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Becci (III)


Becci woke up to the sound of her husband’s body falling to the floor, though it would be several more minutes before she discovered it. When she sat up in the dark, disoriented, all she knew was that something – a sound, a shake, she couldn’t be sure – had jolted her out of a deep sleep.

She wasn’t concerned until she went to wake Brian and found that he wasn’t in bed beside her. Then she switched on the light and scrambled out of bed in a panic, her nightgown twisting around her bare legs. “Brian?” she called in a loud whisper, as she tiptoed up the hall, trying not to wake Calhan.

There was no answer, but she could see the kitchen light on at the end of the hall. She was afraid to call out again, imagining herself interrupting a robbery, but she couldn’t sneak back to bed without knowing where her husband was. She flattened her body against the wall and peeked slowly around the corner, into the kitchen. The sight that awaited her was so horrible, she completely forgot her quest to stay quiet and let out an earsplitting scream.

Brian lay in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. It was only once she rushed to his side that Becci saw the knife protruding from his chest.

She dropped to her knees beside him, one hand clamped over her mouth. Her other hand trembled as she reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. “Brian?” she whimpered, afraid to shake him and hurt him more. She thought she saw him twitch, but when she looked twice, she realized it was the knife that had moved. Its handle was quivering. She stared at it in confusion for a few seconds, watching the way it jerked ever so slightly from side to side, and then she understood: The knife was lodged in Brian’s heart.

She felt her stomach turn and bile bubble into the back of her throat as she realized the knife twitched every time his heart beat. The urge to vomit was followed by a moment of relief. As long as the knife kept twitching, it meant Brian’s heart was still beating, and if his heart was still beating, then he was still alive…

Becci swallowed back her bile and scrambled to her feet, running for the phone. She dialed 911 and was connected to a dispatcher. “Yes, I need an ambulance and the police right away,” she told the dispatcher tearfully and gave her address. “I think someone broke into my home. My husband’s been stabbed in the chest; I think the knife is in his heart…”

Struggling to keep her composure, she answered the dispatcher’s questions and followed her directions. She tilted Brian’s head back to protect his airway. She did not touch the knife, still twitching inside his chest. She took his hand instead and held it in hers as she waited for the ambulance to arrive.

The wail of a siren had never sounded so sweet. “I’ll be right back, Brian,” Becci whispered as she let go of Brian’s hand. “Help is here.” She ran into the front yard to meet the police car that was pulling into the driveway. Down the street, she could see the flashing lights of the ambulance approaching.

The two police officers who got out of the car would not let her go back into the house, insisting they had to make sure the intruder was gone. “But my son’s still inside!” Becci cried, struck with a fresh wave of panic. “He’s still asleep in his crib; he’s only one!”

“We’ll bring him to you, ma’am. We have to secure the scene and make sure it’s safe for you to go back in.”

She was left to watch helplessly as the pair of officers went in without her, holding their guns out in front of them. When the EMS squad arrived, they, too, insisted she stay outside while they went in. Becci waited in the front yard, dressed only in her nightgown and trembling from head to toe. She hugged her arms to her chest, as if physically holding herself together could keep her from falling apart.

The flashing lights on top of the two emergency vehicles cast eerie shadows across the house and yard, bathing Becci’s world in shades of red and blue. She felt as if she were in the middle of a waking nightmare, unable to help her husband or protect her child.

In the midst of her nightmare, she was joined by several pajama-clad neighbors who had been awakened by the strobe effect of the lights shining in their windows. Her voice shook as she struggled to explain what had happened, but it helped to have them there, wrapping consoling arms around her and rubbing her shoulders as they whispered words of reassurance. One of them offered to stay with Cal while she went to the hospital with Brian, and Becci was grateful.

After a wait that seemed endless but probably only lasted a matter of minutes, one of the police officers emerged from the house, carrying Calhan. Becci could hear him crying and felt a stab of fear, afraid he had been hurt. Frantic, she ran across the yard, but the officer holding him called out, “It’s alright, ma’am! He’s fine, just scared. I’m afraid we woke him up,” he added, handing the screaming toddler to her. Becci’s fear melted into relief as she clutched Calhan to her chest, holding him tight. “The house looks clear, ma’am,” the officer told her. “If anyone broke in, they’re gone now. Did you actually see an intruder?”

“No,” said Becci quickly, “but I heard something. It woke me up.” Something about the tone of the officer’s voice made her feel defensive. “Someone stabbed my husband, and it certainly wasn’t me!” As soon as she said it, a startling thought occurred to her. “You don’t think I did it, do you??”

The officer looked her up and down. There was a strange expression in his eyes, but it wasn’t suspicion. More like… sympathy? “No,” he said shortly. “I don’t think you did it. Don’t worry, ma’am. Whatever happened, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“How’s Brian?” Becci asked. “How’s my husband?”

“The EMTs are working on him. They should be bringing him out soon.”

“Can I go in?”

The officer placed a firm hand on her shoulder. He still had that same look in his eyes. “I think it would be better if you stayed outside.”

When they brought Brian out, Becci understood why. Her husband was strapped to a stretcher, and one of the medics was straddling him, his hands pushing repeatedly on the center of Brian’s chest, just to the right of the knife. She could see the hilt of her kitchen knife continue to jerk with each compression, but Becci knew what had happened: her husband’s heart had stopped. Just when she thought they were in the clear, her worst fear had been realized.

Becci’s knees buckled, and if she hadn’t been holding Calhan, she would have collapsed right there on the lawn. As it was, neighbors’ arms shot out to steady her, and Mrs. Holland, who had offered to babysit, reached for her son, saying, “Here, Becci, let me take him inside. You go with Brian. Go on, honey.”

At Mrs. Holland’s urging, Becci released Cal into her arms, planting a hasty kiss on his forehead. “Thank you!” she blurted, before she turned and tore after the EMTs, who were loading the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. “Please, may I ride with you?” she begged.

“Yeah, but you’ll have to sit up front. Follow me,” said the man who turned out to be the driver. He slammed the back doors shut, sealing Brian inside, and led her around to the passenger side of the ambulance. He opened the door and offered her his hand as she climbed up into the cab. Becci realized she’d never ridden in an ambulance before.

A voice crackled through the radio: “Let’s go lights and sirens on this one.”

The driver pushed a button to reply: “You got it. Lights and sirens all the way.” He turned to Becci. “Better buckle up.”

She did as the ambulance drove away, its siren sounding the alarm all the way into Lexington.

***

In the emergency department at Saint Joseph, the same hospital in which Brian had received his new heart, Becci sat in a small room, her head in her hands, waiting for news on her husband. When she heard someone say, “Mrs. Littrell?” she looked up, but the man in the doorway wore a navy police uniform, rather than a white doctor’s coat. She recognized him as the officer who had brought her Calhan. “I know this is a difficult time, but do you have a few minutes to talk to me?”

“Okay,” Becci agreed, straightening in her seat as she tried to gather her thoughts. She raked a hand through her tangled hair, sure that she looked like a mess. One of the ER nurses, seeing that she had arrived still in her blood-streaked nightgown, had loaned her a pair of scrubs. They were too big, and she felt like she was floating in them, but at least she was fully-clothed.

The officer dropped into the seat next to her. “I wanted to ask you more about the alleged break-in you reported tonight. You told me earlier that you didn’t actually see the intruder – is that right?”

“That’s right,” said Becci, rubbing her swollen eyes. “I didn’t see anyone, but I heard-”

“You heard something, yes. Could you describe the kind of sound you heard?”

“I… I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “I was asleep. Whatever it was, it was enough to wake me up.”

“Did you lock up the house before you went to bed?”

“Yes, of course, we always do. Why?” As she waited for his response, Becci racked her brain, trying to remember whether it had been she or Brian who had locked up for the night.

“Well, we checked your house for signs of a forced entry – broken windows, torn screens, busted locks, anything like that. We didn’t find anything. It also didn’t appear that anything had been disturbed or taken, as in a burglary.”

Becci narrowed her eyes at the police officer, wondering what he was implying. “So then, who stabbed my husband?”

He pressed his lips together in a thin line, exhaling through his nose. After a pause, he said, “I spoke with the EMTs who transported your husband here. They told me that the knife he was stabbed with went in at an upward angle, with the blade turned horizontally. I don’t want to get too graphic with you, but when a person is stabbed during an attack, the assailant usually stabs with a downward motion, holding the knife with its blade turned vertically.” He demonstrated with his pen. “I know this is difficult to hear, but in Brian’s case, the angle and direction of the blade suggest that the wound was self-inflicted.”

Becci gasped. “What?! You think he stabbed himself? Why would he do that?”

The office gave her that same look of sympathy he had outside her house. “That’s what I want to know.”

She shook her head. “Brian would never hurt himself. We have a happy marriage, a beautiful family, a great life! He loves his life! And he knows not to take it for granted. He almost died last year of heart failure, but a heart transplant saved his life. Brian wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

“So there are no problems in your marriage? No infidelity or financial issues that you and Brian have been dealing with?”

“No!” Becci insisted, hot tears prickling her eyes. “We’re happy! We love each other! ‘All you need is love’ – he said so himself!” She could remember him humming along to the song of the same title, the night of the Christmas concert. For some reason, the memory gave her a sick feeling deep down in her gut.

The officer nodded. “Alright. Thanks for your time. That’s all I wanted to ask you tonight, but we’ll be in touch as we continue to investigate. Hopefully Brian will be able to tell us more.”

“I hope so,” agreed Becci in a hushed voice, remembering how bad it had looked the last time she’d seen her husband. Almost an hour had passed since he had been whisked away from her. The officer left her still waiting for word on his condition, but also wondering.

Why, Brian? Why?

***
Chapter End Notes:
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