Read Once Upon A Killing (A Gass County Novel Book 2) Online

Authors: Isabell Lawless

Once Upon A Killing (A Gass County Novel Book 2) (24 page)

“Why the hell did you do that?”

“I made you think of something else than running over to interrupt, didn’t I?”

Wayne stared at him for a while and shook his head. “Fine.”

“So, go. Hop in the back of the ambulance and I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Chapter Thirty-three

He wasn’t sure what the time was when he awoke in the hard chair, his head leaning uncomfortably against the wall, giving him a slight headache now when he thought about it. He shouldn’t be disoriented; he was used to roaming these halls every day. Every single day since his mid-twenties, yet tonight felt different. He was not actively participating, and solemnly observing was much harder than he had anticipated.

Someone had left the light on across the room, and he was glad because without it, the room he wouldn’t be able to see Christine’s motionless body beneath the white sheet. He stood up slowly and stretched his arms up toward the ceiling, and wasn’t too surprised when he heard the crack at the back of his neck from the strain of resting it against the wall. She was still sleeping, but to make sure, he bent his head horizontal to her body, to notice the small movement of her chest as she was breathing. She was too quiet. Too peaceful. Too… well, not Christine. He checked her breathing once more, and decided to give it a rest. All the other machines surrounding her bed kept a tight watch on everything, and deep down he knew she was still alive.

He gently grabbed the back of her ankles, lifting them slightly, and tucked the fabric of the bed sheet around her feet and beneath her legs. He knew her well enough, and was familiar with her distaste for cold feet at night. If he knew she wouldn’t be disturbed, he would have rubbed both of her feet with slow and firm hands to warm and relax her. Instead he placed his large hand on top of her bundled up feet and rubbed his thumb gently at the side of her big toe.

“Mmm.”

He took his hand away from her feet and turned around to be met by two half-opened, drowsy brown eyes. She didn’t need to say anything. He knew how worn out and lethargic she must feel under these circumstances.

“You looked so angelic under the white sheets,” he mumbled, almost a whisper. “I’ve never seen you fragile like this before. Somehow you seem smaller. How are feeling?”

He wasn’t quite sure why he’d asked her that question. He already knew the answer, and knew she might not even have understood what he’d said.

The last time he was out on a call they’d transported a young boy, about the age of eight, who’d fallen out of a tree during a school trip, landed badly, and broken his arm in three places. When they’d given him some medicine for the pain the boy had recited the entire presidential history of the United States, and before he blacked out mentioned how much Wayne looked like a glorious Saint sitting next to him in the back of the ambulance. Talking to someone under the influence, of any type of drug, could really go any way.

He knew the feeling of being disconnected from the world. The fear he’d instated in Officer Melanie Orchard, when he’d lost his mind and screamed until a needle soothed him, was a well-known topic among the nurses he’d spoken to before his release from the hospital not too long ago.

He watched her lips ever so slowly stretch the slightest, making the left side of her mouth point up a fraction of an inch. He noticed then that he was clutching her hands tightly, and to his surprise it didn’t feel wrong. Not this time. Why did it ever? Why hadn’t he realized until now how good it felt to have her warmth seeping into his skin, how familiar her hand fit in his, how right it felt to hold her like this?

Her chest slowly lifted. “Is that supposed to be a peptalk?”

She closed her eyes as soon as she finished her sentence, instantly erasing the tiny hint of a smile he thought he’d seen.

“Hey, are you still awake?” Panic raced through his body, reminding him of how close he’d been to losing her for good this time, to never seeing her again, touching her, hearing her speak, smelling her freshly baked bread in the morning, seeing her talking to customers while he watched her from outside the window, or peeking out from the fire station and watching her either start her morning at the bakery or leave for the night.

“Remember the coffee Mary brought over after I injured my leg?”

“Yes.”

“I had some when you called, apparently she’d put rat poison in it. That’s what did it?”

“No way?” he answered, shaking his head in disbelief.

“The oldest trick in the book, yet it worked so well.”
“I’m sorry I brought her into your life. My life. Sorry won’t heal you, but know how much I regret not digging deeper into her past.” Wayne sat down at the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Christine’s cheek.

“What will happen now, Wayne?” Christine whispered and gently pressed her face into his palm.

“It’s ridiculous having tragedy deciding my faith in us, but it hasn’t been until today that I know I need you in my life. Knowing how close I was to loosing you forever made me realize something.”

“What?” Christine whispered and looked up into his eyes.

“I’ve got no desire to run anymore.”

Chapter Thirty-four

Dusk settled over the rolling hills transforming grass from apple green into a shade of dark emerald in the lack of light, wrapping the small town and its fields of wild blowing wheat and wandering livestock into a lulling slumber. A couple more minutes and the darkness of the night would engulf the sun in its entirety, swallowing it until early dawn. Pitch black, the sky would then shimmer with the millions of stars dancing above, twinkle clear enough to guide travelers to their destinations.

“I’m smarter,” a soft mumble spread from the window sill in the two story yellow Victorian, cornered between a large oak and the red cottage next to it at the end of the cul-de-sac. A blue truck was parked in the drive way, having delivered a vital young man and a wounded woman not long ago. They would both be sleeping upstairs in the bedroom at this time of the night. One was.

“What I did takes patience,” the voice whispered against the cold window glass, “perseverance, and talent.”

She turned her head slightly, watching the heaving motion of a broad male chest resting under the soft sheets of the bed. “I got into your heart. Into everyone’s hearts. I settled, rooted, and you kept me. That takes talent.”

A whisper, barely noticeable in the dark bedroom escaped her lips and she moved softly across the floor to the bed.

“You robbed me of my virtue so long ago you don’t even remember it, remember me,” she breathed, barely a foot away from his bedside. Her eyes caressed the rough skin of the man’s face, from his soft ruffle of bed hair, down to his closed eyes, then his parted lips. “I’ve relived that day in my head a thousand times over, and more.” He looked peaceful, she thought.
Peaceful
, her mind tested the word.
Peaceful
. She’d like peaceful. Her
mind
would like peaceful. It hadn’t experienced peace since that morning twenty years ago.

It had been sunny, she remembered, as she had passed the tall green hedge to grumpy Mr. Matthews’s yard and seen him with his pants down in the lawn chair. Even with him facing away from her she could see the filthy movement of his hand between his thighs. There had been no question of what he was doing.

“I know you’re watching. Instead of passively goading me, why don’t you come over here?” He’d never turned his head, yet the authoritative power he held locked her in trance. His dark, dry voice had scared her and without any good reason, she’d opened the tall brass gate and walked into the lion’s den, secluded in summer’s finest greenery. A suburban oasis hidden from the rest of the world.

He’d stood up then; tall and authoritative, towering feet above her height at the time. His hand had grabbed her wrist roughly, shocking her, and placed it on his manhood. Then sighed deeply, his head tilting back in pleasure. His frosted eyes locked with hers, deeply he burned and branded her. “Everyone does what I tell them to, and so will you. I have power in this community, and you understand that. Correct?” He hadn’t waited for a response. “I’ve seen you before, strutting down the street with your dark ponytail swinging cheerfully at the back of your head.”

She’d tried to pull herself back from him, only to get reeled back in tighter, his naked groin pressing against her hand, his claw-like hands grabbing her upper arms as hard as a wrench, tightening more with each attempt to escape.

“If you press your lips against it, I will let you go, never to talk about this ever again. Understood?” She’d wriggled and squirmed to no avail, her feet fighting a dance with the devil, powerless against his strength. “We can do this the easy way,” his head nodded down to his bare skin, “or the hard way. You kiss it or I’ll move us both over to my garage where I’ll take you against the work bench. You pick, there’s no way out of this.”

Her mind had cursed her happy trotting down the street, choosing to turn down this part of the sidewalk and the brass gate.

She’d caved, finding the second alternative a nightmare worse than what he’d offered her. With a blank stare she’d watched his face disappear, seen the fabric of his white shirt move, until she was faced with only bare skin. A cry was stuck so far in her chest she was afraid it would break her wide open if a tear started rolling down her cheek, and her mind could not comprehend how she’d allowed herself to be pushed to her knees against her will.

That’s when she’d seen him. In the periphery, two large, scared eyes had appeared in the window on the second floor of the large house, but vanished just as quickly.

Those eyes never told anyone what they’d seen. Those quiet eyes had made her life a tragic event. That silence had made her mad.

“Those eyes were yours.” A single tear spilled over the edge of her eye, but caught onto her sleeve as her hand came up to wipe it away. She stared down at him: the man everyone loved and desired, but she hated. “No more will those eyes betray me.”

The faint click of a safety latch echoed in the quietness of the bedroom and slowly his eyes fluttered open, his hand searching the empty space of the bed looking for the warmth of a female body. “Christine?” He’d asked, sleepiness in his voice, until his body fumbled in the sheets and he saw it - the open mouth of a Glock staring back into his eyes.

“Christine!” His voice stuck in a cry.

“Mr. Matthews.”

BANG.

THE END

On Your Street
J.Henberg/I.Lawless ©CornerliveMusic2003

On the street where you live, are the only birch trees in this town.

No cars are running wild, very mother had a child.

On the street where you live.

On the street where you live, stands the only house in this town.

No cell phones are used here, living people feel no fear.

On the street where you live.

On the street where you live, lives the only white doves in this town.