Flashing blue and red lights invade my eyes.  I know people are trying to talk to me—ask me questions—but I can’t answer.  Dozens of people in black leather and chains are milling around, muttering to each other and pointing at me.  I can’t take my eyes off the lump on the sidewalk that is now covered by a black blanket.

My throat is raw from screaming.

“If you’d just check the damn gun, you can see it hasn’t been fired.”

My husband’s voice brings me out of my trance.  I blink a few times as I see three police officers surrounding him.  One of them is putting him in handcuffs.

“We still have to take you in, Mr. Kearney.  Your gun matches the type that killed our victim.”

Victim.

I stare back at the lump on the ground.

“Ma’am, please.  We really need you to come over here so the EMT can check you out.”

I glance at the face of the woman next to me.  I see her put her hand on my arm, but I can’t feel it.  I look from the woman to the lump and then back again.

“Is she okay?” I ask.  My chin starts to quiver, and tears begin to pour down my face.

This is a dream.  A nightmare.  This isn’t happening.

“Kera.  Kera!”  I look up at the sound of Deklan’s voice and see him being pulled away by the officers.  “I’m gonna get this worked out.  It’s all gonna be okay, babe.  Just hang in there.”

“All okay,” I whisper.  I can’t focus, and I’m starting to feel sick.

“She’s quite intoxicated.  She’s got some scrapes and bruises and is showing some signs of shock.  We better take her in.”

Multiple hands lift me off the ground and onto my feet.  I can’t seem to make my feet work, and I’m half dragged to an awaiting ambulance.  Someone shines a flashlight in my eyes and touches the palm of my hand.

“She’s cold.  Let’s get her inside.”

I’m lifted again and end up on my back inside the ambulance.  There’s an EMT on either side of me, and they strap me onto the gurney before the ambulance takes off.

“Ma’am?  Can you tell me how you got hurt?”

“Hurt?”

“There are bruises on your arms and legs, and your knees are scraped.”

“My husband…”  The ambulance turns quickly, and my head spins with the motion.  I can’t complete my sentence.

“Is he the one they took into custody?” he asks as he looks toward his coworker.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Asshole.  Did he shoot that girl?”

“I heard they found a gun on him.”

Another swift turn from the ambulance, and I roll my head to the side, vomiting on the floor before the EMT manages to get a container below my head.  I hurl again before I pass out.

When I come to, I’m in a dim hospital room with a tube running into my arm.  My lips are dry and cracked.  My head is pounding, and I can’t make sense of my surroundings.  I blink a few times, and a nurse comes into the room to check on me.

“Hello, Mrs. Kearney,” she says.  “How are you feeling?”

“What happened?”  My throat burns.

“Just relax now.”  She holds a cup of water with a straw to my mouth.  “Have a little water, but don’t try to talk just yet.”

“Don’t try to talk.  You’ve been through a trying ordeal, but you’re safe now.”

I push the water away and try to sit up, but the nurse pushes me down by the shoulders and tells me to lie still.

“Not safe,” I mutter as I squeeze my eyes shut.  “Where’s Kathy?  Where’s Deklan?”

“Just relax…”

“I don’t want to relax!” I yell back at her, and the tears start to fall.  “Oh my God! Oh my God!  She’s dead, isn’t she?  She’s dead!”

My throat hurts, but I can’t stop screaming as the nurse holds me.  A moment later, another nurse comes in and injects something into my IV, and I feel my muscles give out as I drop back down and close my eyes.

*****

My temples pound as I sit up on the hospital bed with my arms wrapped around my knees.  Every time I swallow, my throat aches and my eyes burn.  I’m acutely aware of every sound around me, from the beeping of monitors at the nurses’ station outside my door to the shuffling of visitors’ feet across the floor.   I hear every keystroke on the computers and the ring of every phone.  I focus on the benign noises, trying to make sense of it all.

Nothing feels real.

When I close my eyes, I see blue and red flashes and a blanket on the ground, so I keep them open.  I stare down at the mattress through the gap between my thighs and take careful note of every wrinkle in the sheet.

Gentle rocking contrasts with the painful position I’m lying in.  The smell of mold and dead fish permeates my nostrils and leaves me feeling sick.  My hip and shoulder hurt, and I can’t move enough to adjust my position.  Something holds my mouth open.

The sound of laughter invades my ears.  I can’t see.  The smell of sweat and fish makes me feel sick.  There’s a bitter taste in the back of my throat, and I can’t breathe.  My wrists burn from the tight ropes.

I jerk out of my memories and squeeze my eyes shut.  I need to find another thought to focus my attention, but no suitable replacements are within my grasp.  I keep hearing the blast of a gunshot, and my ears start ringing all over again.  I have no idea how much time has passed.  I don’t want to know.

A nurse comes in.  Behind her is another woman who smiles gently as she says hello and pulls up a rolling chair to the side of the hospital bed.

“My name is Elizabeth,” she says.  “I’m a counselor here at the hospital.  How are you feeling, Kera?”

I don’t answer or look up.  I find the question ridiculous.

“I’ve talked to your doctor,” Elizabeth says as the nurse finishes checking me out and walks out of the room.  “Seems like you are ready to be discharged soon.”

I find this news to be irrelevant.  It changes nothing.

“Before you go, I’d like to ask you about these.”  She points to the small bruises on my upper arm.  “Did you get those last night?”

I glance at my arm, recalling the small marks reflected in the bathroom mirror.  I didn’t even remember Deklan holding me that tightly.

“Kera?  Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.”  I glance at her and then stare at the hairs on my arms.

“Last night, you told the EMT that your husband was responsible for them.  Do you remember saying that?”

“No.”  I narrow my eyes at her.  I barely remember anything about the ambulance except for puking on the floor.

“Can you tell me how you got them?”

“It’s nothing,” I say.

“I’d still like to know.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

My shoulders tense as I squeeze my hands into fists.

“Look, it doesn’t fucking matter, okay?  Just a little…exuberant sex.  I didn’t get them last night.”

“Exuberant?”

“Yeah.”  I glare at her.  I don’t like the way she’s looking at me as if I’m an idiot.  I know what she’s implying.  “I’m fine.  Deklan’s not hitting me; he’s not like that.”

“I didn’t say that he was.”  She leans forward a little.  “Why did you bring it up?”

Manipulative bitch.

“Could you tell me what happened last night?”

I shake my head.

“There are a couple of police officers outside.  They’d like to talk to you.  It might be easier if you and I talk first.”

“No.”

“What do you remember, Kera?  Can you describe the men who took you?  Tell us how you got to the hospital.  Do you remember how long you traveled in the van?”

“I don’t remember!  I don’t remember!  Just leave me alone!”

“You’re going to have to talk to someone, Kera,” Elizabeth says, pulling me out of my daydreaming.  “I can see there’s a lot going on inside your head right now.  I have a call in to Dr. Jolly.  I understand you have worked with her before.”

I don’t want to see my previous therapist, and I don’t want to talk at all.  However, this woman obviously won’t take no for an answer.  What I need right now is for her to go away.

“I’d like to wait and talk to her,” I say quietly.  “Would that be all right?”

“Of course,” she says.  “I’m afraid I can’t speak for the officers outside though.”

She pats me on the hand before standing and heading to the door.  I don’t watch her leave.  It’s too late.  I’ve already retreated.  I’m back inside my head.

“If you don’t allow yourself to remember what happened to you, how do you think you will ever begin to heal?”  Jennifer Jolly tapped her pen against a legal pad.

“How is remembering going to help with that?”  I didn’t look up from my hands.  I didn’t want to see her look of disappointment again.  “I’m fine.  I keep telling you I’m fine.”

“But you aren’t.”

“Mrs. Kearney?”

I don’t look up as a man and a woman in uniform approach my bed.  I remember them trying to come in earlier, but the doctor had sent them away.

“Mrs. Kearney, I’m Detective Warren,” the man says.  “We need to ask you some questions about what happened last night.”

Last night.  Was it just last night?  If I went back in time just a fraction of a day, could I fix it all?  Could I stop myself from going up to Deklan’s table?  Could I tell the Uber driver to take Kathy and me to a different bar?  Could I go back to morning and breakfast in bed, opting for a day in instead of a night out?

“We have several witness statements, but we’d like to hear things from your side.  Can you tell me what you remember?”

The events of the evening run through an alcohol-fugue filter in my head.  Breakfast, tiara, shopping, martinis, shots, Deklan…

“Mrs. Kearney”—Warren moves to the side of the bed, closer to me—“we really need to know what happened.”

“Where’s Deklan?” I ask.  “Where’s my husband?”

“He’s in custody,” Warren says.

“Why?”

“You’re bruised, Mrs. Kearney, and witnesses say there was an argument between you and your husband.”

I look up at the woman speaking, trying to remember if she had mentioned her name.  She’s young.  I wonder if it’s her first day on the job.

“Deklan didn’t hurt me.”  I stare back down at the mattress.  “It’s a misunderstanding.”

“And the gun found on him?”

“What about it?”

“A young woman is dead, Mrs. Kearney.”  Detective Warren looks at me, his jaw set and his forehead creased.  “I understand she was a friend of yours.  The person who did this needs to be brought to justice before he does it again.”  He crouches down until he’s eye level with me.  “Kera, don’t you want justice for your friend?”

“Deklan didn’t shoot her.”

“Can you tell me who did?” Warren asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Can you tell me why Miss Jackson was holding a gun or where she might have gotten it?”

My stomach tightens up.  I have no idea what I should do.  Deklan didn’t do anything to Kathy, but she must have thought he was going to do something, or she wouldn’t have brought out the gun.  I don’t even know whose name the gun is registered under or if it’s registered at all.  Anything I might say sounds wrong, and I don’t want to say anything.

“Kera?”  Right on cue, Deklan is suddenly standing in the doorway.

I stare at him.  There’s rough stubble on his face, and he’s wearing the same clothes he had on last night.  Our gazes lock, but I can’t understand the unfamiliar look in his eyes.  Fear?  Sadness?  Panic?  I can’t tell.

“I need to speak with my wife,” Deklan says with authority as he walks into the room and moves between the detective and the bed.

“We still have some questions.”

“They said you were in jail,” I say quietly.

“They let me out.”  Deklan reaches forward tentatively and places his hand on my arm.  “It’s all right, babe.  Everything will be all right.”

I shake my head slowly.

“It’s not okay, Dek.”  My voice breaks.  “It’s not okay!  It’s not!”

Deklan sits beside me and wraps his arms around me.  I want to resist.  I want to scream that it’s all his fault for being there with that…that man.  But it’s not his fault.  I know it isn’t.

It’s my fault.

“It’s all my fault!” I scream.  “She…she only came early because it was my birthday.  She didn’t have to be here.  She just came here for me…”

Deklan holds me tightly.  I want to push him away, but his grip is unyielding, warm and familiar.  I lean against him and sob into his shirt as he faces the detective.

“Look, my wife obviously isn’t up for this now, and you guys need to go.”

“We need some answers, Mr. Kearney.”  Warren squares his shoulders and tries to stand tall, but Deklan stands as well, towering over him.  “I can always issue a subpoena, but it would be a lot easier if you both cooperate.”

“Well, I’ll bring her to the station with our attorney when she’s feeling better.  For now, you need to get out.”

I don’t look up, but I hear grumbling and footsteps walking away.  Deklan sits back down beside me, enveloping me once again.

“It’s not your fault, babe.  You know it isn’t.”

“It is!”

“Hush.”  Deklan strokes my hair and rubs my back, and I cling to his shirt.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  You couldn’t have known.  It’s not your fault.”

“Why were you there, Dek?  You were supposed to be out of town!”

“I was,” he says softly.  “I was in Chicago but had to return early.  There were details that had to be discussed with Sean in person.  I really can’t say any more than that.”

I barely hear his words as my mind replays what happened.  Arguing with Deklan.  Kathy appearing out of nowhere with my gun pointed at my husband.  Grabbing his arm.  The insanely loud crack that echoed through the street.  The man in the shadows.

“Arden, get the fuck out of here.”

“It’s his fault.”  I tighten my fingers around the fabric of Deklan’s shirt.  “He’s the one responsible.”

Deklan tightens his grip around me.

“He did this.  He killed Kathy!”  I begin to shake.  I have to clench my teeth to keep them from chattering, and the pain in my head increases as I pull back from Deklan’s chest and stare him in the face.

“You have to kill him, Deklan.  You have to kill him for me.”