Another slap came out of nowhere across her face and she whimpered, her legs folding underneath her as a band of fingers dug into her arms, nails scratching violently. She tried to struggle as hands tugged at her, pulling her up. The ringing in her ears increased and she almost vomited. A squeak left her mouth when she was roughly pushed against the refrigerator and Genevieve squeezed her throat.

"You'll pay for that, you b.i.t.c.h!" Genevieve shouted and clenched her hand tighter around her windpipe, cutting off her air.

Deborah swung her fists at Genevieve's face and chest, anything to get her to release her. Her heart pumped fast and a cold sweat covered her back. She could barely stay conscious as Genevieve strangled harder, her pointed nails cutting into her skin, killing her slowly- A loud crash sounded and she was swung around, her back pressed up against Genevieve's front as the gun pushed against her temple.

"Drop the gun now!" a man's voice rang out from the entrance of the kitchen.

Deborah blinked rapidly, trying to bring her vision back into focus. The room had become blurry and dark.

"f.u.c.k off! She's mine and no one is going to take her from me," Genevieve screeched loudly and backed away.

Deborah's feet sc.r.a.ped across the kitchen floor as she was pulled toward the counter. The shrill sounds of sirens came from a distance, overriding the ringing in her ears.

"Put down the gun. Don't make me shoot you," the voice ordered and Deborah reached out a hand, mouthing wordlessly for him to save her.

"You think I'm that stupid?" Genevieve said, and the gun against Deborah's temple dug in even more. "You'll shoot me and take Deborah away from me. She's mine!"

Deborah pulled at Genevieve's arm, dragging in deep breaths through her abused throat. She whimpered when Gen's hold grew tighter.

"Shush, dearling. Soon it will be all over and we'll be together forever." Genevieve kissed her wetly on the cheek and c.o.c.ked her gun.

"No," Deborah bleated and coughed. New voices ordered Genevieve to release her and drop the gun.

I don't want to die! Deborah could barely stop the darkness as it rushed over her. No! Must stay awake!

Genevieve mumbled nonsense in her ear and began to cry. Deborah had lost her voice and could only whisper, begging Gen to release her. She continued crying softly, then the gun came around and tucked under her chin.

Deborah needed to do something quickly before Genevieve blew her head off. Her hand swung out and it landed against something hard. She searched around and found the carving knife she'd left to dry in the strainer. She was able to get a tight hold around it without Genevieve noticing.

"Together forever, even in death," Genevieve hoa.r.s.ely whispered, and when her arm came down to wrap around her waist, that was when Deborah struck.

Voices rang out as she twisted and pushed Genevieve away as hard as she could. Time seemed to slow down as Genevieve stumbled and aimed the gun. Deborah tried to go for Genevieve's stomach, but she couldn't get a good enough aim and slashed the knife against Genevieve's face, cutting into her flesh and dragging the knife sideways.

A loud screech left Genevieve's mouth as she clutched her throat. She still held the gun, and as Deborah dropped to the ground and crawled away, shots rang out. A body fell on top of her as she hid her face against the linoleum.

Then there was silence, until something heavy fell in front of her. Deborah lifted up and cried out as Genevieve lay quiet on her side, her eyes open but empty as she stared at nothing. Blood dripped down her face and front onto the kitchen floor.

"Genevieve!" Deborah cried out and tried to get to her knees when arms came around her.

"It's all right now. She'll never hurt you again." The man's voice, a familiar one she had heard before, pulled her away as uniformed officers rushed into the room.

"She's dead," Deborah sobbed, nearly hysterical as Bryan dragged her away.

"We need you to get checked out. You're bleeding and cut up," he said calmly, and when she turned in his arms, away from her dead wife, she grabbed hold of him tightly, suddenly remembering Bridgette.

"Bridgette!" she called out.

Bryan kept an arm around her as he helped her outside. Bright red and blue lights and too many cars to count were parked in front of her house. People across the street watched. She glanced around for any sign of Bridgette.

"She's been taken to the hospital. You'll go there to get checked out and have your statement taken."

"She's alive?" Deborah's knees shook and would have fallen if not for Bryan's hold.

Bryan's mouth went into a tight line. "She's alive, but with head trauma."

"I want to see her," Deborah said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. Her stomach cramped and her head pounded. She bent over, suddenly nauseated, the need to throw up too strong to ignore.

"You will. But first we need to take care of you," Bryan said in a kinder voice.

As she was handed over to an EMT, Deborah vomited. And continued until she was too weak to stand. She soon ended up in the back of an ambulance, lying on a stretcher as a woman asked her questions and cleaned her cuts on her face and arms.

The sounds of the sirens and the ambulance moving helped her drift away, numb and broken, knowing she was the reason a woman was dead and another she'd come to care for could possibly be fighting for her own life.

Chapter Nineteen.

The soft moan coming from the bed made Deborah sit up in her chair. She winced over the ache in her jaw and carefully stood.

"Bridgette?" She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, almost grabbing hold of Bridgette's hand, but instead placing her own in her lap.

The heart machine let off a few beeps as Bridgette shifted and opened her eyes. She blinked and licked her lips. "Water?" she requested in a croak.

Deborah limped over to the table and poured water from the plastic pitcher into a cup, then came back over to the bed. She kept an arm behind Bridgette's back as she helped her drink. Bridgette took a few sips, and when she was done she lay back down. Deborah looked away, trying to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.

"Hey you." Bridgette lightly hit her arm and rested her hand over Deborah's cold limp ones. "Why, your hands are so cold," Bridgette said sadly and rubbed them.

Deborah removed her hands and sniffed. "I was so scared you were going to die..." she whispered and wiped under her eyes.

"Come here." Bridgette tugged on Deborah's T-shirt and Deborah lay down on her side as she hid her face into the side of Bridgette's arm.

Bridgette's touch against her hair and cheek soothed her, and she glanced up, wincing at the bright white bandage around Bridgette's bright hair and the black-and-blues covering her face. "You must hate me."

"Hate you? Why would you think such a thing?" Bridgette asked, giving her a small smile, but she flinched and touched her swollen lip with her finger.

"I'm the reason you're in the hospital," Deborah said through her tears.

"Why would you think that? You didn't smack me around." Wrinkles appeared on Bridgette's forehead. "I can't remember what happened." She lifted up her arm where the IV poked out. "How long have I been out for?"

"Almost forty-eight hours. After I was taken care of, they let me sit in here until you woke up. All day long your friends and family have been coming in." Deborah sat up as she thought back to seeing Bridgette's parents and being questioned by them. When she admitted everything and why Bridgette had been targeted, to say they were less than pleased with her was an understatement. Bryan barely looked at her even when he stayed with her when two detectives came to question her.

"Jesus, Deborah, if you look anything like I do, I don't even want to see a mirror for a month."

Deborah let out a watery laugh and fingered her throat where the red handprints had yet to fade.

"I'm so, so sorry about what happened to you," Deborah tugged on a hangnail on her thumb.

"Why are you apologizing? You weren't the one who beat me up," Bridgette said and tried to sit up.

"No, stay down," Deborah instructed and got up from the bed. She wrapped her arms around her waist and went back over to her chair. She couldn't be close to Bridgette without wanting to kiss her.

"Why are you all the way over there and why haven't you kissed me since I've woken up?" Bridgette turned to her side, facing her with a pout.

"Why would you want me to even touch you? I'm the reason my wife attacked you."

"So, she's the one who bashed my head in," Bridgette said more to herself. "But she went after you as well. Where is she now?"

"She's dead." Deborah's lips trembled. "I think your brother shot her, or another officer did. She was able to get into the house through the front door I left unlocked for you. I was upstairs when I heard Rotquel barking very loudly as I was getting our bath ready. I noticed the light I left on downstairs went out. Thinking the bulb had burnt out, I went down and Gen was there waiting with a gun. She told me she had you hidden somewhere and if I didn't do what she wanted, she'd kill you. I thought...I was so stupid thinking she had time to hide you somewhere." Deborah released a shaky sigh. "I fought her, actually threw a lamp at her head, and tried to run out of the house, but she caught me and started beating me until the police, your brother, crashed through the door and saved me."

"All I remember was Rotquel making a lot of noise and I couldn't figure out why she was acting so strangely. Before I could get my house keys out, something hard hit me on the back of my head. I blacked out and woke up to bright lights and Mrs. Heckel over me." Bridgette looked down at her red, sc.r.a.ped palms and Deborah swallowed uncomfortably.

"It's a good thing for Rotquel. If not for her insane barking and your nosy neighbor coming home at the right moment, we might have been lying in a cold room with sheets over our faces instead of being in here," Deborah said.

"Even lying in this bed with the worst headache I've ever had, it's great to be alive." Bridgette gave her a cheery smile and held out her hand.

Deborah purposely ignored Bridgette's reach and wiped her damp palms over her knees. "I can get the nurse to bring you some aspirin for your head, if you want." She began to stand when Bridgette sat up.

"Stop moving around. You're in too much pain." Deborah sat back, wanting so much to help Bridgette, to touch her. But if she did, she'd never let her go.

"There, that feels better." Bridgette panted as she moved a pillow behind her back.

"I have to leave." Deborah blurted out and finally stood. The sooner she did this, the better.

Bridgette frowned. "Oh? I guess you still have to talk to the police about what happened. Afterward, come back and we can hang out together. I'll be here all day and night," she joked.

"Bridgette." Deborah lifted her thumb to nibble on her nail. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped. "I won't be coming back. I already talked with the police after I was given a clean bill of health. I have to go back to Nevada and figure out Gen's funeral arrangements."

"Why would you plan her funeral after all she put you through? I hope the dead b.i.t.c.h is rotting in h.e.l.l."

Deborah wrapped her arms around her waist and moved to the end of the bed. "She was my wife and I did love her, even after everything. She had no other family, only me. I have to go back to take care of the house, any debts, and possibly her company. I also have to see about my mother's arrangements as well."

"I'm being selfish, aren't I?" Bridgette tapped her fingers over the blanket. Deborah wanted to place her own hand over those amazing digits of Bridgette's that made her feel safe and loved. "It's something I don't want to do, but I have to. I'm dreading going back and dealing with the talk and looks. I'm not sure when I'll be back here, if ever."

The shocked look on Bridgette's face broke her heart. She bit down on her lip and cleared her throat.

"What does that mean for us? You're just going to walk out of here and forget what we have?" Bridgette asked in a wounded voice.

Deborah shrugged. "You've made my time in Woodberry Creek one I'll never forget. I can't promise you anything right now. I need time to figure things out. There's so much I have to do."

"Deb, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. No one can force you to do anything ever again. You're finally free, with no controlling wife to tell you what to do. For once in your life, you're your own woman."

"You say that, but you want me to do what you think is right. If I'm with you, I can't be free, as you just said."

Bridgette exhaled loudly. "You're twisting my words. I want you to-"

"Did you just hear what you said? It's what you think is best. Gen used to say that exact same thing to me all the time. It was always what she wanted."

"I can't believe you're comparing me to that psycho-"

"Bridgette!" Deborah said in a hoa.r.s.e shout. Bridgette went silent and crossed her arms, turning her head away from her.

"I'm not saying it's over between us, just that we need a break." Deborah walked around to the side of the bed and placed her palm lightly against Bridgette's cheek. Bridgette still wouldn't look at her as she stiffened with hurt. "There's so much I need to work through, and if I'm with you and ignore my life back in Nevada and everything that has happened, I'll be in a worse position than I'm already in. I've run away too many times and look where it got me. Look where it got you."

Bridgette grabbed hold of her hand in a tight grip. "I know where it got me. It brought you into my life." She rubbed her cheek against Deborah's palm.

Tears built up in Deborah's eyes from the sudden surge of love she had for Bridgette. She sobbed as she leaned down and gave Bridgette what was to be a gentle kiss. Bridgette sighed and pulled her down lower, her lips sucking and tongue swiping in deep strokes over her lips until Deborah opened her mouth and allowed Bridgette inside.

She swallowed Bridgette's pa.s.sionate sounds with her kisses, her fingers brushing gently over Bridgette's face and neck, moving down to cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, wanting to press her back on the bed and keep kissing her until they both couldn't breathe.

When she dropped one knee on the bed and Bridgette tugged her down, a muscle in her side cramped and she gasped, breaking off the kiss. She backed away, staring at a very red-faced, out-of-breath Bridgette.

"Stay with me," Bridgette pleaded and held out her hand. She wiped her bottom lip that had split and begun clotting with her blood.

Shaking her head, Deborah grabbed her bag and walked toward the door. Bridgette called out her name again and Deborah stopped with her hand on the doork.n.o.b.

"I'll call you when I'm back in Nevada so you know I'm safe. Then...I'll see what happens."

"Deborah! Don't walk away from me. We're not done yet."

Deborah opened the door and quickly looked back at Bridgette, who was reaching across the bed with both her arms out. Tears were falling down her cheeks. Deborah wiped away her own.

"What if I told you I loved you? Would that change things?" Bridgette asked.

Deborah covered her mouth and shook her head. "Gen told me she loved me all the time. Those words mean nothing to me," she declared and stepped out into the hallway.

"I'm not her!" Bridgette shouted out.

Deep, wracking sobs flowed through Deborah's body as she rushed down the hall. When she turned the corner, Bridgette's parents and Bryan were talking with a doctor. Not wanting a confrontation, she turned the other way. Bryan glanced her way. She stopped and shook her head, backing away. He started to move toward her, but she twisted and ran, finding the staircase and flew down all four flights of stairs.

She reached the main level and went out into bright sunlight that burned her eyes. A few people she pa.s.sed gave her strange looks, but she ignored them. She walked as fast as she could even with the ache in her side, not wanting to be caught by Bryan, who the moment he saw how upset Bridgette was would certainly place the blame on her.

Only when she found a taxi and was driven back to her house to start packing to catch a flight back to the life she'd left behind did the pain burning in her abused muscles subside.

The ache in her heart continued and her tears never let up, even after she arrived back at her old home, where she started to pick up the broken pieces of her life.

Chapter Twenty.

The windshield wipers removed the yellow and brown leaves off her window, as well as the rain, as Bridgette drove back home from the vet. She glanced back at her dog, who lay flat on the backseat with her head on her paws. Rotquel let out a sharp whimper, then a soft bark with bleak eyes.