Chapter 1

My diaphragm paced up and down the hallway of my abdomen as the bags of my lungs tugged at the air of the black world, but I found no relief in repetitious inhalations. If only the breathing could cease, then I would find release from the pain. Hyperventilation and anxiety plagued me from a sightless abyss, and I was distantly aware of the injuries only from the incessant throbbing radiating from my very pores and sinking into the marrow of my bones while salty tears pooled in the sockets of inflated, swollen eyelids, shut from the volume of liquid beneath the discolored skin; even crying hurt too much to bear when compounded with the pulsating torture of a fractured heart, a decapitated spirit.

"Please, God, let me come home," I pled.

"I don't think God's ready for you yet," a whisper replied.

"What? Who's there?" I croaked, the sound delivered weakly with what I am sure was panic, fear and all unreasonable emotions.

"My name is Doctor Roosevelt. You're at County Regional Hospital. You died for about a minute last night. We almost lost you," a handsome, nearly musical response echoed. "What's your name?"

"Mia," I answered, again the sound nothing more than a frog-like gurgle. "What happened?"

"The police are wondering the same thing. I won't let them talk to you until you're a little more coherent. Do you remember anything?" he asked. The sound calmed me, the fractured muscle of life hammering under my rib cage.

"I was ... oh, God. He tried to kill me!" I squealed and immediately dissolved. The caresses against my hand did little to calm the overflowing sobs of my entire being, body, mind and soul shattering simultaneously, but I was thankful for the gesture.

A fluorescent radiance berated my eyes for opening, but I ignored the admonishment. Hours – or so it seemed – passed before the now dimmed mirrors of my essence adjusted to the assault, and my calm demeanor surprised me because while claustrophobia never disturbed the tranquility of my mind, I had never been blind, either, even if only temporarily. The blaze subsided slowly into a glow and, as if to reinforce the safety of seeing and not hearing only, a shadow grazed the wall opposite me. Panic, again plaguing my sensibilities, jerked my head, the motion more resembling a lolling to the side to peer cloudily at a beautiful man peering similarly at me.

"Welcome back, Mia," he nodded.

"Um, thank you. Damian?" I inquired. He nodded again.

"Wh-why am I tied down? Please, don't hurt me!" I cried, abruptly realizing that I was unable to scratch my shoulder due to oppressive padded restraints.

"It's okay, Mia. You're okay. We weren't sure if you'd be safe when you came round. These are only to make sure you don't hurt yourself or tear your stitches. Be still, now," Damian cooed while his enormous hands toiled to disentangle my right wrist from the bond. With only a quarter of my appendages free, I inhaled deeply only to choke on the pain of my ribs swelling to accept the lungful of precious oxygen. I attempted to speak again, but my larynx hated the effort, refusing to permit my vocal chords the pleasure of their soft humming.

"You've been here for two weeks, Mia. I'm glad to see your vital signs are improving," he said while feeding me a white straw stemming from the lid of a mauve travel mug; I sucked gulps of icy water greedily and somehow the chill of the liquid rolling down towards my belly granted me a moment of pleasure. Damian told me later that I even smiled, though bleakly.

"You're a doctor?" I asked dumbly.

"Have been for a long time, dear. You scared the hell out of me," he sighed. His lips parted as if to speak again after a momentary connection between our eyes, but a hesitant rap on the door interrupted the silent exchange.

"Mrs. Carlson? If you're ready, I'd like to get your statement. It will only take a few minutes," a frumpy officer clad in a cheap pantsuit muttered. Her tired eyes apologized immediately. "I can come back."

"No, I'm okay. Can Damian stay?" I begged.

"Of course. I'm Detective Rodgers. I want you to know that your husband is in custody for attempted murder and ... have you told her?" Detective Rodgers asked Damian mid-stride.

"Mia," my neighbor whispered to gather my attention, his face answering the fearful question I knew to ask. My baby, barely conceived, was gone. "The trauma, Mia. Your body rejected the fetus while you were unconscious. I'm so sorry."

"Okay," I nodded, quickly digesting the knowledge. I had no tears left in me, and my shoulders could slump no deeper, so I just sighed and nodded.

"Mrs. Carlson, the prosecutor will be pushing murder charges for the loss of your unborn child. Attempted murder is a guarantee," Detect Rodgers stated boldly.

"I really don't care, Ma'am. Just keep him away from me," I shrugged.

"He won't be leaving a cell any time soon, Mrs. Carlson," she assured me.

"Please, call me Mia. Mrs. Carlson was murdered recently," I thought aloud.

"Yes, um, Mia," she acquiesced. "Mia, can you tell me why he ran you down with your truck?"

"I told him about the baby," I answered. Detective Rodgers winced at the hatred seething from the explanation. "He never wanted a family, no babies or dogs or even the need for a white picket fence. He wanted a trophy wife, arm candy to show off. Anything more would have interrupted his ambitious ascent to the top of the world. The news infuriated him."

"He was out of town for a series of seminars. She was waiting for him to come home before telling him," Damian explained.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Roosevelt. Can you explain for the record how you know this woman?" Detective Rodgers asked.

"She's my neighbor, Detective. Ted and Mia bought a home a few doors down about six months ago," Damian answered, his enormous hand blanketing mine. I felt comfort from his touch.

"He exploded when I told him. I exploded in return and demanded a divorce," I continued. "I stormed out and headed down the street. I like to walk to calm down, especially in our quiet neighborhood. I didn't suspect he'd try to kill me – who does? – so the sound of a vehicle didn't alarm me until it was too late. I tried to move, but I wasn't fast enough. I guess slapping him across the face was a bad idea. Kicking him in the groin is probably what landed me here."

I chuckled at the last though no humor laced my reasoning.

"I have to ask, Mia. Was Mr. Carlson the father?" Detective Rodgers asked.

"No," I answered plainly. "I think that compounded his anger. I wanted to keep the baby. It wasn't her fault I was raped. I'd have loved her. I did love her. Plus, he never believed I was raped. He wanted to believe I was having an affair."

My body discovered reserves, and tears flowed freely. My doctor, my neighbor, my friend, Damian, escorted Detective Rodgers to the nurses' station to leave me in repressive solitude. There is no way to accurately process the emotions inherently trailing sexual assault, spousal abuse and an attempt on your life within weeks. I tried, but I fell short and kept falling into the recesses of a hollow psyche. I harbored no desire to go home upon a discharge from the hospital days after consciousness finished abandoning me randomly. Having relocated to the Valley of the Sun from small town Tennessee, no familiar faces greeted me in the parking lot, none but Damian's.

The striking black man, friendly from the first – the sort of neighbor that offers a bottle of wine and a firm shake of the hand in introduction – commanded respect, mandated trust, all with a disarming smile, fresh disposition and sparkling appearance. If God were black, He would fashion Himself after this man, His own creation, a god among men in himself – tall, dark like the fertile earth of the Great Plains, bald and timidly athletic, having always hidden a healthy figure beneath loose linens. If his smile disarmed you, his eyes robbed you of something; in all probability, his eyes robbed me of my marriage. After all, jealousy was never green with the bastard with whom I vowed 'forever.' It was crimson, filled with rage and a lust for possession that each time concluded with a strike against my cheek, a cordial exchange of smiles and greetings between neighbors the reason. I imagine the flush across my collar bones led my husband's mind into the realm of suspicion. The claim of victimization and subsequent pregnancy intensified the mistrust. Damian aroused my heart in a way I could not characterize, nothing I would intentionally identify as attraction; to me, it was the desire for a friend to lean on. Perhaps it still was.

I was thankful for a hole in which to hang my head and mourn a life gone awry even if it was in the care of a practical stranger, the man nothing but a gracious smile and a kind word in passing until my world capsized. The ordeal of walking was difficult, but I managed, and upon entering his home I could only mutter appreciation for the beauty and cleanliness. I remember little of the following days as consciousness fled, and I readily accepted defeat as my body demanded rest, the retreat of wakefulness welcome.

Somehow I knew upon waking that three weeks waved goodbye and receded into the past and, not knowing what to do with myself, I rose from a borrowed bed in search of company; an empty house greeted me warmly. I wandered in aimless exploration to discover an alluring sanctuary of dark woods masterfully stained and varnished with walls of soothing, earthy beiges and grays and browns, granite countertops of plagioclase, muscovite, amphibole and garnet, the floors a mosaic of sandstone tiles. Fleetingly I mused, "I should hire his decorator."

"I did the work myself, but I did have a woman's opinion on the colors until I learned the finer points of how they interact," a kind voice returned.

"I'm sorry. I hope you don't mind. I didn't think anyone was here, so I gave myself the penny tour," I said quietly while turning to offer the man a smile.

"I don't mind in the least. If you're going to stay with me a while you might as well know your way around. The kitchen is this way. I'm sure you're hungry," he chuckled. The deep sound of it caused a ripple in my spine as if the reverberations of his bass voice were amplified. I followed gingerly, lost in thought and contemplating the man leading me through his home.

"Do you like BLTs? It's not the healthiest thing, but somehow I think a little comfort food will do you some good," he asked, one eye flashing a wink. I gazed incoherently into the dark orbs before nodding a bit dumbly but smiling all the same.

"It's my turn to apologize, by the way. I took the liberty of getting your truck to the body shop. You may be tiny, but you fought pretty hard against the grill," he said, his eyes sparkling with the humor and sadness of the statement. I laughed and immediately regretted it when a pang of electric unpleasantness jolted my ribs.

"Oh, thank you. I'm dreading a lot of what needs to happen, anyway. You saved me a phone call," I replied. "I hope she's okay."

"She is. The shop owner is a friend of mine, so you'll have her back today. I called in a favor," he said. The following moments passed quickly as we shared smiles, our minds occupied: contemplation for me and the business of frying bacon for him.

"Tripod, Mia. Elbows on the counter and bent at the waist a bit. It'll help make breathing hurt less," he said, his voice calm and his eyes sincere and concerned. My own hazel orbs misted briefly as my body reacted to the instruction instinctually until I pulled the first relaxed breath in days.

"Thank you," I whispered, fearing the weakness of my voice at that moment.

"You're welcome," he responded.

His paternally gentle smile conveyed his understanding of my gratitude for all he had done thus far. I blinked away the moisture onto the sleeve of a fluffy bathrobe; suddenly I became self-consciously aware of my attire, instigating a flush on my cheeks and neck while my nervously twitching fingers tugged at the seams to close the neckline more adequately. Damian chuckled again.

"You may not want to know this, but you're not hiding anything I haven't seen before, dear. I'd rather you be comfortable while you recover instead of worrying about ladylike modesty," he asserted.