No More Words

"Goddamnit," he cried out in frustration, "why doesn't it fucking work?"

Candace didn't answer. She didn't get a chance to. Tim suddenly got a look of relief on his face. He was looking over her shoulder, and that was enough to make Candace very suddenly decide to let go of his hair and flatten to the floor.

She rolled as she did so, and saw the man in the doorway with the gun. One of Tim's friends, she figured. She'd seen something about that in the report, something about 'men's rights' groups he'd joined. They sounded like the kind of guys who would like their firearms. One of them must have been in the building and heard the gunshot. And instead of calling the cops like a good citizen, he'd decided to come in guns blazing.

The gun blazed a bit more. Candace rolled away, and the bullets dug furrows into the hardwood floor. She threw the knife on the move, knowing that it probably wouldn't hit him, but also knowing that it'd give her time to get out her gun. Almost absently, she noticed that Pat was still standing in the doorway, watching the whole situation unfold with an almost detached dismay. Probably outside of her role as 'good wife' to try to figure out what to do when gunfire was being exchanged. The old Pat would have the guy in handcuffs in thirty seconds. Now she just watched, mouthing incoherent words.

Candace brought up her gun, and it was all over with two bullets. Dumbfuck didn't realize she was going for her piece, didn't even know enough to find proper cover. Candace got back up, turned back towards Tim. "So where were--"

She stopped. That first bullet, the one she'd ducked out of the way of. She knew now where it had wound up. Tim had a hole in his forehead and a startled expression on his face.

Shit.

Candace didn't take long weighing her options. What with her friends on the force, she'd probably be able to argue self-defense pretty convincingly. After all, ballistics would show that the other guy had shot Tim in the head, and she'd be able to pass off the bullet in his knee as a ricochet. It'd be a shaky case, but ex-cops got the benefit of the doubt. Then again, self-defense still meant going through the legal system, maybe even doing some hard time. That meant it could be years before she got out to see Pat...and the way Pat was now, Candace didn't think she could survive a week on her own. No, it was time for Plan B. Candace was suddenly very glad she hadn't put much into the joint account. Plan B required ready money.

"Patti," she said soothingly, trying hard not to hate herself for using that name, "I need you to go get Cyndi and then come with me. We're going for a little trip."

Pat just kept staring at Tim for a long moment. Bastard had made himself the center of her world, then gone and gotten himself killed. She was probably in shock. "Patti, do as you're told." Candace abandoned the soothing tones, put some force into it. She hated freely now, hated Tim for doing this to her, hated herself for treating Pat like Tim had treated her, hated Pat for springing to life when she heard the tone of command in someone's voice.

"Yes, ma'am," Pat said, heading for the bedroom to go get Cyndi.

*****

"Take off your clothes," I say one last time.

"No," Pat says. Her eyes are alight with understanding. She realizes that she can actually refuse, now, and her eyes are wet with tears.

"No," she repeats. I don't actually hear the words. I haven't heard anything for almost five years now, not since the day the explosion blew out my eardrums. That was two lifetimes ago now. That was the end of Candace Hildegard's life on the force, ended by an explosion I ran from just a little too slowly, wound up just a little too close to. Five seconds and a hundred feet, and I couldn't be a cop anymore. It seemed like the worst thing I could imagine, back then.

But if I hadn't been deaf, I wouldn't have saved Pat. I wouldn't be here now, with her and Cyndi, slowly helping them regain their minds and wills. Cyndi's a bit further behind than Pat, but she's coming along. I'm hoping she'll be refusing to follow orders by the time the baby comes.

I watch Pat, and she's crying and laughing and suddenly I'm crying and laughing too, and then we're kissing each other, two crazy gringo women down in Mexico where the law's not looking. It's a new life down here, and it's one that's looking better and better every second. "No!" she shouts, and although I'll never hear it, it's the most beautiful sound in the world.

THE END