Rose of Betrayal (69 page)

           
The
sun was high in the sky by the time the authorities arrived and found Brad
sitting on the ground in front of the cabin rocking Ted's bullet riddled
body.
 
Brad’s hands were scarlet from
pressing over the wounds to keep the blood from oozing.
        
 
Time ticked on
stopping only briefly as Brad, reduced to a piteous state of quivering and
sobbing, vented his protests to the world with howls and curses echoing off the
mountain.
 
Anguishes play portrayed
several times before an unnerved audience.

           
Patting
Brad's fathers shoulder, Ralph murmured, “We'll go together.”
 
Dull-witted they slowly approached the son
they both loved and claimed.
 
Brad's
broken spirit left lines fanned across his face, dark circles under his eyes,
red twiggy streaks discoloring the white.
 

           
Ralph
reached deep into his gut knowing Frank could not do so.
 
Squatting beside Brad, he spoke with quiet
authority, “It’s time, son.
 
You have to
let Ted go, there is nothing you can do to bring him back.
 
He would not want you to hold on like
this.
 
He'd want you to pull yourself
together for Sam.”

           
At
the mention of Sam's name Brad raised his head.
 
Staring into Ralph's eyes, unable to see clearly through the shield of
tears, the question he could not verbalize plainly reflected in raven mirrors.

“Sam is going to be fine, son.
 
She's doing well.
 
She’s very worried about you.
 
She needs you.”

           
Wrenching
sobs continued to tear through Brad's chest as he wished he'd been allowed a
few minutes alone with Ted's killers to satisfy a fierce need to destroy them,
rip them apart limb from limb. Though his head draped in misery and shook in
protest, his grip on Ted loosened.

           
Ralph
had to brush the moisture from his own eyes before whispering, “You must be
very tired, son.
  
Let me hold him for you.”
 
Without allowing Brad time to react, Ralph
tenderly held Ted's limp body while Frank slipped his hands under his son's
armpits to hoist him to his feet.
 
Brad's
knees buckling from grief’s lethargy that had drained all life from him brought
one of Frank's strong arms around his sons' waist.
 
The other positioned Brad's arm around his
neck in an effort to support him.

           
With
a nod of Ralph's head, authorities slowly approached, one making the huge
mistake of unfolding a black body bag.
 
After expending much effort, four men finally managed to pull Brad off
the stunned victim.
 
Retrieving a blanket
from his saddle, Frank reassured his son he would personally tend to Ted.
 

           
The
following day at the ranch in the privacy of his bedroom Brad summoned the strength
required to sort through what remained of the contents of Ted's briefcase.
 
Inside there were two letters one stating
Ted’s wishes for his burial the other marked “Brad - Personal.” Brad was
unable to open the later.

           
Ted
wished to be cremated his ashes spread by Brad and Sam together in the forest
around the cabin.
 
It was only out of
respect for his parents he approved a memorial service.
 
For mile’s cars lined, the road leading to a
church nestled at the base of his beloved mountains.
 
The white steeple building overflowed and
spilled onto the lawn with mourners, friends, associates, media and members of
the SWAT team.
 
Flanked by a Priest, his
father and Ralph, Brad stood at the podium attempting to gather his composure
his eyes searching those of his mother, his sisters, nieces and nephews,
Maggie, Bernie and Peter drawing strength from their love.
 
Swallowing a fierce hurt, and barely
controlled sobs he gave the only eulogy.
 

           
The
very essence of Ted captured perfectly in a truly inspired speech full of
praise.
 
Brad spoke of the tremendous
void that would exist in his life from the loss of his dearest friend, of Ted’s
honorable deed that would never receive the recognition it deserved, of the
many lives saved by his act of heroism.
           
Unwritten words flowing directly from his heart so gripping they reached
through clothing, skin, and muscle, to grab mourners emotions and wring them
until liquid remorse ran freely from eyes
 
unable to look at the shell remaining of the man Brad had once been.

           
During
the oration when a lone person walked through the door, a hush fell over the
crowd packed elbow to elbow.
 
In unison,
mourners separated like the Red Sea to permit the person passage.
 
Dressed in uniform, as Franklin stood at the
end of the aisle all eyes sought Brad who suddenly gripped the pulpit for
support.
 
Though he had not known
Franklin long, somehow her presence was the missing link between himself and
Sam, as if she had sent her to watch over him.
 
It was Franklin's manifestation of courage and perseverance reinstating
his sanity enough to continue.
 

           
When
no more words would come, Brad straightened his posture, walked across the
platform, and descended the steps as though the tribute to his friend was the
greatest honor ever bestowed on any human.
 
Bravely he came to the table where Ted's ashes rested.
  
It was there he froze, lost control, and
trembled violently.
 
There that Ted's
face and the memory of their last moments together flashed before him in silver
streaks.
 
Brad would have collapsed had
it not been for the support of a strong arm coming out of nowhere to loop
through his.
 
Slipping past him a hand
graciously retrieved the urn to carry it for him.
 
Turning around, together they faced the crowd
holding their breath.
 
As Franklin escorted
Brad down the aisle, everyone could have heard the sound of a feather.

           
Pens
poised upon pads of the news media shook unable to make their mark.
 
Photographers holding their tools of trade
were unable to bring themselves to capture the horrible expression of the
private, ugly grief that had stricken Brad.

           
Afterward,
Brads' friends and family agreed it was best Sam was unable to attend.
 
Doctor Swartz insisted she was in no mental
or physical condition to do so.
 
Certainly her presence would have been Brad's undoing.

           
Six
weeks later, Brad sat where he did everyday on the front porch of his family
home, eyes fixed on his beloved mountain peaks.
 
His hollow expression the result of the final blow when he read Ted’s
letter explaining Sam was carrying his son.
  
Brad went on a rampage smashing everything in his way then ran aimlessly
until the initial surge of adrenaline left his strength depleted.
 
On his knees in a field, he took his
frustrations out on the dry earth with his head and fists, his body wracked
with the unbearable pain of mourning his dead son. A hurt so deep, he begged to
die as he lay spread eagle cursing Ted, himself, heaven and earth until his
voice fell silent.
 
At long last, as if
in understanding the clouds darkened the sky, thunder rolled, lightning cracked
and Mother Nature reached down to cover his body with her cloak of sympathetic
tears.

           
Weeks
passed the stack of cards from friends and business acquaintances collecting on
his desk went ignored.
 
Calls from Maggie,
Ralph, and Bernie refused.
 
Desperate
pleas and tear stained faces of loved ones, the only reason he ate barely
enough to stay alive.

           
People
grieve differently.
 
In time he would
heal, the doctor reassured his family.
 
Samantha's beating, the loss of a child and beloved friend were more
than any human could withstand.
 
So,
everyone watched and patiently waited until, as if the sun had set and risen
brighter and larger than ever before, one morning Brad entered the kitchen,
scooped his mother into his arms, planted a kiss on her cheek and
announced
 
he was taking Ted's ashes into
the mountains.
 
Begging her not to worry,
he loaded supplies onto a packhorse and left.

           
Two
weeks passed with no word from him before his parents placed a call asking for
help.

CHAPTER 53

Learning of Ted’s
death, knowing he had purposely given his life to save her and Brad catapulted
Sam into grief’s deep, dark well. Magnifying her sorrow, her inability to
attend the memorial service robbed her of the chance to say what was in her
heart.
 
Tell everyone a part of her
always-loved Ted, that she admired the strength required to face her, to say
good-bye.
  

           
For
days, brooding about yesterdays and worried about tomorrow's, she sat by the
window in her hospital room.
 
Though
bathed in bright sunshine, she shivered from the savage winter storm strangling
and overwhelming her until the sun shifted and cast her in shadow.
 
Brick by brick she built an impenetrable wall
around her to protect the world she had created where she felt no pleasure, no
pain.
 
Meanwhile, unconsciously her hand
guiding tissues absorbed the tirade of tears.
 
          

           
Burying
her face in a coffee mug, the liquid turning cold, she contemplated
vulnerability - the terrible cost of love.
 
To love someone left your vulnerability wide open to a barrage of
emotions that screeched along your nerves.
 

           
For
days, the same issue of the New York Times laid on her lap, the headlines
glaring at her offering some solace.
 
The
men responsible for Ted's demise captured; a notorious mob hit team, and,
although the battle against drugs never to be won, the empire responsible for
Ted's addiction was shaken considerably by his bravery.
  
HOWARD SOMMERS BODY FOUND in bold black
lettering inevitably caught and held her attention.
 
He had definitely gotten his just
reward.
 
However, the paragraph in small
type interpreting the brutal, senseless murder of his young secretary plagued
her, a horrible reminder of what she had experienced, and the death she barely
escaped.
 

           
Flipping
the pages mindlessly, she peered at two familiar faces, the caption beneath
wide smiles announcing the engagement of Bernice Augusta
Henshaw
to John Peter Keller.
 
The wedding was to
take place in October.
 
Each time her
finger traced her dear friend's face the brief slight smile tugging at her
mouth faded away by more tears.
 

           
God
had a purpose for all things, she concluded, success, failure, happiness,
sadness, weakness, strength and tragedy, the pain that strikes like a monster
and eats away at your heart.
 
She who had
experienced them all should have a new appreciation of life, but the only part
about life that mattered at all was Brad had survived and he did not take Ted’s
life as she feared.
 
Thoughts of Brad
embedded in the deep recesses of her mind came and went through out the passing
days.
 

           
Though
Maggie, Ralph, Bernice, Peter and her parents continued to shower her with love
and concern, she was unable to crawl up the slick, jagged walls of sorrow's
shaft until . . .
  
It was a thunderous day
when lightning flashed a message across the gloomy sky.
 
When rain, rippling the window in front of
her, seemed to cleanse away the soiled reflections of the past replacing them
with refreshing memories of Brad.
 
The
storm raging outside reminded her of the times they spent together, the
powerful feelings that seemed like a magnet between them.
 
Yes, she reflected, as Brad’s face suddenly
appeared and she stretched a hand out to touch him, his strong, warm arms, had
cradled her as she lay beneath him.
 
She
knew how powerful he felt inside her, how soft his lips could be.
 
Love was very much like lightning, she
concluded once it strikes you never look at lightning quite the same.
 
Instead, you pray for rain.
 
What she felt for Brad must be love, for her
stomach was heaving as though on a ravaged sea.