Page 95 of The Surrogate Mother
“God.” Monica’s voice is filled with disgust. “You’re pathetic. Even when something a million times better is staring you in the face, you don’t want it. My mother wastotally wrong about you.” She snorts. “Well, too bad it doesn’t matter. It’s too late for her. For both of you.”
In the entire time I’ve known Sam, I’ve never seen him throw a punch. Correction: we’ve never been in a situation where him throwing a punch would make even remote sense. He’s not some drunk who gets into bar fights. Yes, he’s in good physical condition thanks to that insurance-lowering gym membership, but he doesn’t go around punching people.
But I manage to sit up just in time to see him lunge at Monica.
As he’s doing it, the gun goes off, the shot echoing through the apartment. Wow, that’s loud. I don’t know if she got him or not, but he’s got his left hand on her right wrist, and she’s screaming. It takes him a few seconds, but between his much greater strength and her abdominal girth, she falls to the floor.
But she’s still got the damn gun.
I manage to sit up, but it takes every ounce of my strength. I feel like I’m moving through molasses. I don’t know how I’ll be able to do anything at all to help Sam. And what’s more, now that I’m standing, I can make out the blood on the floor. Actually, quite a lot of blood. And now I can see the crimson seeping through Sam’s shirt.
And that’s when I see the door to our walk-in closet crack open.
Gertie.
I watch in horror as she ventures out and sees all the blood on the floor. She probably has no idea it’s all Sam’s. I see the panic growing on her face. She’s going to try to get Sam off Monica. If she gets involved, it will be two against one. And Monica still has the gun in a death grip in her right hand.
I don’t care if I have only one ounce of strength left in my body. I can’t let Gertie and Monica win. I’ve got to stop this.
Move, Abby. Move!
My body obeys. Reluctantly at first, but then I’m propelling myself across the room, at Gertie. I feel like I don’t even entirely have control over my arms and legs anymore, but against all odds, they’re doing what I want them to do. I lunge at Gertie, knocking her against the wall. And just before I do, my eyes lock with Monica’s for a split second, and she lifts the gun in her hand…
The sound of gunfire echoes through the room for the second time. My heart pounds as the same crimson on Sam’s shirt leaks from a hole in Gertie’s left temple. Gertie’s lips form a shocked O, two seconds before she collapses to the floor.
“Mom!” Monica screams.
Sam, startled by the gunshot, somehow allows Monica to scramble out from under him. We both watch in silence as Monica rushes to Gertie’s side, as fast as she can, given the load she’s carrying. She bends down beside her mother, the tears forming in her eyes. “Mommy…”
Sam looks shell-shocked—he’s as pale as I’ve ever seen him. He lifts his left hand to touch his forehead, and he’s shaking badly. His shirt sleeve is drenched in blood. “Holy shit,” he breathes.
“Sam,” I manage.
My head spins seconds before I collapse like a rag doll against the floor. I’m so out of it that I don’t even realize it’s happening until I’m on the floor. I can’t keep my eyes open much longer.
“Abby?” He drags himself across the room to me in a half-crawl. He grabs my clammy hand in his. “You’re awake.”
“Yes,” I manage. “Barely.”
“Hang in there,” he says, “we’re going to get you to the hospital.” He brushes a few sweaty strands of hair from my face. He looks white as a sheet—I wonder how much blood he’s lost. “I promise. I just need to go to the living room and get my phone. Okay?”
“Don’t leave me alone,” I whisper.
“It’ll be for only half a minute. I’ll be right back.”
“No,” Monica’s voice interrupts us. “You won’t.”
I use every last bit of strength to lift my eyes to look at Monica. She’s glaring at us, her eyes moist and red-rimmed. The gun—she still has the gun. I forgot all about it. I can’t keep track anymore. I’m so tired. I’m so, so tired…
“She’s dead,” she hisses at us. “My mother is dead.”
“You’re the one who shot her,” Sam points out.
“I was aiming forher.” Monica’s eyes are like daggers as she lifts the gun in the air. “And this time, I won’t miss.”
Sam’s eyes widen when he sees what she’s doing. Honestly, I don’t know how I ever doubted his loyalty to me, because the first thing he does is hurl himself in front of me, so if Monica does fire a bullet, it will have to go through him first. I want to tell him not to sacrifice himself for me, but I can’t. My eyes are drifting shut—words would be far too much effort for me.
“You’ll have to kill me first,” he says to her.
