The Crash

Chapter 54

54

POLLY

I can’t stop thinking about my conversation with Hank.

After tossing and turning for an hour, he finally drifts off to sleep, but I lie awake. I’m not worried about Hank turning me in—that’s one thing he’d never do—but my head is swirling with the possibilities of all the ways this could go wrong. But the biggest problem of all is increasingly clear:

Tegan could get free.

Putting her in that wheelchair was a mistake—I see that now. I thought she’d get some exercise and it would be good for her circulation, but when she came at me with that syringe, I realized she’s feistier than I gave her credit for. I won’t let her back in that wheelchair, just to be safe, but that might not be enough. She might have a broken ankle and be heavily pregnant, but she’s also very young and has one good leg and two working arms. And she’s desperate. If she’s frightened enough, she might summon the will to hop up those stairs and escape.

If the door to the basement had a lock, I’d feel better about it. But it doesn’t, and it’s not like Hank can put in a lock right now. He wouldn’t even do it if I asked. As long as that door is unlocked, Tegan could escape at any time. At this very moment, she could be slipping out the front door.

The thought is enough to make me sit bolt upright in bed.

Hank groans in his sleep and rolls over. I’m not sure if he’s having a bad dream, but he’s still asleep. He’s less troubled than I am by the idea that Tegan could escape under our very noses. That we could lose our family just like that.

Unless I do something to stop it from happening.

I slide out of the bed, careful to be as quiet as I can so as not to wake my husband. I start to put on my slippers but then at the last minute decide to go barefoot. I leave the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Naturally, almost every stair makes a loud creaking noise as I step on it. Our house is as old as the hills, but we love it. And one of these days, when he’s got time and a little more money, Hank will fix it up like he promised he would. But I don’t expect he’ll have much time in the near future, since we’ve got a baby on the way.

The first floor of the house is blessedly silent. I creep over to the basement door, and it’s still closed. There’s no sign that Tegan has escaped. No impending disaster.

I’m safe. For the moment.

The floor is ice-cold against the soles of my bare feet as I walk across the living room to the cabinet where Hank keeps his tool kit. My husband loves tools, and his kit is nearly as heavy as I am, but I manage to heave it out of the cabinet and lay it down on the floor. I pop it open and examine the contents, searching for one particular item.

A hammer.

It doesn’t take me long to find because it’s the biggest thing in the tool kit. It’s just a standard hammer, but I swear it’s bigger than any normal hammer. I can still picture Hank’s beefy fingers wrapped around the handle as he pounded the nails into this very cabinet, which he built with his own two hands.

I pick up the hammer, testing the weight in my own hands. Yes, this will do nicely.

The hinges on the basement door whine slightly as I crack it open enough to slip inside. I hold my breath, listening for the sounds of Tegan stirring downstairs. But there’s nothing. I can just barely make out the inhale and exhale of her breaths.

The basement is very dark, so I cling to the banister as I make my way downstairs. I don’t dare turn on the lights—I slipped a small amount of Benadryl into her dinner, but she barely touched it, so I have no confidence she’ll remain asleep. I try to be as quiet as possible as I descend the stairs, even when I’m fairly sure a tiny splinter has wedged itself in the heel of my right foot.

Then I’m at the bottom.

Tegan is sound asleep. Even though she didn’t take the Benadryl, the sounds of her deep inhales and exhales fill the room. There’s a tiny amount of light from the moon, which is enough for my eyes to be able to make out the bulge of her abdomen and the smooth contours of her face. Despite the fact that the room is a moderate temperature, she has a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

My gaze drops to her legs. She’s still got that boot on her left ankle, which is almost certainly shattered. She can’t walk on her left leg—that much is certain. But her right one is in good working order, albeit swollen from the pregnancy. If she managed to crawl to the stairs, I can imagine her dragging herself up them using the banister to help her. The time after the baby arrives will be especially problematic, because she will no longer have that huge weight tying her down.

And then we will be in big trouble.

But if her other leg were out of commission… Well, that would ensure she wouldn’t be able to leave here until we were good and ready to let her go.

I’m not going to break her leg, exactly. I mean, I’m not a complete psychopath. Besides, I’m not sure a hammer would be strong enough to shatter the two supporting bones of the leg—the tibia or the fibula. I’ll likely just chip or bruise them and then piss her off enough to spur her to get the hell out of here. No, I’ve got to be strategic about this.

I’ve been thinking about it, and the best thing to do would be to break her right kneecap.

The kneecap is a delicate bone, and the hammer will shatter it easily—there’s a reason mobsters are infamous for that sort of thing. And once it’s broken, she will have difficulty moving her right leg. Walking on it will be nearly impossible, especially if she doesn’t have her left leg to support her.

With two broken legs, Tegan will truly be at our mercy.

I have to do this. It seems cruel, I admit, but I don’t have a choice. Tegan is in a position to either give us everything we’ve dreamed of or else destroy my family and send me to prison. This is the only way to protect myself. I’m sorry Tegan has to suffer, but she’s already in pain. What’s a little more?

And really, this is a case where the ends justify the means. Tegan will be a terrible mother to that little girl, based on everything I’ve learned about her. What if she’s drunk-driving and kills them both next time?

I raise the hammer over my head, positioning it so that when I bring it down, it will land squarely on her right kneecap. The impact will surely wake her, but by then, it will be far too late—the kneecap will already be shattered. My hands quaver, and I take a deep breath. On the count of three…

Two…

One…

Tegan stirs in the bed, letting out a low moan. She squirms in the sheets, screwing up her face for a moment. She looked young before, but in the moonlight, she looks even younger. Like she’s still a teenager. A kid. Her eyelashes flutter, and she lets out a soft sigh.

Oh my God, what am I doing ?

I relax my grip on the hammer, letting my arms fall to my sides. I can’t believe what I almost did. I almost just smashed another human being’s leg with a hammer—on purpose! My mother, who lay in this bed before Tegan, would have been ashamed of me. I’m a nurse , for goodness’ sake! I’m supposed to help people get better, not…

I back away from the bed, a tight sensation in my chest. Maybe Hank had a point—maybe we have gone too far. But there’s no other way out of this situation. I don’t want to hurt Tegan, but what else can I do? There’s no world in which Tegan remains alive and we get to keep her baby.

I swallow a lump of bile in my throat. I might not be able to break Tegan’s kneecap, but at some point in the near future, I’ve got to make some hard decisions. I won’t let this girl keep me from getting everything I ever dreamed of.