Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

Apparently, from what I gathered in the first few seconds of my confrontation with her, Mother had not told her I had had her things moved to Beulla Woods. I sincerely wondered if Mother had spoken with her more than once or twice the entire summer.

Once she discovered what had been done, she shoved open my bedroom door and burst in like an angry whirlwind.

Spending her entire summer lying on a beach, eating and partying with her friends, Clara Sue had added more pounds to her voluptuous figure. She looked ten pounds heavier than the last time I had seen her. She was wearing a clingy violet silk dress that fit her like a second skin and showed a great deal of her cleavage. She'd permed her long blond hair and wore heavy mascara and ruby-red lipstick. I thought she looked extremely trashy, but Clara Sue probably didn't care a bit about my opinion. She was darkly tanned, and her cold blue eyes were hard and sharp, sending daggers my way.

I sat up quickly, frightened by the bang of her hand on my door. She stood there fuming, fists clenched at her sides.

"What are you doing?" I demanded. I swung my legs over the bed and slipped on my shoes while she stood there staring hatefully at me. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and it looked as if smoke might soon emerge from her ears.

"How dare you! How dare you touch my things!" she cried. "What have you done with them?" she demanded, stepping forward.

"Hasn't Mother told you?" I said calmly. "All of your things have been moved to Beulla Woods. That's where you're going to live now," I said.

"Who decided that?" she asked through clenched teeth. I fixed my eyes on hers.

"I decided," I answered calmly, despite the fear growing inside me.

Suddenly she screamed, a high-pitched howl like some animal caught in a steel trap. She slapped her hands over the sides of her head and ripped at her own hair, her fingers clutching the strands.

She lowered her head, her eyes rolling back, and then she charged at me. Her action took me so much by surprise, I didn't move.

"You bitch!" she cried. "You can't run my life, too! I won't let you!" Without warning she swung her clenched right fist and caught me squarely on the side of my head. The unexpected blow with all her weight behind it sent me reeling to the side. I fell over the vanity chair and slammed down hard on the floor, the chair turning over beside me. Stunned, I struggled to get back to my feet. I righted the chair and got to my knees to pull myself up, but Clara Sue came at me again.

"I'll teach you to touch my things! I'll teach you to try to give me orders! I'm going to make you pay, Dawn! I'm going to make you feel the same pain I've felt since the day you came back into our lives!" she screamed, and then she kicked me hard in the stomach. The blow sent a storm of pain around my sides and up to my chest. It knocked the breath out of me. I fell forward, and Clara Sue kicked me again and again in the side, screaming like a madwoman at the top of her lungs as she delivered each blow. When I opened my eyes the room began to spin. I felt as if I were falling down a deep tunnel, falling toward the darkness below. I tried crying out and waved my arms and hands desperately to ward of any additional blows.

Vaguely, before I passed out, I heard Jimmy's and Philip's voices. One of them pulled Clara Sue back. Someone—maybe Sissy, maybe Mrs. Boston—was screaming in the hallway. Clara Sue continued to rant and rave. Either Jimmy or Philip started to lift me up, and then all went black.

I regained consciousness in the back of the hotel limousine, but the voices I heard around me sounded thin and distant. I tried to cry out, but it was as if my own voice was trapped inside my chest. It ached so in there, and the pain that had begun in my stomach had turned into a hand of fire with fingertips made of hot coals, spreading itself over my body, expanding, growing, invading the walls of my heart, which alternately pounded and fluttered. My lungs felt as if they had filled with air so hot that I couldn't breathe. I saw that my head was resting on a pillow, and the pillow was on Jimmy's lap. He was looking down at me, petting my hair, his eyes filled with tears. I tried to smile, but my face was like plastic. My lips wouldn't move, my skin wouldn't fold.

"Easy," I heard Jimmy say. "We're almost there."

"Almost there . . . almost there . . ." The words trickled down the back of my mind. My eyes wouldn't stay open.

The next time I did get them to open I was on a gurney and being rolled down a hospital corridor. I saw the ceiling lights flash by, and I heard the voices of the nurses and the distinct voice of Dr. Lester.

I'm with Dr. Lester, I thought, and I felt reassurance. I'll be all right now. Everything will be all right now.

"She's hemorrhaging, doctor," I heard a nurse say.

"In here, quickly," Dr. Lester responded. Something warm was running down my legs. The panic began to creep up my body again, and my heart began to pound in long, deep thumps that reverberated up into my head. I felt myself being lifted, and as my body was lowered onto a bed I lost consciousness again.

When I awoke this time, I was in a hospital room, and Jimmy was at my side. He had his head down, and his shoulders slumped. He didn't know I was awake, so he didn't hide the tears, nor did he keep them from dripping off his cheeks. I gazed around the white-walled room and saw one large window to the left. The plain cotton curtain rose and fell with the slight breeze that drifted in. I could smell that cool dampness that followed a brief but hard summer storm.

"Jimmy," I said, my voice surprisingly weak. He lifted his head and quickly scrubbed the tears from his face. Then he grabbed my hand between both of his.

"How are you doing, honey?" he asked.

How was I doing? I wondered. I felt numb all over. The sharp pain had gone. If anything, there was only the sense of a dull ache in the walls of my stomach.

"Jimmy," I said, my lips trembling.

"I know, I know. She was wild; she was horrible. We couldn't get her off you. It was like she was possessed. I threw her out, and she went screaming through the hotel. I want to press charges against her," he said angrily. "I want to see her put in jail. She deserves nothing less than to be treated as a common criminal . . . as a . . ." Jimmy's tongue stumbled over the words.

Oh, no, please, no, I thought. Please . . .

"As a murderer," he said, and it was as if Clara Sue was still there, kicking me again and again.

"The baby . . . I had a miscarriage?"