Page 87 of Lady Sings the Blues

24.

Elise

Next week. Thursday…

Liv stands next to my head, snickering under her breath at me. No. Strike that, her laugh is notat meper se, more at how uncomfortable I am—the squirming clued her in to that—to have to lay on an exam table wearing nothing but a paper gown. Or it could be from the way my eyes just about pop out of my head because, with my feet up in stirrups, Dr. Coty, as she introduced herself, rolls a condom on a thick wand and bends down to insert it up my who-ha for an internal ultrasound.

A regular ultrasound wouldn’t do? Uhyeah, I asked.

“It will, but an internal ultrasound will give us a better picture and with your history. We want to make sure everything is good.”

How could I argue with that? I can’t, and brace as she does exactly what she explained she’d do. Even wrapped in a condom, the wand feels cold. It’s a shock to the system, and I shudder. Not one of my better Thursday afternoons.

“Everything looks fine,” she finally tells me after several heart-pounding minutes. “Don’t forget to set up your appointment for next month before you leave. I’m going to go, you can go ahead and get dressed.” As suspected, I’m at seven weeks gestation. And as promised, she withdraws the wand, throws the condom in the trash, and exits the room for me to get dressed.

Before leaving—loaded down with a bag full of prenatal vitamins and other stuff they said I’d need—we make my next appointment, although I cross my fingers that I won’t still be in town next month. Then we head downstairs to the main floor lobby where Crass said he’d be waiting. We told him this was Liv’s yearly appointment because I didn’t want him to know about the pregnancy yet. He talks to Beau several times a week.

Something feels off.

Both Liv and I scan the seating area for Crass. When we don’t see him, we wait by the restrooms to in hopes he’s just inside relieving himself. When after ten minutes, he hasn’t joined us yet, we decide to check outside in the smoker’s section. What we find are three older men, two balding, and one in a wheelchair, no Crass. And probably not one of my smarter decision, I let Liv search the left side of the parking lot, while I take the right.

“Hello, Elise.” The whisper is the last I hear before a sharp pain strikes the side of my head…and blackness.

***

Good, good. My eyes creak open, which means I’m alive.

First I register the pain, although duller now than the initial strike, and foggy vision. I blink several times in an attempt to clear the vision and wait for my brain to slowly get back online. Pain. Foggy vision, and—constriction? Yes. Constriction. I try to move my arms to figure out why there’s a constriction, only my arms won’t move.

But my chest burns. Because I’ve nevernotbeen able to move my arms before. It burns as my heart beats faster and faster with every second that passes. Even as I will myself to take long, meaningful breaths, my nose and lungs only allow short, shallow pants. Too short and too shallow to do any good. I feel about ready to pass out.

Keep it together, Elise.Think, why won’tthey move?Why is it taking so long for meto think?Okay, I got it.They won’t move because strait jackets are made to keep ones arms from moving.

Chest pain. Tightness. I really can’t breathe.

He didn’t kill me, but I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to—stop it. You’re pregnant. It’s not just you in the room. Calm down, now.

Yes. I’m pregnant. I have to act like a mother now.Focusing on the baby helps me to settle. Those long, meaningful, greatly desired breaths start to slowly replace the pants.In through the nose, out through the mouth. Still alive, and breathing. What next?

My eyes aren’t foggy any longer, but somewhat blurred by tears. And I can’t wipe them away. Still, I turn my head from left to right, to take in my surroundings.

There’s nothing in the room but four windowless walls, and me on the floor. In a strait jacket. Cracks in the walls and ceiling filter small pockets of natural light inside since the place lacks artificial light. I’d be surprised if electric had ever been hooked up.

But no Liv.

Without a doubt, I know who’s behind this. It’s his most famous escape. God, why couldn’t I be chased by a biker who calls himself Olaf, and likes warm hugs? Since I’m alive, I know I’m meant to be last. So then, where is Liv?

The panic begins to form a ball in my gut again, but panicking won’t keep my baby safe or save my friend. What I have to do is set about unjacketing myself from the strait jacket. As I begin to wriggle, I find it’s not as hard as I thought it’d be, contorting myself into crazy positions until I can reach the buckles and actually unbuckle them.

The whole process takes maybe ten minutes. Hard to know for sure without a clock, but I do it. Then try the door. It pops open. Either he’s set a trap or never expected me to free myself. So I go cautiously, but I go.

Liv’s not anywhere in the four rooms of the dilapidated farmhouse. Meaning I don’t spend too much time snooping around. I probably should look for clues or evidence as to Houdini’s actual identity. But I don’t want to get caught if he should decide to drop by for a visit.

I shield my eyes from the bright sunlight, still daytime outside or daytime again for all I know. Down the dirt drive, I run toward a gravelly road. It’s this time that an old Chevy pickup, beat up and rusted-out orange, rumbles along the road, popping stray rocks out from under the tires. An old man behind the wheel stops, rolling down his window.

“Need help, little lady?”

“Yes. I was kidnapped and escaped. Do you have a cell phone?”

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