“You can cut the victim routine. Now talk fast or I’ll make sure that the same fate meets your family.” I’m bluffing, of course. I’d never hurt Gabriel. Not his mother either since she’s ignorant from what I can tell.
Xavier hesitates some more, so I shrug nonchalantly. “Fine, keep your silence and I’ll just shoot you all the sooner.”
Xavier stares me in the eyes and I know he can see the knowledge in mine that I am completely serious and he can’t fool me with lies. Taking a moment to think over his options, he begins to speak. Most likely he’s hoping to stall long enough for someone to come along and save his worthless ass. But it’s too late for that, because I’m already here. I’ll take out any employee of his that dares to interrupt.
At first, he only admits to his lesser crimes, drug running and money laundering. The way he explains it in a ‘no big deal’ manner would make you think he was talking about running a red light. Wanting to move him along, I tell him, “More. I want to know about the murders.” I can’t believe this monster is partly responsible for bringing someone as wonderful as Gabriel into the world. Pushing thoughts of Gabriel out of my head, I remind myself that I shouldn’t be thinking of him right now. Focus, Annabelle, now’s not the time for distraction.
When Xavier isn’t forthcoming, I move the aim of my gun around, as if trying to decide which body part to shoot first. That finally gets Xavier to go into detail about the men and women he’s murdered, or ordered to have murdered. He’s an even bigger monster than I’d thought. I don’t plan on anyone ever hearing this tape, but it makes me feel better to have proof that I killed the father of the love of my life for a good reason.
I interrupt his ramblings at one point, around murder number seven. “So you had the little girl killed?”
He holds his hands up in a helpless gesture. “Her father stole money from me.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask. “I’m going to steal your life.” You disgusting piece of crap. His dark eyes narrow in hatred, and I know what he’s thinking. He’s determining all the ways he’s going to hurt me when he gets his hands on me. Uh-Uh-Uh.
Next, I ask him to give a brief summary of his extramarital activities. And man, is the guy a slut. “Got any illegitimate kiddies out there, Xavier?”
Yeah, he so wants to wring my neck right now. Tapping his fingers on his desk, he shoots me a dirty look and gives me a simple, “No.” Eyeing the tape recorder, I know he's dying to smash it with his clenched fists.
Figuring that it’s time to get this show on the road, I decide to wrap it up. “That’s enough,” I tell Xavier, turning off the tape recorder.
“Wait! There’s more!” Xavier pleads, losing his criminal cool. He’s desperate to hold on to his miserable life for a little longer, as they always are.
I tuck the tape recorder into my bag with my free hand. “You have thirty seconds.”
“Why are you doing this?” Xavier asks instead of confessing more.
“It’s my job. Twenty seconds.”
“So you used my son to get to me?” Xavier actually has the balls to act offended.
“I love your son. Ten.” My finger tightens on the trigger.
“Funny way of showing it,” Xavier scoffs.
“I could say the same of you. I’m protecting him from you. Three, two, one.” I take precise aim, ready to pull the trigger. He closes his eyes in resignation. “Goodbye, Mr. Sanchez.” In a split second my finger will end the contract. Sometimes a split second is all it takes to change everything. The door opens. Turning my head, Gabriel is standing there with a look of disbelief on his face. I still have the gun aimed at Xavier’s head and quickly hold up my other hand in an attempt to halt Gabriel. “Don’t move.”
“What the hell is going on?” Gabriel practically yells.
I look back at Xavier just in time to see him reaching for the desk drawer again. I pull out the knife that’s tucked in my waistband and throw it, hitting him on the inside of his wrist. At the sight of the blood, Gabriel takes a step forward, but stops when I give him a look of warning. His eyes flash back and forth between me and his father, looking pained.
“Why are you doing this, Anna? Did my father do something to you?” I can hear the caring in his voice, even now, as he tries to desperately rationalize why the girl he loves is holding a gun on his father.
“Not me.” I’m trying to find a way out of this dilemma. According to Simon’s teachings, I should just shoot them both. Killing an innocent is reprehensible, so Simon would say to give him a nonfatal would. But this is my Gabriel we’re talking about. “Your father has to die.” I know my words are inadequate but it’s all I got.
“Why?” Gabriel asks. A question I hear all too often from my targets.
“He’s a bad man,” I say pathetically. Make a decision, Annabelle.
Ignoring the knife sticking out of his arm, Xavier senses my weakness when it comes to his son. “Gabriel, she’s insane. She already killed my security man. Her delusions have her thinking that I’m some criminal mastermind.” Wow, he’s good, looking so sincere, pleading with his eyes. Cleary it’s only okay if Xavier uses his son, just not anyone else. That threat is just one reason why I have to finish this job. I can’t imagine the turn Gabriel’s life will take if I fail in this.
“I don’t think, I know,” I say through clenched teeth. Xavier continues to try to convince Gabriel of my insanity. I’m only half-listening, coming up with the only logical solution to the problem. Xavier is mid-sentence when I pull the trigger. Gabriel shouts out and rushes over to him. I stand there, debating. Gabriel crouches down over his father’s body. Xavier Sanchez was dead before he even realized what happened. A quick death was better than he deserved.
Gabriel deserved better than having to witness this.
Right now, I’m thinking I deserve nothing.
Gabriel looks up at me with horror-filled eyes. In his shock, he’s immobile. Not having the same problem, I walk around the desk, coming within a foot of him.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, right before I hit him in the back of the head with my gun. He crumples along with my heart. I crouch down now, touching Gabriel’s cheek. Lightly kissing his lips and his cherished face, I whisper, “Love you forever, Gabriel.” Feeling as dead on the inside as Xavier Sanchez is bodily, I get up and leave my heart on the floor.
Chapter 14
Gabriel
Waking up, my head is throbbing. And I must have drooled in my sleep because my face is wet. I blink open my eyes and see that I’m lying on the floor in my dad’s study. How the hell did I get here? I wipe the drool off my face, but my fingers come away red. What the hell?
Then it all comes crashing back. Anna, my father, a knife, a gun. Anna coldly shooting my father in front of me. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that it was all a nightmare. I open them, sit up and see that it wasn’t. My father is spread out face down on the floor next to me. Dead. It’s his blood on my face.
One side of my face is covered in my father’s blood. Blood that’s pouring out of his head. His head that has a bullet hole in it. A bullet that came from a gun that my girlfriend fired.
Why?
I think this is what people mean by someone going into shock after a traumatic experience. I must be in shock. I’m way too calm right now. Numb. I should be fainting, puking my guts out, something.
My girlfriend, who I love more than anything in this world, just murdered my father. There has to be some sort of explanation for this. There is always a reasonable explanation for a guy’s girlfriend killing his father. Isn’t there?
I think about turning his body over. Better not. Better preserve the crime scene. Of course, I’ve been lying in the middle of it. That can’t be good. I really shouldn’t be this calm. I should scream. Later.
I notice that the knife Anna threw at my father’s wrist is gone. More blood coming out of that wound too.
My girlfriend can throw a knife like a ninja.
My girlfriend owns a gun
with a silencer.
My girlfriend can knock a guy out in one punch.
Every eccentricity that I know about Anna is running through my head.
My girlfriend sometimes wears knives strapped to her thigh.
My girlfriend can drive a car like James Bond.
My girlfriend lives by herself at a hotel suite and I’ve never seen her parents around.
My girlfriend associates with supposed Russian bodyguards who can afford Lamborghinis.
My girlfriend was a virgin who had already been taught sex tricks from a French Madam.
And, oh yeah, my girlfriend is obviously an expert marksman because she shot both my father and his bodyguard in the same exact spots on the forehead.
Who the hell is she? What the hell is she?
I am way too calm right now. I am definitely in shock. Everything feels so unreal, like it’s not really happening. Like I’m watching it happen to someone else. Maybe I’m dreaming. Still sitting on the ground next to my father’s body, I feel it’s best to stand up. I have blood on my clothes. My socks are now soaked in the blood I’m standing in.
Turning around in a daze, I walk out of my father’s study, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind me. I somehow make my way through the hallway and down the stairs. I can hear my mother humming. I follow the sound, finding her in the living room arranging pink and red flowers in a vase. She looks pretty today, wearing a green dress.
“Mom?”
She doesn’t turn around from what she’s doing, answering, “Yes, honey?”
“Mom!” I shout. I think the shock is starting to wear off.
She turns around and screams, covering her mouth with one hand. “Gabriel! Are you okay? Where are you bleeding?”
She rushes over to me with a look of motherly panic on her face, wanting to check for injuries. I hold my arms out to ward her off. “I’m not bleeding. You need to call the police. Someone shot dad and one of his men.” By the time I’m done speaking my entire body is trembling. It’s starting to sink in.
She looks at me in disbelief, her voice is panicky. “What are you talking about, Gabriel? What do you mean, someone shot your father?” I see horror in her eyes and wonder if she sees the same in mine.
I squeeze my eyes shut again, hoping when they open, this nightmare will have faded. Opening them, I don’t wake up from it. “Exactly what I just said. He’s dead. They’re both dead. Call the police.”
My mom pushes past me and rushes up the stairs. I stand there for a minute before realizing what she means to do. The knowledge finally snaps me out of the fog. I run up the stairs after her. “Mom, you don’t want to see it!”
Too late.
She enters the study before I can stop her and screams in a high pitch at the top of her lungs. She lunges toward my father’s body, sobbing, but I manage to hold her back. She tries to get out of my hold and I have to pick her feet up off the ground. Holding her tightly against me, I move her over to the leather couch, where the large desk will block most of her view.
“Mom, you can’t touch him, it’s a crime scene. Now, I’m going to let go of you so I can call the police.” I slowly release my hold on her and she falls back against the couch in a fit of agony. I walk over to the desk, pick up the phone and dial 911. Refusing to look down at the bodies, I wait for someone to pick up.
The 911 dispatcher answers after a short wait time. I confirm our address and tell her, “Someone murdered my father. Send the police.” The dispatcher wants me to stay on the line until the police arrive at the house, to answer more questions over the phone. I have something else in mind.
Hanging up, I call down to the guard booth next, asking them to send someone up to the house. Two minutes later, a man shows up and I ask him to sit with my mother. The security guard sees the bodies and his eyes go wide. I feel like saying, Yeah, you didn’t do your job, did you? Then again, I’m the one who brought the killer into our home. I try telling my mom that I need to leave, but she’s falling to pieces. I’m not even sure she comprehends what’s going on anymore.
I go to my bathroom and strip out of my clothes. Putting my head under the sink, the running water rinses off visible traces of the blood. I wash my hands and go into my closet for a change of clothes. Grabbing my car keys and wallet, I take the stairs two at a time and rush out the door. I can already hear the sirens, they’re close. As I’m pulling out of the gate, the cops are coming down the street. I pass by a speeding ambulance less than a minute later.
I have to talk to Anna. There has to be an explanation. Maybe I imagined it was her. No, I’m kidding myself. I didn’t imagine that it was Anna that shot my father. Still, there has to be an explanation. Why would Anna do this? What was she thinking? She must have had a reason. Unless she’s insane. If she’s crazy, I’ll do whatever it takes to get her help. I love her. Miraculously, I love her still. What other possible reason could there be? Seventeen-year-old girls just don’t go around murdering men for no reason. Right?
I speed to the hotel, breathing a sigh of relief on seeing Anna’s car in the parking lot. I can’t explain why, but I have the feeling that the clock is ticking. Instead of waiting for the elevator, I take the stairs. I’m sweating by the time I reach Anna’s floor. Breathing hard, I’m about to knock on the door when it swings open.
I drop my fist at the sight of the person before me then contemplate raising it again. It’s her blonde Russian friend. Her parents’ bodyguard. He’s carrying luggage in each hand. He sets them down slowly when he sees me. His entire body tenses up, as if he’s readying to attack.
“Where is she?” I ask hoarsely, ready for a confrontation.
He opens his mouth to answer, but before he can speak, Anna’s voice says from behind him, “It’s okay. Move out of the way.” Interesting, I thought the Russian couldn’t understand English. He seems reluctant as he hesitates before stepping aside and mockingly gesturing for me to enter the room.
At the first sight of Anna, a mixture of feelings race through me. The intensity of it almost overwhelms me, forcing me to breathe through the pain. All at the same time I want to hold her close, shake her in disbelief and hurt her badly. Despite what happened earlier tonight the love is still there. Possibly stronger than ever, but something else is building too. Another emotion is beginning to burn parallel to that love.
Anna is standing there, wariness radiating from her. It’s not quite fear that’s in her eyes as she looks at me, but something that I can’t quite figure out. We just stare at each other. I don’t know exactly what to say to the murderer of my father. The girl I love. I can’t even begin to guess what she’s thinking right now.
The Russian breaks the silence. “We don’t have time for this, Annie. We have to leave now. He’s probably already called the cops.” Interesting. The Russian, who didn’t speak or understand English before, can now speak it fluently. Without an accent.
I avoid the more pressing issues and address this one, the easier one. I watch Anna’s face and say, “I thought he was Russian?”
She doesn’t even look guilty as she says, “I lied.”
I finally explode. “You lied about a hell of a lot more than that! Who the fuck are you? Why did I just have to watch you murder my father?” I point at the fake Russian. “And who the fuck is he really to you?”
I take a step towards Anna and the fake Russian takes a step closer to me. Anna holds up her hands. “Stop! He’s not going to hurt me!”
I’m not? “Anna, can I speak to you in private. Without him here?”
At the same time that Anna says, “Yes,” the blonde guy gives a vehement, “No.”
Anna flashes him an impatient look. “We both know that I’m in no danger from him. I can take care of myself.”
The guy glares at her for a moment before saying, “Make it quick. We need to leave.” As he moves past me to leave the room, he bumps his shoulder hard against mine and says, “Don’t try pulling anything. I have a key. You can’t keep me out. T
ry hurting her and I’ll kill you.”
“I wouldn’t hurt her,” I say through clenched teeth. Would I?
He gives me a sarcastic look. “I said try. You wouldn’t stand a chance against her unless she let you.” He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him to wait in the hallway. Again I wonder, who is this guy to her? Why does he have a goddamn key?
Turning back to Anna, I again see that emotion in her eyes similar to fear, but not quite. Is it anxiety? Does the murderess actually feel remorse? No, it’s not remorse that I’m seeing. At least not for the act. Of course, she should feel anxious right about now.
“I did call the police,” I tell her, trying to gauge her reaction. She doesn’t have one, from what I can tell. It’s almost like she’s the stranger I first met. “Why did you do it?”
She seems to debate her words before saying, “I had to.”
I’m barely able to reign in the building anger when I respond by saying, “That’s not an answer. Why did you murder my father?” Clenching my fists, I manage to keep my tears in check.
“I don’t consider it murder when I kill a murderer. I call it justice.” Her words make no sense. What is she talking about? My father was no murderer.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I take another step closer, she doesn’t move, as if unconcerned by any threat I may pose.
“Your father, he was a murderer. He killed people, sometimes innocent people. That wasn’t the only thing that he was guilty of. He’s also one of the largest distributors of drugs from South America. He was a monster.” She speaks her lies so matter-of-factly. I wonder how many other lies of hers I fell for. Not this time, she’s not that good.
“Liar!” She doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. My dad would never do those things.
“I’m not lying, Gabriel,” she says softly. Her golden brown eyes are beseeching me to believe her, but now I see her for what she is, a monster.
“And who are you?” My father’s death should be my main focus, but I have to know what she is.