| If . . . In The End By Eirian |
| Expecting Frank to pick me up for that much anticipated dinner date – finally – I threw open the door with a happy and excited smile on my face that fell when I saw who it was. I didn’t even have time to close the door on him before he’d reached out and grabbed the front of my dress and slammed me against the side of the porch, before pulling me away again, to hang almost from his hands, the tips of my toes barely touching the ground. I tried to fight my way free, but his grip was just too strong. “Alan, please,” I gasped, pressing my hands against his chest, still trying to escape. “I told you, we have to let the matter go through the courts again.” “And I told you, you’re selling the house!” he snapped, his breath hot on my face. “No,” I was so close to tears; so afraid of what he might do that I couldn’t think straight. “This isn’t helping, Alan. You’re supposed to stay away, you…” He cut me off by swinging me again at the side of the porch. My head hit the corner of the brickwork and stars exploded in my vision, my legs folded under me and it was only his strong grasp on my dress that kept me upright. I felt something warm trickle down the side of my face. “Hey,” Alan’s grip loosened slightly as the shout, followed by the rapid footsteps came closer. “Let her go!” “Fuck you!” Alan threw the words back over his shoulder, and through blurry eyes, both from the blow on the head and from the lack of oxygen I saw Frank, dashing across the driveway, his car was parked at an angle across the road. “Let her go, and step away,” Frank instructed in a voice that sounded as though it was the kind of thing he said every day of his life. “Mind your own business,” Alan replied, sounding bored, and then added, “And get the hell off my lawn.” “Alan,” I didn’t realise how close to choking I was until I tried to take a breath and couldn’t. He sifted his grasp a little as I struggled and I managed a gasping breath and turned my head to Frank, panicking – hating that he had to see this. I was afraid it would scare him off. Too much baggage… but then he did something that I never would have believed possible. He reached inside his jacket and his hand came out holding a gun. I didn’t even have the strength to react to the shock and horror that flooded though me just then, because Alan let me go and I staggered back to sit heavily against the porch step, watching the drama in front of me. “Whoa, easy,” Alan raised his hands and backed away slightly. Frank had side stepped to put himself between me and my ex husband. He reached into another pocket and took out a black, wallet-like cover, which he flipped in Alan’s direction. “Hands on the hood of the car,” he instructed, nodding toward Alan’s car that I hadn’t even seen in the driveway. I grabbed the wall for support, feeling suddenly sick as I watched Alan do exactly as he was told – always a first time, I snorted – before Frank followed, still covering him with the gun, and took cuffs from his back pocket. “I didn’t know, man! I didn’t know,” Alan whined. I closed my eyes against the gathering ache and only heard the cuffs closing around his wrists. Something about him whining – didn’t exactly move me to pity but I knew he’d had a taste of his own medicine – I just wanted him gone… and I didn’t want the whole fuss that went along with getting him arrested for breaking his injunction. “Frank,” I breathed. “Just let him go… please. I don’t want to press charges.” “You sure?” I opened my eyes in time to see him pull Alan from the car and turn him around, before returning his weapon to its holster. Alan’s face was white and he looked as if he was going to mess himself. He looked pathetic. “Yeah, I’m sure. I just want him the hell out of my life.” I felt tears prickling at the back of my eyes. I think I must have phased out for a moment, because when I became aware of what was going on again, Alan was gone, Frank’s car was in the driveway and Frank was there in front of me. He was crouching in front of me, one hand on my elbow, the other gently turning my face to the left. I breathed his name, holding onto the emotion that was threatening to flood through me just then for all I was worth. “It’s all right, Saran,” he said softly. “Let’s get you inside, clean up that cut.” He practically lifted me up, and I clung to him as he led me into the house, and into the lounge to sit me on the couch. I felt cold when he let go and reached for him again. He took my hand. “It’s okay. I’m just going to get the first aid kit from my car,” he told me. “I’ll be right back.” I nodded, and instantly regretted it as the ache in my head increased. I tried to sit still until he returned, but my mind was jumping all over the place. A gun… cuffs… his sure manner. Was he a cop? Was that why he had to keep running off? “Saran?” His soft voice made me open my eyes again. “I’m okay.” “Hmmm,” he had an extremely concerned look on his face. “Not too sure about that, honey. I think maybe the ER might be…” “I don’t want to go to the hospital.” My lip started trembling. “Please… just…” He sighed and opened the first aid kit that was on the floor beside him. It was not the average in-car first aid kit… he saw me looking and turned my head away as he took an antiseptic wipe from its wrapper. “You promise me that if I think you’re getting worse, you won’t fight me, and I’ll hold off for now. Deal?” he asked. “I promise,” I told him. “This is going to sting,” he warned. I hissed loudly and grabbed the cushion as he started to clean up the cut that the corner of the wall had made on my temple. It cleared my head for a little while at least. For long enough to notice the two tape stitches he was fixing into place. “I want you to go to your doctor’s office in the morning,” he said firmly as he covered the injury with some gauze and taped it into place. “How do you feel?” “Foolish,” I said mournfully. “I’m sorry you had to see that Frank.” He smiled gently and shook his head, telling me that it wasn’t a problem. Then he packed up the first aid kit and moved to sit beside me on the couch, but not before he had unclipped the gun holster from his side and put it on the table with the kit. I couldn’t help but watch. “You’re a cop,” I said. He turned toward me and took a hold of my hand again. “Would it bother you?” he asked, and he looked – I don’t know – somehow vulnerable and lost as he waited for my answer that it made me chuckle slightly. “No of course not,” I frowned in confusion. “Why would it?” He sighed and handed me the same black wallet that he had flashed at Alan and said, “I wouldn’t expect being a cop to bother anyone. That might.” I looked up at him, suddenly nervous and he nodded at the ID. I opened it slowly and breathed out the breath I’d been holding as I saw the three letters that graced the side of the badge. Not a cop then, but an FBI agent. I blinked and then swallowed. My head ached, but it didn’t stop me from coming to the same conclusion I would have reached with a clear head, at any other time in my life. It didn’t change the fact that he was patient, kind, good company, attractive, gentle… “Frank,” I said at last, handing back his identification. “Why would your being a Federal Agent bother me?” “It doesn’t?” he asked, no doubt thinking of the length of time I’d been sitting silently staring at his badge. “It’s different,” I admitted, not quite what to say to reassure him. “But it doesn’t change the way I feel. If I didn’t feel like my head was about to explode, I’d still want to go to dinner with you.” The slightest of smiles twitched at the corner of his mouth for a moment. “That could just mean you’re still hungry,” he said deadpan. “It could, but it doesn’t.” I freed my hand from his and pressed it against his chest. His chest rose and fell, warm beneath my touch, his heart beat slow and steady against my fingers. “It was never that I was particularly hungry that I agreed to come to dinner with you,” I whispered. His right hand came up to cover mine, while his left reached out to cup the side of my face. Almost three months to get to this point, in this day and age it might as well have been forever, and that he’d waited – never pushing… until now. He leaned down to brush his lips against mine… softly… I could almost have said tenderly, except that I couldn’t say anything at all. My fingers curled around his against his chest and my lips parted slightly to let out the tiniest of whimpers. It had been almost two years since I’d been kissed and in spite of the fact that I’d seen it coming, and had perhaps even invited it, I wasn’t sure I was ready. Ready or not, as my lips parted he moved again and captured them beneath his own, more firmly, a brushing caress as his fingers slipped carefully backward into my hair, avoiding my injured head to make the contact firmer. Everything I was, and ever could have been started coming unravelled at the feel of his lips possessing mine, the feel of his beard against the softness of my face and then the brush of his tongue along the line of my lips. I became water, no longer fighting with him, but leaning against him as I softened and melted into the kiss, allowing his tongue to caress mine, to map the shape of the soft moan that came from my mouth as the kiss deepened. He broke the kiss, and then held me close. It was only then I realised how much I was trembling…as his fingers stroked though my hair and he breathed against the top of my head. “Have you any idea how long I’ve needed to do that?” he asked softly a few moments later. I shook my head against his chest. He let out his breath in a long, slow, contented sigh. “Good,” he said. “But since I came straight from work, I do also need to eat. I’ll just go order dinner.” “Okay,” I sat back from him, reluctant for him to let go now that we had got this far. “The phone is in the hallway.” “I know,” he smiled as he got up, and I watched as he walked to the door and then leaned back against the couch to try and ease my aching head. I felt him behind me before his fingers brushed gentle at the sides of my head, and he kissed me again, up side down this time, and briefly. “I won’t be long,” he murmured. UC CRIB: 7.30am Monday Cody looked up as one of the computers pinged at him then scooted his chair over toward the machine to see what the problem was. His face lit up when he saw it wasn’t a problem at all, but that a search that had yielded a result. “Bingo!” he breathed in amazement as he read the information that came up on the screen. Saran Ceria Wilts, née Farlain. Marital status: divorced. He skimmed through the information, trying to find anything else that might make sense to him as to why she would be trying to get the team to stop Frank making them work this arms case. “SCF…” he mused, looking back at the initials she’d have if she used her maiden name. “Divorced… Jesus…” He whispered the words just as Alex came back into the room with the coffee. She must have seen his body language at once because she came tearing across the room. “What? What have you got?” she demanded. “I think I’ve got our mystery woman, but look,” he pointed at the relevant line of information. “Someone ran this woman’s details almost five and half years ago.” “Who?” Alex asked. “Frank?” “Hold on,” Cody expertly made a number of keystrokes, and entered a code that would send the request flashing round various FBI field offices to disguise the fact that it was his team that were requesting additional information. He swore and pounded the desk when the response came back. Access denied, please enter password to continue. “Well it looks like that answers the question,” Alex said, peering over his shoulder. “It’s standard practice for a senior agent to run potential…” “Yeah but you’re forgetting this Reeves-Masterton is also a senior ranking agent. Just not with the FBI!” They both sighed in turn. “Is there no way you can crack that, Cody?” “Yeah sure,” he answered sarcastically, “Given about, oh lets see – eight months so far isn’t it?” “Point taken,” Alex answered, and then moved in front of the monitor when the door opened even as he reached double quick for the power switch on the display. He stopped at Alex’s exclamation. ”Jesus, Jake,” she gasped, “What happened to you?” He waved her away as she came to help him to a seat and limped over to it by himself. “Did you manage to find anything on that list Cody,” he asked, reluctantly allowing Alex to examine the cut on his eye and then unfasten his shirt to get at the obvious injury to his chest. “Only the name and address of our mystery Email sender,” he answered proudly. “Jake who did this?” Alex asked, and Cody winced as he saw the gash across the front of Jake’s chest. “More to the point how are we going to explain it to Donovan?” he said. “We’re not,” Jake said firmly. “What?” Alex exclaimed. “That meeting I had Saturday… guy didn’t show.” Jake winced as Alex set about cleaning him up. “Not until last night – when he showed up at my squash club intent on persuading me not to ask any more questions about old ATF investigations.” “I told you to be careful,” she said. “I was careful,” he told her. “You should see the other guy.” “You didn’t,” she demanded, roughly pushing back his head to get at the cut. “Oh brother,” Cody hissed as he walked toward Jake’s locker to find him a clean shirt. They could at least hide some of the evidence from Frank. “What was I supposed to do?” Jake asked, taking the shirt that he brought back to him and starting to put it on. “Roll over and play dead?” “I hope it was worth it.” Cody nodded toward his eye. “Boss is going to want to know what you did to your eye – it’s a mess.” “Him wanting to know about my eye is the least of our worries,” Jake said and finally pushed Alex away, snatching the antiseptic wipe from her hand and the mirror from the first aid kit he set about cleaning up his face himself. “Before he passed out, our friend from the ATF told me the name of the agent that died in that investigation.” “And?” Alex prompted. Cody smiled. He knew how much she hated having to fish for information from Jake, and also how he loved to lord it over her when he had it. If they weren’t so pressed for time it would have been funny to watch, but any minute now Frank Donovan was going to be walking through the door. “Come on, Jake. Spill!” he demanded. “We need to talk to the person that sent that Email Cody,” Jake answered. “Because this case is not only dangerous… my guess is it’s also personal… personal to Frank. It was his brother.” “What?” Both Cody and Alex said together. “The agent that died, whose death got the ATF thrown off the case against Reeves-Masterton was Max Donovan.” He said softly. “I’d say that makes it personal.” I have no idea what kind of a night we would have had if not for Alan’s interference, but they say that everything happens for a reason, right? Away from the public eye Frank was an amazingly sensitive, attentive and caring man. He ordered take out from the local Thai restaurant that had a delivery service, and we shared this in front of the warmth of the fire, long since abandoning the couch just so that… well I still blush when I think about it… just so that we could get close enough to hold each other as we wanted. He lounged against the couch and I lay against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart. So that I could rest in the safety and comfort I felt in his arms… that I always felt when he held me. “How’s your head,” he asked quietly. “Fine,” I said. In truth I was almost dozing against him as he ran his fingers through my hair and gently stroked my hip and sides. “Saran?” he called and I looked up at him. For the second time that evening he captured my lips in the deepest, most sensual of kisses that I could ever remember. It was as if he were putting everything of himself into the way our lips met and moulded together… into the way his tongue swept into my mouth to tangle with mine. I wanted so much more in that moment that it almost hurt, but Alan had been such a selfish lover – besides which it had been such a long time for me – that I had no idea how to make him understand what I needed. His fingers moved as we kissed, over my back and upward on my side to brush the underside of my breast. I gasped, then moaned as sensations swept through me that I don’t think I can ever remember having before. It felt as though his touch was pouring liquid fire inside me that made everything ache and tingle; that settled every atom of my awareness low in my belly and released a flow of need to the space between my legs that felt suddenly more than empty. “Frank!” I gasped, and he pulled back and moved his hand away from my breast. His head came forward to rest against my shoulder and he breathed apologies. The tension that spread through his body, that I could feel under my fingers was unreal, but still he stopped himself. “No.” I cut off his apologies, “Please… I… I don’t want you to stop.” He raised his face then from the crook of my neck, his deep brown eyes, darkened with passion bore into me, as if he was trying to fathom the truth of my words. As though I was trying to prove my intentions, I reached for the buttons on his shirt, and trembling with my own pent up needs, began to unfasten them. He grabbed my wrist. “Not here,” he breathed, and nipped at the pulse point on the inside of it, soothing away the sting with his tongue and growled. “Come to bed.” I nodded shyly, and moved away to get up, but he stopped me, and once more pinned me down with a smouldering gaze. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I’m sure,” I answered in a whisper. “But it’s been a while.” He got up and helped me to my feet, taking me into a fervent embrace, and kissing me deeply, pressing the whole of his body close against mine as we shared breath, shared our very being through the kiss. I don’t remember the journey up to the bedroom, but I do remember that by the time we fell together onto the bed, we were hardly wearing anything at all. I don’t think there was anywhere his hands didn’t touch and find me sensitive… alive to the feel of the heat from his hands, dying from each kiss he pressed against my neck and shoulders, and the way his beard scraped gently over my already sensitive flesh. My back arched as he cupped my breast in his long fingered hand and sank his mouth around my nipple to nip and suck – at first gently, maddeningly so – but then as passions flared, as my nails scraped over his back and my fingers kneaded his taught firm muscles he became almost furious in the way he devoured me. There wasn’t an inch of him I didn’t touch and find firm and hot under my fingers. Not a muscle that didn’t respond to the way I touched him and the hardest of all he pressed against my hip as though to contain it until we were both ready to feel the moment we would join, inseparable for the rest of time. I skimmed my fingers along the line where our bodies met to find that caged firmness, to feel the heat of it with my hand. He broke from the kiss and gasped as my fingers encountered him, stroked him carefully and traced shape of the domed head of his desire risen. “Saran,” he warned softly, little more than a growling moan, and nipped the sensitive flesh below my ear on the side of my neck. His fingers found their way to the top of my thighs and dipped between them. I raised my leg to encourage his fingers to find the place I needed his touch, pausing in my gentle assault on his sanity to hook his wrist with my own and draw his hand closer still to the heat at the centre of my body and then cried out when he touched me, raising my hips to try and catch that first fleeting touch and make it last. Far from teasing he pressed the touch against me, and into me, his thumb and the side of his hand squeezing against the silken nub as his fingers possessed the dewy satin within until gasping, my hand falling away from him and crying out for him, I shattered, pulsing against his rhythmic touch that did not slow or cease until he moved over me and surged inside. He filled me; stretched me to admit him deep within. My taught, still trembling muscles creating friction that made me moan softly as I felt each marvellous inch of his claiming me and making me his, as if time itself had slowed and was waiting for us to reach to point at which we would complete each other, be healed and made whole. He pressed against me, holding the both of us still until with a kiss that mirrored the action of our bodies below he moved inside me, and eased away to return again, alternately filling me and leaving me empty and aching for him. I clutched him to me each time I feared he would move too far away, my fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck as we kissed, as the pace of our love increased, consuming us both until we had to break from the kiss or risk drowning, each in the other. "Frank, please,” I gasped, needing an end to the sweet, sharp tension that seemed to be all that I was. Such as delightful agony, I was lost in it. “Please…!” My hands reached for the tight curves of his buttocks to pull him deeper inside and I actually felt the pulse of the wave that broke over us both in the next moment beginning somewhere deep inside him, where the base of him pressed against me. The rhythm broke and with a shuddering groan against my shoulder where his head came to rest, his liquid heat rushed into me. Pulse after pulse he spilled into me in time with the uncontrolled thrust of his hips that had me spiralling off to splinter under him, and crying out his name, I came not once, but seemingly in many almost frightening waves, that drank him deeper still, shaking… trembling… and sobbing with the rightness of it all at our release. TABIARA MALAHAI CLUB: 9.45pm Tuesday “You think she’ll show?” Jake hissed at Alex as they sat intimately close, to hide that they were watching the door and the bar at the same time. “Invitation like we gave her?” she replied. “From Frank… of course she’ll show.” “Then where the hell is she,” he asked. “Shut up and kiss me,” she invited, “We’re being watched.” She buried her fingers into his hair and guided his mouth to find hers in the dim lit club, taking in a deep breath to push away the feelings that might have flowed through her as his tongue found its way into her mouth. She had no romantic feelings for Jake, she knew that, but hell she was flesh and blood and he was a good kisser. “At the bar, third seat from the left,” he breathed in her ear as their lips parted. Pretending to laugh at something he said she moved back in the seat and turned to look at the place he’d directed her. The woman her eyes found there was almost exactly like the photograph that Cody had managed to extract from the file. Short, delicate – an almost elfin look – her hair, though longer was exactly the same shade of brown under the stronger lights near the bar. She wore pants and a light blue blouse, but the one thing that Alex really noticed was how pale she looked, and that she was shaking. ** UC CRIB: 9.50pm Tuesday “All right, Cody, I’m going to ask you this question once, and once only,” Frank didn’t even greet his Tech-op as he stormed into the crib. “Where are they?” “Erm… who?” Cody tried. Frank crossed his arms and glared at Cody and then turned on Monica who was returning with the take out. ”Shit!” she hissed. “Where are they Monica? And don’t screw around – this gets messed up and people are going to die,” he snapped. “Like Max?” she answered. “Don’t,” he raised his hand and pointed at her. “Don’t try and psychoanalyse me.” “Then why not trust us from the beginning,” she backed up a step to remove his pointing finger from her personal space. “I could ask you the very same thing,” he snapped and took a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He shook it open and then slapped it into the middle of her chest. Then he threw a dangerous look over his shoulder at Cody. “Wherever they are Cody, I want them here by eight am sharp, both of you as well. This ends now!” He saw Monica glance at the piece of paper before he started for the door. She swore again and called after him. “Frank?” “Go home Agent Davis!” he instructed. “Where are you going?” she ignored his instruction. He slammed the door behind him. ** TABIARA MALAHAI CLUB: 10.15pm Tuesday It was almost as if she had heard him call her name, or somehow felt him walk in through the door. She turned slowly in her seat and watched. She hadn’t seen him in over a year, but he was exactly as he always had been, looking darkly handsome and deadly serious. His eyes were scanning the people in the club, searching – she hoped – for her. She fought to keep the tears from her eyes, remembering the ultimatum she’d been given. You persuade him to drop the case, or kill him… Fail to do either and… she shook her head. The alternative was not something she was prepared to consider. Their eyes found the shared space and locked as he moved across the bar toward her. ** Jake hissed in discomfort as Alex all but fell against his injured chest as she straddled him and then hissed again as she buried her head in the side of his neck. “You give me a hickey, Cross and I’ll kill you,” he growled then almost yelped as she grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his head down into the crook of her neck. “Alex!” “Jake, it’s Donovan,” she breathed against his neck. “What?” He wanted to look, but knew if he did they risked discovery, instead he sank lower in the booth. To the casual observer it would have looked as if he and Alex were getting into some seriously heavy petting. They wouldn’t be the only ones. “How did he…?” “I don’t know,” she murmured and looked as though she was trying to see around his shoulder. “I can’t see. You?” “Noth… wait, he’s… Oh shit, he’s talking to her.” He sighed. “We are so busted!” “This isn’t funny, Jake!” Alex slapped his arm. “And watch what you’re doing with your hands.” “Do I look like I’m laughing?” he snapped, sliding his hand from under her ass and then catching her when she almost fell. ** She was trembling so hard she didn’t know how she kept a hold of the drink that she had in her hand. Neither of them said anything, though he was giving her that look that meant he was waiting for her to speak, but she didn’t know what to say, or where to start. Just as she found the end of a thread that might actually lead somewhere toward the desired end, he surprised her by speaking. “So what… this is it? You walk out, barely even leaving me a note and after a year and a half of nothing you just turn up and expect me to come running? No word of explanation – no apology?” his voice was clipped. She knew the tone and it brought tears to her eyes. “Frank I…” she stammered. “No – Saran!” he said sharply. The first time he’d even used the word in her presence. As if to belabour the point he repeated it. “No. Not this time. It’s too late for that now.” But he wouldn’t meet her eyes… and she knew him well enough to know that this was important; that maybe he didn’t mean what he said. “Please look at me,” she said softly. He took a deep breath and sighed, but didn’t stop looking over her left shoulder. “I came here to tell you to leave me alone,” he said. “Frank… I need to talk to you,” she murmured, and tensed her body, leaning away from him and clutching her purse close to her chest. She felt her heart sinking when he started to turn away – not hearing her… not understanding the urgency of her needing for him to listen. “Frank please… just two minutes… I need you to hear what I have to say.” He kept on walking. She couldn’t persuade him to stop if he didn’t listen, if he didn’t stop walking and turn back to face her. More tears blurred in her eyes as her fingers closed around the grip of the gun they’d given her. In desperation she tried one last time. “Please don’t walk away from this… don’t walk away from me!” He still didn’t stop walking toward the door. This was about more than just him and her. But she still felt the same as she always had… the love that almost two and a half years together had kindled, and left burning still after that long time apart… she didn’t want to kill him… wasn’t even sure she could if she wanted to. But now, he left her no choice, she had to. She pulled the gun from her purse and let the empty vessel fall to the floor of the bar as she fought with the hammer of the gun to pull it back. At the sound of the soft click he stopped and the tear she’d been holding back rolled down her cheek. The bar erupted into noise and people started running aimlessly, like ants when their nest is disturbed. Her eyes widened in shock that one simple action could have galvanised so many into frantic self preservation. The sound of it hurt her ears – assaulted what sense she had left and made her want to run for the silence, but Frank… He turned back to face her. A tower of calm strength in the sea of panic, and two others, a man and a woman appeared at either side of him. They also had guns and were pointing them her way. Her insides knotted sharply and she thought she might be sick, but Frank… “Saran, it’s okay,” his voice, so warm now – so quiet and tender against the discordant cacophony behind him. “I’m sorry, okay we can talk.” “Tell,” she stammered, “T-tell them to put the guns away.” Somehow she knew the others were his subordinates. The gun shook and wavered in her hand, so she tightened her grip and made sure it was still pointing in his direction. But it was so heavy that after a moment it started to sink lower. “Nobody needs the guns,” he soothed and started to come back toward her. She knew that if he reached her it would all be over and part of her wanted that. She wanted him to walk up and take the gun from her. Or talk her down… that was his job after all, wasn’t it? Moaning softly she raised the gun again to point it at his chest, holding it now in both hands. He stopped, and opened his arms out one to either side. Part of her wanted to be rescued… but at what cost…? “Tell them…” Her voice was barely a squeak. How could he hear her in all this discord? “And shut these people up! I can’t think… I can’t…” She saw him nod, and half turn his head toward the woman, though his eyes never left hers. “Alex, secure this area. Call it in…” “Wait!” she snapped. What did he mean – was he calling for backup? Were they going to send in more people, with more guns to stop her… to endanger… “What do you mean?” “I’m assuming the last thing you want is this place crawling with cops,” he answered, “Do it, Alex. Jake…” He waved his arm toward the ground. The man whose gun was still pointing at her lowered his weapon as the woman moved to start taking the people outside. Soon it started to grow quieter and quieter, but her arms were getting so tired, and she still didn’t know how she was managing to get the sobs she felt – that she was crying inside – to stay inside. “They’re always heavier than you think they’re going to be,” Frank continued softly once it had grown quieter. He nodding toward the weapon she held. “Why don’t you give me the gun and we can sit down and talk, hmm?” She nearly softened, almost swooned but pushed aside the rising warmth and feeling. He wasn’t going to listen to her… when she tried to call him he hadn’t… he… “I… I tried your cell phone,” she said. “It was disconnected.” “I’ve moved on, Saran,” he stepped toward her slowly. She knew she should have pulled the trigger right then, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to hear what he had to say. She wanted to hear about him, about his day, like when he would creep into her house at night and wrap himself around her in bed to warm her when she was cold… his fingers scraping along her… she moaned again, and gritted her teeth. “I have a new job now – a new apartment.” He took another step, then another; coming closer… slowly… perhaps he did want to talk after all… perhaps he would listen. “T –there… I could never get through at work. I… I don’t know where to start,” she said, her arms trembling to keep the gun in place. “Why don’t you start by giving me the gun?” he suggested softly. Yes… give him the gun and then they could talk… she could make him see that it solved nothing, him forcing the truth out into the open… that it only hurt people… hurt her, and him and… “Why,” she implored, “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?” “What Saran?” He took another careful step toward her. He was almost right in front of her. His nearness startled her and she flinched. He stopped moving, even appeared to stop breathing until he said, “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on.” He wanted to help her. He did want to listen; everything was going to be all right after all. The relief made her hurt inside – all through her body hurt. She finally let out the sob that had been gathering under her breath as a low pitched whine and shook as the tears started to flow over her face. The man behind Frank started to raise his gun as hers twitched in her hand when her body shook, but Frank threw his arm out to the side and told him, “Stow it, Agent Shaw.” Then he started to reach up toward her. ”I’m scared Frank,” she sobbed. “I know, baby,” he whispered, and she sobbed harder as she heard him call her that again after the way he had spoken to her earlier. “I know. Give me the gun.” He reached forward, closing his hands around the side of the gun, supporting the weight of it a little and relieving her tired and tense muscles. “That’s it…” he murmured. “Put it down!” the woman’s voice, yelling, startled her, but not as much as the sound of a shotgun behind her being primed. She felt a flush of confusion rise from her belly to begin to strangle her, to wrap confusion around her already tired mind. Then the woman pulled a gun too, and Saran screamed, and jumped in fear, pulling her finger against the trigger. The sound of it was like nothing she could have imagined. She felt as though her head was splitting in two and her arms jerked in her sockets as though they were being ripped out. She recoiled in panic and the sound came again, then something warm and wet sprayed across the front of her, across her hands and splashed on her face, and movement in front of her showed her the nightmare that was Frank, staggering backwards as though she had pushed him. A flash from the side was accompanied by searing pain in her shoulder that wiped out even the sound. The pain unlocked her fingers from around the gun and she realised she was sailing backward, toward the bar. When she connected, everything went dark. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ If . . . In The End - Chapter 2 |