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Rx Murder

By Richard L. Mabry, MD

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Mary Lou Sawyer cowered, half-crouching, in the corner of her living room. She felt consciousness slipping away, and fought it with deep breaths. If she could only escape the blows long enough for the room to stop spinning…
“I don’t want to hear about money any more!” Luke Stewart accompanied his slurred words with a blow that, despite her flinch, sent her reeling against the wall. “Tired of your nagging!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he half-yelled, “It’s all your fault.”
Mary Lou saw him draw back his fist. She tried to dodge, but this time her muscles refused to react in time. He hit her, and the world turned gray for a moment. She crumpled to the floor, where she lay in a fetal position, shielding her head with crossed arms, dreading what might come next. He’s going to kill me.
Luke took two lurching steps toward the door, then turned back to where she lay. He bent toward her and almost fell with the effort. When he spoke she smelled his breath, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. “I’m goin’ out. Don’t know when I’ll be back. But when I come through that door, better not hear no questions about where I’ve been or how much I’ve had to drink.”
When no reply came, he pointed to the residuals of the skirmish: an overturned end table, magazines scattered on the floor of the living room, curtains askew. “And straighten all this up before I get back.” He slammed the door behind him and was gone.
An upended chair lay next to her. She grasped it and slowly, painfully managed to get it upright. After a moment to catch her breath, Mary Lou used it to pull herself up, first to her knees and then to her feet. She tottered there for a moment, balancing with one hand on the back of the chair.
She should go to the kitchen, put some ice or something on her face. But first, she needed to pause until the haze clouding her vision cleared. Mary Lou took a deep breath, then another. Her free hand went to her belly. Please, God. Don’t let any of this hurt the baby.
It was slow, painful work to straighten the living room, and by the time she finished the bag of frozen corn she held to her face was melted. She looked around. A visitor wouldn’t have known anything unusual had gone on there…until they saw Mary Lou’s face. Maybe some makeup will cover it.
She threw the melted vegetables in the trash, then covered the package with paper towels and old newspaper. Luke was angry enough about the food bills. No telling what he’d do if he found her throwing away food.
Finally she dragged herself to the bedroom and managed to change into her nightgown before crawling under the covers. She lay in the darkness, too frightened to move, hardly even breathing. Please don’t let him come in and start another fight.
Mary Lou was half asleep when she heard the front door slam. She curled into a ball as she waited for him to enter the bedroom. Instead, his footsteps stopped in the living room. She waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then, snoring, loud enough to reach her ears, signaled that he’d fallen onto the couch and was asleep.
She patted her belly. We’re safe for tonight. She couldn’t bear to think about tomorrow.

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