Heroic Measures (continued)

That's odd.

Continuing on toward the hallway that led to their bedroom, he was both relieved and surprised to see that the light was on. It would not be the first time that she had fallen asleep with the light on, but it was unusual. She usually complained when he left the bedside lamp on to read. The last time she had slept like this was . . .

Walter felt a faint smile and a glimmer of hope. Although they were both a little older now, it was still possible . . .

He approached the bedroom with a lighter heart, but stopped abruptly when he saw that the bed was empty. The covers had been pulled back as if she had been lying there, or planning to, but there was no sign of Abigail.

Walter's frown returned. Something was definitely wrong here. Abigail would not have left without leaving him a note—and certainly not without locking the front door. It was a safe enough neighborhood, having a respectively low crime rate, but she was not one to tempt fate.

Walter moved into the bedroom looking for any other signs that Abigail had been here. He was nearly to the bathroom when he caught sight of a bare foot partially hidden by the partition wall. His mind filled with an image of her laying there that caused a scream to sound unbidden from his throat. He raced through the bedroom, nearly tumbling over edge of the mattress.

He knelt before her, breathing heavily. His pulse slowed as he realized that there was no blood to be seen.

"Walter?" Her voice was a weak whisper.

"I'm here, Abby."

He took her hand gently and ever so carefully rolled her onto to her back. His breath caught when he saw her.

Her skin was pale and waxy. He started to bend over her, but stopped when he saw her stomach tighten. Her arms hugged her abdomen weakly. A sharp, but nearly silent moan escaped her lips.

"Abby," Walter said, his voice rising to match his growing concern. "What happened?"

She tried to speak, but failed. Instead, she shook her head and then her arms clenched around her middle once more.

Walter turned to look for the telephone, but he did not want to leave her there alone, not even for the brief moment it would take him to gather it.

Abigail's breath came in short, shallow bursts. Her eyes refused to focus on his and he knew that he had no other choice.

He nearly leapt to his nightstand where the phone rested and was punching 9-1-1 even as he moved back to her. Time seemed to stretch into eons before the dispatcher answered the line.