Uncorked (56 page)

“Awww, I’ve touched a soft spot,
haven’t I? I’ve told you before. If I can’t have you, no one will.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m
wearing another man’s ring on my finger. You need to get it through your thick
skull you will never have me. It’s over between us.”

He slapped her across the jaw.
“I’m going to enjoy you first, Bitch.”

 “You’ll have to shoot me first.”

Chella sat in a pool of blood.
Combined with the medication she had taken earlier, she felt overwhelmingly
tired. She glanced down at her legs and saw glass implanted in her flesh. Blood
pumped from the wound on her thigh.

“Get up. Get into bed.”

“No,” she replied, leaning
against the wall and closing her eyes.

“Don’t fucking push me, Chella,”
he shouted.

She heard that loud, familiar
bang. A single shot to the ceiling.

Chella jolted. She thought she
had been shot a second time. She would have chosen that over being raped by
him. She knew she was pushing him to his limit by being so obstinate, but she
was at the end of her rope and wanted to fight back.

The only weapon within reach was
the shattered glass, too small to cause any damage. She noticed a pair of
stiletto pumps, but they were too far away. She glanced at the blood gushing
out from her thigh and it was then she realized she had collapsed on a pair of
pencil-heel slippers.

“I’m sick of you ruining my
life,” said Chella. “I refuse to let you control me anymore.”

“You won’t get into the bed, I’ll
fuck you right here on the floor,” he shouted as he released his pants buttons.

Her stomach turned. Sweat ran
down her forehead. If she was going to get out alive, she needed to create an
opportunity right then.

“Stay the hell away from me!” she
screamed.

After hearing the
three gunshots over the phone
before the call ended, Mitch accelerated, meandering through back roads. The
journey was agonizing, but he finally arrived at the house. He carefully
entered through the front door, leaving it open, and went into the study to
load his gun. He sent Detective Carter a text message telling him he was inside
with a gun and ventured further into the house. He stalked toward the bedroom.
Just as he was about to inch the bedroom door open, he heard Aaron’s voice.

He was screaming at Chella,
telling her not to push him.

The hairs stood up on Mitch’s
neck at the thought of Chella being hurt. He heard her voice a moment later. He
took comfort in knowing she was still alive. He shoved the bedroom door open.
Apart from a damaged door handle and covers that had been pulled back, nothing
was out of place. He heard their voices coming from the walk-in closet.

Mitch approached the bathroom
door.

“You’re not the
one in control of this
situation,” Aaron shouted, bearing down upon Chella.

She tried to get up and run, but
she didn’t have the energy and fell. He dragged her by her legs across the floor
and positioned his body between her thighs, pinning her arms over her head.

“Let me go! Get away from me,”
she screamed as tears poured from her eyes. She tried with all her might to
fight, kick and scream. She freed one hand, grabbed the pencil-heel slipper,
and shoved the heel into his eye.

Blood splattered the grey tank
dress she wore.

“Fuck!” Aaron screamed as he held
his eye. Blood spewed down his face. She scrambled to her feet, but he pulled
her toward him, throwing her back to the floor. He punched her in the head.

She screamed again.

Mitch leaped into
the bathroom. At the end of the
room, he saw Aaron punching Chella’s listless body on the floor.

He ran toward them, yanking Aaron
off Chella with one hand, and bashing his head into the glass closet door.

Aaron slumped over, unconscious.
His gun spun across the floor and landed next to Chella.

She wasn’t unconscious, but she
was extremely weak.

“Oh god, Sweetheart. You’re going
to be okay,” Mitch said as he crawled over to her.

“I feel so tired.”

“You’re going to okay. We’re
going to get you to a safe place and get you some help.”

“Thanks for being here,” she
whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He cleared
bloody strands of hair away from her face then pulled her in his arms. He saw
the blood on the floor and realized she had been shot. He pulled the terry sash
from his nearby robe and wrapped it around her leg securely. At that moment, he
wanted the bleeding to stop and to get Chella out of the room as soon as
possible.

He slipped one arm around her
waist, helping her to her feet. She picked up the gun Aaron had been holding.
They walked out of the room. Mitch shouted to police, letting them know where
they were. Seconds later, Detective Carter and several other heavily armed
police officers entered the bathroom.

Chella didn’t know
why the expressions on
everyone’s face changed. By the time she heard the shouts of “Look out!” she
turned around in time to see Aaron lunge at Mitch’s neck with a shiny
switchblade. Mitch was still holding Chella in his arms.

Chella aimed Aaron’s gun at him
and pulled the trigger. The bullet landed in the center of Aaron’s chest. Blood
exploded on his white T-shirt. He fell to the tile.

She dropped the gun and fainted
in Mitch’s arms.

Mitch gazed at
a sleeping Chella as he sat at
the edge of her hospital bed. The day played over in his mind. After a few
minutes, she slowly opened her eyes and smiled weakly at him.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hey, Sweetheart. How do you
feel?”

“I’m in a bit of pain, but I feel
mostly okay.”

“The doctor said you’re going to
be fine.”

“Are you okay?” She asked,
reaching for his hand.

“I am thanks to you. You saved my
life, Chella.”

“I could never forgive myself if
you got hurt because of me. What happened to Aaron?”

“He’s dead.”

Chella could do little more than
blink away her shock. After twelve years, it was truly over. Mitch held her in
a warm embrace. Tears flowed. The emotional scars were yet to be seen. He hoped
and prayed there would not be any.

The man who had tormented her was
dead.

Three weeks later,
the yacht, Serena, pulled away
from her berth and set sail from Shelter Island. Chella and Mitch smiled at
each other as they looked back at her old home. This was where it all began a
year and a half ago. Tomorrow at this time, she and Mitch would say, “I do.”
Together with a small gathering of their closest friends, even her two best
friends Leah and Marie from St. Lucia, they set sail for Catalina Island.

The next evening, Chella heard
the engines of the yacht roar. Headed for Two Harbors, she would officially
become Mitch’s wife within the hour.

She scrutinized herself in the
mirror and glanced at her wedding dress one last time. She looked beautiful and
elegant, yet sexy, in her white, slim-line gown with a scoop neckline. Spectacular
beaded shoulder straps with Swarovski crystals formed a glorious T down her
back. Delicate chiffon gently ruched asymmetrically around her waist and
gathered at the back of the gown in an alluring train.

She kept her jewelry simple,
wearing her mom’s old diamond studs. Her something blue was a beautiful blue
topaz, princess-cut tennis bracelet given to her by her best friends Vicky,
Kacy, Leah and Marie.

She wore her hair up in an
elegant chignon, pinned in place with her something new, a simple but elegant
Swarovski pin given to her by Maggie. Her something borrowed she kept in her
purse. It was a shell from Emily that she used as her good luck charm. She
explained to Chella that she and her dad found it one day while walking on the
beach in Santa Monica. Chella assured her that she would take care of it and
return it the following day.

As she waited the few final
minutes before the ceremony started, she felt a little sadness. The two people,
who as a child she’d always dreamt would be at attendance at her wedding, were
not there–her parents. But this would be the beginning of a life with a man she
was deeply in love with. The parents she knew and remembered would have been
happy for her and supported her. Today, they would be physically absent, but deep
down, she felt their presence.

Her thoughts were interrupted by
a knock on her cabin door.

“Who is it?” she asked politely.

“It’s Craig.”

She opened the door, smiling.

“Wow, Chella. You look absolutely
beautiful.”

“Thanks. Are they all ready?”

“Yes, they are. Your groom
awaits.”

“I was thinking about Mom and
Dad. I miss them. I wish they were here.”

“They are, in spirit. Are you
ready to do this?”

“I’ve never been more ready for
anything.” She placed her hand in his open palm. He escorted her to her destiny.

 When Chella’s gaze locked with
Mitch’s sparkling eyes, she was more certain now than ever that Mitch was the
one for her. He looked stunning, beautifully dressed in a dark suit, showing
him off against the clear blue skies.

“I, Mitch, take you, Chella to be
my lawfully wedded wife, my constant friend, my faithful partner and my love
from this day forward. In the presence of God and our family and friends, I
offer you my solemn promise to be your faithful partner in sickness and in
health, in good times and in bad, in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to
love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honor and respect
you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we
both shall live.”

“In as much as you, Mitch, and
you Chella, have consented together to this union of marriage, and you have
pledged your faith to each other here in my presence, and the presence of your
closest family and friends, by the authority vested in me by the state of
California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mitch, you may kiss your
bride.”

“I love you,” Mitch exclaimed,
gazing into her eyes.

“I love you right back.”

Mitch surprised Chella
with a honeymoon vacation on the
island of St. Lucia, her birthplace. After an afternoon drive to her old home
and down memory lane, he pulled up to a house. He walked to her side of the
car, opened her door, and escorted her to the front door. He handed her a set
of keys.

“This is for you,” he said as
they looked out at the stunning vistas.

“I don’t understand,” she
replied.

“I want you to have a piece of
your home. I want us to have many more memories here together. I bought you
this house.” He handed her an envelope.

She removed the paper inside—a
deed to the property, in her name.

“Chella, you are the best thing
that ever happened to me. I want you to have this.”

She was speechless, and after
moments of utter silence, she said, “I can’t believe you did this.”

“I tried to get the house you
grew up in, but they refused to sell, so I had to settle for this.”

“You’re amazing. We can have tons
of family vacations down here. Emily would love it here. I can’t believe you
did this.”

“This can be the start of many
family vacations together.”

“I look forward to that.”

The summer of the following year,
Mitch and Chella invited their friends to spend a two-week vacation with them
at their villa in St. Lucia.

Craig and Maggie were doing well.
They were planning an enormous thirty-fifth wedding anniversary party that
would be celebrated after Chella and Mitch returned, so they opted not to join
them for the island vacation.

Detective Carter’s hard work
caused the FBI and Internal Affairs to launch a major investigation into the
death of Chella’s parents, and the subsequent cover-up by the police. By the
time they got evidence from the actual perpetrator of the crime, combined with
things Jade said in her letter, four people had been arrested for aiding and
abetting. When the truck driver who had killed Chella’s parents was arrested,
he had confessed and came clean to the officer in charge of the case–Aaron
Stewart’s older brother, Stephen Stewart. He told his farther, who saw it fit
to pay off Stephen Stewart’s partner, still employed by the SDPD, their Captain,
and an agent from Internal Affairs who was paid not to investigate their
suspicions at the time.

When a second set of charges were
brought against Aaron Stewart Sr. for aiding and abetting in the escape of his
son, and when he was charged in the attempted murder of both Chella and Mitch,
he was found in his sealed garage at his Rancho Santa Fe residence, his
Escalade motor running. He left a suicide note: I’m guilty, but I can’t spend a
day in jail. I’m sorry.