Pulled(82)
Author: A.L. Jackson

“Go!” I screamed as the cars slowly began to accelerate when the light turned green. I rammed my foot on the gas and sped around them.

Fight!

It was there again, and it scared the shit out of me.

My soul called to her. “I’m coming—be strong—fight, Melanie, fight!” It was terrifying not knowing what she was fighting for.

I took the last turn into her neighborhood, skidding around the corner, the energy frenzied. Fear pulsed through me as the house came into view in the distance; the pul now so great, I was nauseous.

I grabbed my phone that had fal en to the floor, praying it had had enough time to charge, and ran across her yard to the front door.

Even with everything silent, I could feel her desperation. I reached for the latch of the front door, trying to remain as quiet as possible. I had no idea what I would find.

Cautiously, I stepped inside, searching for anything I could use as a weapon. For the first time in my life, I wished I carried a gun. I crept forward, swal owing down my panic when I saw the evidence of a struggle strewn across the floor, a toppled box with its contents scattered among shards of glass.

The urge to scream for her was overwhelming, though I stopped myself, fearful I’d only put her in more danger. I progressed slowly across the room, keeping my footsteps light, cringing when my shoe crunched against broken glass. Drawn, I steadily moved toward the kitchen, my knees weak when I saw them. They both lay on the floor, unmoving, Nicholas’s limp body pinning Melanie under him.

Shattered glass floated in pools of blood that had gathered around their heads.

“Oh, my God, No!” I rushed to them and heaved Nicholas from Melanie. A muffled moan of pain escaped him in his semiconscious state. As much as I wanted to end him, right then Melanie was my only concern.

“Melanie!” I screamed her name, my heart

thrashing around in my chest. Heartbroken, I fel to my knees beside my broken girl. Fumbling with my phone, I managed to dial 911 and feel for her pulse at the same time. It beat weakly beneath my trembling fingers, but it was there, thank God.

The operator came on, and I yel ed the address, asking for an ambulance and the police, begging them to hurry. The woman tried to ask questions and calm me down, but I could hear nothing but the ringing in my ears, fear and rage pounding and pushing against every vein in my body.

“Melanie, no! Baby, no,” I cried, tentatively reaching out to stroke her hair, my fingers feeling warmth seeping from the back of her head.

“You f**king bastard!” I screamed. My hands fisted on my thighs. Her face was torn to shreds. A deep wound hung open over her eye, the skin sliced open through her eyebrow, blood still steadily flowing from it.

Numerous other cuts and scrapes marred her precious face. There was a deep cut under her chin, and bruising had begun to show up on every exposed surface. Her nails were ripped and bloodied, filled with skin and hair from fighting off Nicholas. Her clothes were in tatters, the front of her shirt ripped open, her exposed skin saturated in the blood pouring from her mouth. His intention was clear. Her body had been his aim, it now broken and bruised at his hands.

I wanted him to die.

Nicholas rol ed, coughing, spitting blood from his mouth onto the floor. Groaning, he fingered the oozing wound on his temple.

The corner of my mouth trembled, and I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to end his life. But the sound of sirens in the distance called me back to sanity.

Lifting his head, his hate-fil ed gaze met mine. I stared at him, my posture protective as I guarded Melanie.

I’d never let him hurt her again.

“If you ever touch her again, I wil killyou,” I snarled, my face twisting with hatred.

“She’s my wife,” he spat out, his face contorting in rage.

“No,” I shook my head. “She’s mine. She has always been mine.”

He snorted through his nose and wiped his bloody face with the back of his hand. His cocky demeanor was back in full force. “She’s not f**king worth it.” But the expression on his face told me that he knew she was.

He slumped back down to the floor as four police He slumped back down to the floor as four police officers entered, their guns drawn in preparation for a hostile situation.

Meeting no resistance, they all owed the

paramedics to enter. Two began treatment on Melanie, while two others knelt beside Nicholas to assess his injuries. They moved quickly and efficiently over my girl, placing a brace around her neck and compresses against her wounds. I watched helplessly as they transferred her unconscious form onto a stretcher.

The pul I felt for her now was indescribable, the need to be by her, to touch her. I could feel her soul cal ing for mine, scared and unsure. Even in her unaware state, her lips rol ed with my name.

I could resist her no longer, and I rushed back to her side, taking her hand in mine and squeezing, whispering in her ear that I was near, and she would be fine. I told her she was free, and we could now be together. I praised her for being so brave and swore that Nicholas would never harm her again.

“Sir, we need to take her now.”

I nodded, and placed a soft kiss against her cheek. Her face, even broken and dried with her blood, was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “I love you, Melanie. I’ll be right behind you, sweetheart.” Reluctantly, I stepped away and dropped her hand. I grabbed my phone from the floor and trailed behind as they pushed her out the door and slid her into the back of the waiting ambulance.

Jumping into my car, I found my spot behind the traveling van, its speed slow and deliberate. I raised my phone to dial Dad’s number, wanting to make him aware of what had happened. The text message on my screen caused my heart to stop in my chest.

“Where are you? The baby is coming!”

I prayed this was just another sad attempt by Vanessa to garner more attention. My hand shook as I pressed the button for voicemail. The generic voice came on and informed me I had twenty-seven new voice messages.

I sped through each one that wasn’t Vanessa, for the first time in my life wanting to hear her voice. Nine messages in, she was there.

“My water broke. I’m going to the hospital.”

“Fuck!” I screamed into the phone, replaying it so I could hear when she’d cal ed. The message had been left Saturday morning. Two days ago.

My stomach twisted in knots. The first wave of concern I’d ever felt for the child flooded me. Images of Eva’s tiny body flashed through my mind—the wires and needles and the suffering she knew for the two short days of her life.