While I'm Unconscious, He's Still Saving His Mistress novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Next of Kin

Faye arrives first and Dean swears he never got the hospital's call; Carrie asks for her sister, then lies still in the dark and hears Dean leave her bedside when Brynn phones.

Faye reached the hospital in under an hour, which meant she had driven from Denver with no thought for speed limits.

She came through the door in her scrubs, stopped at the foot of my bed, and put both hands over her mouth.

"Oh, Care-bear."

"Hi," I croaked.

"Don't you 'hi' me." She crossed the room and took my good hand, the one without the cast. "Three days. I thought Dean said you were at a spa."

My throat tightened.

"He said that?"

"He texted me Saturday night. 'Carrie needed a weekend away, she's fine, don't worry.' I didn't like it. I should have driven up."

I stared at her.

Dean had told my sister I was at a spa.

He hadn't known where I was. He had made up a story so he wouldn't have to look for me.

Before I could say it, the door opened again.

Dean stood in the doorway, with a police detective behind him.

He looked terrible.

His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes were red, and he needed a shave.

He crossed the room in three steps and went down on his knees beside the bed.

"Carrie. Oh God, Carrie."

I said nothing.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I found out."

"Found out," Faye repeated.

"I was at work."

"For three days," Faye said.

"The whole system went down. They locked us in until it was fixed." He turned to me. "I sent you a message. I told you I'd be late."

"You told me you'd be late," I said slowly. "You didn't say three days."

"I didn't know it would be three days."

"The hospital called you," I said. "The first night."

He blinked.

"What?"

The detective stepped forward. He was a heavy man with a notebook and a tired face. "Mr. Hollander, the department's records show a call to your cell the evening after your wife was admitted. It's logged as connected."

"That's impossible."

"I'm just telling you what the log says."

"I never got a call." Dean looked from the detective to me. "Carrie, I swear to you, I never got a call. If anyone had told me you were here, I would have been in this room in ten minutes."

I looked into his face.

He was either telling the truth or he was the best liar I had ever met.

I had lived with him for five years, and I could not tell which.

"Carrie," he said. "Tell me what you need. Anything."

"I need my sister."

The words were out before I could soften them.

Dean flinched.

"I gave them Faye's number," I said. "Not yours. I want her here."

"I'm right here, honey," Faye said, and she did not let go of my hand.

The detective asked me about the truck.

I remembered a roar behind me and a grey front end bigger than any car.

I did not remember a face or a plate.

He wrote it down and said they would pull camera footage from the county road.

Then he left.

Dean stayed.

At nine, a nurse came to say that only one visitor could stay overnight.

"I'll stay," Dean said.

Faye looked at me.

I should have said no.

But I was tired, my ribs hurt every time I breathed, and part of me wanted to see what he would do.

"Let him," I said.

Faye squeezed my hand. "I'll be at the motel across the street. You call me. I mean it."

She kissed my forehead and left.

The lights went low.

I lay still and listened to the monitors.

Dean settled into the chair by the window.

He didn't sleep. I could tell by his breathing.

Sometime past eleven, his phone buzzed against the arm of the chair.

I kept my eyes shut, and I let my breathing go slow and loose.

I heard the chair creak.

"Hello?" Dean whispered. "Brynn? It's late. What's wrong?"

A pause.

"Slow down. Where is he?"

Another pause. I could hear the thin sound of her voice, high and fast, though not the words.

"No, no, I can't, I'm at the hospital with Carrie... I know. I know. Are you locked in?"

Silence.

"Brynn. Listen to me. Is the door locked?"

I felt my stomach drop.

He was standing by my bed. I could feel him there, close, and I did not open my eyes.

He said, very quietly, "Carrie? Are you awake?"

I did not move.

He waited.

Then I heard him step to the door.

"Stay on the phone," Dean said, low and fast. "Don't hang up. I'm coming."

The door closed behind him.

I opened my eyes and looked at the empty chair.

The monitor over my head counted my heartbeats, one after another, and not one of them was his.

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