But the baby. He's your own flesh and blood. You remember him. In time you'll remember this room, too.
You have to.
Her stomach rumbled again and cramped. She took in a deep breath. The pain would pass. She was still just upset; that was it. She passed a trembling hand over her lips. This was all too much. But tomorrow . . . tomorrow she'd start sorting everything out and she wouldn't take any more well-intentioned advice. She was going to do things her way.
Turning off the light, she closed her eyes, told herself that she'd imagined the horrid voice condemning her to death and that her memories of that blue gown were all part of her confusion. She needed to sleep. To rest. To start all over in the morning. That was it. Sleep.
Her stomach quivered.
Calm down, for God's sake.
She wanted to spit.
Don't let this upset you. You'll be fine.
Nausea threatened.
Just breathe deeply, think quiet thoughts, relax . . . oh, no!
Bile climbed up her throat.
She was going to throw up!
Panicked, she slapped at the lamp. Hit the switch but knocked the base with her arm. Illumination flashed. The lamp fell onto the pitcher. Water splashed. The bulb splintered into a million shards. The room sizzled into blackness.
No!
Her stomach churned. Scrabbling for the wire cutters with one hand, she pushed the button on the intercom with the other.
“Nick! Carmen!” she yelled, knowing she was about to vomit. “Help!”
Oh, God, she couldn't stop it. Nausea overtook her.
“Can you hear me? Help!”
Please, Nick, please!
She dropped the pliers, picked them up and then doubled over with the cramps. Bile spewed up her throat and into her nose. Burning. Choking. Hunched over, she stumbled through the suite and onto the landing. Her fingers clamped around the wire cutters and she ripped at the bindings on her teeth.
Footsteps thundered two floors down.
Too far away. They couldn't make it.
The door to Cissy's room burst open. She took one look at her mother and screamed. “Mom! Oh, God, Mom! Help!”
Marla was on the floor, writhing and gasping, choking, working the cutters. Her nose burned, her lungs were on fire, water streamed from her eyes. The hall began to spin and darken. Footsteps. She heard thundering footsteps.
Suddenly Nick loomed above her, his face a mask of concern. “Jesus Christ!” Straddling her, he yanked the cutters from her hand and yelled to Cissy, “Call 911. Now!”
The teenager didn't move.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded, forcing her mouth open, snipping wildly at the wires as Marla retched and struggled for air. She choked, convulsing, her eyes feeling as if they were bulging from their sockets.
“Hold on Marla, for God's sake, hold on,” Nick ordered, as her jaw began to loosen. “Shit!”
Marla convulsed, certain she was dying, her lungs bursting. The world turned dark.
Wires snapped. Pain shot through her mouth. “For Christ's sake call the paramedics!” Nick bellowed. “Where's the damned nurse?”
She couldn't breathe . . . it was so dark . . .
Snip! Snip! Snip!
“Hang in there, Marla, just hang the hell in there,” he said and she was vaguely aware of his face, all tense angles, sweat running down his jaw as her body wracked and the blackness of unconsciousness swept over her. “For the love of God, Marla, hang in there!”
With his hands, Nick pried the broken wires open and forced her jaws apart. He turned her on her stomach where she retched, choked, coughed and lost the contents of her stomach all over the carpet.
“Oh, my land!” Eugenia's voice came over the frantic clip of her footsteps. “What happened oh, myâ”
Boots rang down the back stairs, echoing from the servant's quarters. Marla gasped, coughed, thought she'd be sick all over again. From the corner of her eye, through the dimness of her vision and the horror that she was lying in her own vomit, Marla saw Tom, Fiona and Carmen rushing to her. Her jaw ached, her stomach still twitched and for the first time since she'd gained consciousness she wanted to give herself into the comfort of a dark, black void.
Nick shook her. “Stay with me,” he ordered. “Marla, stay the hell with me.”
“Get out of the way. I'll see to her,” Tom commanded and his boots came into view. “Mrs. Cahill?” He was leaning over her, his hand on her shoulders. “Let me help you . . .”
No! She wanted Nick. She didn't want this man, this stranger touching her.
“Call 911,” Nick screamed at Eugenia. Then to Marla. “You'll be all right.” His gaze held hers as if he were willing her to stay conscious. “You'll be okay.”
“I said I'd take over,” the nurse insisted.
Nick didn't budge. “I've got her.”
Blackness oozed in from the corners of her vision.
“Breathe, damn it. Open your mouth!” Nick's strong hands wedged her jaw open again and she coughed and heaved again, curling into a ball and retching until there was nothing left but pain.
“I'll call the paramedics.” Carmen's voice was clear over the sounds of Cissy sobbing and Marla's own rasping breath. She opened her eyes, the hallway swam, then came into sharp focus. Nick was still straddling her, though his weight wasn't pinning her down as he balanced on his knees. His face grim, his intense blue eyes searching hers. “Marla?” Carmen had disappeared, but Eugenia, Tom and Cissy were standing around, needing to fuss.
“Oh . . .” She could barely speak, her mouth bruised and aching. “I . . . I'll be all right,” she lied, the words hard to form.
“The ambulance is on its way.” Carmen appeared from the suite.
Marla shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“The paramedics will take her to Bayside,” Carmen added.
“We'll have Phil Robertson meet her there.”
“No.” Marla struggled with the word. At the thought of being hospitalized for even a few hours, Marla panicked. She couldn't, wouldn't go back to the hospital again, not to that place where she had no control of her life, no answers to the questions plaguing her. “No . . . I'll be . . . I'm all right.” Still coughing, she dragged herself to her knees. Her stomach was quiet, she'd quit heaving, but the pain in her mouth was excruciating, the clipped wires cutting her lips, her jaw not working right as atrophied muscles refused to come alive.
“You're not all right. You just got out of the hospital a few days ago,” Nick insisted, getting to his feet and regarding her through dark, worried eyes.
“And I'm not going back.” She knew the sane thing to do would be to be examined at the hospital, and yet she felt that it would be a vast mistake.
“Marla, don't even argue.” Nick's voice was firm, his jaw tight. “Look at you.”
She couldn't see the mess she was; didn't want to. Leaning against the rail, she tilted her head to stare up at him. She knew she was a horrid sight with splotchy skin and vomit staining her pajamas, but she didn't care. Didn't care that the servants and her mother-in-law saw her in such a state. She took in another long breath and coughed for a second. Her mouth tasted horrid, her nose was filled with the acrid scent.
“Here.” He sat her on a chair in the hall. “Let me see if I can help.” Again he worked on her mouth, removing the remaining pieces of jagged wire, extracting any tiny piece of metal, so that there was nothing left but the pain of atrophied muscles and cut flesh. “Now when the ambulance gets hereâ”
“Just take me to a doctor and have him look me over,” she insisted.
He hesitated. “I thinkâ”
“Please, Nick, can you do this for me?” she asked and saw raw emotion darken his eyes. A muscle worked in the corner of his jaw. Blade-thin lips flattened as he studied her.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.” She was in no mood for arguments. She could barely speak her mouth hurt so badly. “If . . . if I thought there was any danger, believe me, I'd have you take me back to Bayside.”
“You nearly died,” he insisted.
A chill swept through her. “I know,” she whispered. “Now please . . .”
“For the record, I think this is a big mistake.”
“She should be hospitalized,” Tom interrupted and there was an edge to his words as he leaned down to look at her mouth. Marla didn't trust him. Not for a minute. And yet she could use the fact that Tom was on the payroll.
“If anything happens again, you'll be here, won't you?” she asked. “That's why my husband hired you, isn't it?”
“Yes,” he admitted, his eyes narrowing a fraction, “but I'd like you checked over by a doctor.”
“I'll go see Dr. Robertson. At his house or the clinic.” God, it hurt to talk.
“The ambulance is already on its way,” Nick said.
“Then cancel it.” Marla insisted just as she heard the first scream of a siren, far down the hill. Her eyes beseeched Nick's and she tentatively touched the back of his hand. “Please.”
“For goodness sake, I'll do it,” Eugenia said. “And then I'll call Alex and have him meet you down at the clinic. I'm sure Phil won't mind.” She glanced at the stains on the carpet. “I'll have this mess cleaned up while you're gone.”
Marla hadn't expected an ally from her mother-in-law, but was grateful for the older woman's support. For any support.
Eugenia fluttered commanding fingers at her son. “Nick, you can drive her to the clinic and I'll have Alex meet you there.”
“For Christ's sakeâ”
“Just do it, Nick. For once, don't argue.”
“That okay with you?” Nick asked, swinging his head back to Marla.
“Yes.” Anything but the hospital.
“Good. Then we're in agreement.” Eugenia sent Tom a glance daring him to argue, then marched down the hallway to Alex's office, withdrew a set of keys from the pocket of her jacket and unlocked the door. In a few seconds her voice could be heard through the door she'd left slightly open.
“I guess we're gonna do it your way,” Nick said as he straightened.
Was it her imagination or had she seen a glimmer of tenderness in his gaze, a shadow of compassion? “Just give me a second and I'll try to look decent.” As if that was possible. Damn, but she felt awful.
On wobbly legs, Marla made her way to her room, turned on the overhead light and saw the mess near the bed. Skirting the shards of glass and stain of water, she made her way to her bathroom. Grimacing, she splashed cold water over her face, rinsed her mouth gently, blew her nose, then stripped and gave herself a hasty hit-and-miss sponge bath.
She heard the ambulance's wail scream ever louder, then fade in the distance. By the time she'd thrown on a jogging suit, the sirens had stopped. Her stomach was still queasy, her mouth on fire, but she knew she wouldn't throw up again and she cringed at her hair and face in the mirror. Not that it mattered. She just wanted this ordeal over with. Nick was waiting for her in the hallway, but the servants had dispersed.
“The ambulance?” she asked, forcing her jaw to work.
“I sent it on its way. The paramedics weren't happy.”
“Neither am I,” she threw back.
“Let's roll.”
“Just a minute,” Marla said and made her way to Cissy's room where her daughter was lying in her bed, her arms holding a stuffed lion cub missing a set of whiskers as if her life depended upon it, her upper teeth worrying her lip. “Are you okay?” Marla asked though the inside of her mouth felt as if it was hamburger.
Cissy rolled her eyes. “Sure. Just great.” She blinked and struggled against tears.
“I mean it.”
“Then, no. I'm not. Okay? This is all so weird, Mom,” she said, her chin wobbling and Marla glanced at the vanity where smears of purple nail polish still lingered. “Why can't you just be the way you were before . . . before you got pregnant?” she demanded. “That's when it all started, all this strange stuff. Before that . . .” her voice drifted off and she clamped her jaw shut, as if she'd said too much. “I . . . I just want you to be normal again.”
Marla's heart cracked. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she fought the urge to break down. “Believe me, Cissy, I'm trying.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I mean it.”
“Sure.” Cissy squeezed her eyes shut, hugged the lion fiercely, and sniffed as tears drizzled down her cheeks.