Red Silk Scarf (37 page)

Dear God,
Sullivan, he knew she'd make him leave, that there was no way he could save her
from herself, proof positive that she wasn't super human after all.
 
Everyone needed someone to care, to love, to
protect, a special someone she'd denied herself.
 
Now was a hell of a time for dawn to strike
and she wondered at what point she had become only half-alive without
Sullivan?
 

Again, the back
of a hand connecting with Cassidy's cheek made her mind whirl.
 
There were sparks, a flash of white, of black
as her senses crazily fluttered about in her skull.
  
The killer was leaning closer his hand
covering her eyes, nose and mouth, his legs forcing hers apart.
 
She felt his penis abusing tender skin, knew
at any moment he'd enter her.
 
He was
pulling the scarf tighter, tighter, making her cough, and choke, her skin turn
the color of death.
 

This was the
end.
 
The way she was going to die, a
Brady of all people.
 
Unable to breath,
see or move she felt her body catapulting into a pitch-black abyss, where she
felt no pain, a plateau where the other victims foolishly surrendered.
 
It would be so easy to give up, end the pain,
the sorrow.
 
How peculiar, that the brink
of death brought about renewed revelations of life.
 
Now she understood.
 
Now she possessed the tools to be a better
person.
 
Now more than anything, she
wanted to live.
     

There was only
one shot, one chance, her odds greatly reduced by weakness and blurry
vision.
 
Hand clamping onto the weapon
whipped the life preserver from beneath the pillow.
 
At the same time, steal fingers gripped her
wrist, wrenching, and re-directing her aim.
 
Rushing to her hand, will power challenged the course of destiny just as
a finger much stronger, overlapped hers and tugged on the trigger.

____________

Brakes to a
speeding car locked bringing the bulk of metal to a skidding halt beside the car
arriving earlier outside Cassidy's apartment.
  
The four men that had exited previously were helping the others
struggling to control a prisoner that was putting up a remarkable fight
considering the odds.

           
“Release him at once,” a voice
oozing with authority demanded.
 
“Dammit,
I said release him.”
 

Leaping from the
car Dan joined the group stunned by the man barking orders.
 

Jonathan Brady's
eyes collided with Dan.
 
“Make them
release Sullivan at once,” he commanded before breaking into a run to catch up
with the four already entering the building.
 

           
”Do as he says,” Dan angrily shouted
over his shoulder before shadowing Jonathan.

Once inside the
building, the younger men rushed the stairs, Dan and Jonathan, the
elevator.
 
“Come on, God Dammit, come
on,” Jonathan shrieked at the button he repeatedly punched.

Gaining freedom,
Sullivan practically charged through the glass of the door.
  
In no time, he was on the heels of the other
men, two and three steps sailing beneath his lengthy stride gaining him the
lead.
 
Only he knew the gun blast ringing
out came from the weapon he barely had enough time to place beneath Cassidy's
pillow.
 
Whether she had one of her own,
he didn't know, so fearless was she, probably not, he sputtered.
 

           
Refusing to walk in any ones shadow,
her bravery lacked the normal level of fear.
 
Pigheaded besides, she was, defiant and damned determined to face life
alone, death alone.
  
A woman who, held
the world in a paper cup so she could drink it up, erased the fear inside of him
that kept him alone.
 
God, just when did
she become the breath that stirred his lungs?

Most likely, when
he first made love to her, afterwards there was no visible evidence to mark the
occasion, yet he felt it deep within his vital organs, the swelling of his
heart and lungs, the thumping.
 
Astounding him, she had cleansed away the bad and replenished it with
the sweetness of her own.
 
The slightest
thought of Cassidy blew his mind.
 
He
never allowed a woman like her to enter his dreams maybe that's why she came as
such a pleasant surprise.
 
Well, he
couldn't fight his feelings anymore, feelings that needed to be set free.

Cassidy was a
pretty, little package that each time he removed a piece of the wrapping,
tugged at a ribbon, there awaited a big surprise.
 
The biggest of them all came upon returning
home to find his mother holding the evidence.
 
Without giving Vera time to explain, feeling deceived by people he
loved, at first, anger took control making him charge from the apartment with
the scarf in hand.
 
Somehow knowing
Cassidy was involved he wanted answers. The wind on the way whipping his face
finally brought him to his senses.
 
Whether Cassidy knew or not, she had put herself in a dangerous
situation.
 
Now saving her life charged
to the forefront, someone who didn't want anyone to save her.
 

Upon entering
Cassidy's apartment and discovering her absence, her engulfing fragrance
surrounded him with her presence.
  
Emotions swirling with the force of a tornado tearing at his insides heaved
them into a whirlpool of reality.
 
No
matter what, no matter who she really was, he loved her, God, how he loved
her.
 
Knowing any second she’d return, he
barely had time to place his gun beneath her pillow let alone search the
apartment.
 
If the killer struck tonight,
he knew he'd take her to the bedroom.
 
Sullivan cringed.
 

Though he planned
to stay with Cassidy, he knew she wouldn't allow him.
 
She wouldn't accept his help.
 
If there were a way to get rid of him, she'd
succeed.
  
His foot was on the threshold
of the bathroom with intentions of searching it when he heard the key in the
lock.
 
He should have known by now she
was an encyclopedia of surprises.
  
Now,
terror struck a mighty blow as he wondered who found the gun.

 
Eight men rushing the long hallway crashed
through the apartment door.
 
The smell of
gunpowder and death turned them stone cold, and stopped their heartbeats.
      

CHAPTER 28

Silence claimed a space that had grown small and suffocating
where eight men stood agonizing seconds while the life they once knew clung to
stale breath.
 
Eyes of those witnessing
the results of the gun blast, were fixed on the bed, one body blanketing
another, both covered in blood, neither showing signs of life?

During the transition back to reality, only one bravely
dared to breech the heavy curtain of terror.
 
Determined hands madly dug into a pile of flesh, fingers prying, pulling
in a fraught attempt to uncover what life he begged to God remained.
  
A crusade that gave birth to cries that was,
pitiful, and grief struck, begging for a response as though a needle stuck on a
groove of a record.
 
Finally freeing
Cassidy, plucking a sheet with the least blood, he tenderly wrapped her naked
body, before prying her fingers loose from a gun that seemed fused to flesh.

The man sobbing, carrying Cassidy cuddled within his arms,
face buried into the soft flesh of her neck, held Sullivan's undivided
attention.
 
Shock exploding from an
enormous amount of disbelief rendered him mummified.
 
In a trance he managed to join the others now
crowding around the couch intensely watching the man massaging Cassidy’s arms,
tapping her cheek, and shaking her, screaming her name, anything that might
spark life.
 
Despite his efforts fragile
limbs remained limp, her glass like eyes, open, her eyelid’s stationary.
 
Gently wiping blood from blue lips, mouth
covering hers he began blowing breath into her lungs, still, nothing.

No one knew who called for an ambulance, the shrill siren in
the background matching the one blaring in everyone’s skull as swollen hearts
continued to block oxygen’s passageway.
 
Heartbreaking seconds passed until Cassidy's lips separated, closed,
reopened.
 
Coughing expelled the blood
and words gurgling in her throat.
 
Moving
lips attempting to speak instantly cleared the smog from eyes submerged in
tears.
 

“Ben!
 
Ben!
 
It's you.
 
I'm dead.
 
I'm really dead.”

A name Sullivan couldn't get past quivering lips that sliced
open a heart just beginning to beat anew.
 
The very handsome man, lacking jewelry and leather, with waves and curls
now cut and meticulously groomed, dressed in expensive designer fabrics,
holding Cassidy, rendering comfort and sympathy was indeed DeMarco.
 
A man no longer disguised as a “pimp” that instead,
reeked of class and elegance, of expensive cologne.
 
A man that was not dead after all.

Deception had a way, of swinging its axe, of rarely missing
a target, at first lacerating Sullivan's jugular, then becoming a stunned
expression that shot to Jonathan, and the other faces contorted from a rush of
relief.
 
Even though feeling out of the
realm of things, Patrick knew he'd been deceived, as though two months ago he'd
entered a make believe world where nothing at all was what it appeared.
 

Just when believing his heart could not sink lower, DeMarco
kissed Cassidy, his fingers brushing back sprigs of hair while tenderly wiping
at traces of blood.
 
A rival who was
doing what he longed to do, and, Cassidy, arms locked around Ben’s neck, was,
sobbing, returning his kisses, verbally expressing her love repetitively.
 
All at once, Cassidy's gaze converging on
Jonathan siphoned what little of Sullivan remained, his last breath, torn from
his lungs, left a huge vacancy inside.

“Daddy!”
      

Everything took on clarity.
 
Patrick was the world's biggest idiot forever allowing everyone to draw
him into such a web of lies.
  
All along,
he’d been sailing on a sea of deceit, the roar of the lethal tidal waves
splashing and colliding destroying everything he once believed.
 
Never before did he feel so betrayed, so
alone, all at once.

Leaving no room for self-pity fresh terror flared in a heart
Patrick believed had died.
 
Pointing to
the bathroom, Cassidy screamed, “Margie!”
  

Sullivan rushed to the rescue.
 
Cassidy didn't have to witness what was
taking place; she knew his arms well, and how safe someone could feel cradled
within, the firm broadness of his chest, the thick, soft pillow of hair, and
the melody of his heartbeat.
 
Vivid were
the memories of how Sullivan would sooth Margie, the cooing sounds that would
roll off his velvet tongue.
 
How his
sensual mouth felt when brushing eager lips.
 

Indeed, Sullivan was a woman eater, who chewed them up and
spit them out.
  
Margie wouldn't
object.
 
What sane woman would?
  
Now, unbelievably, considering all that had
transpired, upper most in Cassidy’s mind was would Margie still love Mark more?

Taking a little longer, the same deceitful sea crested in
Cassidy's mind.
 
Dawn ripped open the
shade of reality.
 
Ben was alive, Sullivan
wasn't handcuffed, and Jonathan and her brothers weren't in New York.
 
Eyes full of questions found each
betrayer.
 
Every man she loved had
double-crossed her.

With a burst, a crowd of strangers invaded the space
shrunken by the truth, specialists that poked and prodded indulging in their
area of expertise as they surrounded Cassidy and Margie.

Cradled in a cloak of disbelief, unbeknown to those who
loved Cassidy, it was not her injuries they had to worry about, they were
witnessing an invisible transition, a soul and heart in crisis.
 

Reinstated strength shoved Ben away.
 
Drawing her knees tightly to her chin, she
buried her face.
 
Slapping away hands of
assistance, her head shook back and forth in a steady motion as enlightenment
flowed in repetitious words, “How could you?
 
How could you?”