Dangerous Business
Chapter XXXVIV
Rebecca Michaels seated herself calmly down beside her husband's hospital bed, a calm, aloof look on her face as she looked down at his sleeping form. Folding her legs as she sat, she tugged her hair down from its bun, catching sight of her fingernails, which were painted a bright red, matching with her blouse. She made a small face at them, 'Once he wakes up, I'll have a manicure,' she decided; as if the fact that when her husband woke up, he wouldn't remember the past two years of his life. But it wasn't just 'as if', it was the truth. She wanted it to happen, hell, she made it happen! Rebecca pushed her thick hair behind her shoulders and leaned forward, taking Shawn's hand in her own as she stared at him. Her face moved into a concerned expression…a fake one.
"Shawn, honey?" her voice was soft. Rebecca watched him intently. The doctors had said he'd been going from unconsciousness to consciousness several times in the last few hours. 'It's only a matter of time before Shawn wakes up for good,' Rebecca stated to herself as she cocked her head, feeling fingers move beneath her hand. 'Maybe sooner than I thought…' Her hand jerked away from Shawn's as she felt her cell phone vibrate against her side. She unclipped it, flipping it open. She wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. A small smile played on her face as she looked at the screen. It was a text message. 'I give you an A+. Next class is on RAW.' Rebecca stared at the message, and the phone number beneath it for a second, considering replying with something equally vague. Shrugging her shoulders, she pressed in a message. 'How was your lesson? What if our student is absent?' She got the slightly cryptic message typed, and her fingers hovered over the send key, when she saw Shawn's eyes open. Quickly, she snapped the phone shut, fumbling to put it on her clip as she twisted her face into a concerned expression once more. "Shawn? It's me, honey. How are you feeling?" her fingers wrapped gently around his hand as she stared at him, blue eyes wide.
"Re-Rebecca?" he sputtered, his voice rasping. She nodded slowly, taking a glass of water from the nightstand and holding it to him. Shawn took a small sip, and as soon as he regained his breath, stared at his brunette wife. "Where am I?" he asked. "Why do you look so different?"
As Rebecca feigned a saddened, distraught feeling on her face, Shawn's doctor walked into the room, one hand stuffed into a crisp white jacket, another clutching a brown clipboard with pale fingers. "I have a couple of questions for you, if you don't mind," he said, addressing his words to Shawn as he stood next to the hospital bed. Confusion still prominent on his face, Shawn nodded. "What is your name?"
"Shawn Michaels," he replied, tilting his head as the doctor continued to ask questions-such as location and date of birth and his parents' names.
"What is the date?" the doctor finally asked, seemingly coming to an end of his questioning.
"September 11th, 2000," Shawn responded. He looked to Rebecca, who gazed at her hands, which were folded in her lap, her face downcast.
"Mr. Michaels, I'm afraid I've got to tell you some bad news," the doctor started. "2 days ago, you were in a terrible car crash." Shawn shook his head quickly, almost interrupting the other man, but in the end deciding not to. "You were hospitalized, and it appeared you were fine. However, you've been unconscious for a day…"
"So what's with the questions?" Shawn said, feeling the need to coax the man along to the important things. "Why ask for the date?"
The doctor sighed, setting his clipboard on the nightstand, and then said, bluntly, "Shawn, you have amnesia."
Shawn was too shocked to notice the hidden grin on Rebecca's face.
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Chris Jericho sighed quietly as he drove along the street slowly. He'd gotten Edge to give him the location of Liz's cottage-like home. Edge had protested at first; saying that Liz deserved time to rest, but Chris was more stubborn than his Canadian friend. He wanted to make sure she was okay—for reasons he was too cowardly to admit to Edge, or, for that matter, Liz.
"When Edge said it was in the middle of no where, he was right," Chris muttered quietly, spotting a small wooden house coming up. With a small sigh of relief, he pulled into the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. He sighed, stuffing his keys in the pocket of his blue jeans as he approached the house. His eyes narrowed as he came closer. The door was ajar. 'Must've just forgotten to shut it,' he told himself, but didn't believe it. Liz didn't fear a lot; but after the attack on her father and herself, the blonde Canadian knew she would be cautious in the least; maybe a bit fearful. Then again, he didn't know Liz all that well.
Still, as he walked into the house, a shiver rolled up his spine, giving him uneasiness. "Liz?" he called out loudly, wincing at the echo of his voice around the halls. He shook his head, attempting to clear the eerie feeling of the place out of his head. It remained, more intense this time. Chris strained his ears, and frowned when he heard the soft sound of sobbing. He walked toward the sound, ending up by the basement door. Opening the door, he peered down. All he could see from this point was darkness. Nerves jumping, he stepped down the stairs, the light from the swung open door giving him light until he could flip on the lights. As he stepped onto the landing and did just that, his face turned into a frown. The stairs before him were slightly dented…as if someone had fallen down them. 'Moment of klutziness,' he covered rationally.
"Liz?" he said again, slowly descending down the stairs. His blue eyes widened at the sight of dark blood on the concrete floor. A single light was on. He turned toward it, and immediately saw the shaking figure hunched over before an old television. Chris nearly sprinted toward it. "Liz?" he asked again, kneeling to her side, his hands gently tipping her face up toward him. She didn't look at him, just collapsed against him, her hands clutching at his shirt. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her. Over her shoulder, he glanced down at her. Bruises covered her legs and arms; she was bleeding from her shoulder and head… And that probably wasn't even half of it. His eyes traveled to the television, and his body stiffened. Colors flickered from black and white to normal, but the sickening image remained the same: the bloody body of Dominique Smith; police officers surrounding her hospital bed. A curse fell from his lips, along with an emotional blow of pain. His eyes moved away from the television—anything but that screen!—and fell upon two words engraved in the wall behind it.
'Your fault.'
It was embodied in cruel handwriting, streaks of red that Chris could only suppose was blood coloring them. His stomach churned at the thought of someone as sick as to do it, when a noise jarred him from his thoughts.
The front door slamming.
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THE END
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Nah, just kidding. TO BE CONTINUED… (Did I get ya?)
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Author's Note: Bit of a shorter chapter, but I hope you guys like it. I was kind of hesitant about killing Dominique… But, anyway…. WE'RE ALMOST TO 50 CHAPTERS! Well…like 10 chapters but that's a ton shorter then 40! I noticed that we were past 30 the other day—I had to scroll down to find my last chapter…
Okay, today I was sick so I stayed home from school (why you're getting the chapter this early), and I figured out that for Algebra we're doing a small "review project" of averages and crap about ratings for something that happens at least like once every two weeks (two or three; I'm not sure…) So I figured I'd do it for this story. I may do it for another story too, but probably just this story. Anyway, what you need to do (Well, only if you want, but please????? Consider me begging!), is rate each chapter out of 10, based on other stories you've read or other chapters… Whatever you want to base it on, really! But if you guys could do that for me I'd be forever thankful!
Please review!!!!!!!!!!
~LittleKnux2008~