Marie’s head snapped around just in time to see a gasping, panting Jose smiling down at her, the heavy metal cash drawer in his hands.
He swung it into her head with the most horrible crack, and pain exploded behind her eyes as she went sprawling.
She couldn’t see, dear God, she couldn’t see. Everything was blurry and she blinked but it didn’t clear up and all she could think was that she was sorry. Sorry to let Logan down, sorry that he would think she had run out on him.
Because she just couldn’t touch Jose again. She’d rather die than live with him inside her, risk turning into that kind of monster.
This is it, she thought, still dragging herself dazedly in what might have been the direction of the door. Her mind danced with a thousand half-formed ideas, neurons firing off as if they knew they would never get the chance to fire again: Maybe God was real. Maybe Logan was an angel after all, sent to her at the end. God did that sometimes, didn’t He? Sent an angel to help make it easier when you died?
Only, if God was real, she didn’t know if she deserved to go to heaven.
Maybe that was why Logan wasn’t here with her.
Marie shook those thoughts away, trying not to worry. Whatever happened would happen. There was nothing she could do to change it now.
And then she remembered the phone.
She tried to look around and find Jose, but pain hindered the movement of her neck, and everything was a gloomy blur. Black for the tables and chairs, brown for the walls, and it all looked like an out-of-focus photo.
She managed to get her hand into her pocket, to pull out the phone and flip it open, but she would never be able to read the screen, much less find Munro.
Marie cried, and it only blurred her vision and heightened the pain in her skull even more. She tried to feel the buttons to dial 9-1-1, but she was pretty sure she got it wrong. Nothing happened when she pushed what she thought was the ‘call’ button, and she cried even harder.
Footsteps pounded on the tiles. He’s coming back. Marie swung her head toward the noise and instinctively scrambled away from it, banging into a chair and sending it screeching across the floor. “Please,” she sobbed, and it wasn’t really directed at Jose. “Please.”
Please let it end it quickly. Please don’t make me go to hell. Please tell me I had some purpose, that I did some good in the world, that You're real and You made me for something besides just this. Please.
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