Page 86 of Monster
“Fuck, Vincent. Are you sure you want to know this?”
“Fucking spit it out or I will fucking make you,” I growl. “I’m sure your wife would love to come home from her nursing job to the severed fucking head of her husband on her front porch.”I make sure to paint a vivid picture in his mind.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Vincent. Okay, okay. I get it.” He jumbles over his words as he speaks, the fear of what I could do to him obvious in his tone and usually, I would smile at his fear, but I can’t. My mind is too busy circling around the fact there was actually something to be found. Which means there are things I don’t know, and I don’t fucking like that.
“Spit it the fuck out, Mike.”
“I obtained her hospital records—and it wasn’t without a lot of fucking haggling, I might add—but what I see is something you don’t want to.” I try to speak, but he quickly cuts me off. “But, I know you want it so I’m emailing it to you right now.”
I run up the stairs at lightning speed toward my office. I apparently didn’t remember to lock it this morning when I left, so I fling the door open easily and rush to my computer. I smack the keyboard to wake it up and quickly type in my password. I lean down as I take the mouse in my hand and pull up the internet browser.
I hit the bookmark for my email and when it loads, I see the email from Mike sitting there. I hover the mouse over it, but don’t click on it. A sudden fear shoots through me and I fucking hate it. Fear makes you weak. It makes you vulnerable and you haveno fucking controlwhen you’re afraid.
I can’t be afraid.
Just fucking open it, Vincent.
“Hey, are you still there?” I hear a faint voice talking and shift away from my computer to see where it’s coming from. When I glance down, I notice my phone lying on the floor at my feet. I don’t remember dropping it but I bend to pick it up and press it to my ear.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I answer him. “Just got your email. Thanks, Mike,” I say and then hang up. I toss my phone on the desk and move my gaze back to the taunting email.
Just. Fucking. Open. It.
I swallow down the ball of fear sitting at the base of my throat, choking me, and click to open it. Two files stare back at me and before I talk myself out of it, I click on the first one. What I see has tears burning my eyes. Pictures of Essa’s injuries from the accident stare back at me and it makes me feel sick to my fucking stomach.
I quickly scroll through the rest of them, barely skimming over what it all says. From what I gather, it’s all medical shit from the injuries she sustained from the accident and how they treated her. She had surgery and blood transfusions, but overall, she was pretty fucking lucky she didn’t die.
Once I reach the end, I close out of it and begin to feel a little better. That file was all standard shit from her accident and if the second is more of the same, then all of this questioning everything is in my head and I’m being fucking paranoid.
That’s all it is, me being paranoid.
With a deep breath, I open the next file and what I instantly see has all the blood in my veins turning to ice. My heart stops beating, and time freezes right along with it.
Loss of Pregnancy Treatment Plan
Pregnancy.
Essa was… Essa was fuckingpregnant?
As fast as I can, I speed read through the entire fucking file, but it doesn’t tell me a goddamn thing. It’s full of fucking “ways to cope,” different therapists and their locations, and all of that bullshit.
She was pregnant with my fucking baby, and she fuckingkilled it?She killed my fucking baby!
“Ffuucckk!” I shout as I blindly swing my arm out. My computer crashes to the floor and I hear as the glass shatters, but it’s nothing but a blip in the madness screaming in my head.
She was pregnant and shekilledmy fucking baby.
My hand wraps around the doorknob and I’m yanking it open to storm into her room and fucking kill her ass when a thought comes screeching into my head.
What if it wasn’t mine?
My teeth clench so fucking hard, I swear I feel my skull crack from the pressure. That thought is worse enough, but the one that comes right after has me storming down the hall to her room without a second thought as to how this is going to go down.
What if it was Dominik’s?
Those five words play on repeat over and over a thousand times in the ten seconds it takes me to reach Essa’s room. I throw open the door and it smacks against the wall with a bang. I step in and search the room for her. When I immediately don’t see her, I march directly into her bathroom because where the fuck else would she be? But when I scour the entire bathroom and don’t find a trace of her, I feel my already boiling blood explode.
“Essa!” I scream at the top of my lungs. My head pounds from the force I put into it, but it only fuels my anger.
