His Mystery

Two

Ximena

I could hear the soft, persistent beeping of a machine in the distance, its rhythm almost too steady to be real. A coldness pressed against my cheeks, the chill of the room seeping into my skin, and I could smell the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

Where the hell am I? I asked myself, but the words barely formed in my mind. I tried to open my eyes, but they felt heavy—too heavy. My eyelids seemed to be glued shut, as if something was holding me in the darkness. I attempted to speak, but my throat burned as though shards of glass had lodged themselves there. Every movement was a struggle.

Then, I felt it—a warm hand, gentle but firm, clasping mine. It was grounding, comforting. But the voices... they came from far away, echoing through the haze of my confusion.

“How are you feeling?” A voice, soft yet unfamiliar, asked.

I wanted to answer. I wanted to acknowledge that someone was there, but the words wouldn’t come. My eyes fluttered again, and I felt the weight of exhaustion pressing against me. The voice seemed to sense it, because they said, “It’s okay. Rest. When you’re ready, you’ll come back to us.” And with that, the warmth of the hand slipped away, leaving me with nothing but the coldness of the room.

I listened to the unknown voice and relaxed, but the darkness pulled me in.

•••••••

Today was our fifth anniversary. Roberto and I have been married for five years, and today, I was finally going to tell him the big news. I was finally pregnant! We have been trying for months, but yesterday I finally got those two pink lines on the Clear Blue home pregnancy test. I decided to make his favorite dish and get dressed up in the little black dress that he always loved, put on the killer heels that he always told me to keep on while we made love, and curled the tips of my long blonde hair. I applied a bit of makeup and walked down the stairs to the two-story home that we bought in hopes of having a big family.

Roberto was a Special Agent in the FBI. He was never around as he went on covert missions, but he was hands down the best husband when he was around. Of course, if I had his meal ready on the table and the house was squeaky clean. If not, I would be thrown around the walls and beaten till no end. He never took me to the hospital to get checked out. Instead, he apologized for days on end, bringing me flowers and taking care of me.

I sat down in the formal living room, waiting for him to come home. He had texted me earlier saying that he would be home by seven pm. It was now seven-fifteen, and he was not here.

I grabbed my cellphone and called him to ensure that he was okay, but I got his voicemail instead. I placed my phone back down and waited.

I waited in the same seat until it was nine-fifteen as tears rolled down my face. I understood his job and what I signed up for as soon as I said ‘I do’, but I wanted today to be unique. I stood up from the chair in the living room and walked toward the dining room. I turned off the lights and left everything there. I walked up the stairs, turning off the lights as I went upstairs.

Once in the room, I bent down to take off my heels and slip out of the dress.

I slipped on my pajamas and pulled the covers down, sliding into the cold bed. I was falling asleep when I heard the door open and slam shut. Just then, I knew tonight was going to be a bad night. I said a single prayer to whoever was willing to listen to protect this baby.

“Ximena!” He yelled as he came up the stairs and into our room. “What the fūck is that mess on the table?” He asked as he turned on the light in the bedroom.

I sat up on the bed, feeling furious. I was pissed. “That was our dinner to celebrate our fifth anniversary.” I told him, making him scoff.

“Five years of fūcking pure hell when you can’t even get pregnant!” He yelled at me, but it felt as if he slapped me across my face. I leaned toward the bedside table, opened the first drawer, and grabbed the home pregnancy test. I closed the drawer and threw the pregnancy test at him. That might not have been an excellent idea as he stormed up to me, not looking at the pregnancy test, and dragged me out of bed by my hair.

“What the fūck do you think you are doing?” He yelled as he stood me up by pulling on my hair and backhanded me, making me fall back and hit my head on the corner of the bedside table. I got a bit dizzy, but he didn’t let me talk as he pulled me back up by my hair and slammed me against the wall.

••••••••••••••

That’s all I remember. Now, I’m here—lying in an unfamiliar place, somewhere I can’t recognize. I kept trying to open my eyes, but they felt heavy, as if they were sealed shut. I tried to relax, to let the tension fade from my muscles, but I fought to stay awake. Finally, my eyes fluttered open—only to be blindsided by a blinding white light.

“Let me turn off the light for you,” a soft voice said, hurrying to dim the lights and pull the curtains closed, casting the room into a more manageable haze.

My eyes flickered again, slowly adjusting to the new light. I reached up, instinctively toward my mouth, where a tube was lodged uncomfortably. My heart skipped. I looked at the person in horror, my throat raw, unable to form words.

“I’m going to take it out now. Just relax, okay?” The woman’s voice was calm but firm. I nodded, barely able to process her words.

She moved quickly, removing the pillow from under my head, and pressed a button on the side of the bed, making it flatten. She began gently peeling the tape from around my mouth, and with a slow, deliberate motion, she removed the tube, making me gag. I fought the urge to cough, the sensation overwhelming.

“Don’t speak, honey. Let me get you some cold water,” she said, turning to fetch a plastic jug from the table. She handed it to me, and I grasped it, taking a small sip. The cold water was like a balm, soothing my dry, raspy throat.

“Where am I?” My voice cracked as I asked, my eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

“You’re at Mercy Hospital. You were brought in two weeks ago, left here like... like a sack of potatoes,” she said, her voice softening as she looked at me. Her words didn’t quite make sense. I opened my eyes wider in shock, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Where is my husband?” I whispered, my heart racing as I looked around the room, hoping to see Roberto. My body tensed, my pulse quickening.

“Honey, no one’s been here to see you. No calls, no visitors. You’ve been a Jane Doe up until now,” she replied gently, her voice tinged with concern. She watched me closely. “Do you remember your name?”

What did she mean, no one had been here? Had he... had Roberto left me here? The thought made my stomach churn. I nodded, my mind racing.

“My name is Ximena Rivera. I’m married to Roberto Rivera. Can you please call him?” I asked, my voice trembling. She nodded slowly, about to leave to make the call, when I stopped her.

“What happened to me?” I asked again, desperation creeping into my voice just as she turned to leave.

The nurse paused, her face falling as she looked at the floor, avoiding my gaze. “You came in with both eyes swollen shut, covered in blood. You had a broken rib, wrist, and ankle. And... you miscarried.” She hesitated, her eyes filling with sadness. “You were placed in a medically induced coma to heal.”

Her words hit me like a physical blow. I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of it all, but it was too much. Too much to absorb at once.

“Don’t call my husband,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I wrung my hands together. The thought of him knowing I was awake—knowing I was alive—terrified me.

She looked at me, confusion and concern in her eyes. “We have to report this to the authorities, Ximena.”

I froze, panic gripping me. “Please don’t,” I begged, tears starting to spill down my cheeks. “You don’t understand!” I reached out for her hands, desperate.

“Why are you so afraid?” she asked gently, her voice laced with concern as she gently tapped my hands, her fingers warm against mine.

“He did this. He’s the one who did this to me,” I choked out, my throat tightening. “I have to get out of here. I can’t stay. I need to leave now.” My body trembled, and I tried to push myself out of the bed, but my legs felt weak, my body unsteady.

“You can’t leave yet,” she said, her face filled with worry. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know, but I have to leave.” I took a deep breath, my mind already racing with plans. I’d figure it out—just like I always had.

“I’ll go to my house, take my passport, grab the cash I’ve hidden, and then I’ll disappear. I’ll leave. Maybe... maybe I’ll go to Italy.” The thought of escape—of freedom—was the only thing that kept me from spiraling further.