The Family Man

"Run to Mr. Papirius' house, tell him what's happened," I said.

"Don't go in there mommy," Maria cried.

"Run!" I demanded and pushed her down the street. To hell with being weak. I watched her long enough to make sure she was on her way then ran back to Martha's house. We single women had to stick together.

Martha's door was locked. As quietly as I could, I unlocked it, cringing as something heavy crashed inside. Fear drove bile into my throat as I stepped across the threshold.

Martha was slumped on the floor in the corner, a floor lamp laid next to her. The shade was missing, and the bulb shattered. There was a dark stain on the wall behind her. I gritted my teeth and forced my hand to stop shaking.

"I have a gun!" I yelled as I moved toward Martha. It was instinct to warn, a hope the intruder would feel the same fear as me and leave. "I've called the police," I added, wishing my voice would stop cracking.

I didn't expect the assault to come from the left; my mind had assumed he was in the living room, behind the dividing wall. The gun didn't turn fast enough as the man's full weight crashed into me, forcing me against the wall. I pulled the trigger, but the round did nothing but put a hole in the wall. Incredible strength turned my wrist and crushed my hand into the metal of the weapon. I screamed as the pain made me drop the gun. Another hand wrapped around my throat, lifting me up the wall. Two fully dilated eyes stared at me as air ceased to flow to my lungs. The man was huge and drugged out of his mind. I clawed at his wrist, then tried for his eyes. His arms were too long. My only thought was Maria was going to be motherless. Panic set in and I beat uselessly on his arm, my feet off the floor were flailing at his legs.

The scream was more of war cry, something primal that turned my assailant's head. I had lost focus and saw only the blur as a savior barreled into the assailant, dropping me gasping to the floor. Both went tumbling into the living room, crashing into furniture and shattering knickknacks. New air filled my lungs and sight began to return.

Eric was a madman, yelling in some language I had never heard, pummeling the intruder with fists that were moving at incredible speed. I tried to yell, but my throat wouldn't work. I had seen drugged men like the intruder when I worked the emergency room. He wouldn't feel the pain. It usually took four of five men and restraints to stop someone in his condition. As big as this monster was, it may take ten.

I rose to my knees, my hand finding the gun on the floor. By the time I stood, the monster had wrapped his hands tightly around Eric's throat as Eric drove his fists wildly into the man's sides, ribs snapping. The man didn't flinch as Eric's face reddened.

The weapon came up comfortably as if I were on the range. My breath steadied as I sighted down the barrel and let three rounds escape, into the monster's back, exactly where the heart lay. The sound echoed horribly off the walls, deafening my ears.

The man's hands dropped from Eric's neck as blood began to pour down his back. He slumped to his knees and fell to the right, collapsing on the floor. I lowered the weapon and began to heave, gobbling air and trying not to vomit.

Eric said something with almost a smile. I couldn't hear him; my ears were ringing. There was blood all over his shirt when he slumped down to his knees. His mouth moved again, his smile weaker. The physics of the situation became apparent. I dropped the gun and ran to him. My bullets had traveled through the madman. I had shot Eric as well.

"What did I do?" I screamed as I lowered Eric to the floor. His eyes were weak, but looking at me lovingly. Mine were flooding as I tore open his shirt.

"It's all right," Eric whispered, though I think he meant it to be louder. Blood was pouring from a hole in his chest, his heart pumping the life out of him. I put pressure on the wound with both hands, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Eric stoically held in a groan.

"I can't stop the bleeding," I said, trying to move my mind into a nursing mode. Think.

"It's all right," Eric repeated, blood came out of his mouth with the words. He was dying, and I had killed him.

"Your aorta has been severed," I said softly, stroking the side of his face with a bloody hand. "I can't stop it." My tears were falling, mixing with the pooling blood on his chest. He deserved more than I could give him. "Do you want me to pass anything onto your son?" The words barely came out. Eric's eyes shifted strangely.

"How did you..." The sentence faded away with his consciousness.

"Eric," I called, feeling for a pulse. There wasn't one. "Eric," I screamed, then my will left. I collapsed on his bloody corpse, pulling him close trying to revive him by will alone.

"I'm sorry," I moaned, then repeated it over and over. A futile apology Eric would never hear.

"Mommy?" Maria was at the door.

"Don't come in here," I shouted, letting go of Eric. I heard Martha moan. I wiped my eyes before I saw the blood on my hands.

Martha was trying to rise. I could see that blood had sketched a river down the side of her face.

"Slowly, Martha," I said as I moved toward her. My eyes refused to dry.

"There's a crazy man in the house."

"He's dead," I said as I began to help her sit up, "and so is Eric." I struggled to breathe right, my soul wanting to vomit out the pain. I had to be a nurse again, at least until I had time to think. "You hit your head pretty hard, maybe you should like back down."

"I'll be fine," Martha said, then looked at the bodies and the blood that now decorated her living room. "Oh, no."

"Can you see okay?" I said, shifting to block her view of the bodies, "any dizziness?"

"What happened to Mr. Papirus?" I tried to hold it together. Tried to be that medical professional in the ER. The one that kept emotion at bay and dealt only with what could be done. Instead, I broke down.

"I didn't mean too," I cried, "I didn't think, and I killed him." Martha wrapped her arms around me as my mind betrayed the strong woman I thought I was. She became the nurse.

"It was my fault," Martha said, rubbing my back, "I tried to save a few dollars and called that horrible man."

"The bullet went right through. I should have thought first, and now he's dead," I stammered. Distant sirens were making themselves known, and Maria called for me again.

"Let's get out outside," Martha said calmly. I nodded into her shoulder, and we helped each other up. She wiped the tears from my face. "You're a mess."

"I was intimate with him," I confessed. It came out of nowhere. Maybe it was the way she wiped my cheeks, the way my grandmother would have when I was a child. I needed someone to trust, someone to share the impossible pain.

"Oh, dear," Martha sighed. Her eyes saddened, and I saw forgiveness I didn't deserve. She firmed up when Maria's call became more desperate. "You need to be a mother right now. Your daughters outside and sounds scared."

"Yes," I said, separating from Martha's hold. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I forced the mom to return, and we headed outside.

"Mommy!" Maria screamed when she saw me. Heedless of the blood, she folded herself into my arms.

"I'm not hurt," I lied. Her unconditional love was undeserved. It was wrong for it to allow me to think everything might be alright. I hugged her back. She was all I had left. I had ruined everything else.

Two police cars pulled up, lights and sirens blaring. I stood taller as two officers, one being Richard Sampson, ran up the walk with their weapons drawn. The music had to be faced.

"I killed them," I told Richard, pointing into the house. Maria looked at me in shock. She might as well know now, her mother was a killer.

"Wait here?" Richard ordered, moving through the door. The other officer began radioing for an ambulance and more backup. It was a crime scene now.

"Is everyone else okay?" The other officer, a young blonde man, asked while looking that the blood.

"I think so," Martha replied.

"I didn't mean to kill him," I confessed.

"Ma'am?"

"I mean, I meant to shot the one guy, but the bullet went through, and I killed Eric too," I said. My eyes were betraying me again. The cop looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I was.

"Who did you shoot?" The officer asked.

"The man who was attacking me," Martha jumped in, "It's my home, and Natalie stopped him, but there was an accident." She looked at me like she wanted me to shut up. I couldn't. I killed two men, and one didn't deserve it.

"Eric was fighting with him," I continued, "the guy was all doped up, so I shot him." My throat started to constrict again, "and the bullet went through. I killed Eric too." The last part sounded like it came out of a three-year-old, bringing back the tears.

"Where's the gun, ma'am?" The officer asked. He looked at me like I was a threat. Maybe I was. I pointed in the house.

"I dropped it in the living room." Maria was shaking, listening to her killer mother confess. I pulled her closer, wishing she wasn't there and praying she wouldn't leave.

"Naw, I hit my head pretty hard in the fight. Must have passed out for a moment. Guy bled all over me," Eric said to Richard as he exited the house. His blood covered shirt was in his hands, his chest unmarred by the bullet hole I knew was there. My knees went weak, and my mind rebelled.

"Mommy!" Maria cried as I began to fall. The blonde officer helped me to the ground as I lost focus on the ghost that was moving quickly to my side. I yanked my arm away from him and tried to crawl away.

"She's going into shock," the blonde officer said.

"He's dead," I mumbled, then everything went dark.

Chapter 16

"The hero awakes." My eyes fought with the bright light. I recognized the voice, but my memory was jumbled and couldn't envision the face. "It's almost midnight. You've been out of it for about five hours." I heard a subdued beeping and felt the clip on my finger when I flexed my left hand. Susan. Susan Davis was the speaker. I was at Christian Memorial, my old hospital. "Doc Bracken says there was no head trauma and he ruled out everything but exhaustion. You came in dehydrated, so you're stuck with the saline drip for the night."

"Where's Maria?" I asked.

"In the waiting room. Your ex is keeping her company," Susan answered. Her red hair came into focus first, then those gray eyes. "I thought you two weren't talking."

"Is there anyone else with them?"

"You mean Mr. Hunky?" Susan smiled. I heard the beeping increase, and I mentally tried to calm myself.

"Eric Papirius," I clarified, trying to sound disinterested.

"Not anymore. Bracken checked him out and sent him home." Susan paused looking at me. "He asked about you."

"What did you tell him?" I asked, louder than I should.

"Just that you're resting comfortably." Susan looked at me critically, then a smile emerged. "Have you two been dirtying sheets together?"

"Oh God," I sighed, closing my eyes. I slept with the man, or whatever he was. No wonder it was so good. No real man paid that much attention to a woman's needs.

"You are," Susan announced proudly.

"Don't say anything!" My mind was reeling. Susan had a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon. The whole hospital would know before the morning shift. "He wasn't hurt at all?"

"I won't say anything," Susan insisted looking like I slapped her. If I were lucky, shame would keep her quiet.

"Susan, was he hurt?"

"No. The cops said he had been knocked out, but there wasn't even a bump. He refused an MRI and passed all the cursory tests."

"No marks on his chest?"

"Not that I know of. You two been playing rough?"

"You'll think I'm crazy," I said.

"I've always thought that. Nothing you say will change it now," Susan joked.

"He died in my arms. Bullet in the chest severing the aorta as best as I could tell." Susan's head turned slightly, but her eyes remained on me.

"Natalie, he is a walking talking picture of health," Susan said as if she did think I was insane.

"I didn't imagine it," I insisted. "He bled out, and his heart stopped."

"Maybe you hit your head harder than we thought," Susan said. She reached up and pushed some of my hair away from my face as if I were an infant. "All I heard was that your neighbor was being attacked and you shot the guy. Everyone's calling you a hero, even Mr. Hunky."

"I did shoot the asshole," I said and quickly stopped myself from explaining how one of the bullets passed through. There was no proof, nothing I could point at that would support my view of events. I wondered how much Martha saw or even remembered. The blood. I lifted my hands, disappointed they were clean.

"Where are my clothes?"

"They were ruined," Susan told me, "didn't think you'd want them back. I got some sweats in the locker you can wear home, or I can drop by your house and pick something up."

"They're gone?"

"Honey, they were covered in blood. Nothing was going get the stains out. They got sent out with the rest of the medical waste." There was still a chance that Martha's house held two blood types. I needed proof of my own sanity. I needed something I could show others. That much blood didn't come from one body.

"Can I see my daughter?" I asked, trying to lighten my voice. Susan probably thought I was still not a hundred percent. I would have thought the same.

"Sure, you want me to keep Jake out?"

"No," I said, adding a forced smile, "we've dealt with our issues. Maria believes were friends again and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Probably for the best," Susan said as she headed out the door.

Maria was relieved to find me awake. I spent a good ten minutes convincing her that I was fine, though I had begun to question it myself. Eventually, her interest in my IV and me explaining what the running graph of my heartbeat and oxygen levels was for, convinced her that her mother was on the road to recovery. I let her play with the call button and laughed when Susan came running back in. Maria and I survived the lecture and Susan's rolling of the eyes.

"Can your father and I talk for a moment in private?" I asked Maria after she had been fully reassured.

"Okay," Maria said, climbing down from the bed.

"There should be chair just outside the door. It will only take a minute." Maria gave me another kiss, one of the many I had received since she came into the room. I waited for the door to close before I began.

"How much do you know about Eric?" I asked Jake.

"You mean besides that he likes you?" Jake said with a hint of a smile.

"What are you talking about?"

"The last AA meeting, he spent most of the time asking about you, without trying to let on that he was interested."

"Jake...," I said exasperatedly.

"It doesn't bother me," Jake interrupted, waving his hand, "I mean there's that first bit of jealousy and the old memory of desiring you to grow old, alone and miserable, but now I'm okay with it. You deserve... no... we deserve to be loved and to love someone back." I looked at him, almost marveling at what had to be Darla's words. He was absorbing a maturity I had never expected.

"But he's your friend," I pointed out, forgetting the path I had intended the conversation to take.

"I don't think it was his intent," Jake smiled at me. "In fact, I believe it was the last thing he wanted. He was trying to prep me for the knowledge." He laughed. "It's silly, but I am making him do it. I have no claims on you besides our daughter's welfare. Still, it's fun to think he needs my agreement." Jake was right. Eric worked hard to stay away from me. I was the one who forced him into a relationship.

"I don't know what to say." Jake's turnaround was beyond anything I expected. Whatever Eric was, he was a miracle. Do angels have sex?

"You scared the shit out me," Jake admitted. "When the police called, I had visions of raising Maria alone. I'm not sure I'm ready for that, so don't go dying on me." I smiled at his honesty.

"You seem well enough," I said.

"Oh, God no," Jake said, "a little stress at work and driving past the bars is horribly difficult. I think it will take a few years. It may never end. If I can last long enough to walk Maria down the aisle at her wedding, then I'll consider it a success."

"You know, you can always call me," I said, desiring the same.

"No offense," Jake said, his smile growing, "you're probably the last person I should be speaking with if I'm having a crisis."

"Point taken." We shared a small laugh as old memories of our past shouting matches came to mind. It was a comfortable, friendly laugh. I decided not to burden him with Eric rising from the dead. Vampire or not, it wasn't worth screwing up Jake. Maria needed her father.

"Do you think you can pick up some clothes and stuff for me?"

"Sure."

"Maria can help, she knows where all my stuff is," I said, watching Jake's face light up. Trust is a powerful thing. He may drink again, but it wouldn't be that night. "She'll have to go home with you tonight, think you can handle it and get her to school on time."

"Maybe she ought to skip tomorrow. It's been a tough night, and I can get a day off," Jake said. I smiled at his thinking. They were the thoughts of a father.

"Agreed," I said nodding, "I can pick her up in the afternoon. Should be out of here by then." I had an appointment at lunch. One I no longer wanted to avoid. Maybe Terrance wasn't as nuts as I thought.

Chapter 17

I was running late by the time I had checked out of the hospital and changed from the taxi to my car. The night afforded me ample time to think, trying to piece together the events that led to Eric's gunshot wound and subsequent death. It was all real, that much I knew. Maybe I could have screwed up the vital signs, but not the blood pumping out of the hole in the chest. A strange anger was brewing as I drove to Terence's office. That someone had the gall to die on me, then not be dead, was frustrating. No one should be put through that much pain needlessly.

The police cars were not what I expected when I drove up to Terrance 's building. There were three, lights turning, blocking the far right lane. Two other unmarked sedans were a slanted oddly toward the curb between the marked cars. I had to park half a block away and weave through a small crowd of gawkers that had gathered near the foot of the building.

"The building is closed," a female officer announced before I reached the first step that led to the entrance. She didn't look pleased with her duty of guarding the entrance.

"I had an appointment." As if that mattered to the cop.

"With who?"

"Terrance Higgins." The officer's eyebrows went up. She pulled the radio off her vest and signaled for me to wait as she stepped just inside the door.

"Your name?" she asked, poking her head out.

"Natalie. Natalie Livingston." She returned inside and continued a quick radio conversation I couldn't make out.

"If you'll wait in the foyer, a detective Robertson will be down to talk with you," she said when she returned. She held the door open for me.

"What happened?" I asked, now questioning whether I should have mentioned the appointment.

"Not sure," the woman said, her frustration evident, "Just know I have to play doorwoman. Suspect it's serious with all the gold badges around." I headed inside and sat on the only wooden bench available, an uncomfortable blocky thing that looked like it was as old as the 50-year-old building. I didn't have to wait long.

"Ms. Livingston?" A man in black pants and a white button-down shirt and tie asked as he hit the bottom of the stairs. He was carrying a red envelope and wearing latex gloves.