11 PM Monday
When I let myself into the apartment close to eleven, I threw my keys into the Longaberger basket I'd hung at eye level next to the front door, expressly for that purpose. Boo had a thing for keys and she had made us both late for work too many times to count.
Maurice had chronically left his on the coffee table, while I'd always drop mine on the kitchen counter. Boo would stealthily snatch them without a sound and disappear. I'd once found Maurice's keys at the very bottom of Boo's toy box precisely an hour and a half after he'd needed them. After a five-minute search, I had just sent him off with mine. Thank God I'd been able to. All too often both sets went missing at the same time.
The event that had precipitated the inception of the 'key basket' had been finding my keys in a bathroom sink full of water and bubble bath. The keys had been 'bathing' with the doll house people. That had happened mere weeks after my last birthday; Maurice had given me a remote car starter, anticipating the cold winter weather. The ensuing interrogation of my three year old daughter had been something to see. Watching him contain his anger and still make things plain to her, God, he was something else.
We'd installed the basket the next day. I'd had to make sure she couldn't reach it, not even by standing on a chair.
I threw my bag on the couch, hoping Maurice would be home sooner rather than later. Either way, the coffee had given me that little extra jolt I needed to keep me going in case it turned out to be a late night.
I'd been about to sink to the couch to wait, but remembered all the crying and decided I'd better check the mirror. Didn't want him coming home to a woman who looked like a crazed Muppet.
Yes, I needed more repairs than the Hubble Telescope. I decided I just wanted to wash the day off me, and I did feel a lot better after a long hot shower. I put on a fitted tee shirt and athletic shorts, which I routinely wore to bed. I combed out my hair and left it down to dry, something I hadn't been able to do since Mikey realized he had fingers. I reapplied my makeup.
When I'd finished, the overall effect was a little better than when I'd returned home from work that afternoon, but less heavy than the 'walking out the door to work' look. I wasn't sure why I was taking such great pains with my appearance.
Oh, hell, of course I was.
I had no idea what I was in for when he got home.
He could be happy.
He could be mad.
He could be so pissed at me for doubting him that he'd bring the woman home with him, expecting me not to be there.
Knock it off, Kate. Don't even let yourself go down that road. You know he wouldn't.
Damn hormones. I felt terribly insecure all of a sudden. I hugged myself with my own arms and made my way back to the living room.
As I passed through the doorway I noticed the light on the answering machine was blinking.
The first message was from Rose, in a conspiratorial whisper, informing Maurice that the kids and I were up at the cabin safe and sound with her and Sully. And that I'd be returning to sort things out.
How she loved that boy.
The second message had come when I was in the shower and was one I had prepared myself for long ago, but never really expected to receive. It was a hurried nurse from Mercy Hospital, whose name I didn't bother to catch, stating that Maurice had been injured and was being treated and could I please please get down there as soon as possible so I could confirm that all possible life-saving measures should be taken.
I'd imagined myself, at a moment like that, knees giving way, falling to the floor, an emotional wreck. But I stood, knees locked, absolutely frozen, with every horrible possibility running through my mind. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't even really hear the phone ring or the answering machine pick up until the woman started leaving a message.
"Mrs. Boscorelli, this is Nurse DiLorenzo from Mercy Hospital –"
I was startled into action. I grabbed the phone and said "Hello!" desperately.
"We've been trying to contact you-"
"Yes. Yes." I interrupted. The machine was recording our conversation, but I really couldn't care less. "What happened? How is he?"
"I'm afraid it's rather serious. You should probably get here as soon as possible. We'll go over everything when you get here. Is he an organ donor?"
"Oh, my God. I'll be there as fast as I can."
When she asked if I wanted to schedule Last Rites I dropped the phone back into its cradle, grabbed my bag and keys and slammed the door behind me.
In retrospect, from the precise timing of the calls, it occurred to me that they'd somehow been watching my every move. Probably through that big 15th floor picture window in the living room that I loved so much. Maybe from the roof of a nearby building.
But, at the time, I had no idea anybody intended me harm. My only thoughts were of how exactly to prevent myself from becoming a widow.
Back downstairs, I stood next to my car in the underground garage, fumbling with my keys, my hands shaking so hard I actually dropped them.
I was about to retrieve them when the reflection in the driver's side window made me freeze.
A very, very large man was standing just behind me to my right. Our reflected eyes locked and I knew I was in trouble.
Maurice had been teaching me self-defense techniques for a while, and sometimes when the kids were napping we'd practice, but never for very long, because what I really enjoyed about it was just having him and his hands all over me, and he'd get frustrated that I wasn't taking things seriously.
Every now and then he'd surprise me by grabbing me from behind to see if I could break his hold. Sometimes I'd give a half-hearted attempt to break free, but most of the time I'd just lean back into him contentedly. Most of the time that ticked him off.
"What are you going to do if this happens to you? I want you to be able to take care of yourself."
"I'll fight like a lioness." I'd promised.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
And fight like a lioness I did when Bluto grabbed me and placed a cloth over my face.
Chloroform?
What was this, the 70's?
I used everything Maurice had taught me, exhausting myself in the process. The guy was huge, but everything I was doing was working. I'd made him drop the knockout cloth and he'd been struggling to keep me in his grasp. I knew if I got away I could outrun him.I was just about to break free when something heavy and hard smashed me in the head.
Things started to go black very quickly, and my last two thoughts were:
1) Maurice hadn't told me what to do if I got knocked on the head.
2) I hadn't even put shoes on.