Rose of Betrayal (61 page)

           
Curling
around the piece of steel, his finger tightened.
 
Perspiration beading on his forehead
trickling through thick brows dripped maddeningly into his eyes, salt smarting the
redden globes.
 
Pressing eyelids shut,
with one quick reflex of muscle, the hammer struck its target the click
resounded off the walls.
 
Again, the
chamber was empty.
 
Again, he eased the
gun into his lap as a stiff sardonic laugh perforated the pregnant silence.

           
Bending
over, he searched the pile of cigarette butts flicked onto the filthy floor for
one large enough to relight.
 
The toe of
his foot propelled empty cans of beer into the air until finding a full one.
 
Brooding, he sipped long swigs of the tepid
liquid hoping to soothe the tight muscles of his throat keeping emotions from
regurgitating.
 
Anger abated eclipsed by
drunken bravado.
 

           
Striking
a match, he lit the cigarette gazing into its flickering burnish flame until it
ate down to tender skin blistered by its heat.
 
Amid wild puffs of tobacco creating smoke consistent with his cloudy
mood, and swigs of beer, more memories flowed through the clogged channels of
his mind.
    

           
Sam
was the only one in his life that made him feel physically rich as if he had
eaten the jewels he strived long and hard to obtain.
  
She held the world before him making his
eyes see colors never seen before.
 
He
had always been a spoiled rich kid who continually got whatever he wanted
whenever he wanted it.
 
Just this once he
believed he won Sam fairly.
 
The only
time in his life, he believed he had garnered his own confidence, patience,
understanding, and love.
 
The very idea
she had fallen in love with him and accepted his proposal of marriage made him
believe he was finally capable of loving himself.

           
No
woman, ever enticed him so, ever brought him such pleasure, such joy, despite a
disappointing honeymoon.
 
Sam was so
inexperienced so frightened the ecstasy he long anticipated became a
catastrophe.
 
Accustomed to experienced
women, as hard as he tried to teach her, she resisted, her perky breasts, soft
curves, her tightness, more than he could bear.
 
Feeling as though he served his time he took what he wanted when he
wanted the pleasure nothing compared to the shame instilled in him knowing she
did not desire him in return.

           
Surely
he was the one, occupying her fantasies at night, making her whine, her small
body undulate beneath him while accepting his rod with abandonment.
 
Finally, he had torn down the invisible wall
between them, he believed.
 
Eyes sealed,
she opened herself to allow probing her soft warm core and reach the abyss he
sought to cease her shuddering.
 
Precious
moments when he felt he had broken through her charade, possessed her love as
she relaxed and gave into the orgasm making her quiver and cry.
 

           
Four
months later, she had changed, withdrew into her own world.
 
In her eyes, the icy chill of the coldest day
in January.
 
He listened to her
masterfully concocted excuses to prevent his touch and the heart wrenching sobs
she carefully muffled into her pillow.
 
On the rare occasion when she allowed him to soothe her, he felt deaths
strong hands between them pressing against his chest pushing him further away, and
almost heard her love for him oozing from her heart.

           
Sam's
fantasies had ceased for some time until one night, albeit through the haze of
too much champagne, her phantom lover returned.
 
She permitted him to kiss her, suckle her breasts.
 
Arching and tugging him closer she thrust her
tempting hips and spread her thighs in acceptance.
 
Starved from wanting her, he quickly brought
her to the brink of exploding, when one word floating from her sensual,
swollen, ravished mouth shriveled his lungs and diced his heart, “Brad.”
 

           
From
then on, Ted mourned the loss of what he realized he never truly had, her love,
her soul.
  
At night, he laid alongside
her staring at the wall, silent tears trickling down his cheeks.
 
Inevitably, she moved as far away as possible
unaware he did not sleep either.
 
Mimicking the breathing patterns signaling
deep sleep he waited for her to slip from the bed.
 
Then watched through the cracked door of the
bedroom apprised the book in her hand was a ploy.
 
The first time he saw her retrieve the rose
he prayed the agony of his wrenching heart went unheard, that it would kill
him.

           
Many
nights he struggled with a moment of chivalry, an unaccustomed twinge of
conscience nagging him to confess, to let her go.
 
It would be easier in the dark when unable to
see her face.
 
Then he would leave in the
morning.
 
Instead, failing fortitude
reinstated his selfishness each time he remembered how much he loved her.
 
Losing her meant never being able to sweep up
the pieces to his heart.

           
The
revelation did not come as a big surprise.
 
Knowing all along, he felt it, and could almost touch the dense, static,
suffocating air bursting out of nowhere whenever Sam and Brad's eyes
locked.
 
Denying the slightest possibility
he hoped beyond all reason there was a chance he was wrong.
   

           
At
first, he returned to smoking, drinking, spending most of his time away from
the penthouse with Stacy whose expertise cared for his needs.
 
Returning at night, lying beside Sam, the
empty, miserable feelings revisited.
 
Try
as he may, he was unable to kill his love for her.
 
Seeking the only course remaining, he
returned to gambling, to Sommer’s, to something so cryptic, he could never
bring himself to tell his closest friend.
  

           
Inch
by inch he crawled into the black pit of hell, into the core of the earth where
the most evil specter's rise and swirl around you, laughing, teasing,
tormenting with their claws, their fangs, stabbing
 
flesh with long spiked spears,
 
coiling intestines
 
devouring them piece-by-piece.
 
The heinous apparitions that took on forms of
atrocious sorcerers Lucifer himself - drugs.
       

           
With
only one fix left, if Brad did not arrive by the time it wore off, there were
two bullets left, each with a purpose.
 
He faced Sam, the time bomb both had been sitting on exploded with slow
agonizing blows as each hideous betrayal leaped forward and death took a giant
step over the portals of two lives.
 
Having walked its plank all that remained now was to jump.

           
Before
he did, redeeming was necessary, giving his life a purpose so he could die in
some realm of glory.
 
It was all there in
the manila folder delivered to Tom McGregor with specific instructions, if he
did not hear from Brad within one week he was to hand it over to the
authorities, names of drug lords, dealers, photos, and recorded conversations.
On his way to hell, he was determined to have plenty of company. One in
particular who he would enjoy watching burn.
 
Sommer’s empire was going down.
 
The icing making the cake even sweeter, the collection of information
arriving at his office by special messenger the morning he departed.
 

           
With
a semblance of a smile, he rolled up his sleeve, tightened the tourniquet to
coax the abused purple serpent to attention.
 
After a slight prick, he closed his bulging eyelids, took a deep breath,
and delivered himself willingly into the specter's hands anxiously awaiting
Brad.
 

CHAPTER 48

           
Cool,
sharp scissors slowly and carefully severed strips of gauze wrapping.
 
Astute deep blue pools scrutinized the hands
that once beseeched lungs to breath.
 
The
man's soft green orbs focused intently on his assignment never ceasing to offer
a reassuring glance.

           
Sarah
and Jim huddled at the foot of the bed, extracted strength from holding
hands.
 
The attending team of doctors and
nurses clustered around the bed their hands behind their backs, fingers
crossed.
 
Franklin stood erect in the
corner eyes fixed steadfast on the mummy wrapped form.

           
Sam
won her valiant fight.
 
The day Brad Franklin
escorted him from her room her parents prejudice kindled an anger so deep she
ached to give it voice.
 
Shivers of fear
she would never see Brad again danced across her heart, their footsteps
igniting the last spark of life remaining.
 
Though death sorely tested her, the will to live began raging inside
flaring brighter and higher enabling her to expunge the black fiend of death
chained to her body.

           
Clawing
her way through the monster's sticky treacle erupted configurations of horror,
barbed segments of memory slashing, tearing and bruising made her skin hot, her
stomach burn with acid, her body quake with fear.
 
While little men with hammers pounded her
skull, and her scalp grew tight with tension she chose between cowardice or,
bravery, the prior coaxing maddeningly, the latter winning.

           
Unable
to speak or move, the flutter of eyelids signaled her returned.
 
Her strength sprung from reiterating over and
over Brad's whispered words, ”No one can remain lost forever.
  
Someone will eventually come to their
rescue, I'm here,” those spoken New Year's Eve when she rescued him.
 
Memories tugging forth a lone tear slipping
across her bottom eyelid dribbled onto the pillowcase.

           
Within
day’s she was able to sit, consume liquids through a straw, and with assistance
leave her bed for short periods.
 
Her
daily perseverance amazed her attendants.
 
Though during all this time she uttered no sound Doctor Swartz remained
confident that when the swelling of her face and neck diminished and the
bandages removed she would be able to articulate.

           
A
pile of gauze once masking her face lay on the sheets.
 
Mirror in hand, Sam gathered enough courage
to seek her reflection.
 
While liquid
pooled in her eyes and streamed down her face, hesitant fingers journeyed
across bruised skin.
 
Wheeling his
instruments well, the plastic surgeon skillfully made certain her numerous
scars were barely visible.
 
Welcoming the
stranger home, trembling fingers touched the reflection staring back.
 
There was not a dry eye in the room.
  
Franklin blew her nose.

           
Although
the visage leering back was familiar, its countenance no longer exhibited the
naivety of a youthful country girl.
 
A
new image immerged as a woman in every sense of the word.
 
A lifetime elapsed in only a few short weeks.
 
Sam endured each encounter with more
resilience than anyone ever believed possible.
 
She was a survivor, a survivor with a mission.

           
Each
day she vowed to gain strength, heal her body and soul so life could be lived
to the fullest, with respect, gratitude, love, and truth, taking pleasure from
the little things once taken for granted.
 
Yes, she mourned the loss of the precious life that once flourished
inside.
  
Having tried to protect and
nurture him, she had grown to love the tiny person while dreaming the dreams of
all expectant mothers.
 
Now wisdom was
telling her forgiving was necessary or tomorrow would never come, and there had
to be if she were to clear Brad's name and put her life in order.