Nothing can be created out of nothing.
—Lucretius, “DeRrerum Natura”
Cat wakes in the hospital to a stinging IV drip, the beep-beep-beep of the monitor in her ear for the second time in weeks. She is so tired of hospitals. Her sheets smell like bleach and Bounce. Not a good combination. Wet hair prickles her neck.
She dreads looking at her bad hand but pulls down the sheets. Some neurosurgeon has been very hard at work reconnecting tendons. Trying to put things back as they were. But how can they be as they were? Her hand is a mass of bandages, but she can feel the pain.
She will never be the same.
Her mind shifts to Joey. How is he?
Bile in her mouth, she is ripping out the IV and pulse monitor, jumping out of bed. The room is cold, cold tile on her feet.
She doesn’t care.
Joey.
Where is Joey?
She rams into McGregor as she runs from the room.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” he says.
“Where is my son?”
“He’s okay. He’s in recovery.”
Thank God, she thinks. But says nothing.
Her eyes grow wide. “And…?”
McGregor knows what she is asking. He looks at the floor. Looks at her hand. Looks at anything but her eyes. They are boring into him.
“And…?” Her voice is monotone and cold.
“Let me show you” is all he can say. It is not easy for him, she can see. He did not want this. Nor does she.
“No. Tell me the truth.”
His eyes meet hers. Then they are away again, darting to the floor, walls, ceiling.
She will have none of it. “Tell me.” She holds his arm in a vise grip.
His wet eyes meet hers. She does not understand why.
He says two words and she understands. “He’s gone.”
It is clear he is sucking in oxygen. His eyes refuse to meet hers.
“What? No…” Her body physically refuses to believe it.
Her eyes are stinging. She feels as if every vein in her body is about to burst.
Her brain cannot register it.
“What?” she says again, and even that is an effort.
McGregor looks like a small boy for a second.
Good God, Joey has more balls than this is all she can think.
“WHAT?” she says one more time, her voice growing hard and menacing.
“He is gone.”
A jolt through her body like an earthquake. She can’t believe what she is hearing.
“Let me show you,” McGregor says.
Her hand is clutching and releasing in anger. Her blood pressure and heart rate have spiked.
He pulls photos out of a manila envelope, police standard. But there is nothing standard about what has become of her life. Her ex-husband is gone. Joey is forever changed.
Nothing can change that. Nothing can take them back to where they used to be.
Her body is numb, her mind even number. Slowly, McGregor pulls the photos out.
He holds them in front of her, telling her something…she only hears pieces but it is enough. “We went back to the boat. We found the netting he tried to strangle you with. We found the chemicals. He was not there.”
“What?” Her brain is numb. She is not aware she is alive now. The world is dead to her. She feels her knees go weak. “What?”
McGregor tries to modulate his tone without success. Beads of sweat are visible on his forehead and upper lip.
“What?” she says again, her voice barely audible.
“He was not there, Cat. Gone. We found his footprints up the steps out of the galley.”
Cat is silent.
“Apparently he was watching you, us, as you docked and Joey collapsed…”
With that, her body goes weak. She cannot think. She knows nothing, says nothing. Not even breathing feels normal. “What?” is all she can say.
McGregor is still sweating.
“He was watching you as you brought the boat to the dock. Then, with all the confusion with Joey, he slipped away.” McGregor’s tone is apologetic, as if any apology could make up for this.
Cat stares at him, utterly silent. What is there to say?
She risked her life. Gave up her hand.
Her child would never be the same, and now this.
GONE. THE MONSTER IS GONE.