Chamberlain, Diane - The Shadow Wife

Before she had time to think, Joelle moved forward and grabbed his arm.

“Stay away from her,” she said.

He jerked free of her grasp, as though her hands were nothing more than a fly on his arm, and headed for Katarina again.

There were more voices outside the treatment-room door, and Joelle hoped that security had arrived, but it was Liam who came into the room. He opened the door wide as he entered, and Joelle saw Katarina’s chance to escape.

“Katarina, get out!” she said, hoping the young woman could use Liam’s intrusion to slip from the room.

“You don’t go nowhere!” Jess bellowed at the terrified woman. He turned to face Joelle, and she was suddenly looking into the piercing green eyes of a madman.

“And you shut up, you fucking bitch!” Lifting his foot high, he pressed the sole of his boot against Joelle’s belly and plowed her into the wall.

Pain shot through her middle, as though everything inside her, everything that was there to hold her baby in place, was being torn apart. She felt her body slide down the wall until she was crumpled on the floor. She doubled over from the pain, and the world in the treatment room instantly became blurred and surreal. She watched as Liam grabbed Jess by the shoulder, drew back his own arm and punched the wild man in the face, not once, but again and again, until it was hard to know which man was truly out of control. Blood squirted from Jess’s nose and seeped into the spaces between his teeth as Liam—gentle Liam—pounded the man with his fists. Joelle leaned back against the wall and shut her eyes, afraid she was going to be sick. When she looked up again, two security guards were in the room, and Liam was bending over her, crouching down, his arms a wall of protection around her.

She grabbed the fabric of his shirt in her hand.

“The baby,” she said hoarsely.

She felt him reach between them, his hand slipping beneath her shirt to rest, warm and soothing, on the rounded panel of her maternity slacks, and she let her forehead fall against his shoulder.

“You’ll be all right,” he said into her ear. “You’ve got to be all right.”

37

San Francisco, 1967

S HE COULD HEAR VOICES. A T FIRST THEY WERE LITTLE MORE THANa low hum, as if she were listening to a conversation taking place on the other side of a flimsy wall. But gradually, she recognized them. Alan’s voice. And Gabriel’s.

She tried to open her eyes, but the effort seemed too great. She was able, though, to make a sound. Half hum, half grunt. The sound reverberated in her own ears. And the voices stopped.

“Did you hear that?” That was Gabe’s voice. She tried to smile, to reach out for him, but she knew she was succeeding at neither.

“Lisbeth?” Alan’s voice was little more than a whisper.

“Mmm,” she said again.

“Oh, thank God,” Gabriel said, and she felt him— yes, it was definitely him—take her hand. “Lizzie,” he said.

“Shh!” Alan’s voice was sharp.

“We’d better make sure no one comes in,” Gabriel said.

“I’ll stand by the door,” Alan said. She felt something brush her cheek, then Alan’s lips against her forehead. “Welcome back, Lisbeth,” he whispered.

“Gabe?”

“I’m right here, baby.”

His hand touched the side of her face, and she could smell his aftershave.

“I’m…” She felt herself frowning. Where was she? Not in her bed at home. Thoughts swam through her head, but she couldn’t pin any of them down. “Head hurts,” she said.

“Yes. You had a very bad concussion.”

“I don’t remember.” She tried to open her eyes again, managing to lift one of the lids a bit, but closing it quickly against the light in the room.

“Turn out the light, Alan,” Gabriel said, and he let go of her hand for a moment. She heard him at the window, lowering the blinds, perhaps. Then he was back, holding her hand once more. “Try it again,” he said. “Open your eyes. It’s darker in here now.”

She did. First her left eye, which popped open as if on a spring, then the right. The room was dim, but she could see Gabriel’s face close to hers. She reached up to touch his cheek. It was wet.

“Liz, I’m so glad to see you,” he said, turning his face to kiss her palm. “You had us really scared.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“You were in a car accident,” he said.

“I don’t remember.” Her mind felt thick with confusion. “When? Where was I going?”

“It happened nearly a month ago,” he said.

What? “A month…?”

“Yes. You and Carlynn were in your car. You were in Big Sur, do you remember?” His words were slow and measured, as though he had practiced saying them many times.

She had the flimsiest, dreamlike sort of memory of being in the car with Carlynn, driving in the fog. “Not a month ago,” she said.

“Yes, hon,” he said. “You’ve been unconscious all this time. I’m so relieved to see you finally waking up.”

Her head was pounding, and she raised her hand to her temple, where her fingers touched some sort of material—fabric or gauze—instead of her hair. “What’s on my head?” she asked.

“You suffered several different injuries,” he said. “You had the concussion, as I mentioned. Your leg was broken in a few places. And you had some internal bleeding. They did a couple of surgeries on you. You lost a lot of blood, and they gave you transfusions. But your body is healing. And every day, the physical therapist comes in and moves your arms and your legs to keep your muscles toned.”

“Shanti Joy.” The name came back to her suddenly.

“What?” Gabriel asked.

“The baby at the commune.” Alan’s voice came from across the room. “What about it?”

“Carlynn wanted to go back to the commune to see Penny and the baby one last time,” Lisbeth said. “And there was fog. Oh! Car coming at us.” She felt her body flinch, and she drew her hand away from Gabriel’s.

“That’s right, but you’re not there now, Liz.” Gabe took her hand again. “You’re safe. Here with me. You and Carlynn were driving in the fog on those narrow roads at Big Sur. A car was coming toward you, in the wrong lane, and Carlynn swerved to avoid it and went over the side of the cliff. You were unbelievably lucky to get out of there in as good shape as you did.”

Where, she thought suddenly, was Carlynn? Alan was here in this room with her. And Gabe. But she hadn’t seen Carlynn or heard her voice. She felt her heartbeat quicken in her chest.

“What about Carlynn?” she asked. “Is she all right?”

Gabriel hesitated a moment before shaking his head. “Baby, I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes watching her carefully. “She didn’t make it.”

“What do you mean?” She felt panicky. “You don’t mean she…”

Gabriel nodded. “She was killed in the accident,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Liz.”

“No!” Lisbeth let go of his hand to pound his chest with both fists. “Please, please, please! Gabriel!” She tried to turn her head to see Alan where he was standing by the door, but pain shot from her neck to her temple, and she could not see him. “Alan!” she screamed.

“Shh!” Alan moved toward her quickly. He took her fists and held them, coiled and knotted, in his own hands.

“She can’t be dead,” Lisbeth said. “She can’t be. Please tell me she’s okay, Alan. Please.”

“She died very, very quickly,” Alan said, and she knew, more from the tears in his eyes than from his words, that her sister was gone. “She was…” He stumbled, glancing at Gabriel, looking for the words. “She was pressed between the steering wheel and the seat. The police said she never knew what hit her. She didn’t suf—”