“Come back with me,” he whispered. “Please.”
Blood pulsed through the wound, passing between his fingers. Above him, Erin was going in and out of focus. Blond hair and then brown again. He saw her on their honeymoon, wearing a bikini, before she’d forgotten her sunglasses, and she was so beautiful that he couldn’t understand why she’d wanted to marry him.
Beautiful. She was always so beautiful, he thought, and then he was tired again. His breaths became ragged and then he started to feel cold, so cold, and he began to shake. He exhaled once more, the sound like air being released from a tire. His chest stopped moving. His eyes were wide open, uncomprehending.
Katie stood over him, shaking as she stared down at him. No, she thought. I’ll never go with you. I never wanted to go back.
But Kevin didn’t know what she was thinking, because Kevin was gone, and she realized then that it was finally, truly, over.
41
The hospital kept Katie under observation for most of the night before finally releasing her. Afterward, Katie remained in the hospital waiting room, unwilling to leave until she knew Alex would be okay.
Kevin’s blow had nearly cracked Alex’s skull, and he was still unconscious. Morning light illuminated the narrow rectangular windows of the waiting room. Nurses and doctors changed shifts, and the room began to fill with people: a child with a fever, a man having trouble breathing. A pregnant woman and her panicked husband pushed through the swinging doors. Every time she heard a doctor’s voice, she looked up, hoping she would be allowed to see Alex.
Bruises mottled her face and arms, and her knee was swollen to almost twice its usual size, but after the requisite X-rays and exams, the doctor on call had merely given her ice packs for her bruises and Tylenol for the pain. He was the same doctor who was treating Alex, but he couldn’t tell her when Alex would wake and said that the CAT scans were inconclusive. “Head wounds can be serious,” he’d told her. “Hopefully, we’ll know more in a few hours.”
She couldn’t think, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop worrying. Joyce had taken the kids home from the hospital and Katie hoped they hadn’t had nightmares. Hoped they wouldn’t have nightmares forever. Hoped Alex was going to recover fully. Prayed for that.
She was afraid to close her eyes because every time she did, Kevin reappeared. She saw the smears of blood on his face and shirt, his wild eyes. Somehow, he’d tracked her down; somehow, he’d found her. He’d come to Southport to take her home or kill her, and he’d almost succeeded. In one night, he had destroyed the fragile illusion of security she had managed to construct since she’d arrived in town.
The terrifying visions of Kevin kept coming back, recurring endlessly with variations, sometimes changing entirely; there were moments she saw herself bleeding and dying on the porch, staring up at the man she hated. When that happened, she instinctively groped at her stomach, searching for wounds that didn’t exist, but then she was back in the hospital, sitting and waiting under fluorescent lights.
She worried about Kristen and Josh. They’d be here soon; Joyce would bring them in to see their father. She wondered if they would hate her because of everything that happened, and the thought made tears sting her eyes. She covered her face with her hands, wishing she could burrow into a hole so deep that no one would ever find her. So that Kevin would never find her, she thought, and then remembered again that she’d watched him die on the porch. The words He’s dead echoed like a mantra she couldn’t escape.
“Katie?”
She looked up and saw the doctor who was now treating Alex.
“I can bring you back now,” he said. “He woke up about ten minutes ago. He’s still in ICU, so you can’t stay long, but he wants to see you.”
“Is he okay?”
“Right now, he’s about as good as can be expected. He took a nasty blow.”
Limping slightly, she followed the doctor as they made their way to Alex’s room. She took a deep breath and straightened her posture before she entered, telling herself that she wasn’t going to cry.
The ICU was filled with machines and blinking lights. Alex was in a bed in the corner, a bandage wrapped around his head. He turned toward her, his eyes only half open. A monitor beeped steadily beside him. She moved to his bedside and reached for his hand.
“How are the kids?” he whispered. The words came out slowly. Labored.
“They’re fine. They’re with Joyce. She took them home.”
A faint, almost imperceptible smile crossed his lips.
“You?”