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Sacrifices of a Nightingale

A story by Ryeloza

Chapter Three

Lynette woke slowly; a gradual return to consciousness that began with hearing a low voice that seemed to reverberate within her and then hastened with a dawning awareness that the bed dipped slightly under the weight of another person. She felt so sluggish, though, that opening her eyes was a struggle, and it took several long minutes for her to cautiously blink her eyes. It was odd how everything that had happened seemed so dreamlike now, almost as though she'd watched herself go through it rather than experiencing it herself. Consequently, when Lynette was finally able to focus her eyes and she saw her husband sitting on her bed, fussing over their daughter, she was fairly certain that it was all in her head. Still, if it was a dream, it was the best one she'd had in ages, and it brought a sweet smile to her face.

With no strength of mind to draw Tom's attention to her, Lynette contented herself to simply watch him as her thoughts lazily meandered. He was such a natural now with the baby. When the twins were born he'd been a jumble of nerves forcibly concealed because she was a total wreck. His knowledge of changing diapers and always supporting the neck seemed like a wealth of information compared to her experience with children. She could still remember looking at him with Porter cradled in one arm, Preston in the other and a thread of fear in his eyes, and not quite believing him when he said they'd be fine. But of course they had been.

Penny, in some ways, had been the most challenging. The twins had practically still been babies when Parker was born, and although it had been difficult, the transition had been simpler. By the time they had Penny, Porter and Preston were already in kindergarten and bringing a baby into the hectic fold of their family life was much more complicated. The boys' reactions had wildly varied when they brought her home from the hospital. Despite having been the baby, Parker had regarded Penny with a vivid curiosity rather than the jealousy she and Tom had anticipated. Not that this hadn't come with drawbacks—Lynette could still remember the day she caught Parker trying to see if Penny would eat his vegetables. She'd come into the room to find him crouched in front of the baby swing, holding out his fork with a carrot speared on the end and prompting his three-month-old sister to eat it for him. It was a miracle he hadn't poked her eye out. Although, considering Parker seemed to regard Penny as more of an experiment than a person those first six months, the real miracle was that Penny had survived with little more than a couple of too-rough pokes.

Porter had been the jealous one. For him, Penny's arrival had been an excuse to act out more than usual, a cry for her already spread-thin attention. Of course, he'd dragged Preston right along with him, but her firstborn had actually been the most accepting of Penny's arrival. Preston had taken to his sister with an instinctive brotherly affection and Lynette was still convinced that it was his admonition to Parker that "the baby isn't a doll, dummy; she'll get hurt!" and not her many frightened outbursts that he had to be careful, that had finally cured Parker of his need to harass his sister.

She wondered how their new little girl would fit into the family. It seemed natural to suppose that the boys were old enough now that the baby would be a little princess to spoil mercilessly; that Penny might act out if she felt the sting of envy. But if Lynette had learned one thing over the years it was that her kids would forever keep her on her toes; they were only predictable in how unpredictable they were.

It was impossible for Lynette to put into words how much she loved her children. Five of the most purely ecstatic moments of her life had been the first times she had looked into their faces and she knew that for Tom it had been the same. He'd always wanted to be a father. She still regarded his unbridled joy when she told him he would finally get his wish as the force that had grounded her through all of her doubts. With Porter and Preston it had been the fear that she was losing the life she'd worked so hard to get; with Parker and Penny, the anxiety that she'd never be able to take care of so many kids at once; and with her new little girl and her forever-lost son, the terror of inevitability that her life would never be the same when she didn't want it to change at all. Through it all, Tom's excitement had been her anchor—a constant reminder that love overwhelmed all of the bad. That even if life wasn't perfect—and it rarely was—it was all worth it in the end.

Lynette stared into the face of her baby, whose big eyes were directed at her father. It was impossible to remember that just nine months ago she'd been purely dreading this moment when one look at daughter made her heart nearly burst with love. What did the past matter, anyway, when compared to the present? Life couldn't get better than this.

"I think Mommy's watching us, peanut," Tom murmured. His eyes drifted from the baby's face to hers and Lynette met his gaze with a smile. Gently, he picked up the baby's tiny hand and waved it in Lynette's direction. "Hi Mommy."

Finally finding some semblance of strength, Lynette lifted her hand and grasped the baby's other hand between her fingers. "Don't worry, sweetie. Mommy isn't going to let Daddy name you 'peanut.'"

Tom laughed and the sound was like a welcome breeze over a day filled with tears and pain and fear. "It does start with a 'p,'" he joked. He glanced from the baby back to her and fixed her with a stare so tender that Lynette immediately shied away from it. She'd seen that look too often from him—a bald look of love that was desperate and scared and devastating—and it was nothing but a frank reminder that her life was delicate when all she wanted to think of was how her life would move on.

"I'm sorry," said Tom. The words were so unexpected that Lynette gave him a curious glance.

"For what?"

Tom shook his head. "For not realizing that you were in trouble. I didn't figure it out until it was too late. I can't—I don't—"

A flicker of pain ran through her heart. The memory of that moment when he'd come to the door and for one hopeful instant she'd been sure that he would somehow save her…she couldn't put that into words. At least everything had turned out okay. And maybe it was fate that Tom hadn't burst through the door. Eddie's arm had been so tight around her neck, his grip so firm, that she was sure he could have snapped her neck in a second if he'd been frightened enough.

She would never tell Tom that.

"I'm okay," she said. She took as solid a grasp as she could on Tom's forearm. "I'm okay. And so is she." Her eyes flickered to the baby for just an instant before focusing on Tom again. Slowly, he nodded.

"What happened?" he asked. "The doctor said you were being held against your will. By who? Why?"

"Eddie." Lynette swallowed hard as everything bubbled back to the surface. It no longer felt like a dream. It had happened. She had lived it. The memory of it would be with her forever. "I found out—he confessed that he killed all those girls. He killed Irina. And his mother. He attacked Julie."

To Lynette's surprise, Tom's reaction was fairly subdued. He jiggled the baby, making that soft rocking movement that would eventually lull her to sleep, and nodded. Lynette scoffed. "You didn't know."

"No, I didn't," agreed Tom, and Lynette realized that what she had taken as calm acceptance was actually a cover for a thinly veiled tremor of rage. "We let him into our house. We let him around our kids. Jesus, Lynette, you could have died today. Our baby could have died."

"You're mad at me?" she asked, hating the reedy sound of tears in her voice.

"No. I just don't understand how you told me that news with that same tone of pity. Like you still feel sorry for him."

"I do feel sorry for him." Lynette pressed her fingers into the corners of her eyes, fighting tears. "I hate him and I'm scared of him and I have thanked God with every breath today that nothing happened to any of our kids. But yeah, Tom, I feel really sorry for him."

Tom shook his head. She could tell that he wanted to argue, but he didn't and for that she was more than grateful. Already she felt exhausted again; like she had relived this horrible day. Apparently this showed in her face, because Tom's eyes softened and he bent to kiss her. She sighed.

"You should go home. Tell the kids what happened."

"You should get some more sleep." Tom kissed her again on the lips and then on her forehead before he stood. "I'll be here when you wake up."