Seeing Blind

Chapter Twenty Eight

The steady beep of the monitor above my head was driving me crazy. It was relentless, never ending, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to block it out. My head was throbbing, my face tight and stretched against the swelling, and yet that damn beeping was worse than anything else I felt.

I sat still as a statue on the edge of the hard, cold stretcher. My small hands gripped the edge of the rubber mattress, tightening and loosening in sync with the beeping. I kept my eyes closed, the bright light too harsh against my damaged head as it hung between my shoulders lifelessly.

The only thing I could do was let my mind slowly repeat the events of the last few hours over and over again.

Once she was certain Reign was dead, my mother dropped the gun to the floor. It fell with a loud, ominous clatter, all the life it held fizzling out like the one it took. It looked like a toy, the same kind we used to play with as kids when we were cops and robbers. But this one was no toy.

She converged on me within seconds, sobbing hysterically, her entire body shaking. She was trying to speak, but none of her words made any sense against the frantic crying she released against my hair. I clung to her tightly, breathing in the scent of her, feeling her body into mine just as I had done time and time again when I was a child. She was my safe place, my haven, and now she had become my savior.

"Mom," I shuttered, my voice sounding lost and foreign to my ears. "What did you do?"

She pulled back, shaking her head as tears continued to stain her cheeks. Her hands smoothed back my hair, her eyes roaming every inch of my face. "What I had to do."

"But,"

"I did what I should have done all along," she interrupted, her voice slowly calming. "You are my baby. I need to protect you. I should have protected you."

Her words pulled more sobs from within me, my face crumpling painfully as I pulled her against me again. We sat on the floor crying, rocking each other slowly, until the sound of sirens rose in the distance.

It all happened quickly after that. A knock at the front door, and a loud call from the police that they were responding to reports of gunshots. My mother pulled back from me, her hands caressing my face with a soft smile on her lips, before standing and accepting her fate.

The scene changed into one of yellow tape, dark clad officers and endless questions. I was pulled away from my mother and into an ambulance, causing me to again fall into hysterics, as I was examined by paramedics. The ride to the hospital was a blur, my heavy eyelids constantly falling, ignoring the urgent voices around me asking me to stay awake.

A doctor examined me gently, his lined face and white hair reminding me of Santa Claus in a lab coat. He was sweet and kind, his aged face sad when I told him how I had come to meet him.

"You're a brave girl," he commented once he had finished stitching the laceration above my eye. "Not many I've come across have been able to find the strength to leave."

I wanted to thank him but the words fell away. He gave me a gentle touch of his hand against my leg, and a kind smile, before disappearing on the other side of the ugly blue curtain, leaving me alone with my scar, my cracked rib, my bruises, and my mind.

But I wasn't alone long, before two officers in gray suits began their endless barrage of questions.

What had happened? How did he get in? Did I know he had a gun? Did I know my mother had a gun? What did he do to me? Why did he come here?

All the secrets I had spent over a year protecting were now laid bare across the void between myself and these strangers, documented in their messy scrawl against generic yellow note pads.