Chapter IX
Floyd’s eyes fluttered open; a blur of white light was visible over his head and slowly coalesced into the shape of a fluorescent strip over his bed. Machines all around him gasped, beeped, and whirred as they went about their single-minded purpose of keeping him alive. He lifted up his hands and found tubes stuck into the back of each hand. A white gown covered his body and matched the sheets, curtains, and walls. A hospital room.
The memory of how he’d gotten here came to him slowly. The click of a gun. The man in the trench coat. Emptying the register and handing over Abby’s engagement ring. She bound his wrists with tape. And then…
He put his head on his chest and sobbed. And then he’d watched the man rape Abby while he struggled in vain against his restraints. A shot. Darkness pressed around him. Then another shot. “Abby,” he whispered, his mouth as dry as cotton. He had to find her.
When he tried to sit up, his head spun and he collapsed back onto his pillows. He moaned and groped for the call button. Maybe a nurse could find Abby for him unless—he didn’t want to complete the thought of what the nurse might tell him.
A pale, thin nurse, her dark hair piled under her hat, rushed into the room moments later. “Mr. Jensen, you’re awake,” she mumbled and checked the machines around him to measure his vital signs. “I’ll get the doctor,” the nurse said before scurrying away.
“Floyd?” he heard his mother call. She burst into the room and raced over to his bed faster than he’d ever seen her move. She ran a hand through his hair and looked into his eyes. Then—for the first time in over ten years—she hugged him. “Oh my God, we thought you were dead!” He put his arms around her and felt her tears against his cheek.
“Mom, it’s all right,” he whispered. He looked over her shoulder and saw them all huddled at the foot of his bed. His father. Angela with baby Dale in her arms. Todd. And in the shadows of the doorway, Abby leaned on a cane. “It’s all right.”
“A month,” his mother answered.
He fixed his eyes on his brother. “When did you get back?”
Todd shrugged. “I called Mom a couple weeks ago and she said you were in the hospital.” He put an arm around Angela. “We got married yesterday.”
“Congratulations,” Floyd muttered and sank deeper into his pillows. Abby still had not moved from the doorway; no doubt she felt out of place among his family. “Can I, um, talk to Abby alone for a minute?”
His mother frowned, but nodded. “We’ll be right outside.” Everyone filed out except Abby; she closed the door and took a step towards the bed.
Floyd stared at her and tried to think of what to say. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Oh, Floyd,” she whispered and collapsed into his arms. As he stroked her hair, he saw the angry red scar down her cheek. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I thought I’d lost you too,” he replied. He held her at arm’s length and she self-consciously brushed hair away from her face. “What happened? I heard a second shot.”
She looked down at the floor and lifted up her blouse to reveal a bandage on the right side of her abdomen. “They said it didn’t hit anything important, except…” her voice trailed off and tears stung her eyes. “I’ll never be able to have a baby.”
He took her back in his arms and mumbled soothing words. The possibility of their conceiving a child had been remote before, but now even that slim chance had slipped away. The gunman had stolen Abby’s most precious power—the ability to create a life. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” he moaned into her hair. “It’s all my fault.”
“No, we’ll find a way.” She looked him in the eye and forced a smile to her lips. “We’ve been through so much already, we’ll get through this too.”
“I love you,” he said, but the words now seemed empty and inadequate in the face of what had happened to her.
“I love you too,” she whispered and sat down on the bed out of his reach. He wished he knew what to do now. Something so horrible had come between them; he didn’t know how to begin approaching it. After a lengthy silence, Abby patted his leg. “I’ll let you get some rest.”
As she reached the door, she paused and stared at him sadly. She too wanted to talk about it, but didn’t know where to begin. “What happened? After I was shot, I mean,” Floyd asked.
She looked down at the floor and gripped the doorknob for support. “After the second shot, he heard Angela at the front door and took off. She called for help.”
Floyd’s mouth dropped in surprise. Angela, the girl he’d never liked, whose wedding he’d ruined through his incompetence, had saved his life. And Abby’s. He would have to find some way to thank her, to make everything up to her. Abby nodded to him and slipped out the door. After she left, Dr. Stevens’s twin entered the room, complete with the same condescending voice and phony smile. “How are we feeling?” he asked.
How could he feel? Floyd wanted to ask. He’d watched the brutal rape of the woman he loved; how could he feel about that? “Fine,” he lied. He knew things would never be fine again.
#
It took two weeks for Floyd to recover enough strength in his legs to leave the hospital. He limped along the trail of Bayview Park with the aid of a metal cane—as did Abby. For short trips she could walk without the cane, but for a long journey like to the beach, she kept it handy for when her legs tired. Floyd’s mother trailed behind them with a picnic basket, a sight that made Floyd regret his request to come out here.
No one spoke as they navigated through the thick crowds; a late-winter heat wave had moved in and brought summer temperatures in March. Floyd ignored the people all around him and involved himself with the simple task of putting one foot in front of the other. When they reached the beach, the sands were alive with the throngs of people taking advantage of a temperate, sunny day. “This is a mistake,” Floyd meant to think to himself, but when Abby turned her head, he realized he’d said it aloud.
“You wanted to come,” she replied.
“I know,” he grumbled as a beach ball landed at his feet. He swatted it away with the cane. “I wanted to do this at night, when there wouldn’t be so many people.”
“How about we go over there,”
After his mother spread out the blanket and set the basket down in the middle of it, she helped Floyd and Abby to the ground. “You kids have fun,” she chirped before waddling away into the crowds.
Floyd unpacked the basket and took a bite of his sandwich. He watched the boys playing on the rocks for a minute and then turned to Abby. “You never told me how long you were under,” he said.
“Two weeks,” she replied. “They released me the day before you woke up.”
“That was good timing.” He sighed and looked down at the blanket. “Did you, you know, dream?”
She shrugged. “It’s hard to remember. I’m pretty sure I did.” One of the boys’ mothers called for them and they dismounted the rocks before splashing into the bay. “Did you?”
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I dreamed about us.” She raised an eyebrow and he tried to elaborate.
In the first dream he stood at foot of the altar of St. Mark’s. Pastor Ray—who’d conducted services at the church throughout Floyd’s childhood but had died five years ago—stood on the top step of the altar and smiled down at Floyd with paternal fondness. Todd, Gary, and Max were deployed on one side in tuxedoes while Angela, Janet, and a girl Floyd didn’t recognize stood to the other in frilly pink gowns. Ms. Chapman sat next to his parents in the front row and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. The organist began to play the wedding march and Floyd saw Abby gliding towards him in a sparkling white dress. A lacy veil covered her face, a long white train flowed behind her, and a complicated series of pins held her hair up off her neck. She reached out with one gloved hand to take his and they faced Pastor Ray. He ran through the ceremony and concluded by saying, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Floyd lifted the veil and as he and Abby kissed, the world around them literally disappeared a piece at a time until Floyd was all alone. He screamed into the empty darkness that had stolen Abby from him.
His other dream took place far in the future. He found himself looking in the mirror at a bald, fat, wrinkled old man with the ends of a necktie in his pudgy hands. He stared at his fingers, certain that at one point he’d known what to do with the silky fabric. After fumbling with the tie for a minute, he grunted in frustration and let the ends hang limply along his white silk shirt.
Abby glided up next to him; her hair had turned white, her face lined, and body dangerously thin under her bulky pink sweater, but she still looked beautiful. “Let me,” she wheezed and took the tie in her bony hands. Her deft fingers made short work of the necktie; the two of them stood looking in the mirror for a moment. Long ago he’d been afraid to stand with her in front of a mirror, but now when he saw their reflections, they were perfect complements to each other. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“For what?” When he’d picked out the shirt and necktie he’d known what they were for, but now the reason had vaporized. They were going somewhere. Somewhere important.
“The party,” she said as though to a small child. “For our anniversary.”
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “Just one last thing,” he said with a wink and kissed her. The touch of her lips was as he remembered; it made him feel young again. “I love you.”
“I love you too, but we’d better get down there. Everyone is waiting.” She took his arm—in large part because he would forget where he was going halfway down the steps—and led him down the hallway. He remembered this house. Long ago he’d come here with Abby to meet her mother. His hand ran along the smooth, cool surface of the brass rail as he descended the stairs and he remembered the imperial grace of Abby’s mother. How she’d humiliated him that night!
They reached the bottom of the stairs without incident and Abby steered him towards the dining room. She opened the doors and he saw that the huge room was packed with smiling faces—old and young. Sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters, great-grandsons and great-granddaughters, they were all here. As Floyd and Abby entered the room, they broke out into applause that rolled over Floyd like the pounding surf of the ocean. Abby guided him to the long table where an enormous white cake studded with candles of every color waited.
Floyd squinted to read the text spelled out in yellow frosting on the cake. ‘Happy 50th Anniversary!’ it said. Had it been that long already? It seemed only yesterday they’d stood at the altar to begin their new life together. He couldn’t even remember when or how they’d accumulated such a large family—didn’t he used to have a problem making babies?
He didn’t remember seeing anyone light the candles, but found himself holding Abby’s hand and standing over the roaring inferno. “I don’t think I have enough breath for this,” he said.
She squeezed his hand and smiled. “We’ll do this together,” she whispered. The assembled family counted to three and then he and Abby blew on the cake with all their might. A cloud of smoke formed over the great room and obscured everything around Floyd.
When the smoke cleared, he stood in empty blackness. The family, Abby, and the house were all gone. “I woke up after that,” Floyd concluded. As he spoke, gray clouds rolled in and blocked out the sun.
Abby reached out to take his hand with tears in her eyes. “They were just dreams,” she said. “I’m still here.”
“Right,” he replied and leaned forward to kiss her.
Then he saw the blood spreading across the front of her white dress.
He lifted the hem of the dress and his eyes went wide with horror. Blood poured from the wound in her abdomen and onto the blanket. When he looked back up at Abby, her skin had turned as pale as her dress; her hand became ice in his. He laid her down on the sand and took off his shirt to press against the wound. The blood continued to flow and Abby’s breathing started to come out in gasps. “Abby, no, stay with me,” he pleaded. “Someone help me!”
The beach was now empty, the water motionless, and the sky impossibly black. Abby’s body bucked once and then a final gasp escaped her lips. “No, don’t go!” Floyd screamed. He frantically blew air into her lungs and pumped her chest in an attempt to start her heart. Then the beach around him evaporated, leaving only darkness in its wake. Floyd collapsed onto Abby’s corpse and sobbed. “Not you too,” he whispered.
Her body disappeared below his; he floated in a sea of inky blackness. Alone.
His eyes shot open and he sat upright in his hospital bed. Moonlight poured in from the window to his right; the lights of Herbert Chemical were visible in the distance. His heart pounded in his chest and his breath came out in ragged gasps. He saw the tubes in the backs of his hands and the machines around him and a chill ran up his spine. Is this real? he wondered. He pinched himself and collapsed against the pillows as pain lanced through his arm.
He buried his head in his hands and cried. This was no dream.
#
He awoke the next morning and saw his father’s frail form next to him. For a moment he thought maybe he’d died during the night and his father was here to welcome him to the afterlife. He sat up and tried to say something, but his tongue was thick in his mouth and only a grunt came out. “Hey kiddo,” his father said. “They told us you woke up during the night.”
Floyd motioned for the glass of water on the stand next to his bed. His father handed it to him and helped him tip the cup to his lips. The cool water loosened his mouth enough for him to speak. “Where’s Mom?” he asked.
“Getting breakfast,” his father answered. “How are you feeling?”
Floyd ignored the question; a darker, more important issue weighed on his mind. “Dad, what happened to Abby?” When his father’s head drooped, Floyd knew his dream had told the truth. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
“I’m sorry, son. They did everything they could for her. It just wasn’t enough.”
Floyd dropped back against his pillows and stared up at the ceiling. The shot he’d heard before blacking out had been meant for her; unlike his dream, it had proven fatal in reality. He’d known it when he woke up; he’d sensed it even in his coma. “How long have I been out?”
“A month,” his father replied and Floyd shivered with déjà vu. “We were starting to think…” his father trailed off, but Floyd knew what he meant. They were beginning to think he wouldn’t wake up.
“I wish I hadn’t,” Floyd replied bitterly.
His father groped for his hand and said, “Don’t talk like that in front of your mother.” When Floyd caught his father’s eye, he saw the strong, powerful man who’d ruled supreme through Floyd’s childhood.
“I won’t,” Floyd mumbled. As if on cue, his mother came through the door, a tray laden with food from the cafeteria in her hands.
“You’re up,” she stated without emotion. She handed the tray to his father and sat down in the chair next to him. “We were starting to get worried.”
“Yeah, Dad mentioned that,” Floyd growled. He thought back to his dream and asked, “Have you heard from Todd?”
“Did they find the guy?” Floyd asked with a shred of hope in his voice. His hopes were dashed when his mother shook her head. He sighed and turned his gaze back to the ceiling. Of course they hadn’t caught anyone; they probably didn’t know who they were looking for.
His mother touched his arm. “We have to get going; your father has a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. We’ll be back right afterwards. Is there anything you need before we go?”
“Can you make sure the cops know I’m awake. I want to make a statement.”
“Of course,”
He patted her back and tried to think of something comforting to say. “It’s not your fault,” he said.
“We shouldn’t have let you run the store alone,” she sobbed.
“No, Mom, that doesn’t matter.” He held her at arm’s length and said slowly, “It’s my fault. Everything. Todd, Angela, Abby—I’m the one to blame.”
“No…” she began.
“It’s true!” he roared with such force that his mother slipped from his grasp and took a step back. She stared at him in shock and then turned to go. Before she wheeled his father out of the room, she paused at the doorway and her mouth moved to say something that didn’t come out. Instead, she shook her head and disappeared with his father.
Later, Floyd gave an emotionless statement to a pudgy young detective who assured him that the police would do all they could. The thief Floyd described was a suspect in other robberies across the country. The detective went out of his way to let Floyd know that besides the Freepoint Police Department, the gunman would have the Michigan State Police, authorities from other states, and the FBI on his trail. It was only a matter of time. Floyd took the detective’s card and with a forced smile promised to call if he should remember any other important details.
After the detective left, Floyd sighed and looked down at his hands. It didn’t matter how many people were looking, they wouldn’t catch up to the gunman—he had a month’s head start. Like Todd, he could be anywhere by now. Floyd didn’t hold out much hope that the thief would be stupid enough to stay in the city. He would never get to face his attacker; the gunman would never pay for his crimes.
And what would it matter if they caught him? Finding and convicting him wouldn’t bring Abby back. She was dead and nothing could change that. In the blink of an eye, the thing he loved the most in the world had been taken from him. The only woman he’d ever loved was gone. He closed his eyes and was transported back to the storeroom.
He saw Abby lying on the floor, a pool of blood forming around her. Her eyes turned towards him, pleading with him. “Save me,” her voice echoed in his mind. But he couldn’t. He’d passed out and left her to die alone. He hadn’t been able to hold her hand or comfort her in her final moments. He hadn’t been able to reassure her how much he loved her before her soul ascended to the afterlife.
She’d died because of him. If he hadn’t asked her to meet him at the store, she would still be alive. If he hadn’t taken over the store for his brother to start with, then none of this would have happened. Abby would have his ring on her finger and they would be setting a date for their wedding. So many ‘if’s, but in the end, none of it mattered.
Abby was dead. Nothing would change that.
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