'Til Death Do Us (A)Part: Love (and Sex) In the Zombie Apocalypse

Day Ten

     The alarms were going off.

     “Help him.  He’s dying, can’t you see that?  Help him!”

     No one moved.  No one helped.  The thing in the bed thrashed and screamed, spewing blood like a geyser over everyone nearby, and still no one moved.  They stood frozen, all of them, except Marion, of course.  She turned, eyes full of malice, and sneered.

     “Don’t worry,” she said.  “You’ll find a new husband.  I heard you can find anything on Craigslist.”

     Maddie woke with a start.

     For a moment she was disoriented, not sure where she was, or why it was so dark.  Was it morning?  Or night?  Then she remembered.  She’d shut all the shades, drawn all the curtains, pinned them closed to keep out the light.  Safe and quiet, here, in the shadowy bedroom.  No one to see her.  No one to accuse.

     She rolled over, wincing at the sudden stab of pain in her wrist.  She’d forgotten to splint it again, before falling asleep.  Keep doing that, the damn thing will never heal.

     The ER doctor had told her it was badly sprained but not, as she’d feared, broken.  This after he’d made her sit and explain how it happened; the newly forming bruises had precluded a lie about a fall.  “A friend,” she had said, voice dull with shock.  “I won’t be seeing him again.”

     He’d left her on the gurney, in the little curtained area they rather generously called a room, and that’s where she’d been when she heard.  Word traveled down, from doctor to intern to orderly, until it was finally whispered by a nurse, almost gleeful with horror. She told it to another, not knowing or caring about the shell-shocked woman on the other side of the cheap fabric, cradling her throbbing arm.

     No open casket for Jake Cooper, it seemed.  He’d clawed out his eyes at the end.

     Maddie could picture it, sitting now in the dark; she could see his once-handsome face, covered in blood.  She saw it all in her dreams.

     What was he thinking?  She asked herself this every night, before bed, and again every morning, when she remembered anew that he was gone.  What had he thought, when he’d screamed at her?  When he’d started to choke; when he turned on himself?  What had been his final thought, before he’d succeeded in snuffing out the light?  Pain?  Fear?

     Relief?

     He had such beautiful eyes.

     Shaking her head, she sat up, careful of her wrist now that she was awake.  She needed Advil, and coffee; she needed to find the splint, or the bandages at least.  Although why, she couldn’t really say.  She was only going to move from the bed to the couch, to sit in the quiet until she grew tired again.  The doctor had said to rest.  She was, perhaps, being too obedient on that score.

     She reached for her phone and sent a brief text to her mother, then climbed out of bed.  She wondered how long it would take, today, before Grace texted back.  Her mom was still furious that she’d come back to the city, taking the train when she’d realized she couldn’t drive.  Why go back to that empty apartment, Grace had wanted to know, why do that to herself when she could stay home?

     “That is my home,” Maddie had said.  “My life is there.”

     “What life, what life, what life without Jack?”

     How to explain that that was the point?  No life without Jack, not that she knew, but no life here either, in this old house, in this old bedroom, where she’d spent years waiting to be noticed, be seen.  Going back, it would hurt, oh yes, it would hurt; the emptiness, the regret, no anger now to fuel her.  But stay here, she’d feared, stay here and she would disappear.

     So she’d left, she’d gone home, and Grace was still angry but what of that?  She’d get over it.  If nothing else, Jessie was bound to do something stupid, and soon; too many things had happened to Maddie, too much attention had been directed her way.  Her sister would find a way to divert it back, and then Grace would have something else to worry about.

     The kitchen smelled like coffee; Maddie breathed deep and smiled, thankful that she’d at least remembered to set the timer on that.  And there was the splint, on the table where she’d left it.  She slipped it on, tightening the straps until it felt secure.

     She poured out a cup and took a delicious, scalding sip, swallowing the handful of pills.  A warmth spread through her chest; she felt her brain start to wake up.  Good, hot coffee, she decided, was better than sex.

     She was about to drink again when there was a knock at the door.

     Who could that be?  There was no one to visit.  Maybe her neighbor?  For a brief, paralyzing moment she thought it might be Marion, come for Jack’s things, to scream, to lay blame.  But no.  She would never come.  She never did for herself what she could pay to be done.

     Wary, Maddie peered through the peep hole, holding her breath.  On the other side stood a man, a stranger, looking down the hall, so all that she saw was his profile.  Strong jaw.  Short hair.  She sent him.  She did.

     She started to back away, quietly, so he wouldn’t hear her through the door.  Best just to wait; he’d leave on his own.  Cowardly, yes, but she couldn’t do this today.

     Then he turned, to knock again, and she saw – he wasn’t a man at all.  A boy, eighteen at most, with a ring in his lip and one in his brow.  He looked nervous, unsure.

     Probably lost.  Wrong apartment.  That’s all.

     She opened the door.

     He paused in mid-knock, surprised.  “Uh.”  He shifted, dropping his arm.  “Miss Striker?  Are you, um, are you?  Madelyn Striker?”

     Well fuck.

     Forcing a smile, she nodded.  He stuck out his hand and she shook it, caught off-guard.

     “Caleb,” he said.  “Caleb Greene.”

     “Mr. Greene.”  She withdrew her hand and they stood, both staring, he expectant, she confused.  “I’m sorry,” she said finally.  “Do I know you?”

     He blushed.  “Oh.  Uh, yes.  I work for Dave.”

     She shook her head.  “Dave?”  Who the hell is Dave?

     “Yeah, uh, Dave?  The wedding?  Your, uh…”  He swallowed, hard, his throat working.  “Your photographer?”

     “Oh.  Oh!”  She stepped back, gesturing.  “Please.  Come in.”

     He walked past her, jittery.  “Nice, uh…”  He looked around at the stark apartment.  “Nice place.”

     “Thank you.”  She closed the door and watched him pace, mildly uncomfortable and still confused. Why was he here?  Did he, too, want to blame her, want some kind of reckoning?  I didn’t hit him, she wanted to say.  I didn’t do that.  That wasn’t my fault.  Instead, she said carefully, “Would you like some coffee?”

     “What?  Oh, uh, no.  No thanks.”  He fished in his pocket and pulled something out, thrusting it at her.  “Here.  I wanted to give you this.  It’s a check.  Your refund.”

     She took it, but reluctantly.  She imagined the envelope was crawling with germs, contaminated with whatever had made the photographer ill.  Grimacing, she dropped it on the table.

     “You could have mailed this,” she told him.

     “I know.  I know.  It’s just-” He stopped, and ran a hand through his hair.  “I wanted to see you.  To ask you.  What happened?”

     She was at a loss.  What could she say?  This boy was hurting, he thought she had answers, but what could she give him?

     “He was ill,” she said slowly, watching his face.  “I’m sure you know that.  He was sick, he was coughing, and then he collapsed.”  She paused for a breath; he stared at her, waiting, hungry for more.  She forged on.  “We did CPR.  And when he came back, when he woke up, he was…”  Mad.  Insane.  Flash of Jack, raving in bed.  “He went crazy.”

     The kid turned away, shaking his head.  “It doesn’t make sense,” he said, half to himself.  “He was a nice guy.  He wouldn’t hurt anybody.  Why would he do that?”

     “He was ill,” she said again, gently.  “He’d stopped breathing.  Maybe he panicked, or…I don’t know.  Brain damage, maybe.”

     “Brain damage.” He stood still, lost in thought.  “Brain damage.  Maybe.”  He looked at her.  “They closed it all up, you know.  Won’t let me in.”

     Lost, again.  “Closed what up?”

     “The shop, you know, the studio.  First.  Now the apartment.  Sealed it all off, for testing or something.”

     “Who?  Who sealed it off?”  She thought of the cop, what he’d said about drugs.

     The kid shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Guys in weird suits.  They didn’t say who they were, just I had to get out.  They sealed the door with tape.”

     Maddie frowned, thinking.  Guys in weird suits, doing tests.  That didn’t sound like a drug raid.  No, that sounded more like…like…

     She took a step back, horrified.  “Are you sick?” she demanded.  Anger surged through her.  “You come here, and you’re sick?”

     “No!”  He held up his hands, pleading with her.  “I’m not, I swear that I’m not!  I haven’t felt anything!  I haven’t felt sick!”

     She backed up even further, putting the table between them.  They stared, neither moving, not saying a word.  She’d left her cell in the bedroom, but then, who would she call?  9-1-1?  Yes, operator?  There’s a man here, and he might have a cold.  Stupid.  Should wish for a bat, so she could make him leave.

     The thump at the door startled them both, loud as it was in their shared silence.  She put a hand to her chest; she could feel her heart pounding.  “Paper,” she said.  Her wrist throbbed.

     “Late for the paper, isn’t it?” he asked.

     She cocked her head, considering.

     The door thumped again.

     Narrowing her eyes, she went to the peep hole again.  Looking out, she saw that it was Mr. Webber.

     “It’s just my neighbor,” she said.  “Poor man.  He’s been-”

     Her hand stilled on the doorknob, which she’d been starting to turn.

     “He’s been what?”

     She held up a finger, gesturing for quiet, and stared harder into the hall.  As she watched Webber shuffled forward, his head hung low, and bumped against the door.

     “He’s been sick,” she whispered.

     “WHAT?!”

     Maddie winced at his yell and hissed – “Shut up!” – but too late.  Webber lifted his head, at the noise through the door, and she gasped.

     He sees me. She knew that wasn’t true, one couldn’t see in a peep hole, and yet.  His eyes held hers.  She saw the scratches around them, and down his cheeks.  Blood caked his chin, drenched the front of his shirt.

     His mouth hung open.  His front teeth were gone.

     Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Do you have a cell phone?”

     “No.”  The kid sounded terrified.  “Why?  Do you?”

     She nodded.  “In the bedroom.  On the table.  Get it.”  He didn’t move.  “Now!”

     Webber lunged for the door.

     The kid turned and ran, as the door shook in its frame.  Maddie quickly thumbed the bolt and stepped back.  How long will it hold?  Cheap piece of shit door; thin enough to hear through, surely thin enough to break.  He was clawing at it, hurling his weight against it; the wood shuddered and groaned.

     “Did you find it?” she screamed.  “It’s on the table!”

     No answer, and no, that lock wasn’t holding.  She saw splinters fly.  Lock or no lock, he was coming.  He was coming in.

     Stumbling, panting with fear, she backed up toward the bedroom, keeping her eyes on the door.  She’d call herself, once she’d locked that door too, and maybe the bathroom.  He couldn’t get through three doors, surely, not before the cops came.  She just had to-

     She stopped at the feeling of wood against her back.

     Maddie turned, disbelieving.  The bedroom door was shut.  She rattled the knob.

     Locked.

     “Oh you motherfucker!”  She pounded her fist against the door, her own door, and kicked with her feet.  “Open up!  Let me in!  Let me in!  LET ME IN!”

     Cracking sounds behind her.  The top hinge blew loose; more splinters flew.

     Panic gripped her throat; she couldn’t catch her breath.  She looked around wildly, searching for something, anything heavy, but there was nothing.  Not even a vase.  It had all gone in the dumpster.  She had throw pillows, useless!  The TV was heavy, but she’d never lift it, not with one hand.

     Maybe in the kitchen.  She couldn’t go in, couldn’t move toward the door.

     “Let me in,” she whispered.

     The lock gave with a loud CRACK, and the door flew in, collapsing under the weight of the man who fell with it.  He writhed a moment, stunned, before climbing to his feet.

     She backed into a corner, cradling her splinted wrist.  He came toward her, snarling, his face twisted and feral.  He reached out a hand; blood dripped from his fingers.

     Maddie closed her eyes.

     A sudden roar filled the room; she jerked back in surprise, slamming her head against the wall.  Stars danced behind her closed lids.  There was a thump, the sound of something falling, heavy, at her feet.

     She cowered, waiting.

     “Madelyn?”

     Her eyes flew open.  A man stood before her, face full of concern.  Gun in his hand.  Oh.  He’s a cop.  Of course.  Of course he is.

     He came toward her, taking her arm, pulling her away from the body on the floor.  Not a trophy, this time.  Most of Webber’s head was gone.

     “Are you okay?”

     She looked at him, ears ringing.  There was blood on her face; he pulled up his shirt and wiped it away.  “Vinnie,” she said.  She fell into his arms.  “You saved me.”

     Kiss him, she thought.  The pain in her head was like a live thing, squeezing her eyes in angry fists.  The world grayed at the edges.  Kiss him.  That’s what you do, when the hero saves you.

     Instead, she looked down, and vomited onto his shoes.

Day Six

     “God I hate hospitals.”

     The older woman beside her gave her an odd look, and Maddie realized she’d spoken aloud.

     “Nobody enjoys them, dear,” the woman said, reaching across to punch the number for her floor. As the elevator lurched beneath their feet Maddie felt her stomach roll and reached out a hand to steady herself. “Are you all right?”

     Maddie smiled tightly. “I hate elevators too.” They never failed to make her sick, and that was the last thing she needed right now. Should have taken the stairs.

     She almost hadn’t come, despite her promise to her mother, but Grace had called bright and early to tell her that Holly was working and wouldn’t be in to visit Jack until the evening. “Marion wants to see you,” she’d assured Maddie. “She wants you there. Please don’t disappoint her, Madelyn. Not today.”

     The elevator came to a stop and more people piled in. One of them was coughing vigorously into a handkerchief; Maddie grimaced and moved closer to the wall. She’d spent half the night listening to her neighbor hack away through the bedroom wall, hoping like hell that their air systems weren’t connected. She couldn’t afford to get sick; she was due back at work in a few days, after her “honeymoon”, and she had no more time banked. She could have canceled her vacation time and gone back early – probably should have, given how she’d chosen to spend her week – but who wanted to deal with explaining that?

     Oh no, I didn’t get married; the groom decided to fuck the maid of honor and the photographer tried to eat half the wedding party. How was your weekend?

     Another stop; Maddie stepped out gratefully. Taking a deep breath, she headed for what she assumed was the visitor’s desk, positioned as it was beside the glass door that led to ICU.

     The man behind the desk was reading; he barely glanced up as she approached. “Name?” he asked before she could open her mouth.

     “Um. My name?”

     He rolled his eyes. “The patient’s.”

     “Oh. Jack.” He waited, and she blushed. “Jack Cooper.”

     “And your name?”

     “Madelyn Striker.”

     He flipped some pages in a binder, made a note and handed her a badge. “2 hours and then you have to leave. Wash your hands at the sink outside the room first.”

     “Thanks.” Clipping the badge to her purse, she turned to go, then turned back. “Uh, which room?”

     “526.” He pointed off to her left. “Go all the way down and turn, rooms are on the left.”

     She glanced through the glass walls behind him. “I thought he was in intensive care.”

     “He was; now he’s not.” He shrugged and picked up his book. “Don’t forget to wash your hands.”

     Dismissed, Maddie set off down the hall, chewing her lip. Jack was out of ICU; did that mean he was doing better? Or worse? Her mother hadn’t mentioned the move. She’d braced herself to see him with tubes and wires, but now she didn’t know what to expect.

     526. She hesitated at the door, which was partially open; she could hear someone talking, a low murmur that would pause, as if waiting for a response, then continue. She only heard the one voice; whatever state he was in, Jack evidently wasn’t talking back.

     Just what you always wanted, Marion – the chance to talk and talk and talk, and no one to argue back.

     Maddie flinched at the uncharitable thought. Now is not the time to be a bitch, she told herself. Steeling her nerves, she knocked softly and stepped in.

     “Marion?” she called softly. The woman sitting beside the bed turned to face her. As she took in the sight of her once-future-mother-in-law and her former fiancé, Maddie reeled back in shock.

     Jack looked terrible, which was unsurprising. His white face seemed to blend right into the white bedding and white gown; there was no color anywhere, not even in his hair – the formerly shiny blonde curls were now a dull, ashy gray. A multitude of wires led to machines that appeared to be tracking his heart rate, breathing and other vitals she couldn’t identify. She’d anticipated worse, a breathing tube or something, so his appearance wasn’t too shocking.

     But his mother…Oh Marion.

     Maddie couldn’t recall ever seeing Jack’s mother with anything other than carefully styled hair, a full face of make-up and impeccable clothes. This was a woman who advised getting out of bed an hour before one’s husband, brushing one’s teeth, curling one’s hair and putting on foundation and lip gloss, then getting back in. “A man should always wake up to the best version of his wife,” she’d told Maddie. In the years before he died, John Cooper had never seen his wife’s real face.

     That woman was nowhere near this room; the haggard creature clutching Jack’s hand looked like she should be in a hospital herself. Maddie wasn’t sure how much weight Marion had lost in the week since she’d seen her, but it was surely in the double digits. The curls her son had inherited hung limp and greasy; the bags under her eyes were so dark she looked as though she’d been punched. And her clothes.

     “Are you wearing scrubs?!” Maddie immediately regretted the question and braced for impact, but Marion merely glanced down at her outfit with obvious disinterest and looked back up, her expression weary.

     “He threw up on me a few days ago and I didn’t want to go all the way home to change. A nurse gave me these. Is that what they are – scrubs?”

     Maddie crossed the room slowly, stopping at the foot of Jack’s bed. “A few days ago? Marion, have you been home at all? How long have you been here?”

     Marion shrugged. “I don’t know, four days? Five? I called your mother. She said you’d come.”

     Maddie thought back to all the missed calls on her cell and winced. She’d been wallowing, and Marion had been here.

     “Isn’t there anyone who can give you a break?” she asked gently.

     “Who? I’m all he has now.” Maddie started to speak, but the other woman cut her off. “Don’t even mention that girl’s name. She’s been here; I won’t leave her alone with him.” She looked at Maddie with steel in her eyes. “She’s an idiot.”

     Maddie considered, then nodded. She placed a hand on Jack’s foot and asked, “How is he?”

     “Better.” Marion smiled slightly. “They moved him out of ICU a little while ago. He’s stable, and he was talking a bit this morning.” The smile vanished. “Nothing that made much sense, but the doctors say it’s a start.”

     “Good. That’s good.” She gave the foot a squeeze before letting her hand fall away. “Listen, why don’t you go downstairs and get something to eat? I can sit with him.”

     “I’m not hungry,” the older woman said immediately.

     “When’s the last time you ate?” Maddie demanded.

     Marion bit her lip, clearly trying to remember, then gave Maddie a sheepish look. “It’s been…awhile.” She glanced back at her son. “He might wake up. If I’m not here-”

     “I will be,” Maddie cut in. “I’ll tell him.” She saw the uncertainty in Marion’s eyes. “I won’t upset him, Marion. I promise.”

     Slowly, Marion released her son’s hand and rose. She waited until Maddie was seated in the chair before she spoke again.

     “You know I’m not happy about what he did, don’t you?”

     Maddie looked at her for a long time before nodding. “Yeah. I do.”

     “Good.” She leaned down, her voice urgent. “He’s a good boy, Madelyn. We both know that. This – thing – whatever he was doing, it’s done now. You two will fix this. You’ll see.” Straightening, she reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Maddie’s ear. “That girl is just some slut. You’re his wife.”

     Maddie resisted the instinctive urge to defend her former best friend. She reminded herself that she wasn’t expected to stick up for Holly, now or ever again. Instead she gave Marion a small smile and waved toward the door. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

     With one last uncertain look at Jack’s face, she went, and the two of them were alone.

     Sighing, Maddie sat back and turned her gaze out the window. She listened to the quiet, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, coupled with Jack’s slow snoring, and thought about what Marion had said.

     Would they fix things? Did she even want to? She’d spent the last week alternating between never wanting to see Jack again and hoping she did so she could slap his face, scream at him, force him to see the pain he’d caused her. Forgiveness hadn’t entered her mind. He’d fucked her best friend, on their wedding day. She doubted that had been the first time. She hated him for what he’d done, for how he’d made her feel.

     Being here now, though…her anger was still there, but it has been pushed back, crowded out by concern and fear. He was doing better, but that didn’t mean he was fine. Things could change again. Bill. She shied away from the thought, but it persisted. He could die.

     She closed her eyes against the tears that were suddenly ready to spill. She’d been with this man for six years, had known him even longer. A week ago she’d been looking forward to their life together, to growing old at his side. If he died it was all gone, irrevocably. If he survived…well. Maybe Marion was right. Maybe-

     A sound from the bed interrupted her thoughts. Her eyes flew open; she saw that his were open as well, wide and full of fear.

     “Jack?” She leaned forward and tried to take his hand; he shook her off, agitated, fingers clutching convulsively at the sheets as he looked wildly around the room.

     “Where is she?” His voice sounded hoarse, a pitiful shadow of the one she knew so well.

     “It’s okay. She’ll be right back.”

     His eyes continued to scan, unfocused and frantic. His legs moved beneath the blankets, as though he meant to get up. “Where is she? Where is she?”

     The beep of the monitor became louder, faster. She tried again to touch him, and again he shrank away.

     “She went to get something to eat. She’ll be back in a minute, it’ll be okay.”

     “No.” He shook his head back and forth against the pillow, grimacing.

     “She had to, Jack, she’s been sitting here for days. She-”

     His hand whipped out and grasped her wrist, hard. He brought his gaze to her face, and she shuddered. He wasn’t looking at her; he was looking through her. He doesn’t recognize me.

     “Not my mother,” he said, his tone urgent. “Not her. Holly. Where is she?”

     Despair washed over her in a wave. Please don’t do this to me. “Jack, I-”

     “Where is she?!” He was yelling now, or as close as he could come to it, and his grip on her wrist tightened.

     “Please, Jack, you’re hurting me.” He squeezed again, and she cried out.

     “I need Holly. Where is she? She should be here.” He resumed scanning the room. “Holly? Holly! HOLLY!”

     The pain in her arm was becoming unbearable. As the monitor beeped faster and faster, louder and louder, and Jack’s voice rose to a rasping unhinged scream, she started to sob.

     Blinded by tears, she reached out with her free hand and groped wildly at the blankets, searching. Jack began to let loose a wordless keening; thrashing, he yanked on her wrist and pulled her out of the chair. Dimly she realized she was screaming his name, but her focus remained on the bed. It has to be here.

     She felt something in her wrist snap. In the same moment, she found what she was looking for. She pressed the “call” button.

     The door flew open. A nurse entered, took one look at the scene before her and turned back. “Code Gray!” she yelled into the hallway. “Bring benzo! Code Gray!”

     The room flooded with people, among them two of the largest men Maddie had ever seen. They moved to either side of the bed and applied their weight to Jack’s shoulders; a third man worked to get him to release Maddie’s wrist. Someone fiddled with Jack’s IV and said, “He should calm down in a few seconds, honey, hold on.”

     But he didn’t. They fiddled again, and he continued to thrash; his screams died away but his mouth remained a frozen O as he struggled against the men holding him down. The one working to free Maddie muttered “Fuck this”, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a needle. Thumbing off the protective tip, he brought it up and back down in a quick motion, sinking it deep into Jack’s forearm.

     Jack let go.

     Cradling her wrist, still sobbing, Maddie moved to the foot of the bed and back, until she felt the thump of the wall behind her. She watched as Jack reached over and snapped the needle off in his arm. He began to shake, so violently that the bed shook with him.

     “What did you give him?” the nurse demanded, reaching out to grip Jack’s feet before he could flop his legs, along with the rest of him, out and on to the floor.

     “Nothing! It was just a spare!” The man stood frozen. “There was nothing in it, I swear!”

     “What the hell is going on?!”

     They all turned. Marion stood in the doorway, a cup of cafeteria coffee clutched in her hand. She started in horror at her son, writhing on the bed where she’d left him sleeping peacefully, then looked at Maddie. “What did you do?”

     There’s the woman I know. “I didn’t-”

     “Get out!” The other woman’s face was twisted with fury. The cup dropped from her hand unnoticed, coffee splattering. She turned back toward her son, and her face crumpled. “Oh Jack!” she wailed.

     Maddie stood for a moment, watching the woman who was to be her mother-in-law weep helplessly before the man who would have been her husband, and felt that she was seeing her life go up in smoke. She knew, with a certainty she couldn’t explain, that she would never see either of them again.

     She was nearly to the door when a roar behind her stopped her in her tracks.

     “MADELYN!”

     Don’t turn around. Keep going. Don’t turn around!

     Her body disobeyed her mind. She turned.

     He was sitting up in the bed; the men to either side had fallen back, terror clear on their faces. His eyes were blue fires in his pale face, burning into hers. His lips peeled back into a ghastly grin, twisting his face until it was unrecognizable.

     That’s not Jack, she thought, and he seemed to hear it. The grin grew impossibly wider; she saw, with a sick roll of her stomach, as the corners of his mouth split under the pressure and blood began to trickle down his chin. Oh please, please God, that’s not Jack.

     He held her gaze for a long moment, smiling that grisly, bloody smile. Then he spoke, slowly, carefully, in a voice she’d never heard before and would remember all her life.

     “I. Never. Loved. You.”

     She stumbled back, and as she did he collapsed. His body shook, feet drumming the end of the bed so hard the whole thing lurched and rocked. There was a guttural scream; more blood began to pulse out of his mouth. He started to choke.

     His tongue. He just bit off his fucking tongue.

     Her last glimpse was of Marion, on her knees in a puddle of coffee, tearing her hair as she screamed.

     Maddie turned and ran.

Day Five

     The apartment was a mess.

     After the first disastrous bender, which had resulted in a hangover so painful she’d spent eight hours on the cold bathroom floor, Maddie had realized her mistake: drinking on an empty stomach. With the fridge emptied of all perishables in preparation for their honeymoon, her options were limited – sustain herself on old pop-tarts, or pop down to the corner mini-mart.

     She chose the mini-mart, stocking up on canned spaghetti and beer before retreating back into her cave. The spaghetti she ate cold, spooning it directly out of the can while sobbing over shitty Lifetime movies. Her mother called; she ignored. Chrissy’s mother called; she listened, making sympathetic noises, trying hard to disguise that she was drunk for nearly every conversation.

     Jack did not call.

     When she was drinking, she found his silence awful, a testament to how little he cared for her. She downed beer after beer, looking to soothe the constant ache in her stomach, and tormented herself with thoughts of where he was, who he was with, what he was doing. She called his cell, going to voicemail each time, and left messages. In some, she screamed obscenities. In others, she wept.

     Sober, she was relieved that he hadn’t come home. She hadn’t showered since her mother’s house; she knew she must reek of stale sweat, hops and fake tomato sauce. She slept on the sofa, unable to face their bed despite the clean sheets; her nest was surrounded by used tissues and empty bottles.

     She was broken. Having him see that would have been the ultimate humiliation.

     Now, though, she knew the time for wallowing was done. Something told her this period of squalid indulgence had to end; she had to get up. Clean up.

     Besides, she was out of beer.

     Hauling herself off the sofa, she started clearing off the coffee table. Her head began to pound; she felt a sick sweat seep through her t-shirt, as her body protested all of the stupid moving around that was going on in lieu of alcohol consumption. She experienced a new pity for her sister, who had gone through the binge-purge cycle with her drinking so many times there could be a wing at the downtown rehab clinic named after her. Her current state paled in comparison to Jessie’s years-long love affair with vodka, but still. It sucked.

     She was debating laying back down when her mother called again.

     She hesitated, hand hovering over the phone. A few days had not been enough time to let go of the anger and hurt Grace had caused with her “advice”. On the other hand, if she didn’t talk to the woman soon she might find a SWAT team outside her door.

     Or worse yet, Grace herself.

     Maddie answered on the fifth ring.

     “Mom, I’m not in the mood-”

     “Madelyn! Oh thank god, I’ve been calling you for days!”

     “Yes, I know. I haven’t felt like talking.”

     “Yes, yes, I did catch on to that. And I would have left you alone dear, but…Marion called.”

     She felt her fist clench around the phone and forced herself to relax. “I don’t want to see Jack, Mom. Not yet.”

     There was a long pause on the other end; in the silence Maddie felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “Mom?”

     “She didn’t call about Jack. It…oh Madelyn, I’m so sorry, but she called to tell me about Bill. He…he’s dead.”

     “What?!” Maddie struggled to make sense of her mother’s words. “Mom, that’s- what happened?”

     “We’re not sure yet. Marion said he went to the hospital, those scratches on his leg were infected, and before anybody knew what was happening he was sick enough for ICU. They tried antibiotics but I guess it was too far gone. He died this morning. Sepsis.”

     Maddie sat down heavily on the couch, her mind whirling. She’d known Bill since they were kids. It wasn’t possible that he was dead. His scratch hadn’t been that bad; they’d said he didn’t even need stitches, not like-

     The trickle of fear at the top of her spine turned into a waterfall. “Mommy, what about Chrissy? Bill had a scratch, but she…” The image of her friend’s face, torn and bleeding, filled her head. Her stomach turned. “I haven’t talked to her mom today. What about Chrissy?”

     “She’s still in the ICU, honey.” Another pause. “And so is Jack.”

     She was surprised. “I thought he would have gone home already.” Home to Holly. Home to his new life.

     “He was supposed to, but he’s very sick. Marion said it looks like he has the same infection. He’s been in the hospital the whole time, so they’re treating him, but they don’t know what it is. Whatever that photographer had, they haven’t figured it out yet.”

     This is what happens when you hire off of Craigslist. Marion’s words echoed in her head, and she had to fight the urge to laugh hysterically. If something happens to Jack, she’ll blame me forever.

     “Madelyn?” The worry in her mother’s voice snapped her back to the conversation.

     “I’m here.”

     “Well you should be here. I know what he did, sweetheart, and believe me, I hate him for it. You don’t think so, but I do. But you should see him. If anything happens…”

     “Yeah.” Maddie swallowed hard. “Yeah, I know.”

     “I can go with you,” her mother offered. “Or Jessie-”

     “No!” The last person she wanted with her for this was her sister. Her mother wasn’t right for it, either. In another life it would have been Holly she wanted with her; part of her still did.

     She’s probably already there.

     She clenched her jaw. She’d have to do this alone, and hope that all she had to deal with was Marion. If she had to see Holly weeping all over her former fiancé, they might have a new patient in the ICU.

     “I can do this,” she assured her mom, hoping her voice sounded surer than she felt. “Just call Marion and tell her I’ll be there in the morning, okay? It’s too late now to make visiting hours.”

     “Okay. Do you want to come spend the night here?”

     “No. No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” She heard her mother sigh and felt the instant slap of guilt. “But I’ll come over after I see him, okay?”

     “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then. I love you, Madelyn.”

     “Love you too, Mom.”

     She hit End and sat back, staring blankly into space. Bill was gone, dead of an infection no one could identify. Jack and Chrissy were sick. What about Blake? She tried to remember if he’d been hurt. Pressing a hand to her head, she cursed herself for consigning the last few days to oblivion; her mind wasn’t working the way it should be.

     She lifted the phone to call Grace back, then let it drop undialed. She’d ask tomorrow; she couldn’t deal with any more right now.

     The tears came suddenly, sliding down her cheeks unchecked. She clutched a throw pillow to her chest and sobbed – for everything she’d lost, and everything she still stood to lose. For Bill, and Chrissy. For Jack. Even for Marion, who was wretched but still Jack’s mother, worried out of her mind.

     She even shed some tears for Holly. Not many, but some.

     Finally exhausted, she hauled herself into the bedroom, making sure to set her alarm before climbing gratefully into bed. As she pulled the covers up over her head and prayed for sleep, she realized that staying on the couch had afforded her a different kind of peace, separate from not smelling Jack’s cologne still embedded deep into the quilt.

     In the bed, she could hear her neighbor coughing through the wall.

Day Two

     Getting rid of all signs of Jack proved harder than she’d hoped.

     Maddie quickly found that when you share a life with someone, the vast majority of your belongings are jointly acquired or have some kind of memory attached; she was surprised to realize that very little in the apartment was solely “hers”. Even the damn towels had been housewarming gifts from his mother.

     She cranked up some music and started with the bed. Singing loudly, she felt the sadness start to fade, replaced with the same intense rage she’d experienced in the choir closet. She ripped the sheets off, tugging at a stubborn corner until she heard the elastic rip; undaunted, she kept pulling, until the whole thing tore and the bedding was reduced to two sad halves. She stuffed them in a garbage bag and considered the pillow cases; after a moment she removed her own, added them to the bag, then grabbed both of Jack’s pillows and shoved them in too.

     The comforter slowed her down. It was old, a worn quilt she’d inherited from her grandmother; she couldn’t toss it, but she knew from experience that she couldn’t wash it in the machines downstairs either – it wouldn’t fit. She resolved to spray it with something, to cover Jack’s scent until she could get to the laundromat.

     The bed taken care of, she turned her attention to the rest of the room. A framed photo went in the bag; so did Jack’s deodorant, cologne and comb, swept off the dresser and into the trash. She grabbed handfuls of clothes off the floor, shoving them in until the bag bulged and she had to shake out a new one to continue.

     “I told you I’d throw it out,” she muttered. “Never could find the fucking hamper.”

     Throwing open the closet, she yanked shirts off of hangers. Out went the polo he’d worn on their first date; the dress shirts she’d bought for his new job; the souvenir t-shirt from their 5-year anniversary cruise. She filled the second bag, and then a third. She threw away boxers, and socks. She cut all the laces, laughing, and threw away his shoes.

     Sweating now, she wrestled the bags out the door and into the hallway. She was so intent on checking for her keys and getting things situated for the haul down to the dumpster, she didn’t notice at first that she had an audience.

     “Um…Madelyn?”

     She jumped and turned, letting out a relieved laugh when she realized it was her neighbor. The laughter died when she saw the look he was giving her and her mountain of garbage.

     “Spring cleaning,” she offered, giving him a weak smile.

     “It’s October.” The old man furrowed his brow. “Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?”

     She felt her face grow hot and looked away. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, made all the more mortifying when she realized her vision was wavering; she grit her teeth, determined not to cry in front of anyone, least of all a neighbor she barely knew.

     He finally cleared his throat. “Well, ah, I must have had the date wrong. Jack, uh…he asked me to get your papers, so…I’ll bring today’s over later.”

     She nodded, still not raising her eyes. When he turned away she sighed with relief and bent back to her task, gathering the bags as best she could and shuffling down the hall.

     “Hey!”

     She stopped again, closing her eyes. Please, she begged silently. Please just go inside.

     Fighting to keep the impatience out of her voice, she turned back toward him. “Yes?”

     “Do you want some help?” He fidgeted, clearly ill at ease but desperate to fix it. “You can’t take all those down by yourself. You’ll fall and bust your head.”

     She winced against the quick flash of blood that his words evoked. Forcing herself to smile, she shook her head. “I’m fine. Really.” She didn’t want him to touch the bags; this was her job. Her catharsis.

     He reached out, ignoring her refusal, and tried to grab one anyway. Before she could shove herself between his hand and his target, he stopped; his face screwed up, his eyes disappearing as everything between his forehead and his chin squinched tight.

     What in the-

     “ACHOO!”

     The sneeze startled her into dropping her bags. She watched his face screw up for another, and let out a burst of laughter.

     “ACHOO!”

     He wiped a sleeve across his face and smiled. “My wife always laughed when I sneezed,” he said, chuckling a little himself. “She said I made the same face as when I-”

     “Don’t!” Maddie shrieked, holding up a hand.

     He grinned broadly and gave her a wink, which only made her laugh harder. He watched her for a moment, looking pleased, then patted her arm. “That’s better. Pretty girls like you should smile, not cry.”

     It was her turn to wipe her face; despite what he’d said, a few tears had escaped, though they were tears of release, not sadness.

     “You’re a dirty old man,” she teased.

     He started to reply, then stopped again. She giggled, waiting for the face.

     Instead, he coughed.

     Maddie recoiled, her amusement instantly replaced with terror. It wasn’t a harsh cough, or a long one; nonetheless, she backed away, stumbling over the bags in her haste to put distance between them.

     “Sorry,” he said. “Little cold, I guess.” He looked at her face and stepped forward, concerned. “Are you okay?”

     She nodded quickly. She knew she was being ridiculous; people coughed all the time, for all kinds of reasons. Drugs, she told herself. They said it was drugs.

     Not all that comforted by the reminder, she took another step back. “I can’t get sick,” she said, hoping her voice sounded less frantic than she felt. “You should go rest. I’ve got these.”

     He stood for a moment, clearly baffled by her sudden change in mood, before shrugging. “Suit yourself, dear. You know where I am if you change your mind.”

     She was already halfway down the hall, dragging the bags behind her, aware that she was being rude and insane but unable to stop herself. By the time she’d registered what he’d said and turned to offer a thanks, he was gone, his door swinging shut behind him.

     She bit her lip, fear giving way to embarrassment. She considered knocking, apologizing, accepting his help. The fear wasn’t gone as far as all that, though; she stood frozen in the hall, unable to make herself walk toward the door.

     Drugs. Mr. Webber doesn’t do drugs!

     Does he?

     Sighing, she heaved her bags up and trudged away.

**

     She managed not to fall down the stairs.

     In the end she hauled 12 bags down to the dumpster; by the time night fell she was sweaty, exhausted and furious again. Her anger grew as more stuff moved off the shelves and into the garbage, as more and more of her home, her life, disappeared. On her last trip down she stood at the landing and hurled the bag down the steps, then kicked it the rest of the way out the door. When she tossed it into the dumpster and slammed the lid down, she imagined it was Jack’s body she was throwing away.

     Her mother called. And called again. And then again. She couldn’t bring herself to answer; every time she tried she thought about Grace’s statement about needs and muted the phone. After 10 missed calls she sent a perfunctory text, assuring Grace she was alive, and shut it off.

     She settled into her stripped-down living room, poured a large glass of wine and sat back, staring at the only photograph she’d decided to keep: Jack, Holly, Chrissy and herself, taken the night of the engagement party. Looking at it now, she wondered if they were sleeping together when it was taken, Jack and his whore. She wondered how she could have ever believed that a man like him would choose a woman like her over someone like Holly. Fresh-faced, confident, with a perfect smile and perfect hair – of course Jack had fallen for her. She fit into his world far better than Maddie ever had, or ever would.

     “Never should have chosen such pretty friends,” she told her photo-self. “The ugly friend never gets the prince. Not really.”

     She remembered that Chrissy wasn’t a “pretty friend” anymore, not with half her face gone, and gulped the contents of her glass. Selfish. Selfish bitch. No wonder you’re alone.

     She poured another glass and closed her eyes. She tried to remember when she and Jack had been happy, to bring up an image of him like the one she’d conjured effortlessly the day before, when she’d been naïve and in love, waiting to get married. All she could picture was the choir room, and his face as he’d lied to her. Six years of memories, crowded out now by a glint of beads and a limp condom.

     She emptied the second glass and poured another.

     The alcohol was working now; a comfortable numbness spread through her body, and her hand felt impossibly heavy as she lifted the glass to drink more. Drunk and alone. Pathetic.

     She stared dully at the wall. Images moved slowly across the bare plaster, fading in and out of focus: Jessie in her tight dress, tottering across the room; Marion’s furious face; poor Mr. Baum and his cursed cremons. Disaster! The handsome stranger, his dark eyes on her; the feel of his hand on her arm. He’d touched her, hadn’t he? What was his name? He saved us all, she thought dreamily. Her nipples tingled.

     Startled, she sat up, spilling wine down her arm. The room spun. Fumbling, she tried to set the wine down; her hand felt disconnected from the rest of her. There was a tinkle of glass and she blinked, watching as the red liquid spread slowly across the table.

     Blood everywhere. She fell back. That’ll be a bitch to clean up.

     She closed her eyes again, and finally passed out.

     At her mother’s insistence, Maddie spent what should have been her wedding night alone in her childhood bedroom.

     She’d tried to argue. After Jack and Chrissy had been hauled off to the hospital and Holly had fled the scene, slapped face burning, the police had descended; three hours of questioning later, Grace had snatched Maddie’s keys and hustled her into the family car, ignoring her protests.

     “It’s a three hour drive back to the city,” Grace had pointed out. “You’re exhausted, upset and in no shape to drive.”

     “Jessie is going back,” Maddie had whined.

     “Jessie has someone else driving her. You think I’d let her drive herself anywhere today?”

     She’d started to pout, until she’d noticed that, despite Grace’s even tone, her hands were shaking. The woman had kept it together during the interminable interviews, the arrival of the coroner’s van and removal of the photographer’s body, and the curious questions from the guests who’d stuck around to find out what had happened. Maddie had feared that any further pushing would send her mother straight off the edge and into a breakdown.

     The officers who’d arrived to assess the scene hadn’t been thrilled with what they’d found, and they’d treated the remaining witnesses like criminals until it had been determined, to Grace’s immense relief, that Vinnie had acted in self-defense. When asked what could possibly have caused the photographer to act the way he had after being resuscitated, they’d put forward what Maddie was calling The Drug Theory. It was what she’d obsessed over during the drive to her parents’ house, and what she was obsessing over now, slumped in her old desk chair, letting her mother’s desperate chatter fade like white noise into the background.

     Officer Drugs had claimed that LSD or something like it was to blame. “There was a case down in Miami last year,” he’d explained. “Just like this one. Guy ate another guy’s face.”

     “Are you serious?” Maddie had been appalled.

     The officer had shrugged. “They only ever found weed in him, but lots of people still think it was some kind of super drug. Who knows what they have on the street these days, you know?”

     “Yeah, but…” Maddie had trailed off, uncertain. “He didn’t seem high.”

     “You said yourself that he seemed sicker than he’d said he was, right?” At Maddie’s nod, the officer had clapped his hands. “See? Drugs. Probably worked on him different, ‘cause he had a cold, and fu- messed him up. Guarantee they’ll find something when they do tests.” He’d finally stopped and looked at Maddie, sudden compassion on his face. “You couldn’t have known he was high. People walk around high all the time and nobody notices.”

     Maddie considered again how reassuring that was – anybody could be walking around, strung out on whatever the photographer had been on, waiting to eat a stranger’s face. She shuddered, wanting to move away from that thought before she became a paranoid mess, and forced herself to pay attention to her mother.

     “Everything is clean,” Grace was saying. “I just washed the sheets, you know, I wash them every week, and the pillows are brand new.”

     “You wash the sheets every week?” Maddie stared at her mother in disbelief. “I haven’t slept here in months, Mom.”

     “Oh, well, I know. I know that. But sheets get dusty, you know. You should always have fresh sheets.”

     “Oh….kay.”

     “Why don’t you take a nice bath, and I’ll get some sweats for you to wear? You should change. You don’t want- you shouldn’t sleep in those clothes. You should change.”

     Maddie didn’t want to take a bath, or change. She wanted to crawl into bed – her own bed, preferably, but this one would do – crawl in, cocoon, and cry herself to sleep. Maybe, when she woke up, she would recognize her life again.

     “Mom-”

     “There are clean towels, and some soap, and I think there’s a hair brush. There should be, I can get you one, I’ll grab mine while you’re in. And a drink! I’ll make tea. Something gentle, so you can slee-”

     “Mom!”

     Grace flinched, and Maddie realized that she’d yelled a little too loudly. She was instantly ashamed. She’s trying, she chastised herself. None of this is her fault.

     “I think I’ll just take a shower,” she said, her tone gentler.

     Grace nodded. “I’ll make the tea.” She turned to go, then hesitated, hand on the door jam. When she brought her gaze up to meet Maddie’s, there were tears in her eyes.

     “Mommy.” Maddie went to her, allowing herself to be wrapped in a hug so tight she feared her ribs might crack.

     “I’m so glad it wasn’t you.” Grace pulled back to look at Maddie’s face, brushing a strand of hair away from her daughter’s cheek. “That’s terrible, I know. It’s terrible. But I just- the CPR. I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

     Maddie looked away, not able to bear the terrible sadness and shame in her mother’s eyes. She merely nodded, staring at the floor, until Grace finally released her and left her alone.

     Once she was gone Maddie headed into the bathroom and stripped, keeping her eyes carefully away from the mirror over the sink. She didn’t want to see what she looked like; she wanted to hold on to the image of herself from that morning, the beautiful bride who’d existed for a single short hour, for just a few more minutes.

     Eyes closed, she stepped under the hot spray of the shower, turning the knob until she thought the temperature might scald her skin. As she reached for the soap, she felt something loosen in her chest and throat, a pressure that had built up over the course of the day and was at last being released.

     She worked the lather through her hair and lifted her face, allowing the water to wash over her, cleansing away the last traces of Mrs. Jack Cooper.

     Alone at last, she finally, finally allowed herself to cry.

****

     The next morning, over breakfast, she fought with her mother.

     “Daddy picked up your car,” Grace said, setting a cup of coffee and plate full of food on the table. Maddie looked at the food with revulsion, her stomach queasy and unsettled after a long night of little sleep; she pushed it away in favor of the coffee, ignoring Grace’s glare of disapproval.

     She took a moment to relish a hot sip of caffeine before speaking. “I should leave after breakfast,” she said. “I have a lot to do.”

     “Really?” Grace raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

     “Washing sheets,” Maddie snapped.

     Grace rolled her eyes. “You should stay here for a few days. I don’t want you all alone in that apartment.”

     “I want to be alone.” Maddie reached out and grabbed the toast off her plate, shredding the crust into crumbs as she talked. “I need to think.”

     “You can think here.”

     “I want to sleep in my own bed, Mom. I want to get drunk, and cry, and throw away his shit. I can’t do that here.”

     Grace pursed her lips. “The hospital is here.”

     “I know.” Maddie sighed. “I talked to Chrissy’s mom last night, and she can’t have visitors for a few days; they need to protect her from infection.” She swallowed hard, picturing her friend’s mangled face. She pushed the image away before her stomach could revolt. “I’ll drive back down to see her when she’s ready.”

     “And Jack?”

     Maddie jerked her head up, surprised. “What about Jack?”

     Grace shifted under her daughter’s angry gaze. “He’s hurt too. You should see him.”

     “Please.” Maddie laughed. “He’s fine; nothing like what happened to Chrissy.” She attacked another piece of toast. “Besides, he probably already has company.”

     “I’m sure Marion would let you-”

     “I’m sure Marion would not,” Maddie said. “And you know I didn’t mean her.”

     “She’s your friend,” Grace ventured.

     “She is not!” Maddie exploded. “What is your problem? You did this yesterday, and it’s pissing me off. He fucked her. At our wedding. Stop defending them!”

     “I’m not defending anyone,” Grace insisted. “I’m just saying, people make mistakes, Madelyn.”

     “It wasn’t a mistake,” Maddie said, her voice bitter. “They’re in love. Holly said.”

     “No, you told me that she loves him. That doesn’t mean he feels the same way.” Grace hesitated, then continued. “Sometimes men, you know, they become vulnerable. They have a need, and girls like Holly-”

     “They have a need?” Maddie gaped, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Seriously? So this is my fault? I didn’t meet his needs?”

     “That’s not what I said!” Grace slammed her hand down on the table, causing Maddie to jump. “You don’t listen, Madelyn. You hear what you want to hear.”

     Maddie pushed her chair back, disgusted. “I don’t need this, Mom.” Heading into the kitchen, she rifled through the clutter on the counter before finding and grabbing her keys. “I’m going home. I’ll call you.”

     She stomped toward the door, seething and on the verge of angry tears. Her mother called out behind her, begging her to stop, to not make the trip home angry, but she kept on. She made sure to slam the door good and hard on her way out.

     Once in the car she paused, key in the ignition, and lean forward to rest her forehead on the steering wheel. The tears came again, hot as they spilled down her face, and she didn’t fight them.

     I gave him everything, she thought desperately. He was all I needed. What else did he want?

     She wasn’t going to find the answer while bawling in her parents’ driveway. Taking deep breaths, she waited for the wave of grief to ebb, then wiped her face and turned the key. With luck, she thought she’d be home before the next wave hit.

     As she reversed down the driveway she glanced up, and saw her mom, standing at the front door. Grace raised her hand, waving, a gesture Maddie refused to return.

     Driving away, Maddie had the sudden, inexplicable feeling that she should go back. She fought the urge to turn around, run inside and hug her mother tight, to promise that she’d stay.

     Stupid. I’ll call her later.

     Shaking off the odd feeling, she sighed, turned up the radio and started the long, lonely drive back to the city.