Baxter bellowed in pain, Annie was screaming, and before Keith could plunge the knife again, two other men were in the room, guns drawn. "Freeze! Freeze!"
Keith stood unsteadily, the knife still in his hand, and one of the cops — Keith thought it was Ward — swung his nightstick, catching Keith's wrist, and the knife flew out of his hand.
Baxter had disengaged himself from his wife, and Annie was lying on the floor, crying. The two cops still had their guns pointed at Keith, but their eyes were on their chief's naked wife.
As Keith moved toward Annie, Baxter swung the butt of the shotgun again and buried it in Keith's solar plexus. Keith doubled over and fell to his knees. He could hear Baxter screaming to his men, "Get out of here! Get the fuck out of here!"
Keith was aware of the two cops leaving, then felt the shotgun butt hit him again, this time on his back, sprawling him forward on the floor. He heard Baxter's voice, "So — fuck me? No! Fuck you! Fuck you!" Keith felt Baxter kicking him in the ribs, he heard Annie scream again, then felt her fall on top of him, covering him with her body, her arms wrapped tightly around his chest and her face buried in his neck. He heard her shouting, "Leave him alone! Leave him alone! Go away!"
There was a silence in the room, and Keith fought to remain conscious. He could see Baxter's legs in front of him, blood running down the man's pant leg and into his shoe.
He heard Baxter's voice again. "Get off him! Get off of him or, so help me God, I'll kill you."
"No!"
Keith heard the pump-action shotgun cocking, and he caught his breath and said to her, "Get off... Annie, get off..."
"No!"
A voice from outside the door called into the room, "Chief! We got to get moving! Got people out here now. Police on the way!"
Baxter stuck the muzzle of the shotgun under Keith's nose. "I'll count to three, and if this bitch isn't up and getting dressed, your fucking brains will be laying on your ass. One..."
"Annie... get off..."
"Two..."
"It's okay... remember what I said..."
"Three."
He felt her arms loosen around his chest, then felt her weight lifting off him.
Baxter gave her a shove, then stepped back, but kept the shotgun pointed at Keith's face. Baxter said to him, "When I get through fucking her, there's not gonna be any fucking left in her."
Keith tried to raise himself up, but Baxter kicked him in the head, and he fell forward on his face. He heard someone shout from the doorway, "Chief. State police on the way!"
Keith kept passing in and out of consciousness. His vision was blurred, and sounds seemed to reach him from far away. He could see Annie's bare legs, then saw her legs again with jeans and slippers on, then the legs of uniformed men walking away with her, and heard her voice calling him, but couldn't make out what she was saying, except for his name.
He heard Baxter's voice more distinctly, and the voice said, "Look at you, lying there, naked as a skinned buck."
He opened his eyes and saw that Baxter was kneeling in front of him and that Baxter had the K-bar knife in his hand. Baxter said, "You're mine now. All mine."
"Fuck you."
Baxter spit in his face and brought the heavy pommel of the knife down on Keith's head.
Keith was vaguely aware of hands on him, then his body rolling so that, when he opened his eyes, he saw the ceiling. He saw Baxter squatting over him, the knife in his hand, and he heard Baxter saying in a soft voice, "I'm just gonna relieve you of those things that got you in trouble." Keith could feel a tug at his scrotum and thought he felt Baxter's hand fondling his testicles, but he might have been imagining that, then realized he wasn't, and Baxter's voice was still droning on in a soothing tone. "So, we're just gonna take these home with us, and for the rest of your life, you can think about who's got 'em, and about who's fucking my wife and who's never gonna fuck her again..."
Keith jabbed two fingers into Baxter's right eye, and the man howled and tumbled backward, covering his face with his hands.
There were hurried footsteps in the room, the sound of urgent voices, and the image of Baxter being half dragged, half carried away by Ward and another policeman.
Keith couldn't feel any pain, except for the heavy pounding in his head, and the feeling that his eyes wanted to burst out of their sockets.
A wave of nausea came over him, and he was on the verge of blacking out, but he knew he had to get on his stomach so he wouldn't drown in his own vomit. Somehow, he managed to get on his side, then got sick and felt well enough to let himself go, slipping into unconsciousness.
Chapter Thirty-five
"What day is this?"
The nurse replied, "First you tell me your name, then I'll tell you what day it is."
Keith thought that was a fair deal, so he said, "Keith Landry."
She smiled. "Today is Tuesday. You got here Sunday night — Monday morning, really."
Keith looked at the sun outside the window. "Is it morning or afternoon?"
"My turn. Who is the president of the United States?"
Keith told her and added, "He's a delightful man. I had a chat with him last week."
She frowned.
Keith realized this was not what she wanted to hear from a head injury patient, so he added, "Just kidding."
She nodded.
He tried to sit up, but she put her hand on his shoulder. "Lie still, Mr. Landry."
He regarded her a moment as she hovered over him. She was about mid-thirties, plump, friendly face, but with enough experience, he guessed, to be stern if he got frisky. He asked her, "What time is it?"
"It's eight-fifteen A.M. You've been unconscious for about thirty-six hours."
"Oh..."He felt a little foggy, and his head and body ached, but otherwise he thought he was all right. He tried to remember exactly what had happened, and he recalled parts of it, but it was like a piece of broken china whose fragments had to be fitted together.
The nurse asked him, "What is your address?"
He told her, and she kept asking those kinds of questions, and he saw now that she was marking a sheet of paper as he responded. He wanted to think about what happened, but she was going on and on with the questions. Finally, he remembered the last minute or two before he blacked out, and his hand went down beneath the covers and between his legs. He said, "I'm okay."
"You're fine. Good vital signs, good responses, good..."
"Good. I'm out of here." He sat up again, and again she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Lie down, Mr. Landry, or I'll have to call an attendant."
"Okay. When can I check out?"
"When the doctors sign off on you. The neurologist is making his rounds now."
"Good. Where are my things?"
"In that closet."
"Does this telephone work?"
"No. Do you want me to have it turned on?"
"Yes, please." He asked her, "Do you know what happened to me?"
She didn't reply immediately, then said, "I understand you were assaulted."
"That's right. I was with my girlfriend. Do you know anything about her?"
"No, except that there are a few items of women's clothing in your closet." She added, "A police ambulance brought you here, and the police inventoried all the personal items that were found with you and brought everything here. I can go through it with you later, if you're concerned."
"No. I just need my wallet. Can you get that for me?"
"Later."
He thought a moment, then asked her, "Do the police want to question me?"
"Yes, they've asked that we notify them when you're up to it."
"Okay. But not today."
"We'll see."
"What is my prognosis?"
"Well... favorable."