Page 93 of The Unforgiven
When Quinn woke, she was cold, stiff, and desperate for a pee. It felt wrong to urinate next to Madeline’s remains, but there wasn’t much else she could do. She moved closer to the back wall, hoping that the Talbots of yesteryear stowed there in burial bags would forgive her.
She looked at the time on her mobile. It was 7:27 a.m., nearly twelve hours since the last time she’d checked. She tried calling 911 again, but the call failed. How she wished that Brett had forgotten his hold-all in the tomb. A crowbar would have been of great help.
As the horror of her situation sank in anew, Quinn’s panic returned in full force. She tried to calm down, but this time the breathing and praying didn’t help. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribcage, and she felt lightheaded and disoriented. A sharp pain tore through her belly, making her cry out.
“Oh, God, no,” Quinn pleaded as the pain intensified. She massaged her belly in a circular motion to try to calm her contracting womb. “Stay with me,” she begged the baby. “Please stay with me.”
So that we can die together, her mind added. Quinn turned her face up to what would be the heavens and screamed in helpless agony. “Don’t let me die here, you heartless bastard!” she yelled. She wasn’t sure if she was addressing Brett or God, but it didn’t matter. Either one had the power to save her, but she was growing convinced that neither would.
The pain in her abdomen brought her to her senses. It wasn’t as sharp as it had been a few minutes ago, but it was there, steadily growing. Quinn felt something warm and moist between her legs. “No,” she moaned as she slid her hand down her knickers. Her fingers came away wet and sticky. She brought her hand back up and shone a light on it. Blood.
Quinn screamed again, but this time it wasn’t a scream of rage but of anguish, like a wounded animal that knew it was about to die. She had cramps, she was bleeding, and her back ached. She was also dehydrated and hungry. Her body had no energy to fight for the survival of her baby. What did it matter if she lost it? She would be gone in a few days. Without water she couldn’t last long. Three days at most. The thought of spending several more days buried alive in her own grave brought on a new flood of tears.
Stop crying, she told herself.You’ll dehydrate faster. But the tears just came. They were hot and salty, and bitter. She’d seen countless people die in her visions. She’d felt their suffering and heard their thoughts, but although she’d ached with the desire to help them and mourned their loss, she had never understood how it really felt to know that you’re doomed, to finally realize there was no hope. No one was sending the cavalry, no one was racing the clock to prevent a tragic outcome. At this moment, she even envied Elise, who’d died in the arms of her lover. And Petra, whose end had been horrific, but quick.
Quinn would die slowly and alone. Had she done something to deserve this fate? She lay on her side, her arms wrapped around her belly. Was this some sort of cosmic retribution? She didn’t believe in fate or karma, but she did believe in bad decisions made in haste. She’d been extremely foolish, and now she’d pay the ultimate price.
Quinn shut her eyes. It wasn’t as if there was anything to see. She’d been inside the tomb for about eighteen hours. The pain in her belly continued, with contractions coming every few minutes, but the bleeding hadn’t gotten worse. Her pulse was racing, and she felt nauseous and confused. Quinn began to see bright lights in front of her closed eyelids. They formed into geometric shapes and floated in the darkness, twisting and turning and gyrating in colorful spirals. She reached out to touch one of the bright spheres but couldn’t find it. It seemed to have moved away, higher, out of her reach. She tried again and again, until she was overcome by crippling vertigo that threatened to suck her down into a swirling vortex.
Quinn lifted her head just as a stream of vomit erupted from her belly. She retched again and again, her body heaving in protest. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slumped to the ground, too weak to move away from the pool of vomit. The lights came back, brighter this time, as soon as she shut her eyes. They seemed to go on for hours, frolicking lazily and making Quinn feel weightless and untethered to anything earthly. The contractions grew weaker but were still there, and the nausea came in waves, but she didn’t throw up again. She was depleted, mentally and physically. Her mind drifted, her thoughts mere fragments that made no sense. She entered a state of half consciousness, for which she was instinctively grateful. It was a buffer between her and reality, and she hoped she would peacefully slip away, too disoriented to comprehend that the end had finally come.
At one point, all the pretty spheres merged into one. They grew brighter and Quinn squeezed her eyes tighter and covered her head with her arms, finding the light too painful to look at. She thought she heard voices, but she had to be hallucinating. Something touched her face and she tried to scream, but the pressure became firmer as she struggled for breath. She couldn’t move her head; it was in a vice. The bright lights began to explode behind her eyelids, bringing back the vertigo and the nausea. And then all went dark.
FORTY-NINE
Quinn’s eyes fluttered open and she immediately closed them again. The light was too bright, but so welcome. She tried opening her eyes again, slower this time, giving them time to adjust.
She was in a hospital bed, hooked up to an I.V. drip. A clip on her index finger, meant to monitor her heart rate, pinched hard. There were pins and needles in her right hand. She couldn’t move it, as though it were trapped under a heavy object. Quinn slowly turned her head to the right. Even the slightest movement caused nausea and dizziness.
Gabe’s head rested on the side of the bed. He was asleep, his cheek pressed against her hand, and his fingers curled around Quinn’s. She tried to carefully move her hand, but Gabe immediately woke up. His head shot up, his eyes searching her face until relief gradually replaced the worry in his gaze.
Quinn slowly sat up and allowed Gabe to envelop her in a hug. He was very gentle, but she felt his tightly coiled need to hold her and reassure himself she was all right. Quinn burrowed into him, desperate for his solid warmth. She listened to the steady rhythm of his heart and inhaled his familiar scent as she pressed herself even closer to him, her arms wrapped around his waist. Tears flowed down her cheeks and soaked into the fabric of Gabe’s shirt. He stroked her hair and held her close.
“I nearly lost you,” he said softly, a catch in his voice. “I nearly lost you both.”
Quinn pulled away and looked at him. Now that she saw him more clearly, she noted the dark circles beneath his eyes and the pallor of his skin. His shirt was wrinkled, his jaw darkened by thick stubble. He looked emotionally and physically wrung out.
“Gabe, I’m so sorry. I was so stupid, and so trusting.”
“What happened is not your fault. You couldn’t have known what Brett intended.”
“Who found me? I can’t remember a thing,” Quinn confessed. “I thought I was going to die.” Fresh tears threatened to flow, but she managed to hold them back.
Gabe had just opened his mouth to reply when Dr. Glahn walked into the room. She wore a pristine lab coat, and her trendy rimless glasses magnified her kind blue eyes. “Ah, you’re awake,” she said cheerfully. “You gave us quite a scare, Quinn.”
“The baby,” Quinn whispered. “Did I lose my baby?” She’d been so relieved to find herself in a hospital with Gabe by her side that she’d momentarily forgotten about the cramping and bleeding she’d experienced inside the tomb. She searched Dr. Glahn’s face, desperate for reassurance that she hadn’t miscarried.
“The baby is all right, but another few hours in that tomb and you probably would have miscarried. Quinn, we have you on blood pressure medication. Don’t worry, it won’t harm the little one,” she added in response to Quinn’s panicked expression. “It was imperative that we lower your blood pressure. It was through the roof. Not surprising after what you’ve been through.”
“What’s in the I.V.?” Quinn asked, eyeing the half-empty bag with suspicion.
“Just a glucose solution. You were severely dehydrated after your ordeal. Do you feel up to eating something?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll have the cafeteria send up some breakfast. No caffeine though.”
“I’m gasping for a cup of tea. And some toast would be nice.” Quinn’s stomach felt hollow with hunger. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, but she supposed it must have been breakfast the day Brett locked her in.
