Ambushed by M.E. McAndrews
Chapter 4
Olivia
last table. The heavy stench of tobacco hangs in the air, mixing with the sour aroma of spilled beer. The light from the neon signs washes a sickly yellow tint over the customers’ faces and exaggerates the build-up of grime on the long-neglected floors.
The last two stragglers finally pay their bills and head out. Fearing they might never leave, I’m relieved that they’re the last ones, because I can close early if nobody’s here. My feet ache from standing for hours on end, and my head is pounding from the constant noise and chatter. All I can think about is getting home and collapsing into bed.
“Excuse me?” A tall, lanky man with greasy black hair and a bushy mustache walks through the front door, and a sense of unease falls over me. His beady eyes dart around the room, and his stained button-down shirt is unbuttoned too far, revealing a chest covered in thick curly black hair. The unmistakable scent of cheap cologne and cigarettes precedes him. My skin crawls when he leers at me with a smirk. He's the type of man who thinks a few hundred dollars thrown around makes him entitled to anything he wants. I've dealt with men like him before, and I'll deal with him now.
I turn toward him slowly, my face an impassive mask. “What can I get for you?” I ask, my voice cool and professional.
He leans in closer, his breath hot on my cheek. “How about you, sweetheart? I've got a room downtown, and I'd love some company.”
I'm on high alert, my nerves rising, but I keep it in check. “I'm sorry, sir, but I'm here to work. If you can't behave yourself, I'll have to ask you to leave.” Hell, I'll call the police, if I need to. He moves in closer, his eyes locked on mine. I squirm away, trying to distance myself from his stinking breath, but I can't. He's in my personal space, and there's no escaping him now.
“I can assure you, sweetheart, I can be very persuasive.”
“No. Thank you.”
He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a wad of bills. “How about a tip for your trouble? I can tell when a woman is desperate.”
My back stiffens, and heat rises through my core. I can’t decide whether I want to run or punch this guy in the balls. Both. I want to do both. “I don't think you're hearing me. I'm here to tend the bar, not to fuck. So, if you don't mind, I need to start cleaning up before we close.”
He turns to walk away, but before he does, he mutters something under his breath. I watch as he walks to the exit, and I notice my coworkers staring, their voices dropping to low whispers.
My stomach drops as my gaze falls on the clock. It’s our anniversary, and I promised Seth I'd be home before midnight. Another August fifteenth… Five years together. Time does fly. And speaking of which, it’s almost two in the morning, and he’s going to be upset. He's probably already gone to bed. Part of me is relieved that I don't have to face his disappointment right now.
I gather my purse and keys from the back room and rush to the car.
“Olivia.”
I freeze as my manager, Bobby, a gruff, no-nonsense kind of guy, waves me down.
“What's up?” I lean against the bar, trying to maintain control of my emotions. I'm exhausted, and I'm sure he can tell.
“I heard you had a run in with a customer.”
I nod and continue walking, but Bobby sidesteps to block the exit, cutting off my escape.
“Look, Olivia, I know he's been a pain in the ass, but he's got history with this place. He's the owner's brother. So, make sure you watch your mouth around him.”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? He tried to pay me to—”
He holds up his hand. “Olivia, if you can't conduct yourself more professionally, I will need you to find another job.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Good night, Olivia.”
“Good night, sir.”
He steps aside and I push toward the exit, checking my phone. Damn, no messages. When I’m this late, Seth has usually texted me by this time. He’s become so needy since we moved, like a lonely frustrated little boy.
I collapse into the front seat of my car, my mind racing. I want to curl up in a ball right here, but I shift my thoughts to my comfy bed, which is only a quick ten-minute drive away.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding as I approach the top of Springer Mountain and see that Austin’s house is dark. I savor the sound of the night as I get out of my car, the owl in the background reminiscent of years past, growing up on my own private mountain. I walk through my front door-my mind still foggy from the long shift at work-and shrug off my light jacket. The blue light of Seth’s laptop on the kitchen table illuminates the entryway and living room.
“You will not believe the shit I had to deal with at work tonight,” I call out.
The room is silent.
“Seth?”
Weird.
I stumble to the kitchen, my stomach growling for something to eat, but as I round the corner, my heart crashes into my stomach. Seth is there, sitting in a chair, his head lying on the kitchen table. He’s not moving. But he’s not sleeping. His eyes are half open, but they’re not seeing anything.
“Seth? Honey?”
I approach slowly, my heart pounding in my chest.
“This isn’t funny, Seth. Are you okay?” I reach out and shake his shoulder. His arm slumps and falls off the table, hitting the chair with a loud lifeless thud. I call his name, louder this time. Nothing. His chest doesn’t rise, and his eyes don’t move.
“Please. Seth.” I pause as panic builds. “Look at me. Seth!” My voice rises to a frantic scream.
“SETH!”
My brain doesn’t process what my eyes are telling me.
“STOP PLAYING GAMES, SETH!”
I scream. I shake him, trying to get my husband to move, to breathe, to fucking look at me.
I freeze in place, teetering on the edge of a panic attack.
I reach for my phone and dial 911 as fast as I can, my hand shaking as the operator picks up. I try to find the words, but they’re stuck in my throat, broken, unhinged.
“My husband, h-he’s sitting at the kitchen table, and he’s not moving.”
“Can you tell me your address?
“five-five-nine Springer Mountain Road.”
“Okay, ma’am. I’m sending help right now. Is he breathing?”
Tears run down my face.
“No.” My voice cracks. “And I can’t find a pulse.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“No! I don’t know! I just found him like this. He’s not moving.”
“Is there anyone else in the house with you?”
A chill travels down my spine. I glance around frantically.
“No. I don’t—I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Please stay calm. Help will be there shortly. In the meantime, I need you to do something for me. Can you tell me your name?”
“Olivia.”
“Okay, Olivia. Can you move your husband onto the floor? I need you to perform chest compressions.”
“You mean CPR? I don’t know how to do it.”
“That’s okay, Olivia. I’ll walk you through it.”
My mind and body are both numb. The nightmare of drowning was more real than this. I collapse onto the chair next to Seth’s motionless body and pick up his arm again, trying to find a pulse in his wrist. Nothing. I try his neck but there is nothing. I put my phone on speaker and listen to the 9-1-1 operator as she tells me to lay Seth on the floor on his back.
I follow the operator’s instructions, repeatedly pressing down on his chest until the wail of sirens approaches the house. The sirens echo off the walls as the ambulance turns into the driveway. I rush to the front door to see two paramedics, a large woman and a smaller man, jump out of the ambulance carrying large plastic cases. They rush toward me at the front door, taking the steps two at a time.
“Where’s the patient, ma’am?” the woman asks.
“He’s inside,” I point to the door, and she rushes past me, followed by the man.
I’m nestled in the back corner of the kitchen, next to the oven, watching as the paramedics work furiously on Seth. They juggle bags of IV fluids and fiddle with the wires of a defibrillator. After several minutes, the female paramedic stops what she’s doing and stands up to approach me.
“Miss–”
“Williams. Olivia Williams.”
“Uh… Mrs. Williams,” she stutters. “I’m afraid–”
“What?” I shriek. “Afraid of what?”
“I… I’m afraid… we’re too late.”
My legs buckle and I collapse to the floor, a flood of nausea rushing through my insides.
“I’m so sorry,” the paramedic continues. She places a gentle hand on my shoulder and a sudden squawking sound comes from the radio clipped to her belt.
“Excuse me,” she says, stepping past me toward the front door.
The male paramedic who was working on Seth stops and gathers pieces of equipment, packing them meticulously into the hard plastic cases. When the sound of arriving police sirens catches my attention, I rush to the front door. The first paramedic is talking into her radio as two police cars turn the corner into my driveway.
I walk to the front door, my legs shaking as I open it. Two police officers get out from their separate vehicles and approach the paramedic. Their expressions are grim.
After speaking with the paramedic for a few minutes, the officers break away and approach me on the front porch. The first officer, a woman with empathetic eyes, walks toward the porch first. “Ma’am. May I come up?” she asks.
“Uh… yeh.”
The officer climbs the four stairs and approaches me slowly, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. She leads me away from the front door as the other officer enters my house.
“Ma'am, I'm sorry for your loss. Can you tell me what happened this evening?” the officer asks.
“I-I don't know. I came home from work and found him like that,” I stutter, my voice wavering.
“Can you tell me a little bit more about your husband? Seth, is it?”
“He's been frustrated, struggling with writer's block for a while now,” I reply, tears streaming down my face. “He's been under a lot of stress and pressure, but this… this isn’t… he wouldn’t…”
“I understand this is a difficult time for you, but we need to ask these questions to help us understand what happened.” The officer continues her questioning while my mind remains lost in a haze. She continues asking questions, but most of my answers are vague, as if my mind and mouth belong to two different bodies. She takes plenty of notes, scribbling on her notepad, nodding empathetically to my rambling.
What the hell is happening, Seth?
The male officer searches the house, snapping pictures while the female officer continues to ask more questions.
A crowd of nosey neighbors forms at the end of the driveway, whispering and staring at me with pity in their eyes; all I can do is stare back at them in disbelief and shock.