Until Then

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Kenneth

I walked Quinn to her car and she let me know that she'd come out to that bench during her lunch break two days from now when she's back at work. I'm looking forward to spending more time with her and can barely wait until then.

Mateo is sitting up in his bed, eating the lunch Lucas and Bailey smuggled in to him. His boring hospital lunch sits neglected on the small table beside his bed. Thanks to the small TV in his room, there aren't many options of what they can watch. The three of them are making the best out of watching cartoons and eating enough Mexican food to feed ten people. Mateo was cleared to eat solids again just this morning and now he's trying to make up for lost time.

I watch Lucas siting in the reclining chair by the bed, trying not to spill salsa on Bailey's head, as she remains wedged in the small space available on the recliner beside him. My heart feels at peace looking at this scene, but then I remember that there are two more of us out there somewhere and I have no idea how they're doing.

I close my eyes and think as hard as I can about Wes. I can still remember his face as he screamed at me to run faster those last few seconds of my life. I think about how much humor he brought to our squadron with his misdirected emails and sarcastic attitude. He was a great friend, and I tried not to give him too much shit for not being a motivator in the Corps. Don't get me wrong, that kid had pride in his beloved Corps., but he also had one foot firmly planted in reality and some pretty strong roots in his family. Out of all of us, he knew best that there was a balance between being a Marine and living a normal life.

I open my eyes and find myself in a dark room. It's not so dark I can't see anything, but clearly it's sometime in the middle of the night and the only light I have to see anything is the one shining through his window—the sun's reflection on the moon.

Wes is lying in the bed with a girl, his arms wrapped around her and his face buried in her hair. At first I think he is sleeping, but then he pulls his head back so he can look at the girl in his arms. He gently sweeps her hair away from his face and twists it out of his way. He looks so content, happy even and it makes me feel like maybe he isn't the reason I'm still here either.

As if that thought opened a door, the light around me flashes bright and I close my eyes. It's very much like the light I saw when I first crossed over, only it's gone much quicker and when I open my eyes again, I'm somewhere unfamiliar. A baby is crying loudly, making my heart rate pick up and a very uneasy feeling settle in my chest. I can hear shouting in a male voice, the words slurring together as he barks them out.

"You've been talking to him again!" The angry voice tears from his throat and rains torturously into my ears. The baby cries louder, his panicked sound making my feet move quickly to find him. When I step into the kitchen I can see a man holding a woman by her throat. Her feet are inches off the ground as he pushes her frail body against the wall and yells in her face. I move towards him, but can't stop what he's doing. My hands don't connect like I want them too.

"I haven't. Please stop! You're scaring the baby." Her voice falls silent as he chokes her. I watch her fingers clawing at his strong, bloodied hand at her throat. Her face is red and splotchy, blood dripping down from her head and one eye swollen shut and getting bigger as he blocks the blood from draining with his vice-like grip on her neck.

"You think I wouldn't find out? You dumb bitch! I should kill you for lying to me." He pulls her away from the wall and I think for a second maybe he'll let her go, but he's just adjusting his hold. He slams her back against the old wallpaper with such force a few items in the pantry next to her tip over and crash to the ground at their feet.

He's going to kill her. I won't be able to stop him. It makes me angry enough to see red, but I'm helpless to do anything about it. I hear the baby choke, his cries so raw and needy they're abrasive to his delicate throat. I step out of the kitchen and into the living room where the baby is sitting on a blanket in front of the couch. Printed papers are scattered all around him as if someone went on a tirade, throwing the pieces all over the room.

"It's okay," I tell him, his face puffy and wet from his tantrum. "You're okay." I'm surprised when I can lift him. I don't understand why I can't stop the asshole in the kitchen, but I can hold this little boy. I cradle him to my chest and he rests his head. I'm a stranger, but I'm safe. I think he knows that. I think if you live in a house with a man capable of doing what he is in the room next to you, then maybe going easily to anyone that is trying to protect you is safer than staying vulnerable and alone on the floor.

I think that man is going to kill his mommy. Finally she cries out and I'm relieved she isn't dead. I hear the sickening sound of a fist crushing against a face, then the loud thud of a head against a wall. Clattering metal can be heard as they struggle in the kitchen, then finally the woman's sounds fall silent and all that can be heard is the disturbing sound of a foot coming in contact with a limb body.

I move with the little boy into another room, praying he won't come looking. I can hear him stumbling around now and the sound of sirens in the night. A neighbor must have called and it's no surprise since the fight was loud and brutal. He slouches against the couch as I watch from the darkness of a nearby room. I rock the baby and whisper to him that he's okay and it's almost over. Help is coming.

Just as the sirens get louder, an indication that they're on the street, my attention snags on a small photo near the crib in the room. Only a tiny nightlight shaped like a blue train is lighting the area, but it's enough to see the picture framed there. It's Wes. His arm is slung over the shoulder of the woman in the kitchen and the cursive writing printed on the frame below the picture reads, 'Uncle Wes.'

Now I know that it isn't Wes that needs my help tonight, it's his sister and baby nephew. The man in the living room loses his footing and falls down, breaking the small coffee table beneath his large frame. He's beyond drunk and now he's mumbling to himself, his skin a sickening color that reminds me of death. It's clear he's drinking himself in that direction.

As he lies there, one foot in the living world and one foot in mine, his eyes finally glance up in my direction. The baby is still whimpering as I hold him as close to my heart as I can, and tuck his little head beneath my chin. I see the fear on his father's drunken face when his seedy black, bloodshot eyes finally find mine.

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