“That’s my darling girl.” Genevieve grimaced as she fingered Deborah’s hair. But then her face softened, and she placed her lips on hers.
She wrapped her hand around the top of the lamp and sighed on Genevieve’s mouth. When Genevieve’s tongue licked at the seam of her lips, she opened her mouth slightly. “I’m sorry, Gen.”
The moment Genevieve’s tongue slipped into her mouth, she bit down hard and raised the lamp, sending it crashing on Genevieve’s back. She shoved her away and turned, sliding on the floor as she ran toward the kitchen. Genevieve bellowed, and she covered her head when a soft whistle went off and the plaster in the wall next to her exploded. She rushed past the kitchen table and had just reached the counter when she was pulled roughly by her hair. Her scalp burned as fingers dug into her head.
“Slut!” Genevieve smacked her cheek with the gun.
She yelled and went down, going blind. Her cheek throbbed like a million needles jabbing her face. She lay stunned, her jaw going numb as she was jerked up and shaken hard.
Another slap across her face came out of nowhere, and she whimpered, her legs folding underneath her as a band of fingers dug into her arms, nails scratching violently. She tried to struggle as hands tugged at her, pulling her up. The ringing in her ears increased, and she almost vomited. A squeak left her mouth when she was roughly thrown into the refrigerator, and Genevieve squeezed her throat.
“You’ll pay for that, you bitch!” Genevieve tightened her hand around her windpipe, cutting off her air.
She swung her fists at Genevieve’s face and chest, anything to get her to release her. Her heart pumped fast and a cold sweat covered her back. She could barely stay conscious as Genevieve strangled harder, her pointed nails cutting her skin, killing her slowly—
A loud crash sounded and she was swung around, her back dragged to Genevieve’s front as the gun jabbed her temple.
“Drop the gun now!” a man’s voice rang out from the entrance of the kitchen.
She blinked rapidly, trying to bring her vision to focus. The room had become blurry and dark.
“Fuck off! She’s mine and no one is going to take her from me,” Genevieve screeched and backed away.
Deborah’s feet scraped the kitchen floor as she was thrown toward the counter. The shrill sounds of sirens came from a distance, overriding the ringing in her ears.
“Put down the gun. Don’t make me shoot you,” the voice ordered, and Deborah reached out a hand, mouthing wordlessly for him to save her.
“You think I’m that stupid?” Genevieve dug the gun into Deborah’s temple. “You’ll shoot me anyway and take Deborah away from me. She’s mine!”
She scratched Genevieve’s arm, dragging in deep breaths through her abused throat. She whimpered when Gen’s hold tightened.
“Shush, dearling. Soon it will be over, and we’ll be together forever.” Genevieve kissed her wetly on the cheek and cocked her gun.
“No,” she bleated and coughed. New voices ordered Genevieve to release her and drop the gun.
I don’t want to die! She could barely stop the darkness as it rushed over her. No! Must stay awake!
Genevieve mumbled nonsense in her ear and began to cry. Deborah had lost her voice and could only whisper, begging Gen to release her. She continued crying softly then the gun came around and tucked under her chin.
She needed to do something before Genevieve blew her head off. Her hand swung out and it landed on something hard. She searched around and found the carving knife she’d left to dry in the strainer. She was able to get a tight hold around it without Genevieve noticing.
“Together forever, even in death,” Genevieve hoarsely whispered, and, when her arm wrapped around her waist, Deborah struck.
Shouts rang out as she twisted and shoved Genevieve away as hard as she could. Time seemed to slow as Genevieve stumbled and aimed the gun. Deborah tried to go for her stomach, but she couldn’t get a good enough aim and slashed the knife on Genevieve’s face, cutting her flesh and dragging the knife sideways.
A loud screech left Genevieve’s mouth as she clutched her throat. She still held the gun, and as Deborah dropped to the floor and crawled away, shots rang out. A body landed on top of her as she hid her face on the linoleum.
Then there was silence, until something heavy fell in front of her. She cried out as Genevieve lay quiet on her side, her eyes open but empty as she stared at nothing. Blood dripped down her face and front on the kitchen floor.
“Genevieve!” She tried to get to her knees when arms came around her.
“It’s all right now. She’ll never hurt you again.” The man pulled her away as uniformed officers rushed the room.
“She’s dead,” she sobbed, nearly hysterical as Bryan dragged her away.
“We need you to get checked out. You’re bleeding and cut up,” he said calmly, and, when she turned in his arms, away from her dead wife, she grabbed him tightly, suddenly remembering Bridgette.
“Bridgette!” she called out.
He kept an arm around her to help her outside. Bright red-and-blue lights and too many cars to count were parked in front of her house. People across the street watched. She glanced around for any sign of Bridgette.
“She’s been taken to the hospital. You’ll go there to get checked out and have your statement taken.”
“She’s alive?” Her knees shook and she would have fallen if not for Bryan’s hold.
His mouth went into a tight line. “She’s alive but with head trauma.”
“I want to see her.” Her stomach cramped, and her head pounded. She bent over, suddenly nauseated, the need to throw up too strong to ignore.
“You will. But first we need to take care of you,” he said in a kinder voice.
As she was handed to an EMT, she vomited. And continued until she was too weak to stand. She soon ended up in the back of an ambulance, lying on a stretcher as a woman asked her questions and cleaned her cuts on her face and arms.
The sounds of the sirens and the ambulance moving helped her drift away, numb and broken, knowing she was the reason a woman was dead and another she’d come to care for could possibly be fighting for her own life.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The soft moan coming from the bed made Deborah sit up in her chair. She winced at the ache in her jaw and carefully stood.
“Bridgette?” She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, almost grabbed her hand, but instead placing her own on her lap.
The heart machine let off a few beeps as Bridgette shifted and opened her eyes. She blinked and licked her lips. “Water?”
She limped over to the table and poured water from the plastic pitcher in a cup. She kept an arm behind Bridgette as she helped her drink. Bridgette took a few sips, and when she was done, she lay down. She looked away, trying to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.