♦♦♦
Debra Campbell paced, her heels snagging on the carpet when her steps got too hurried.
“Please, dear. Sit.”
“I can’t sit. Something is wrong. I should have known it earlier. Her not returning our calls this morning?”
“She’s always hard to get ahold of by phone.” The man stood, stopping his wife’s journey with firm hands, pulling her over to a loveseat and pushing her down. “Your blood pressure has to be sky high. Please. Panic isn’t helping.”
His touch grounded her, as it always had. She took a trembling breath, reached out and gripped his hand. “She wouldn’t stand him up, would she?” There was hope in the last word. Hope that her daughter was abandoning this marriage. A humorous development, considering she had been thanking her lucky stars just one day prior. Julia had done well. Her new husband was successful. Adored the ground she walked on. Would do anything to make her happy. But now, there were only two possibilities. Something was terribly wrong, or Julia had cold feet. She prayed for the latter.
Her husband held her gaze steadily, more moisture in his eyes than she had seen in quite some time. “I don’t know, Debra. I really don’t know.”
Down the hall, there was the sound of shouting, and she wiped her eyes. “Let’s go back. See if anyone’s heard anything.”
Chapter 60
She was not responding. They had found her on the floor, still tied to the chair, a pool of blood around her head. One man had panicked, calling the man who shouldn’t have been called. And now they stood, in a circle around her body, repeatedly checking for a pulse and untying her limbs. They carried her to a bed, a bed that had already hosted its share of dead bodies, and prayed that hers wouldn’t join the ranks. If she was to die, it was only by his order. Now was not the time, and failure was unacceptable.
♦♦♦
In actuality, I never had a chance to walk down that aisle. It was never in the cards, plans made to remove me from the equation long before I ever tried on wedding dresses, long before invitations were sent. I don’t think dramatics was their intention. Perhaps they thought that snatching me the night before would be enough advance notice to hold the ceremony—to call guests and cancel the event. As it happened, my absence was not discovered in time, and even then, was suspected to be a case of pre-wedding cold feet.
♦♦♦
“Can we panic now?” Rebecca screamed into Olivia’s face, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her roughly, the girl’s thin body shaking like wet spaghetti. “It is time, the guests are seated, and they are about to start the damn music!”
“Stop yelling at me! It’s not my fault she isn’t here!”
“Who called her cell last?” one of the wedding planners asked anxiously.
“I did,” Julia’s mother said, wrapping her sweater tightly around her shoulders. “Her voicemail is full.”
The strands of music almost missed their ears, drifting among the room casually, weaving easily between their strained words. The second planner looked up with a stricken look. “Oh my God. They’re starting.” She fumbled for her sleeve, pushing back the material to reveal a watch face. “Early.” She fled the room, her heels clattering down the hallway.
The room sat in silence, the chords of the song changing as it reached its crescendo.
Becca finally spoke. “So ... what do we do?”
The remaining wedding planner spoke. “We go. Just like we planned. It’ll take ten minutes to do the procession. We’ll just have to pray she shows up.”
♦♦♦
“She’s breathing,” the man spoke rapidly, and the doctor shot him an irritated look.
“I’m well aware of that; I did attend medical school. Please back up and let me examine her.”
“I’m just saying, she must have only been out for a few minutes. I think she’s just sleeping now. Might still be from the chloroform. If she’s breathing then she’s not dead, right? And we checked for a pulse—it seems ... present.”
The doctor bit back a sarcastic response and started his examination. “It means she’s not dead yet. That could all change quickly depending on what is going on with her brain. At the minimum, we’re talking a concussion. What are these?” He ran his fingers lightly over a bandage on her shoulder, blood staining its edges.
“We cut her. With a knife. When we found her on the floor. Some thought she was faking. But she didn’t flinch.” He chewed at the edge of his cuticle nervously.
The doctor raised his eyebrows but said nothing, moving to the front of her body and lifting her head slightly, his fingers gently probing the wound on the back of her head.
“Best I can telclass="underline" she was unconscious when you found her. You’re right in that she is sleeping—that can be from her concussion. Her pupils show that she was sedated recently, that she might have just gained consciousness recently before her head trauma. The drugs are still in her system, and could partially account for her state. But head trauma is a messy and unpredictable animal. Normally, I’d do a CT or MRI scan. But I’m assuming that this is a situation where you don’t want her to be moved?” He glanced at the men, one giving a silent nod. “Well, I don’t want to put any more drugs in her system. From the looks of the wound, and the fact that she is sleeping right now, the impact on her skull was pretty severe. All we can do is wait, and let me talk to her when she wakes up. A concussion can be deadly, but we’ll know in a few hours if you’ll have another body to deal with.” He pulled off his latex gloves and dropped them in the closest trashcan. “I’ve got to get back to the house. Call me if anything changes.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Hands were shaken and the doctor left, leaving the two men alone with her, their eyes meeting above her body, silent communication passing between them.
“The boss is gonna be pissed.”
“Not if she pulls through. You still got her phone?”
“Yeah. Lots of calls and texts. Should I respond to any more of them?”
“No. Drive a few miles away and kill it. I’ll watch her. Talk to the boss while you’re gone. Feel out the situation.”
There was a silent power struggle, and then the man spoke, “Okay. I’ll be back soon. Call me if she wakes up.” He glanced at the girl, then back at the man. “I’ll be back soon.”
“And I’ll be here.”
Chapter 61
Brad exhaled, his hands clasped before him, the collar on his tux scratchy. Finally. Fourteen months after she had walked into his office. Thirteen months after she had broken in and stolen his heart. The year-long engagement had dragged on, punctuated by empty nights where she stayed at her house, nights he realized how much he wanted and needed her to be his wife. He felt lost without her—incomplete—like he was missing out on something incredible. She had become, in those twelve months, his best friend as well as soul mate, the power of their relationship terrifying in its perfection. And now, finally, he would have security. Would have the strength of their marriage. A message to his family and to the world that they were, and always would be, together. Musical chords began, the orchestra gradually joining in, bit by bit, until the entire ensemble was participating, their notes rising in a strong crescendo. His heart swelled along with the music, until he thought it would burst, and he smiled despite himself, a break in the dam that they had reached this day safely.