Chapter 13
I was the first one to receive a blow to the chest the morning before the funeral, the bad kind of blow, the one that leaves you without breath in your lungs.
I was getting dressed in my room when I heard a woman’s voice in the corridor. She was following Sayer’s steps and I could tell they went into his office. When I got out I went straight down to the main floor, where I walked into George.
“There’s a woman here,” was the first thing that came out of my mouth, “I’m sorry… Good morning, George.”
“Top of the morning, Scarlett. Yes, there is a woman here: Sayer’s ex, Marie.”
A shiver went down my spine.
“Shit,” I breathed.
“No need to worry. She just came to collect some things and attend the funeral, nothing more,” he smiled.
“Aren’t you angry at me? Your suspicions were right.”
“As always. But no, I’m not angry as long as Sayer isn’t. You stopped being a cop and turned into one of us so quickly, so naturally... There is no doubt this is in your blood.”
I was taken aback by this, not knowing if I should take it as a compliment or an insult. I had to snap out of it. There were bigger things to worry about.
“Is Patrick having breakfast?”
“Yes, he’s in the kitchen.”
“He should learn to get up earlier. Almost had to kick him out of my room when morning came.”
George chuckled, patted my shoulder, and started out of the room, but I grabbed hold of his wrist.
“I still haven’t been told today’s plan.”
“You stay by my side at all times until I tell you otherwise.”
“That’s not a fucking plan.”
“We’ll be inside a church, I don’t think he’ll be stupid enough to try and get ahold of you there. It will be when we get out…”
We heard steps nearby and saw Sayer and Marie passing by. George went on to follow them. I froze to the sight of her. She was as tall as Sayer, her skin was powder white, and her blond hair – the kind of blond so perfect, you can only get it at a salon – delicately brushed her jawline.
“Scarlett, come here.”
Dammit.
“Marie,” he said as soon as I was a pace away from them, “this is Scarlett. Scarlett, Marie.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she smiled at me, no threat or malice there.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” I smiled, trying not to quiver. “I should check on Patrick,” I told Sayer before I pulled myself out of what could turn into a battle of awkward silences.
When I stepped into the kitchen, Patrick had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and was doing the dishes.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping out. You’re helping me, I thought I should help back.”
“You should’ve woken up earlier.”
“I’m sorry, I think it was the meds…”
“No need to apologize,” I stood next to him, leaning back on the kitchen counter. “Do you know anything about today’s plan?”
He hesitated, which meant he knew. “I was told to stay behind and only step in if I was called.”
“You’re lying through your teeth.”
“I…”
He was saved the bother of lying again by Marie’s entrance to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, I thought I’d make some tea,” her voice was soft and mild.
“I’ll make it for you, don’t worry,” I hastened to get the kettle then turned to Patrick, “you done?”
“Yeah.” He turned to Marie, “nice meeting you.” He bowed a bit and hurried out.
I wished I could have pulled my gun and shoot him dead right there.
“So you are Scarlett,” she began, “I’ve heard about you.”
“Hope it was good.”
“Helga was very worried about Armand, for his health and his safety. I see you’ve managed to work both out.”
“I only wish I had been there to protect her.” I did. She was a bitch to me, but still...
“Then you’d be dead too and it wouldn’t do Armand any good,” she went to stand by the backdoor, looking out into the garden, “I reckon you two are together now. No, no need to say anything. I’m seeing someone else too. Funny thing, he’s around your age,” she paused for a snicker. “I couldn’t take it anymore, you know? It got out of control. So many years I spent dreading, not sleeping, not having any peace because the thought of him getting killed kept coming back. I should have walked away from all this a long time ago. I’m not like you, you see? I can’t hold a gun in my hand without shaking.”
We were nothing alike, that was true. Physically and – it seemed – emotionally.
“It just takes practice.”
“It takes guts, and I don’t have them. I’m happy for him, don’t get me wrong. He’s a good man, a good husband, a good father, a good friend. I do hope this makes him aware that it is time to walk away from all this nonsense.”
The teakettle was whistling and she got the cups from the cupboard.
“We didn’t get legally married because he wanted to protect me, yet bullets know nothing about legal stuff,” she scoffed, “but you know that already.” A hint of sadness gleamed in her greenish eyes. “I only wish for him to be happy.”
Not a word was spoken while we served the tea. She smiled at me as she walked out of the kitchen with Sayer’s cup of tea and hers, and was gone before we were off to the church.
My head was a mess during the funeral. All my memories about what happened during and after are a blur. I do remember clearly that Sayer was staring blankly at the altar, George kept surveying the place out of the corner of his eye, Patrick was sitting in the back, and MacGowan was two pews behind us.
Through the service, I kept feeling as if Max’s stare was burning the back of my neck, which made me uneasy and drew my attention away from whatever else was happening.
Marie came by with her partner, and I stared at him for a while. A handsome man, in his thirties, blue-eyed, with shiny golden hair. He kept checking on her every time she wept. He noticed me staring, so I turned back to Sayer and his stern face. He squeezed my hand, acknowledging that I was there even if his sights were focused elsewhere.
Jimmy was there, I saw him sit near Patrick. I must say it made me feel a little better. Not safer, but better.
Once it was over, everyone walked up to Sayer. And when I say everyone I mean every single person that was present. I swayed with the multitude, all the while trying to keep track of MacGowan, Harry and Desmond, for they had vanished in the crowd.
“Stay close,” George pulled me back when I got a bit too far.
“I need some air,” I said to him but he didn’t hear me. “I NEED AIR.”
He signaled to Sayer that we were stepping out and Sayer agreed with a wave of his hand. We rushed out, shuffling through the attendees until we reached the sidewalk.
That was when I was yanked off George’s grip, a hand covering my mouth and the barrel of a gun poking my temple.
So predictable.
“Don’t move, you cunt,” it was Harry’s voice addressing George.
George kept his eyes on mine while I was dragged away. Then Desmond appeared, nonchalantly pointing a gun at George while accompanying us on our way towards a car that had been strategically parked on the other side of the street. I didn’t scream. All I did was pull my feet up so my kidnapper had to struggle with my weight.
And I waited.
Desmond opened the car’s trunk for Harry.
I didn’t know the plan, yet nothing was happening.
Desmond walked back up to George, never lowering his gun, made him kneel and raise his hands in the air. It wasn’t making sense to me that nothing happened as Harry tried to pull me up to get me into the car’s trunk.
‘Fuck this,’ I thought, and in a split second, when the barrel inadvertently turned upwards as Harry pushed me into the trunk, I hit his hand to see if he
would release the gun. He pulled the trigger instead and a shot was fired, one that caught the attention of everyone inside, outside and around the church.
“Fuck!” Harry groaned when I elbowed his stomach. “You cunt!” He kept screaming while I struggled to take the gun from his hand.
George was wrestling Desmond on the sidewalk when Sayer came out followed by Romulus. Then Max MacGowan was next to me with two blokes I had only seen once, at Cisneros’s party. They were lifting me off the ground; one grabbed my legs while Harry and the other one got my arms. All the while, I kept thrashing and twisting my whole body to free myself from their grip.
“Do something!” I heard Sayer shout at the top of his lungs.
A splash of blood hit my face when a sniper shot Harry, and they all lost their balance, falling backwards on the pavement. I tried to reach for the gun concealed in one of my boots, but MacGowan caught me by the wrists and held me still.
“You bloody cop,” he muttered, “I’m going to sort you out.”
Another one of his blokes tried to pull me to my feet and was shot by the sniper. I went for the gun that had fallen from Harry’s hand before anyone could reach it again, but MacGowan grabbed me by the jacket and all I could do was kick the gun away from anyone’s reach.
“Stop it right there!” Romulus himself was running towards us, aiming his gun at MacGowan and the one bloke left standing. “Release her!”
MacGowan wrapped his arm around me and put a gun to my neck, stepping back as Romulus pushed forward.
Jimmy rushed to help George submit Desmond to the ground and put him in handcuffs.
“There’s no way out of this, MacGowan,” Romulus continued. “You don’t want to add the murder of another agent to your record.”
“Be sensible for once, Max,” Sayer hurried towards us.
I could see the rest of the agents closing in on us, establishing the perimeter.
“She’s a fucking copper! What the fuck is wrong with you, Sayer? Turned into one of them pigs?”
“You talk such rubbish, Max. I ask myself why I keep doing business with you.”
“Come on, MacGowan, put the gun down. Release her, easy-peasy,” Romulus kept eyeing me, as if expecting a move from me.
All the while I was asking myself why hadn’t the sniper shot MacGowan in the head. It would be over so quickly.
Police vehicles started flooding the street, rousing the wounded guys lying and twitching in pain on the pavement.
The bloke standing next to us had the brilliant idea of pouncing on Romulus, which earned him a shot in the thigh. Just as stupid, MacGowan, startled by the heroics of his man, jumped backwards and pulled the trigger of his gun. The bullet caught my left arm and I ducked, hitting the asphalt a little too hard.
MacGowan tripped over when he tried to escape, so he started crawling backwards towards the car while shooting the air. A couple of bullets caught me: one in my right leg, another one somewhere in the right side of my chest. I lied face down and braced for impact.
Bullets whizzed above me as Romulus, Jimmy and some other cops shot MacGowan dead. When it all stopped and I rolled over to see what had happened, I realized, funnily enough, that I was the only one unarmed. Even George had a gun in his hand.
“Don’t move,” Sayer knelt beside me, horror covering his face as he checked my wounds. “You’ll be OK, just don’t move.”
I was so relieved to have him there that it seemed the searing pain I was in wasn’t that unbearable at all. The compassion in his eyes made up for everything.
“I’ll take care of you, of everything.”
“Armand…” it was surprisingly hard to speak.
“Stay calm.”
“Come on, Sayer,” Romulus nudged him.
“Wait, what?” I tried to push myself up the moment I saw a Metropolitan Police officer approaching Sayer with a pair of handcuffs. “No…”
“It’s all right,” Sayer pushed me down gently, “don’t move. The paramedics are here.”
“No, you don’t get it,” my desperation grew as he rose. “Romulus what the fuck are you doing?” I looked around, a cop had George already handcuffed and on his way to a police vehicle. “You said we weren’t going after him, Romulus!”
“Stay calm, they’re just doing their job,” Sayer kept saying, “It’s OK, it’ll be fine.”
Moretti took Sayer’s cane while the cop pulled his hands behind his back.
“Nooo! You can’t do this to me, Moretti, you bastard!”
The paramedics were racing towards where I was lying. Sayer was winking at me, saying it was nothing to worry about. I was rolling from side to side in a pool of my own blood, trying to reach my boots.
Romulus and Sayer eyed each other as the handcuffs clinked.
Someone shouted “Romulus!”
Bang. Bang.
Sayer’s eyes flew wide as Romulus’s legs gave way right in front of him. The cop that was handcuffing him turned to me in dismay before Sayer pushed him off.
I let the gun slide down my open hand, the pain of my wounds becoming unbearable again.
“What the fuck have you done?” Sayer was on top of me, his tone so grave I felt it echo inside my chest.
I saw Jimmy kneel beside Romulus, taking his pulse. A paramedic hastened to do the same but got a shake of the head from Jimmy.
“Scarlett, what have you done?”
“I did it, Armand,” I smiled, as I looked directly into his eyes, through his tears, through his trembling, through the taste of blood that was slowly invading my mouth. “I killed the beast.”
Then I closed my eyes and it all turned black.
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END OF BOOK 1
About the author:
Astrid H. Cruz a/k/a Artistikem, lives in Puerto Rico with her husband, her pet cockatiel, a lovable Scottish Terrier, and a recent rescue by the name of Rue. She’s currently pursuing a Masters in Communication Theory and Research at the School of Communication, University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras campus. Whenever she doesn’t have her nose buried in a book, she enjoys writing until the wee hours of the morning, cooking, good music, coffee with friends, independent films, red wine, and riding with her hubby on their motorcycle under the sunny island sky.
Connect with Me Online:
https://www.artistikem.com
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[email protected] Blog: https://artistikemwrites.wordpress.com
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Other titles by this author:
Torn (Book 2 of The Caregiver Series)
Four Short Stories by Artistikem
At the Corner of Mars and Neptune
The Caregiver Vignettes 1-5
The Beast (Book 3 of The Caregiver Series) coming soon!
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