Rose of Betrayal (25 page)

In
a waspish voice, Brad exclaimed, “The only one who will ever know will be the
father and that will be when I have my hands around his neck choking the life
from him.”

“Then, be sure to
tell him for me he killed his son.”

Brad's
features turned chalky.
 
Tears shimmered
on long lashes as he breathed deeply to counteract the venom speeding through
his veins, deadly toxin accusing, and convicting his best friend, his
brother.
 
Enough poison to turn anyone
into a killer.

The doctor's hand firmly squeezed Brad's
shoulder.
 
“Will you be alright?
 
Maybe you should go home, Brad.
 
Get some rest.
 
Though I do not understand why things happen,
I do believe they happen for a reason.
 
I
promise not to leave until Sam shows some improvement.”

Ten fingers crumpled the doctor's white lapels as
Brad rebutted in a scathing tone, “Alright?
 
Tell me this is a nightmare that I'm dreaming, that I'll wake up and this
horror will be over.
 
Christ, don't you
get it?
 
Don't you understand? I can't
leave Sam, not now, not ever, I'm the one who did this to her.
 
I'm to blame for the whole thing.”

In an opposing direction, Brad fled heading
toward the nearest lavatory barely reaching a toilet basin in time to retch the
bile ingested.
 
Feeling as though he had
expelled his insides, he sank to the floor.
 
While a conception raged internally, fear gushed blood to his head.
 
Something happened to twist Ted's mind.
 
Dear God, he would not have done this to Sam,
his child.”
 

Considering all that had transpired between them
during the past year, Brad refused to believe the person who committed this
atrocity was someone he had known all his life, a brother, a friend, a partner.
 
It had to be someone else, someone who wanted
to even a score with Ted.
 
God only knew;
he had been in more than his share of trouble.
  
Finding him before the police was imperative.
 
He had to hear it from Ted’s lips before he
would believe it, and, if guilty – he would kill him.

At a crawling pace, Brad advanced toward Sam's
room.
 
Slumping against the door-jam he
strived to collect himself as the two guards frisked him.
 
Seeping through the thick door offering access
into the clammy darkness of Sam's tomb, he heard Sarah's anguished voice
sucking words from her throat, “Oh, my God, my beautiful baby, dear Lord,
why?
 
How could this happen?
 
Who could do such a monstrous thing?”

        
Each
of Sarah's sob filled words filled Brad's shoes deeper with cement.
 
He felt uncertain that he could manage the
stamina to enter the room, even knowing it would make no difference when or how
he would have to speak to them, explain things, and hope for compassion.
 

The moment Brad entered Sarah ceased her quailing
long enough to come forward.
 
With the
quickness of a rattlesnake full-force, she slapped Brad’s cheek.
 
Doctor Swartz drew her to him as she broke
down retorting furiously, “Get out. Get out. Get out! “

Brad's semblance turned blank.
 
His throat ached with unshed tears while
trying to swallow the faint protest dying on his tongue.
 
Anger tightened his lips into a grim line.
 
The muscles in his jaw twitched.
 
Wraith filling him vibrated every nerve, the
friction setting fire to all charitable thoughts.
 
The horror of their contempt was an arctic
cave encasing his body like a coffin.

Doctor
Swartz' eyes reflected sympathy, “You had better go, Brad.
 
Give them time alone with their daughter to
adjust.”

Sarah
clutched the lapels of Dr. Swartz's coat screaming, “Keep him away from
Sam.
 
We do not want him near her.
 
Please, he will be the death of her.”

Earlier in the day, Franklin tried not to
eavesdrop as Brad poured out his heart to Sam, his loving, soothing words
gnawing at emotions until a tiny portion caved in.
 
In the darkness of the corner, she blinked
away alien tears.
 
Never did she know a
man's love for a woman to be so transparent, his desperation for her recovery,
so genuine.
 
She wished her relief had
arrived before witnessing such an unfair, bitter attack.
  

Offered no choice, she swallowed her pity, approaching she whispered to
Brad, “I'm sorry, sir, I have to ask you to leave.”
 
Supporting Brad, she escorted him to the
door, beneath the large hand gripping his arm she felt the ramifications of his
crucifixion as he shuddered and grew limp from its blow.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………................................................................…………………………………………..

No! No! No!
 
Don't leave me, Brad.
 
Please
don't leave me.
 
Don't let them do this
to you, to me, to us.
 
Stop!
 
Stop!
 
They are wrong, so wrong, none of you understands.
 
None of you knows.
 
Why can't you hear me?
 
Sam's words shrieked in her ears yet never
penetrated the air.

At first, she did not know who was holding her
hand, brushing her hair away from her face, kissing her tenderly on the cheek,
forehead, and nose.
 
Though the fragrance
and voice seemed familiar, not until Brad's lips brushed hers did she know he
had come.
 
She had only known his kiss a
few times, but they were like nothing she had ever experienced.
  
His lips barely touched hers at first, then
captured first her upper lip, then her lower, coaxing patiently with light
feathery touches, lifting to allow his tongue to trace hers ever so slightly
before capturing her mouth until . . .

Taking great pains to allude to memories
significant only to their own little world, Brad's word's nudged Sam's memories
making them stand out with an unnatural sharpness.
 
The weight of the cloaking armor kept her
from touching him, kissing him, wiping away the tears beginning to melt her
steel skin.

 
Maddeningly she clawed at the mountain of
darkness separating them, frustrated that he was oblivious to her efforts.
  
Whenever he left her side, no matter how
briefly, despair frosting the air buried her with a new avalanche of smothering
snow.
 
Only when he returned did
brightness reappear filling the empty space within with warmth and promise,
compelling her to rise out of her dungeon.
 

She was just beginning to believe there was hope
the two of them could climb the mountain standing before them and reach the
summit where life began anew, an imaginary day lingering like a sunlit dream of
excitement and pleasure.

Brad's faith in her was so strong it penetrated
the thick scar tissue of her wounds, cleansed them and she could actually feel
them healing. He was succeeding in bringing her back to life, a feat quite
beyond her comprehension.
 
She should
have known Brad was the one all along.
  

She could not allow her parents to send him away
now.
 
He was her only hope of ever
returning.
 
She could no longer deny the
love she felt for him.
 
Everyone had to
know the truth.
 
Calling upon all the
forbearance remaining, frantically she whittled at the pile of rocks impeding
her so she could tell everyone before she .
 
.
 
.

The quiet swish of the door announcing Brad's
departure made the still air take flight bringing the fragrance and warmth of
his being to her.
 
NO, DON'T LEAVE
ME.
 
I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU.
 
I WANT YOU TO KNOW HOW MUCH I .
 
.
 
.
 

Icy
fragments permeating Sam's skin, muscles, and bones spiraled up to her lungs
reaching into her throat freezing and snapping her breath forcing her eyes to
open.

The machine's loud drone resounded in the room,
through the door, down the halls.
 
A
myriad of feet pounded the polished floors.
 
Hands pushed carts barely avoiding impact in their race toward the flashing
warning light.
  
Colliding with one
another in their blitz to do their duty, nurses at the station blathered, “Oh,
dear, oh, dear.”
  
Petrified forms of
Sarah and Jim were hastily ushered into the hall to allow man one last chance
to extend life.
 

Medical staff stood by, their eyes concentrating
on the doctor who climbed onto the bed to straddle Sam's small form, his
knowledge, and experienced hand's imploring life.
 
His voice screaming, “No you don't,
Dammit.
 
Come on, Sam, fight, fight.
 
God Dammit, you cannot leave us.
 
Don't you give up?
 
I won't let you.
 
Do you hear me? I won't let you.”

Entering the elevator, Brad's fists battered the
buttons facing him trusting one would submerge him into the pits of hell.
 
He begged the devil for death hoping a person
could die from a broken heart for his had shattered and stopped.
 
Feeling numb, not knowing, or caring where he
was going he prayed he could drown in his own tears.
  

With pain clouding his eyes, he did not see the
white flashes of uniforms rushing past the elevator doors before clacking
shut.
 
The surge of blood expanding the
vessels in his skull, blocked out the pandemonium in room 333.

CHAPTER 23

“OCTOBER,
2010”

           
An
intruder made Connie come instantly to attention. “May I help . . . a reaction
too late to detain the encroacher rolling over her like a storm?
 

           
As
the ominous figure whizzed past Maggie, she buzzed the security guards who
assured her they were already on their way.

           
Reaching
Ted's office, fingers crushing the doorknob twisted and jerked it repeatedly,
the steadfastness prompting a fist to hammer impatiently.
 
         
Employees
sat motionless, their mouths gaping in astonishment as a loud, gruff voice
belted, “Let me in, you son of a bitch.”

           
Jarred
from their compromising position on the couch, Ted and Stacy scrambled to their
feet.
  
Pulling his shirt together,
frantically stuffing the tails into his pants, he yanked on the zipper catching
the material within its teeth. “Get dressed,” Ted, yelled, “Hurry!”
   

           
Exasperated
from battling the zipper, finally ignoring the bulge of white cloth trapped
within the zippers teeth, Ted slipped his tie over his head and jerked the knot
into place.
 
Hands pushing through his
hair coaxed it into some semblance of order.

Frightened by the persistent
shrieking and pounding, searching for her attire strewn on the floor, Stacy
hurriedly tugged each piece on.
 
“Who, in
hell, is that,” she questioned.

Incessant pounding intensified, the
shouting voice sounding all too familiar. “Trouble, that's what,” Ted replied,
his voice filled with anxiety.

“When I get my hands on you, you
won't be able to screw again.
 
Dammit,
open this door.”

           
There
was no time for Stacy to mend her hair or, fuss with cosmetics, her appearance
proclaiming to the world what took place.
 
Clutching her paraphernalia, she scurried to release the lock the
invader shoving her into the reception area.
 
Barely missing her backside, the door hurled shut by a black polished
shoe.
  

Completely abandoned, Stacy stood
surrounded by inquisitive eyes.
 
Feeling a
fountain of embarrassments tears spring forward, she ran to the lavatory.