked me to take your daughter,” Winston answered.
“Take me where?” Faith asked, panicked. “I don’t want to go anywhere.” She turned and started to run, but Winston caught her.
“Listen to me,” Winston stated in an authoritative tone. “We need to go.” In all of the confusion, he hadn’t thought about how little time there was left to save Mira. Once Mira and Faith’s bond was severed, Mira would be gone forever. He had to get Faith out of here before the police arrived or he’d be detained for questioning.
Faith wiggled to get away. “Please, Daddy, don’t let Mister take me.”
When she broke loose, Faith took off running with Winston chasing her. When he caught up with her on the stairway, he turned her around and wrapped an arm around her chest. He picked her up and she began to kick and scream. “Calm down,” Winston said walking back into the kitchen. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She twisted and turned fiercely as Winston opened the door.
“Daddy, nooooo! I don’t want to go.”
Winston knew if he tried to grab their coats off the rack that Faith would get away again. “I’ll call and let you know where we are.”
“I’m sorry,” Clint said, not looking at Faith. “I love you, sweetheart.”
Winston couldn’t imagine the pain Clint was going through. Charlie was teetering between life and death, and Winston was taking a child away that Clint would probably never see again.
Making his way to the car, it took all of Winston’s strength to hold onto Faith. He tried to hold her down as he strapped the seatbelt around her, but when her fingernails sunk into his cheek, he bolted upright. He touched his face, looked down at his hand, and saw droplets of blood. “Good God, stop this right now. I’m trying to help you.”
“I shoulda left you with Mira.”
Once he finally got the belt latched, he locked the doors, and slid behind the wheel. When he heard a beep, he said, “Put that seatbelt back on.”
“No!”
Winston heard the rattle of the door handle. “The doors are locked and ther
e’s no way you can get out. Now lock that belt in now.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do.” Winston was winging it. Maybe she didn’t know how, but he was not about to fight with her again. He stepped on the gas. “You’re not going to like this,” he told her, “because I’m going to go fast and you might be tossed around, could even hit your head.” Immediately, he heard the click of the lock.
“I hate you.”
“I don’t care. Your mommy asked me to take you out of the house and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Winston heard the faint sound of an ambulance. He had to hurry. He sped to the end of the driveway.
As he spotted the red flashing light come up over a hill, he turned onto the highway in the opposite direction.
“Take me home!” Faith carried on. “Take me back, or the police will put you in jail.”
He barely listened to what she was saying as scenes of what had just transpired flashed through his mind: seeing Shannon Patterson at the top of the stairs with a gun… holding Faith as hostage… ramming into Shannon…wrestling to get the gun away, and the ear-splitting sound of the shot going off.
After forty-five minutes of sheer hell listening to Faith’s rants, he turned onto the interstate, not having a clue where he was going. “Knock it off!” He glanced in his rearview mirror. “The day has been difficult enough without you carrying on.”
“Take me home.”
“I’m not taking you back, do you understand?”
She started to scream again.
He pulled over on the side of the road and put on his emergency lights. He turned around in his seat and glared at her. “I’ve never spanked a child before, but this is going to be a first if you don’t straighten up.”
She stopped crying and Winston noticed she didn’t have tears.
“Hitting a child is against the law.”
“Well, the law isn’t here right now. It’s just you and me and the choice is yours.”
She turned toward the window.
“Are we clear?”
Faith didn’t answer.
“Good.” He turned off the flashers and started back down the Interstate.
“Why’d you take me away?”
Winston glanced in the rearview mirror at her sad face. “Because your mommy wanted to protect you. She didn’t want you to see her hurt.”
“But where we goin’?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I’ll figure something out.”
“How long do I have to stay with you?”
“Until Mommy gets better.’ Winston answered.
“I’ll get away from you,” she said confidently, “and go back to my daddy.”
“Faith,” Winston tried to reason, “I’m not taking you away from your daddy.”
“You stole me and I’m gonna tell.”
Winston cleared his thoughts and focused on what Faith was feeling. “I’ve thought about you and Mira for a long time, and you are right.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“It’s your turn to be with your mommy and daddy,” Winston said, carefully choosing his works. “Mira's selfish.” He glanced into the rearview mirror.
“Yep.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “Told you so.”
“Mira’s had six years with Mommy and Daddy and you deserve to be with them now.”
“But Mommy wants Mira,” Faith said.
“Your mommy knows, Faith. She knows you’re not Mira.”
“I know. That’s why I don’t want her to live with Daddy. She doesn’t like me.”
“Not true. Your mommy loves you and always has.”
She was silent for a few seconds. “I don’t want Charlie… Mommy… to die.” She started to cry. “I want Mira to be with us, too.”
Winston’s feelings were torn. He felt just as sorry for Faith as he did for Mira. Neither one of them had anything to do with the connection that held them together after Faith died.
A few minutes later, Faith started to sing, her sweet, childlike voice calming Winston. She was soothing herself. Everything that happened this morning was too much for Winston to process, let alone a child.
He wanted to pull off and call the hospital to see how Charlie was, but first needed to come up with a plan.
“Mister, I’m hungry.”
“Me, too. We’ll stop somewhere soon.”
“But where we goin’?” Faith asked again.
The last thing Winston wanted was to check into a hotel, just in case Faith started screaming again. What he needed was privacy.
“Look,” Faith said, before he could answer her question. “McDonald’s.”
Winston looked up at the sign on the right hand side of the freeway. “Sounds good.” When they came to next sign that read; Kansas City, first exit, 20 miles, he had an idea.
“Can we stop, Mister?”
“You won’t cause any problems?”
“Nope,” she answered. “I just want a Happy Meal. I’ve never had one.”
“You’ve never been to a McDonald’s?” Winston asked.
“They don’t have one where I live, but Mira told me she loved them.”
“Then McDonald’s it is.”
Inside the fast food restaurant, Winston ordered a Happy Meal and a cup of black coffee. If things worked out the way he hoped, he would need the caffeine as he doubted he would get any sleep tonight.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Faith said before she touched her cheeseburger, fries, and orange soda.
He pointed at her. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Faith crossed her heart with her finger. “I’ll be good.”
After he showed her the sign for the restrooms, he watched her disappear, thinking that she might be starting to trust him again.
Looking around to see that no one was watching, he scooted the orange pop close to him and took off the lid. Next he reached into his pocket and brought out the children’s cough medicine he’d purchased in Sheffield before he’d picked up Charlie.
Keeping the bottle low, he quickly pulled off the measuring cap and unscrewed the bottle. Adding a quarter more of what was recommended for a six-year old, he dumped the cherry flavored medicine into her drink, stirred it and put the lid back on.
After he put pushed the cup back, Winston screwed the lid back on, wrapped a napkin around the plastic measurer and stuffed both into his pocket.
When she returned,he child chattered non-stop until she took her last bite.
“How’d you like your Happy Meal?” he asked.
“It was yummy.” Faith smiled. “The pop tasted kinda like cherry.”
“I bet it was good then.”
“It was.”
This time Faith cooperated when Winston helped her buckle up in her car seat.
Faith yawned. “I’m sleepy.”
On the outskirts of Kansas City, Winston stopped at a pay phone outside of a truck stop. After he opened the door, he looked into the back seat.
“I’ll be right ba—” he started to say, but stopped when he saw Faith was sound asleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THE DOOR FLEW OPEN and two policemen tore into the kitchen with a third officer behind them. They took a stance, one aiming his gun at Shannon, his partner pointing their weapon at Clint.
“Who’s the shooter?” one of them demanded.
Clint nodded at Shannon. “She’s over there. Please,” Clint begged tearfully, “just help my wife.”
Shannon let out a groan. “But I didn’t mean—”
“Hands over your head,” the officer shouted, taking two steps toward Shannon, keeping his gun on her. “Now!”
“Holy moly, Mr. Cop, I’m unarmed and hurt,” Shannon told him still lying flat on her back. “That asshole over there”— she looked to Clint— “tried to choke me to death. He’s the one who should be arrested.” Her voice became stronger, louder. “And I’m not going to take no for an—”
“Get h
er out of here.” Clint hoped they locked her up for life. The sound of Shannon’s voice was like hearing fingernails on a chalkboard.
“Get up, ma’am,” the policeman ordered.
Clint heard the blare of the ambulance. “Oh God, hurry.” He laid the palm of his hand over Charlie’s frigid cheek, his other hand still pressing down on the blood saturated towels covering her chest.
When the paramedics hustled into the kitchen the female attendant put her hands down on Clint’s shoulders. “Sir, please get back.”
Clint let go of the towels and scooted backward on his knees. Until now, he hadn’t noticed the blood splattered on the walls, the chairs, and the top of the table: Charlie’s blood.
Charlie’s arms were draped over her stomach, her legs splayed in opposite directions. “She’s going to be okay, right?” Clint asked, but the paramedics didn’t answer. They were too busy working on Charlie and conversing with each other.
He briefly looked to Shannon and saw an officer cuffing her hands.
“Clint,” Shannon blubbered, her eyes meeting his. “Please, honey, I didn’t mean to do this.”
Clint looked away. He wouldn’t spend one more second on this crazy woman.
As Shannon was escorted out of his home, her nonsensical rants trailed off with her. Clint stood and leaned back against the counter, his legs unsteady.
In rapid motion, the female paramedic checked Charlie’s airway, pulse, and blood pressure. They worked in sync as the other attendant slipped a mask over Charlie’s mouth and nose and started the portable oxygen tank.
An IV was inserted into Charlie’s vein and the wound was quickly dressed and taped. “One, two, three,” the female said and, in unison, they lifted Charlie onto a stretcher.
Clint sprinted behind them as they transported Charlie to the ambulance. He overheard one of the paramedics say “No response” into his headset.
As they secured the mobile stretcher in the back of the van, Clint asked, “What does no response mean? She’s breathing, right?”
“There’s no eye movement and your wife is not responding to voices,” the attendant told Clint while he started yet another IV in her other arm. The female attendant opened a blanket and covered Charlie. “Hospital needs to know the patient's condition before we arrive. I’m not a doctor, Mr. Abbott,” he continued, “but I do know your wife is in critical condition.”
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