The Trouble With Bodyguards: Part 2 (10 page)

He slid the strap of her gown over her shoulder, exposing the alabaster skin of her breast. "I have wanted to touch you," he said, "for so long. I have watched you, in your apartment, showing yourself to me through your windows. I have loved you more and more each day. My wretched brother tried to steal you away from me, tried to take you for his own. But I know that you were waiting for me to rescue you, so that you and I could be together. He didn't touch you, did he, my darling? He didn't put his filthy hands on your lovely, radiant skin." He bent, pressing his lips gently against the swelling of her breast, her chest heaving with panicked breaths as she sat immobile next to him on the sofa.

He lifted the hem of her skirt, trailing the tips of his fingers along the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh.

Alex exploded, unable to keep herself still any longer, a shrieking battle cry escaping from her open mouth as she buried the butter knife deep into the middle of his back.

He howled, his body seizing as pain shot through him from the wound in his back. He stood, stumbling across the room, knocking over the small table with the tray of wine and cheeses, from which Alex had plucked the knife while he was tending to the music. As he spun, the blood blossoming through his starched white shirt was visible, each twitch of his muscles as he fought to reach it with his hands making his suffering worse.

Alex tried to stand, to dash across the room to the door on the other side, and found that her legs would not support her weight. She tumbled to the floor, the gown that she was wearing pooling around her as she lay in a crumpled heap. She tried to crawl, dragging herself across the threadbare carpet, tears streaming from her eyes as she fought her way past the end of the couch. She could see the door, only a few yards away, and willed her strength to remain long enough for her to get to the other side. She didn't know where she was, or what she was going to do once she was on the other side of the door, but she knew that if she didn't escape now, she would be dead.

"Oh no," he said, grabbing the back of her hair as she slid on her belly across the floor at his feet. "You are not going to leave me again." He pulled, dragging her across the room by her hair, and Alex howled with pain.

"No!" she screamed, struggling against him, reaching out for furniture as they passed, anything to slow him down. "Let me go!"

"Go where?" he asked, his voice cracking with rage as he pulled, tearing her hair from her head. "Go back to him? Back to the models, the liars, them? They don't know, you said it yourself, they don't see. Why in the fuck do you want to go back to them? Why couldn't you be happy with me?"

"Please," she whimpered, her muscles screaming from the effort of trying to escape his grip.

He yanked her hair, lifting her to her feet, and Alex wailed in agony. Before her legs collapsed beneath her, he managed to lift her back onto the table where she had awoken several hours before. He shoved her down onto the table, the veins in his forehead bulging with the effort, his face reddening with rage and the pain of the knife in his back. He strapped her wrists to the table, holding her immobile.

"You stabbed me," he said, turning to show her her handiwork. Sucking in a deep breath, he ran his back along the bricks of the wall, dragging the knife from where it was buried in his flesh, letting it clatter to the tile floor. Stooping, he plucked it from the floor, holding the bloodied steel before his eyes in the dim light.

"You, fucking stabbed me," he said again. Turning to her, Alex could see the madness returning to his eyes. This was the monster that everyone was afraid of, and she had brought him out from where he had been hiding. Alex struggled, pulling at the restraints, her back arching, sweat springing to her skin from the effort to escape. She opened her mouth, releasing a bloodcurdling scream like a trapped animal as he lifted the knife high over his head, ready to plunge it deep into her heart.

"Don't," called Rick from the doorway. Jacob froze, his eyes growing wide with fury, and spun on his heels, his rage now focused on his brother.

"You," he said, through gritted teeth. "What are you doing here? You are not going to take her from me again."

"Jake, you don't want to do this," said Rick, his voice steady, attempting to calm his brother. "Just let her go, you don't want to hurt her."

"How the fuck do you know what I want?" Jacob screamed, frustration and fury resonant in his tone. "Did you ever stop to ask me what I want, what I need? You always assume to know what's best for me, you always have. I fucking deserve this," he wailed, "and you are not going to take this from me!" He charged, the knife held high, ready to end his brother's life to protect his treasure.

Alex screamed, unable to watch, fear that Jacob would slash Rick with the knife, that she would witness the murder of the man that she cared for more than anything in the world, all when he was attempting to rescue her for a second time. Jacob slashed with the knife, mere inches from his brother's face, and Rick raised his arm to protect himself. The blade grazed his arm, blood welling up, bathing his skin in scarlet from the wound.

Rick circled his brother, attempting to shove him to the floor with a glancing blow, but Jacob held his ground, the knife gripped tightly in his right hand. "You are not going to take her this time," he said. Growling, hissing, he charged his brother, brandishing the knife.

Rick ducked, dodging the blow, and grabbed the wrist of the hand that was holding the knife, spinning it around himself, pulling his brother's body close to his own. "Jake," he said, pleading, "just let go. It will be all right, just let go."

Jacob thrashed, crying out with pain and frustration as his brother held him close. He wailed, a primal scream emanating from him as he fought to release himself from Rick's hold. He released the knife, and it clattered to the floor near the door. Rick turned, his grip still tight on his brother's wrist, and held his weight against the man, pressing him against the wall.

"Just relax," he said, "it's going to be all right."

Tears streamed down Jacob's face. He was defeated; his prize was going to be taken from him yet again. "Why?" he said, his voice pitiful, a shattered sound. "Why would you do this to me?"

"I didn't do anything to you," said Rick. "None of us did," he continued. "No one ever did anything to you." He put his arms around his brother, embracing him as Jacob relaxed into his arms, weeping.

"No one understands," Jacob said, sobbing into his brother's shoulder. "No one listens. They just keep giving me pills, or locking me away. No one cares about what I want, what I need."

"Oh, Jake," said Rick, setting his brother down gently in the chair at the foot of the bed, "I'll listen. At least I'll try. Just tell me what you need, and we'll help you get it."

"I need you to go the fuck away and leave me alone," said Jacob, pulling a gun from underneath the chair where he had kept it hidden, and aiming it at his brother. He pulled the trigger, and a blinding flash of light filled the dim space, the roar of gunfire echoing through the tiny, underground space.

"No!" Alex screamed, watching with horror as Rick clutched at his chest, blood spilling over his hands as he collapsed against the wall, slowly sliding to the floor. He turned his eyes to Alex, tears spilling from his eyes as he said, "I'm sorry."

Gunfire rang out a second time, and Alex shrieked in fear. Her eyes wide, she watched as Jake collapsed to the floor next to his brother, his own blood spilling from a wound in his chest and pooling on the floor, mixing with Rick's. Policemen stormed into the room, their guns drawn, and circled the table to which Alex was bound.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing ragged as she cried, "Rick, Rick's been shot! Help him!"

One of the officers reached down and checked Rick's pulse by putting his fingers to his throat, "He's still alive," he called. "Get the paramedics down here!" Stooping down next to Jacob, he checked his pulse as well. "He's alive too," he continued, "but only barely. Hurry those guys up, will you?"

Alex's wrists were released, and she slid from the table, her legs still too weak to hold her weight. She crawled across the floor, dragging her gown through the blood of the two men, to Rick's side. Tears spilling down her cheeks, she rested against his chest, comforted by the slow and steady beat of his heart, each beat giving her hope that he would survive this, and that he would be there with her for the rest of their lives. She needed him; she deserved him. She would not let this monster take him away from her, not ever.

The incessant beeping had returned. Rick couldn't drive it from his consciousness. He just wanted to sleep, why could no one understand that? Just make the damned thing quit beeping, whatever the hell it was, so that he could go back to sleep. He didn't have to work today, he had the day off, the plant was closed on Sunday.

Wait, he thought, something about that didn't seem right. He hadn't worked at the plant for months, not since his brother had gone missing. What was he supposed to be doing today, and why wouldn't that thing stop beeping? Exhaustion washed over him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something important that he needed to do. What was it?

He groaned, dragging himself from the comfortable darkness of sleep, and became aware of a sharp pain in the middle of his chest. As he emerged from unconsciousness, the pain radiated through him, snatching his attention away from whatever had been niggling at him moments before. He opened his eyes, reaching up his hand to rub the sleep from them, and found that he was attached to an IV. Confused, he glanced around the room, the space dim, the sky dark beyond the window at the far end of the room.

A hospital, how had he ended up in a hospital? He strained to think on what had taken place in the last few days. His brother had gone missing, after that scuffle over the photographs. That woman, the one in all the pictures. Something about her was important, he thought. He pictured her face, the brilliant green eyes, the long red hair. What was her name? Alex.

Alex. He shot up in bed, pain searing through his midriff as his memories came flooding back. Alex, in danger, he had taken her again. He had her in the woods, in a bunker built way underground. He had been attacked by his brother, he had had a knife. He remembered the knife on the floor, his brother weeping in his eyes.

How then had he been hurt? How had he ended up in the hospital, and what had become of Alex? He had a vision, of her in a gown, her wrists bound over her head on some sort of metal table.

“Alex,” he called out into the darkness of his hospital room.

“I'm right here,” she said, stepping from the shadows and seating herself on the edge of his bed. She took his hand, cradling it gently between her own as he relaxed back into the pillows, weak and drained from the adrenaline rush he had suffered in fear for her life.

“What happened?” he asked, holding his hand to his head.

“Your brother shot you,” she said, grimacing as she remembered holding him as he bled in her arms, relying on the beating of his heart to keep her sane.

“How did you escape?” he asked.

“The police came,” she said, “shortly after you were shot. They shot your brother, and then they brought us all here.”

“Shot my brother,” said Rick, attempting to sit up again, wincing with pain.

“He was in surgery last I checked,” she said. “They expect him to make it. He's going to be sent to the psychiatric hospital, and then he'll stand trial for kidnapping and attempted murder.”

“Oh, Alex,” said Rick, squeezing her fingers. “I'm so sorry you had to go through all of this.”

“Rick,” she said, smiling down at him where he lay on the pillow. “If I hadn't have been involved in this, I never would have met you. It was a horrible situation, but I don’t think that I would have changed it, if it meant that I had to go my whole life without getting to kiss you.” Leaning over, she pressed her lips gently against his, lingering there, tasting his love for her.

She crawled into the bed with him, curling herself under his arm, her body close to his in the moonlight. “What happens now,” she said, “with us?”

“I don't know,” he said. “With the way things have gone with us this far, anything could happen."

~~~