Young Love Murder (20 page)

“Mom?”

She doesn’t turn around from what she’s doing, answering, “Yes, honey?”

“Mom!” I shout. I think the shock is starting to wear off.

She turns around and screams, covering her mouth with one hand. “Gabriel! Are you okay? Where are you bleeding?” 

She rushes over to me with a look of motherly panic on her face, wanting to check for injuries. I hold my arms out to ward her off. “I’m not bleeding. You need to call the police. Someone shot dad and one of his men.” By the time I’m done speaking my entire body is trembling. It’s starting to sink in.

She looks at me in disbelief, her voice is panicky. “What are you talking about, Gabriel? What do you mean, someone shot your father?” I see horror in her eyes and wonder if she sees the same in mine.

I squeeze my eyes shut again, hoping when they open, this nightmare will have faded. Opening them, I don’t wake up from it. “Exactly what I just said. He’s dead. They’re both dead. Call the police.”

My mom pushes past me and rushes up the stairs. I stand there for a minute before realizing what she means to do. The knowledge finally snaps me out of the fog. I run up the stairs after her. “Mom, you don’t want to see it!”

Too late. 

She enters the study before I can stop her and screams in a high pitch at the top of her lungs. She lunges toward my father’s body, sobbing, but I manage to hold her back. She tries to get out of my hold and I have to pick her feet up off the ground. Holding her tightly against me, I move her over to the leather couch, where the large desk will block most of her view. 

“Mom, you can’t touch him, it’s a crime scene. Now, I’m going to let go of you so I can call the police.” I slowly release my hold on her and she falls back against the couch in a fit of agony. I walk over to the desk, pick up the phone and dial 911. Refusing to look down at the bodies, I wait for someone to pick up.

The 911 dispatcher answers after a short wait time. I confirm our address and tell her, “Someone murdered my father. Send the police.” The dispatcher wants me to stay on the line until the police arrive at the house, to answer more questions over the phone. I have something else in mind. 

Hanging up, I call down to the guard booth next, asking them to send someone up to the house. Two minutes later, a man shows up and I ask him to sit with my mother. The security guard sees the bodies and his eyes go wide. I feel like saying,
Yeah, you didn’t do your job, did you?
Then again, I’m the one who brought the killer into our home. I try telling my mom that I need to leave, but she’s falling to pieces. I’m not even sure she comprehends what’s going on anymore. 

I go to my bathroom and strip out of my clothes. Putting my head under the sink, the running water rinses off visible traces of the blood. I wash my hands and go into my closet for a change of clothes. Grabbing my car keys and wallet, I take the stairs two at a time and rush out the door. I can already hear the sirens, they’re close. As I’m pulling out of the gate, the cops are coming down the street. I pass by a speeding ambulance less than a minute later. 

I have to talk to Anna. There has to be an explanation. Maybe I imagined it was her. No, I’m kidding myself. I didn’t imagine that it was Anna that shot my father. Still, there has to be an explanation. Why would Anna do this? What was she thinking? She must have had a reason. Unless she’s insane. If she’s crazy, I’ll do whatever it takes to get her help. I love her. Miraculously, I love her still. What other possible reason could there be? Seventeen-year-old girls just don’t go around murdering men for no reason. Right?

I speed to the hotel, breathing a sigh of relief on seeing Anna’s car in the parking lot. I can’t explain why, but I have the feeling that the clock is ticking. Instead of waiting for the elevator, I take the stairs. I’m sweating by the time I reach Anna’s floor. Breathing hard, I’m about to knock on the door when it swings open.

I drop my fist at the sight of the person before me then contemplate raising it again. It’s her blonde Russian friend. Her parents’ bodyguard. He’s carrying luggage in each hand. He sets them down slowly when he sees me. His entire body tenses up, as if he’s readying to attack. 

“Where is she?” I ask hoarsely, ready for a confrontation. 

He opens his mouth to answer, but before he can speak, Anna’s voice says from behind him, “It’s okay. Move out of the way.” Interesting, I thought the Russian couldn’t understand English. He seems reluctant as he hesitates before stepping aside and mockingly gesturing for me to enter the room. 

At the first sight of Anna, a mixture of feelings race through me. The intensity of it almost overwhelms me, forcing me to breathe through the pain. All at the same time I want to hold her close, shake her in disbelief and hurt her badly. Despite what happened earlier tonight the love is still there. Possibly stronger than ever, but something else is building too. Another emotion is beginning to burn parallel to that love.

Anna is standing there, wariness radiating from her. It’s not quite fear that’s in her eyes as she looks at me, but something that I can’t quite figure out. We just stare at each other. I don’t know exactly what to say to the murderer of my father. The girl I love. I can’t even begin to guess what she’s thinking right now. 

The Russian breaks the silence. “We don’t have time for this, Annie. We have to leave
now
. He’s probably already called the cops.” Interesting. The Russian, who didn’t speak or understand English before, can now speak it fluently. Without an accent. 

I avoid the more pressing issues and address this one, the easier one. I watch Anna’s face and say, “I thought he was Russian?”

She doesn’t even look guilty as she says, “I lied.”

I finally explode. “You lied about a hell of a lot more than that! Who the fuck are you? Why did I just have to watch you murder my father?” I point at the fake Russian. “And who the fuck is he
really
to you?”

I take a step towards Anna and the fake Russian takes a step closer to me. Anna holds up her hands. “Stop! He’s not going to hurt me!”

I’m not?
“Anna, can I speak to you in private. Without
him
here?”

At the same time that Anna says, “Yes,” the blonde guy gives a vehement, “No.”

Anna flashes him an impatient look. “We both know that I’m in no danger from him. I can take care of myself.”

The guy glares at her for a moment before saying, “Make it quick. We need to leave.” As he moves past me to leave the room, he bumps his shoulder hard against mine and says, “Don’t try pulling anything. I have a key. You can’t keep me out. Try hurting her and I’ll kill you.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her,” I say through clenched teeth.
Would I?

He gives me a sarcastic look. “I said
try
. You wouldn’t stand a chance against her unless she let you.” He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him to wait in the hallway. Again I wonder, who is this guy to her
?
Why does he have a goddamn key?

Turning back to Anna, I again see that emotion in her eyes similar to fear, but not quite. Is it anxiety? Does the murderess actually feel remorse? No, it’s not remorse that I’m seeing. At least not for the act. Of course, she should feel anxious right about now.

“I did call the police,” I tell her, trying to gauge her reaction. She doesn’t have one, from what I can tell. It’s almost like she’s the stranger I first met. “Why did you do it?”

She seems to debate her words before saying, “I had to.”

I’m barely able to reign in the building anger when I respond by saying, “That’s not an answer. Why did you murder my father?” Clenching my fists, I manage to keep my tears in check.

“I don’t consider it murder when I kill a murderer. I call it justice.” Her words make no sense. What is she talking about? My father was no murderer.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I take another step closer, she doesn’t move, as if unconcerned by any threat I may pose.

“Your father, he was a murderer. He killed people, sometimes innocent people. That wasn’t the only thing that he was guilty of. He’s also one of the largest distributors of drugs from South America. He was a monster.” She speaks her lies so matter-of-factly. I wonder how many other lies of hers I fell for. Not this time, she’s not that good.

“Liar!” She doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. My dad would never do those things.

“I’m not lying, Gabriel,” she says softly. Her golden brown eyes are beseeching me to believe her, but now I see her for what she is, a monster.

“And who are you?” My father’s death should be my main focus, but I have to know what she is.

“Who do you think I am?” Anna looks at me cautiously, almost as if she’s reluctant to answer the question.

“At this point, I really don’t know.” Rubbing a hand over my face, I notice her glancing at the door. Yeah, she’d like to escape me, wouldn’t she?

“I was hired to kill your father, probably by people who felt he’d never see justice in the court system. Maybe by a rival drug dealer.” She watches my face, my reaction, as if daring me to argue.

I take another step towards her. She doesn’t move, doesn’t look threatened. “Probably? So, you’re some sort of . . . . assassin?” That’s insane.

She nods. “Your father deserved to die.”

I close the remainder of the short distance that separates us and grab her head roughly with both hands. Squeezing her face between my hands, I shout at her, “My father was
not
a murderer or a drug dealer! He was a good man and he worked hard. You’re the murderer. You murdered my father and have destroyed my mother. Destroyed our lives.” I’ll beat the truth into her if I have to.

Finally, Anna’s cool facade crumbles and tears form in her eyes. Real or fake? She lifts her right hand as if to touch my face, but drops it dejectedly. “I’m telling the truth, Gabriel. I love you. I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t true.”

I grab her shoulders and shake her violently. She braces herself by grabbing onto my biceps. “Liar! I won’t listen to your lies, Anna. I won’t listen to you talk this way about my father. Oh god! I loved you, Anna! More than anything in this world. And now I don’t know if I do anymore because I
hate
you.
So much
. I hate you so much that it’s killing all the love I had for you. And I hate you for that too!” I tighten my grip on her shoulders to the point of bruising. More tears well up in her eyes. Shaking her again, I yell, “Do you think I care for your tears, Anna? Do you think I believe them anymore?”

Anna’s tears stream down her face. Her expression reflects anguish when she whispers, “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Before I can even form a response to that, I feel pressure against my neck and my world goes black once again. 

When I regain consciousness sometime later, Anna and all her belongings are gone. Everything finally crashes over me. My world comes crashing down. The murder of my father, the destruction of my family and the betrayal of the only girl I’ve ever loved is too much. For the first time tonight, I allow myself to cry. The tears are for all that I’ve lost and everything I’ll never have again. 

Chapter 15

Annabelle

After using a pressure point move to knock out Gabriel, I open the door to the suite to see Jackson waiting for me, leaning against the wall opposite our door. He looks through the open doorway at Gabriel lying on the floor and asks, “Do you want me to kill him for you?”

“Never!” I yell at him, glowering while trying to dry my face with the sleeve of my black sweater. Pushing him down the hallway, I take one last look at Gabriel as the hotel room door is slowly closing before following my brother to the elevator. Jackson sends the message to Simon for me, letting him know that it’s finished and to have his computer geek clean up after us.

Early the next morning we’ve been driving north all night, getting as far away from Florida as possible. Once we’re far enough, we’ll leave the country and won’t come back for a long while. Long enough to make sure that our real identities haven’t been discovered and the coast is clear to return to the United States for future jobs.