Authors: Amanda Lance
If she had loved him, he would have done anything.
Kasper ran his mind through the database that was Emilia Ward: the first time he had seen her, every pronounced smile and kind word, the feel of her against him, her ramped cries of pleasure… most of it had taken place in that very house, the prison he had shut himself inside in order to avoid the harshness of society. How humorous was it that the very world he had sought to escape had found him there, anyway? The determination of a single child enough to bring down his defenses?
How appropriate
was it that he should end his life there? Concluding the joke that she had begun?
Would she cry for him then? Shed some of her precious tears in a pity-
induced sadness? Of course, she would get over it quickly, as resilient and as flexible as she was. She would forgive herself and forget him easily, telling herself that she had held up the charade for as long as she possibly could. She certainly had given him more time than he deserved—proof of her generous nature and compassionate heart. And to hasten her remorse she would take solace in the bed of another, the arms of someone who couldn’t possibly deserve her.
Yet he couldn’t think about that now, it was much too painful, draining the last of his energy from him until he
felt his neck falling forward, his eyes drooping shut…
No! No
, he would not fall asleep to wake up another day!
He would not live in a body
where Emilia Ward couldn’t possibly love him.
It took longer to stand up and steady
himself than he would have liked; the dizziness from the combination of sadness and narcotics making him nauseous instantly. He laughed as he stumbled to the lock box, hidden expertly behind the bookshelf from even Aasif and that meddling Mrs. Levkin. Kasper paused briefly at the thought of them. Had he not just joked with Mrs. Levkin the month before about his suicide? Lectured all too recently on his tendency to self-harm by Aasif?
Kasper took the box out from behind the wall and staggered to the file cabinet instead
of directly back to his desk. Surely, his testament and life insurance information were stored on the computer somewhere, weren’t they? Regardless, he skimmed his fingers over the documents in the cabinet, swearing when his eyes blurred too much for him to read the labels or highlighted parts. He swayed back to the desk and tried terribly to remain conscious. If he left the cabinet open, they could find it on their own in addition to his stinking corpse.
Would they hate her for her part in his death?
Secretly relieved that they each could go out and seek new employment? As Emilia had given him the only true joy he had ever known, he hoped the latter, wishing with all his might that they would embrace her for her honesty. And even if he had the opportunity, he would not have changed her as his primary beneficiary. After all, he had pledged to give her everything while he was alive, why shouldn’t he have given it to her in death?
Regardless, he went for t
he ballpoint pen in the drawer just before removing his mask for the final time. If a few of his scribbled words could make her life more convenient, not to mention avoid potential criminal involvement, he would without hesitation—his second to last act of devotion to her.
Once he felt secure with his words, he sat back in the chair, gripping the lock box
to his chest as if it were a suit of invincibility—the armor that would shield him from pain. And in a way, it would. He stared at the gun as he thought about it, how a simple device would free him of his misery and unleash him from his scarred penitentiary. Really, it was a thing a wonder. He had been a freak accident, the bomb that had exploded into his parents’ lives and proved how cruel nature could be. Even as an infant, his ugliness had been enough to destroy his family and add more stigma to a culture that was already hated by the western world. But he would take all that power away now—with help from the gun—become nothing more than a bad dream and a body in the ground. Maybe, he mused with delight, he would become an urban legend, immortal even after he died in the rumors of others, a subject of fascination to excitable children and bored housewives.
Just maybe, his little peach would not forget him.
He put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
***
The traffic had been strangely kind, letting Emilia get to Massachusetts in just under three hours. And though her engine was smoking—the air-conditioning been lost the hour before—Emilia felt a slight surge of relief as she turned down the one-way road he lived on. Even that, however, did not last long as she saw the open gates to Iram Manor. Kasper rarely left the gate unlocked, yet alone open, and it only increased the same clenching sense of fear that had been bothering her throughout the drive.
S
he saw Kasper’s car right away, parked in front of the garage and waiting expectantly for its owner.
Somehow, that only made her more concerned.
She pulled up alongside the car, banging away on the windows until she realized it was unlocked and there was no one inside. The summer heat made it impossible to tell if the warm hood was a result of recent arrival or not, so Emilia immediately ran to the stables—hoping with all her might that he was there, unhurt, and out of harm’s way.
Not only was he not there however, the horses were missing—not altogether surprising given his stay away—yet from the looks of the dust on the arched walls and
built-in shelves there hadn’t been a horse there in months, and certainly no Kasper. From there, her fear only grew more adamant, seizing her from the inside out so that her skin tingled and her breath was shortened.
Emilia ran to the manor then,
imploring time to move faster as her feet could not. If Mr. Shiraz’s car wasn’t there, then neither was he. And if the New York police hadn’t taken her fears seriously, then there was no way that they would have sent local authorities to take his statement, let alone check on him…
She called out for him continuously, the sound of her shouts and the gun going off blending in together to create an awful sound. Emilia’s feet were barely in the door when she heard the blast—her
heart temporarily stopping as her mind registered what it was, and potentially what it meant.
“Kasper!”
she called out again, but received no response.
In following the echo of the blast
, she took two steps at a time, not stopping even as she tripped over herself and developed rug burn on her knees from falling. In earnest, she screamed his name—called out for him over and over until the words coming out of her mouth sounded like nothing but rubbish. Even then however, it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t get her body to move with enough motion to be with him right that very second! In another life, she might have thought the noise was a firecracker, a car backfiring, or even just a large object falling to the floor, and yet with her all too recent experience, Emilia immediately recognized the sound and the fear illuminated within her.
Upon reaching the third floor
, she began talking, her words no longer words, but just a garbled combination of prayer and begging.
When she walked into
his office however, the jabbering fell beneath her and her screams went silent.
There was no sound to describe what she saw: Kasper slouched over the desk with blood pooling around his head, his unmoving form
reeking of gunpowder and alcohol.
On the floor was a gun.
Somewhere in her mind, she became aware of the sound of her voice calling out his name, the feel of her body moving again as she ran to his side. The tears were freely flowing in an instant while her hands reached out for him—fearful of touching him and confirming what she suspected.
“
Oh God! Oh God! Kasper, what have you done?
He moved just
a little, his shoulders shrugged against the desk to inspire some hope in her.
“Kasper
?” She dared enough to touch the shoulder closest to her. And while it was a minimal thing, she appreciated how warm he was, additional evidence with his muscles twitching beneath her touch that he was still alive.
“Kasper
, please wake up?” She sobbed. “Please…”
When he moved again, his head
lolled to the side to face her and a soft groan emerged from his throat. She could barely see his face with the layers of blood, so much of it that she couldn’t even tell where it was coming from or the extent of his injury. With her hands shaking uncontrollably, she ran to the phone on the shelf, calling out and swearing when there wasn’t even a dial tone. Well, at least there was an explanation as to why he hadn’t been answering his phone.
So Emilia had
a try at her phone instead, dialing 911 and hitting send several times before returning back to him. Again, she knelt at his side, wiping the blood from his face with her thumbs and trying, but failing to keep her tears from blurring her vision.
“K-
Kasper,” she stuttered. “I’m so sorry, Kasper. I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean a single word of it!” She choked on the unstoppable sobs. “Please don’t die…please.”
His eyes, which
gave off the appearance of being sealed shut with the blood that caked the lashes to flesh, twitched just enough for her to be grateful, the joy of him so clearly being alive causing her to spontaneously call out. A moment later, Kasper’s eyes opened completely and the dilated pupils focused in on the face in front of him.
“Emilia…
just look at how beautiful you are…”
She saw him smile through the blood before his eyes fluttered shut.
And B
ack Again
It was the sound of
her
voice that had made him flinch—either that or his body’s self-preservation kicking in to its greatest extent. Naturally, he wanted to explore the issue further, analyze what he did not know, but every thought became more difficult to think about as the pain set in: the scorching, agonizing pain that filtered through the nerves attached to his body and down the left side of the back of his head. Yet why should he still feel pain? Or anything, for that matter?
A splash of anger flushed him as the sound of Aasif’s voice reached his ears, one soft voice yelling at the other. Was that Hartwell he hea
rd? Damn those meddling idiots and their persistence to keep them alive! Why couldn’t they just have had the decency to let him die? One of them might end the life of a suffering animal, but not him? Did he not deserve at least that much dignity?
Kasper
opened his eyes to some kind of medical device that appeared to be attached to a needle in his arm. If he had the strength, he would have ripped it out, taking the vein and all the blood inside him with it.
“Ah
,” Aasif said with a sign of contempt in his voice. “I see Sleeping Beauty is awake.”
Kasper tried to turn hi
s head to the side, but found himself unable to do so. As an alternative, he swore instead, watching the doctor out of the corner of his eye quickly excuse himself and retreat out the door. He clutched his hands and wiggled his toes. Well, at the very least, he hadn’t seemed to give himself any kind of brain damage.
“So
,” Aasif said, moving to sit in the chair beside his bed. “Should I say I told you so now or later? Perhaps both?”
“Dam
n you!” With his lack of energy, Kasper’s shout was barely a whisper, his normally husky voice concealed with a raspy tone. “Why couldn’t you just have let me be? Let me die in peace?”
“
You wouldn’t have had any peace in
Jahannam
.” Aasif crossed his legs and examined his nails casually. As if he rescued his clients from the brink of euthanasia every day!
Ha!
Kasper mused. Who did he think he was?
“I was already there
, you nincompoop!” Kasper coughed out a curse and let his eyes wander to the pitcher on the tableside.
“Water
,” he managed before the coughing commenced. Kasper wanted to comment on the lawyer’s lack of usefulness but didn’t have the ability with the burn in his throat and the headache that plagued him.
Aasif sighed and poured the requested refreshment. He watched with impatience as his client sipped from the glass greedily.
“I was not hired to be a caregiver, Kasper. I am not suited for it.”
Kasper sputtered out the straw and scoffed. Even rolling his eyes was painful, and the ability to infuriate Aasif
was not even remotely satisfying while Emilia Ward hated him. It seemed she had taken that as well.
“Then you should not have tried!
I have nothing to keep me here anymore.”
“Because Emilia Ward left you?” He waved his hand away as if the notion itself was completely
absurd. “Yes, I know all about it.”
“Impossible.
If
you did, you would have let me die.”
“Nothing is worth dying for
, Kasper. How do you not know this by now?”
“Love is worth dying for
.” Kasper swallowed hard and shut his eyes. In his mind, he could still smell her perfume as if she were right there with him. Perhaps, he hoped, he had given himself brain damage after all.
“You should be ashamed of yourself.
What you did was very selfish—even for you. I have never seen someone in such hysterics—”
“Oh yes
…” He tried to laugh. “I image Mrs. Levkin had quite a fit when she saw the likes of me. Tell me, Aasif, did I mess up my hair too badly? I wouldn’t want to lose my looks just because I’m dead.”
“Mrs. Levkin isn’t who I’m talking about
,” Aasif said with a slight rolling of his eyes. “Speaking of which, I hope you don’t mind us ignoring the do not resuscitate document. Then again, once the threats were dispersed, I hardly had a choice—”
“You should have let me die
,” he said again. The tears rose up at the thought of Emilia Ward, of the life he wanted to give her and never could. “I got to see her. Did you know that? I was allowed to see her smile and hear her voice. She cried for me and asked me not to die! Told me she was sorry and that she loved me! I will never have that while I am alive…”
“Has that shot damaged your eardrums?” He looked to his left and pointed to indicate something important.
Normally, Kasper would not have bothered to even humor the man, and yet mere curiosity and the need to release the tension in his neck prompted him to listen. He rotated his head to the injured side and cursed to himself. Why was this better than death again? And what was Aasif babbling about when he said threats were being made in regard to his welfare? Even with the thoughts he could manage, none of it seemed to make sense. And as a result was in the middle of swearing again when his eyes focused to the lounge chair in the corner.
Sleeping right there, curled up into herself, was the gentle villain herself.
Kasper blinked hard, once, twice, three times before moving his hand to wipe the blurriness from his eyes. If his mind were deceiving him, she would disappear then, wouldn’t she?
“S-she’s
here.” He glanced back at Aasif again for confirmation. “S-she is here. Isn’t she? You see her, too?”
Aasif scoffed
and went back to examining his nails. “Yes, Kasper, I see her, too.” He chuckled. “And I have seen her for the last two days cry her eyes out for you and your idiocy. If I never live to see it again, I would be happy.”
“B-but she—she
—”
“You should have kept an eye on things other than Emilia
Ward, Kasper.” Aasif sighed before sitting up and reaching for his jacket over the chair. “Your degenerate aunt and her wayward children, for example…”
“
J-Jamshid is
dead
,” he stuttered. “I saw them burn the body myself.”
“Yes
,” he said with a twinkle in his eye that Kasper found most irritating. “I have reconfirmed that myself just this past hour. Yet
Cyrus
is as alive as one could be. In fact, he is of age now, and from what I understand, recently living in Ithaca, New York.”
“
What
?”
“Exactly
.” Aasif smiled. “If you had asked more questions when Emilia Ward was trying to break your spirit, then maybe you could have saved yourself that headache you surely have. Not to mention the forty-some-odd stitches…”
Aasif stopped himself then, his gaze heading over to the sound of a soft groaning coming from the corner. It seemed, that with the outbreak of conversation not even two days of sleeplessness and
a cup Mrs. Levkin’s tea—with the secret extra additive of chamomile and lemon balm—could keep Emilia from her worry for Kasper. And once her eyes focused in enough to see what was happening, her face lit up.
“Kasper! Oh
, thank God!” She threw the blanket off and rushed him immediately. Aasif found himself out the door a second later, much too disturbed by her display of emotion than he would have cared to admit.
Emilia
, meanwhile, knelt by his side, her frame just tall enough to lean her elbows against the edge of the bed where he lay. Kasper wanted to say a million things in response to her quickly forming tears, but did not know how. In addition to his sense of humor, she had taken his tongue and quick wit.
“Can I get you anything?” She offered. “How do you feel?” Emilia closed her eyes and shook her head violently. “Sorry, that was such a stupid question…”
“What are you doing here?” he said after several tries.
“I—
came to see you. When you didn’t answer your phone—”
“You should no
t be here.” Kasper closed his eyes. Perhaps, if he didn’t have to look at her, this second rejection would be easier. “I did not want you to see this.”
“See you kill yourself
, you mean?” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, frustrated, it seemed to him, to have to deal with him at all. “Oh Kasper, I am so sorry—”
“Don’t,” he insisted as harshly as he could.
“You were kind enough to string me along while you did.”
“I didn’t string you along
, Kasper.” She heaved more with each second, making her words nearly inaudible through her sadness. “That’s why I was in such a hurry to get here. I had to talk to you, to explain—”
“There is nothing to expl
ain. I cannot blame you the bluntness of your confession. I am grateful that you deceived me for as long as you did. You were the greatest lie of my entire life.”
Her response
, however, was not one he had expected. Instead of sighing in relief or even walking out without another word altogether, Emilia sobbed louder than before, her tears falling recklessly against his hand. How could she take everything away from him but her ability to inspire pain? How did she make her tears feel like acid on his skin?
“I
t is all right, my love,” he cooed when she began to hiccup through her cries. “Can’t you see it is much better this way? That it is the only way?”
“No, Kasper!
I love you, I always have…”
“Emilia, you don
’t have to do this,” he insisted, wishing he had more energy to sit up properly, to do more than try and wipe at her tears. “I want you to be happy, if that is with your young man, then—”
“N
o!” Her shout disturbed him more than he expected, her voice becoming clear and resolute in her sudden anger. “You
don’t
understand.” Emilia stood up to look for the tissue box then, her clumsy hands tired of drying tears that would not stop. “I was lying!”
S
he blew her noise loudly. “It was all just a lie he made me tell. He told me he’d kill you if I didn’t.”
“Made you?” Kasper
squirmed to sit up and flinched at the pain. From turning to look at her, his head had seeped fresh blood, turning the pillow case a bright red. He hoped the sight wouldn’t disturb her too terribly. “What do you mean by that?”
“He had a gun
.” Emilia blew her nose once more before coming back over to sit with him. If he would at least let her explain, then half her purpose would be complete. “He was the one who attacked Claudette after the masquerade! Remember when I mentioned to you about the dress she lent me?”
He managed to nod before
she continued.
“Andr—Cyrus saw it and knew I would be at the gala
; he hurt Claudette, thinking she was me.”
“What?”
he roared. “That bastard went after you?”
“Not just me, he only did that to get back at you! If I didn’t say those awful things
, he threatened to come after you—he—he poisoned Tut just to prove he could hurt me.”
That was more than he needed to hear. Kasper sat up fully then, struggling to move his feet to the side of the bed so he could stand. That little
khar
had tried to attack him? Gone after
his
little peach and hurt her? The penalty, of course, would have to be death for such an offense—but why would the little khar bother with him now? When Kasper last saw him, Cyrus had been little more than a toddler, too stupid enough to punish, and just enlightened enough to know that shunning his unwanted cousin was an encouraged practice. It was difficult, however, to think the little boy had transformed to the degenerate he had seen in Emilia’s apartment. And his instincts implored him to listen to Emilia’s voice alone.
“W-what are you doing
?” she yelled. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to kill him
,” he said, ripping at the IV tape. “Obviously.”
“No. I—” She pushed him back down and started again. “The police have him now. You don’t have to do anything!”
“If he harmed you, then I do!”
“No, please
, just stop. You shouldn’t even be moving yet.”
How could he deny a request from her when she was beautiful
even with her red eyes and tired lines around her face? He sighed to himself before silently swearing revenge. If Cyrus was still alive, he would not be for much longer.
“T-
the police helped you, then? Kept you safe?”
“Not exactly
,” she admitted. “When he tried to shoot me, Tut almost bit his hand off and tore an artery in his thigh.”
That
mutt? That mangy, stinking mutt saved his little peach?