Bound by Lies Page 2

  “You did great,” he says, locking the door. “Your statement matches mine, so they shouldn’t have any additional questions. They typically come back for another round when there are inconsistences.”

  I follow Sam with my eyes as he walks over to the couch and sits down next to me.

  “How’s your head?”

  “Throbbing.” I run my hand over the back of my neck.

  “Let’s get you to the hospital. I should’ve taken you last night.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me up from the couch carefully. In the garage, he opens the passenger door of his car, and I slide numbly into the warm leather seats.

  The drive to the hospital takes no more than five minutes, but I can’t seem to get out of the car once we’ve parked. I stare at the automatic doors opening and closing as people enter and exit.

  “Em, we need get you inside and registered.”

  “I’ve never been in a hospital before,” I say absently.

  “Well, they’re not all that exciting, but I promise we’ll both feel better after you’ve seen a doctor. Come on.” Sam shuts his door and jogs around to open mine. He offers me his hand, but I ignore him and push myself out, steadying myself on the car door. Inside, I’m greeted by a woman at a large gray desk.

  Sam glances at me before stepping forward and speaking discreetly with her. There are rows of chairs lined up, all facing a television that hangs from the ceiling in the corner, airing the local news. I take in the faces of the people waiting. Young and old, light and dark. Nothing similar about any of them.

  My head throbs in tune to my heartbeat. I can feel the pulsing in my inner ear, and my vision begins to blur under the bright lights. The antiseptic smell of alcohol hangs in the air, and I shuffle across the floor, choosing a seat away from everyone else. I couldn’t take it if someone wanted to talk to me. What would I say? That the man I loved died only a few short hours ago, and less than two hours ago, I was still covered in his blood?

  Sam sits down next to me, his knee bobbing as he fills out paperwork. The scratching of his pen agitates me, but I close my eyes and rest my head back against the wall.

  “Birthdate?” he asks quietly, nudging my arm to get my attention. “What’s your birthdate, Em?”

  “October second, nineteen ninety-three.”

  His pen begins to scrawl across the paper again before he flips it over and writes on the back. “You’re going to have to help me with the medical history, okay?”

  I nod just as a nurse steps out of the double doors and calls my name. Sam stands first, and I follow him as we cross the waiting room. The nurse, a young blonde, escorts us to an exam room, then asks Sam to wait outside for just a few minutes.

  “Go ahead and take a seat in the chair,” she says to me, offering a kind smile. “I’m Marcie, and I just need to ask you a few questions, then he can join us again. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what happened?”

  It takes a moment to process everything she’s said before the words come out in a monotone voice. “I hit my head pretty hard on a tile floor last night, and since then, I’ve had a severe headache, some nausea, a little bit of blurred vision.”

  She clicks away at the small laptop on the desk, casting careful glances at me in between her typing. “How did you hit your head?”

  “My friend Sam,” I point with my thumb to the door, “tackled me to keep me from getting in the crosshairs of some gunfire—” I stop abruptly when I realize how crazy this sounds.

  Marcie’s eyes widen. “Around what time did this happen last night?”

  “Last night around seven, I think.” Everything just spills from me. The honesty… the truth of my brutal reality spills from my lips. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.

  “You should’ve come to the emergency room immediately,” she says, tapping on the keyboard again. “Before we let your friend back in, state law requires me to ask you if you are the victim of domestic violence or feel threatened in any way at home.”

  I almost snort. At home. I don’t have a home. I shake my head gently, but it hurts, so I stop. “No,” I whisper.

  “Okay. Let me send your friend in, and I’ll be back to take your blood pressure and get some additional medical information.” She opens the door and steps out just as Sam enters.

  He takes a seat in the chair next to me and sets the clipboard in his lap. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I nod, then instantly wince at the pain.

  Marcie joins us back in the room, pushing a small cart with a blood pressure monitor on it. “Let me get some vitals from you, and I’ll go through a quick medical history before the doctor comes to see you.” She wraps the cuff around my arm and presses a button on the machine. Pulling a thermometer off the same machine, she sticks it under my tongue and holds it in place until the machine beeps. “Temperature and blood pressure are normal,” she says as she peels the Velcro cuff from my arm. Sitting down again, she clicks away at her keyboard.

  “Paperwork?” She reaches for the papers in Sam’s hand and glances at them before entering a few more things on the computer. “Okay, so let’s get some additional medical information from you.”

  I take a deep breath and hope that I can answer some of her questions.

  “Any known drug allergies?”

  “No.”

  “Date of last menstrual cycle?”

  I pause, trying to remember the last time I had a period. Sam turns to look at me, and I shrug. “I’m not sure. A couple of months ago, I guess. I’ve never really been regular.”

  She types a few things into the computer. “Smoker?”

  “No.”

  “Do you use any illegal drugs?”

  I catch Sam glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. It’s a valid concern; I was living with the leader of a drug cartel.

  “No, never,” I answer quietly, and Sam visibly relaxes.

  There is a quick but loud knock on the door just as it swings open. A doctor enters the room and holds out his hand to me. “I’m Doctor Jacobson. Nice to meet you.”

  “Emilia Adams,” I say, shaking his hand in return.

  “Sam Cortez,” Sam says, shaking his hand after me.

  Dr. Jacobson spends the next ten minutes examining me, asking me more questions, and finally deciding he’d like me to have a CT scan. Marcie takes me down the hall to weigh me, and then she hands me a sterile cup for a urine sample.

  “Write your name on the cup and leave it on the small table in the room. When you’re finished, I’ll meet you back in the exam room before transport comes to take you to radiology.”

  “What’s this for?” I point to the small cup she holds in her hand.

  “Routine.” She smiles at me. “We always screen urine for a multitude of reasons. You have nothing to worry about.”

  I do everything I’m told and wash my hands. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I see that my hair hangs in long, messy waves. My face is still pale and dark circles are finally setting in under my eyes. I feel numb as I splash some water on my face and use a paper towel to pat it dry. With a deep breath, I toss the paper towel in the trash and find my way down the hallway to my exam room. Sam is noticeably absent, so I take a seat and wait for Marcie or the doctor to return.

  Minutes tick by and exhaustion is taking over. My eyelids are heavy and I finally close my eyes and listen to the hustle and bustle of the emergency room fluttering with activity on the other side of the door. Voices echo in the hallway, but I’m too tired to listen. My mind, along with my body, is finally shutting down.

  There’s a quick knock as Dr. Jacobson opens the door and enters the exam room. “Change of plans.” He rests his hip against the edge of the counter and folds his hands together. “Your urine tests came back as positive for a pregnancy. Since we’re not sure how far along…”

  He’s still talking, but all I hear is “positive for a pregnancy,” and I lose it. Pregnant? How? I mean, I know how, but why? Why now? No. I can’t have Alex’s baby.
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br />   No, no, no! My mind screams at me!

  Burying my face in my hands, I just shake my head and cry. The throbbing in the back of my head seems to get worse, and I feel my chest tightening as I try to breathe. “No!” I yell at Dr. Jacobson, to myself, to anyone that can hear me.

  His voice trails off and the room is now silent, with the exception of my gasping cries.

  “Ms. Adams,” he says quietly after a moment. “Since you took a pretty hard fall, and we’re not sure how far along you are, I’d like one of our obstetricians to take a look at you as well. I can see you’re surprised by the news, but I do need you to listen to me in regards to your head injury.”

  Tears fall as I nod. Where is Sam? Where the hell is Sam? My heart beats so rapidly in my chest, it feels like it’s bouncing off my ribs. I try to compose myself and look through my blurry eyes at Dr. Jacobson, who’s begun slowly giving me instructions for my head, and I only half hear him because of the loud swooshing sound in my ears.

  “I believe it’s a concussion. For the next few days, I’d like you to rest. No strenuous activity. Limit the amount of time you’re using a computer, watching TV, or reading. Mostly just rest. Give your brain time to heal. I want you to see your primary doctor in two days. If anything worsens before then, you need to get back to the emergency room immediately.”

  He pauses and begins pulling open the cabinet over the sink, pulling down medical supplies and setting them on a tray before quietly leaving the room.

  I can’t believe this is happening to me. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my thighs and bury my face in my hands again. I gasp for air between deep sobs. “Why is this happening to me? Why?” I cry to myself. I’m not sure how much more I can take before I break. I was never whole to begin with and every loss, every setback, chips away at me more.

  “Emilia, what the hell is wrong?” Sam’s voice says as he closes the door.

  I just shake my head in my hands and inhale sharply. My throat is tight, and I don’t have the strength to explain everything to Sam right now.

  He squats in front of me and grips my forearms, pulling my hands away from my face.

  “Em, tell me what’s going on.”

  There’s a knock on the door, and a doctor and a nurse step in. The nurse is pushing a large machine with a small screen on it. My heart races as the doctor begins powering up the machine. I bounce between denial and shock and I feel nauseous.

  “I’m Dr. Anderson and this is Shelly.” She gestures to the nurse. “Dr. Jacobson tells me we have a fairly new pregnancy, and we need to check things out after a fall. Is that correct?”

  Sam is now standing next to me, and he inhales sharply. His face is pale and I see his throat tighten as he swallows. He looks as scared as I do. His hand rests on my shoulder in a supportive gesture.

  I nod and swallow hard as she pushes the large machine closer to the exam table and the nurse begins carrying over the medical supplies that Dr. Jacobson had left on the counter.

  “Why don’t you hop up here on the bed? We’re going to do an abdominal ultrasound.”

  Sam rests his hand on my shoulder before giving it a comforting squeeze.

  I slide onto the table and lie down as Dr. Anderson powers up the ultrasound machine and types a few things into the computer attached to the cart.

  “Just confirm for me your full name and date of birth, please,” she says, typing away.

  “Emilia Adams, October second, nineteen ninety-three.” My voice is timid… weak.

  “Okay, Emilia. Go ahead and unbutton your shorts for me,” she says in a comforting voice. I unbutton the shorts, and she tucks some paper into the front of my jean shorts and folds it over the waistband. “This is supposed to be warm, but it’s never warm enough. My apologies if it’s cold.” She shakes a bottle and squirts a large amount of gel on my lower stomach. With a small wand, she presses against my stomach with one hand and presses buttons on the machine with her other hand. She presses and pushes, at times causing me to catch my breath.

  “Everything looks really good, Emilia.” She smiles at me. “You’re very early. From just my measurements, I’d say five weeks or so. Everything seems to be progressing just fine, but I’d schedule an appointment with your OB/GYN immediately.” She presses a few more buttons on the machine, and a long picture strip prints out. She looks at it and smiles as my stomach turns and my reality sets in. She smiles at me sympathetically and takes a calming breath. “Dr. Jacobson said this wasn’t a planned pregnancy.”

  I nod at her and fight back tears.

  “You have options, Emilia. There’s a lot of support available to you while you determine what’s best for you,” Dr. Anderson says quietly, gathering her items.

  “Okay,” I’m barely able to get out.

  Sam leans against the wall, his hands tucked behind him. He’s staring straight ahead at the door, a look of shock on his face. Sam hasn’t said a word; his support has been silent. A squeeze on my shoulder during the exam has been all that he’s been able to do. I know he’s in shock as well.

  “I’m going to send in one of our social workers to speak with you. She’ll have more information for you,” Dr. Anderson says as she slips out the door, her long, blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders as she leaves.

  The next thirty minutes are a blur as a social worker hands me a stack of pamphlets and gives me information and phone numbers for clinics, organizations, and doctors. Sam disappeared somewhere during that time, and I find him out in the waiting area. He looks as exhausted as I feel.

  Without a word, we leave and drive to his home in silence.

  FOR THE LAST two hours, I’ve paced the floor between my living room and kitchen in a complete state of shock. Em being pregnant was not part of the plan. Fuck. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I feel the pounding in my head begin. With a deep breath, I follow the hall to where Em lies in my bed. My bedroom door is cracked open, but I knock quietly anyway. “Em, are you all right?”

  She’s lying in the fetal position in the center of the bed and shifts slightly at the sound of my voice but keeps her back to me.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, but she remains silent. “Come on, Emilia. Talk to me.”

  She didn’t say a word to me on the way home, and she retreated to the bedroom the moment we walked in the door.

  “No,” she finally manages, her voice raspy.

  “No what? You won’t talk to me or you’re not hungry?” I want her to talk to me… open up to me.

  “Hungry,” she mumbles.

  “Emilia, you have to eat something. Even something small.” I push the door open further and step into my room. I feel helpless and all I want to do is help her.

  “My stomach is still bothering me. Maybe later.” She pulls a pillow up tightly to her stomach, tucking it between her chin and her knees.

  “Alex told me you won’t eat when you get upset.” She stills, and I flinch when I realize I said Alex’s name so casually and how it affects Emilia. “I’m so sorry, Em.”

  “When did he tell you that?” Her shoulders begin to bob gently, and I can tell she’s crying again.

  I swallow hard. “When he called to tell me you left. He followed you to the church, and he was worried about you, so he called me to come and get you.”

  She nods, her face buried in her hands.

  “Em.” I reach out and skim my hand along her forearm, but she pulls it away and buries her face in her hands.

  “What am I going to do?” she sobs.

  I move toward her and sit on the edge of the bed. Emilia watches me tentatively as I sit down.

  “I need Alex. I can’t do this without him.” Alex. She’ll always love Alex. I swallow down my bitterness.

  You can, Em. You have me now. But I bite my tongue and rub her back. Conflict settles in me as I realize I’m in love with a woman carrying my brother’s baby. Since I can’t tell her that I’m in love with her, I settle for, “Em, everything is going to be fine. But you need to
rest and you definitely need to eat. Everything else will be fine. I promise.” I try to comfort her, but she shakes her head back and forth against the pillow.

  “I can’t do this,” she stutters between breaths. “I’m not strong enough to do this alone.” She uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose.

  “You can do this, and you are strong enough,” I encourage her.

  She takes a deep, cleansing breath as she tries to compose herself and pushes up to a sitting position, crisscrossing her legs. Her breaths are staggered and deep, and she takes a moment before exhaling loudly. She looks so small and helpless, and just… sad. “I have so many questions,” she says quietly. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Just ask me.” Not that I’m a fount of baby information. I clear my throat and amend, “I may not be able to answer all of them, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “The truth?” she asks. I hate that she even doubts me, but she should. Alex and I both lied to her.

  “Yes, the truth.”

  “Do you know where your dad is? He got away, didn’t he?” Her fingers twist around each other as she looks directly at me and stutters through the question. She watches me as if she’ll be able to read whether or not I’m lying to her.

  “Antonio,” I say, disregarding him as my father, “got away. However, we have a pretty good idea where he is, and we have every agency and police force in the state working on locating him.”

  “Where do you think he is?”

  “Mexico.”

  “Does he want me dead?” She swallows hard, and I do too.

  “I don’t have confirmation of that, but considering how much you know about his business now, my guess would be yes.”

  She exhales slowly, and her eyes drop from mine.