Chapter 32
"Great. This is just great. And I thought yesterday was bad. This whole day has just been shot to hell," Gwen grumbled. Stumbling forward and gripping the railing of the winding staircase in front of her.
Behind her, he rolled his dark eyes. Dammit if he didn't wish he had some duct tape. Not even a gun pressed between her shoulder blades could convince this dame to shut up. An unloaded gun. But a gun, nonetheless.
".psycho stalker. Why does this sound familiar?" she babbled as she tried to concentrate on the steps in front of her and not how far up she actually was. Funny. She'd had no clue the Lighthouse was this tall.
"For the last time," he groaned. "I am NOT some psycho stalker."
"Oh! Come off it!" she exclaimed incredulously. Whirling around without thinking and glaring at him with icy blue eyes.
He reached a steadying hand out to her. Shaking his head when she recoiled at his touch. "I'm not going to hurt you. AND I'm NOT a psycho stalker."
"What do YOU call it?" she snapped. "You know all these facts about me. I catch you stealing away from my mother's room. IN A TOP-SECURITY MENTAL FACILITY! And if that weren't enough, you kidnap me at gunpoint-AT GUNPOINT-and drive me all the way to this, this."
"Lighthouse?" he provided with a smirk. Struggling not to laugh at the fiery
expression he knew was on her face without even looking.
She sucked in a shaky breath, pushing her disheveled auburn hair away from forehead, as she set one foot in front of the other and decided to ignore his sarcastic remark. "Why don't you just get it over with now? I'd much rather be shot than."
"Would you just shut up?" he sighed in exasperation. "I'll make you a deal. I won't kill you. If."
"If what?" she asked. Tensed and ready to hear the worst.
"Nevermind," he muttered.
"What the hell do you mean 'nevermind'? Does that mean you ARE going to kill me? You don't do that, you know. Give someone hope and just yank it away in the next breath. Tell me about the deal."
"I thought you said you'd rather be shot than climbing these stairs?" he teased. Pushing past her to twist the doorknob in front of them.
"I.I."
"I thought so," he grinned. Nudging her inside with the butt of the gun in his hand.
She yanked her arm away when he gripped it. Steering her outside.
"Fine. Have it your way," he shrugged. Dark eyes scanning the horizon as he slouched against the railing.
She could hear the waves crashing against the rocks below, and the beacon of light blinded her as it swept around, illuminating the whitecaps for miles and miles.
It was beautiful. Utterly beautiful.
And she was scared out of her mind. "Why did you bring me here? Are you going to toss my body into the ocean after you've murdered me? I'm not some expert or anything, but I'm sure there are easier, cleaner methods."
"Thank God," he exclaimed. A grateful smile blooming across his lips. "Finally. You're here. One second more, and I would have killed her," he deadpanned. "Look. I know this wasn't in the plan, but I."
"Okay," Gwen muttered. Glancing around in confusion. "Stalker's still debatable, but I think I have concrete evidence that you are certifiable. You're the one that belongs in the nut house. What plan? Forget the plan. Who are you talking to? I sure as hell don't see."
He smirked openly at her wide-eyed look of astonishment as a tall figure dressed in black stepped from the shadows. Golden tendrils whipping wildly in the brisk night air. Blue eyes made visible by intermittent flashes of light.
"A.A.Amanda?" Gwen stammered. "What's going on here? You know this lunatic? You have some serious explaining to do. Starting with telling me what this big 'plan' is all about, and ending with how you got mixed up with this psycho stalker."
"I am NOT a."
"If it lurks around in shadows, walks and talks like a stalker, it is."
"Lady, for the last time."
"Gwen! Antonio! Stop fighting like children. We don't have the time for this!"
Gwen's jaw dropped open with the revelation, and she held a shaky hand to her forehead. What had she done to deserve this? Another off-kilter member of the Lopez-Fitzgerald family.
She'd known something about him was familiar.
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She smiled as watched her daughter and her husband playing a spirited game of one on one through the kitchen window.
The sun had long since faded, giving way to a midnight sky, and stars were interspersed everywhere.
Danielle's long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore one of her father's old Harmony High tee-shirts. She looked so young, so innocent, so happy. She'd looked so happy to see them smiling when they'd picked her up at her grandmother's home. Her smile so bright as she realized.
Things might just be okay, after all.
Luis winked at her when he caught her staring at him through the window, and Danielle waved before returning to their game.
She laughed softly as she realized the pair was unconcerned with her.
All attention, all concentration, was geared toward the game.
Her daughter surely came by her competitive streak quite naturally, she thought with a smirk. Scooping up the boxes of pictures Pilar had sent home with them.
Matthew had giggled and giggled and giggled about Uncle Luis's 'funny' boyhood pictures.
She couldn't wait to see them.
Stairs were navigated carefully. Boxes settled against her hip as she walked slowly down the hall to her and Luis's bedroom.
Luis's and Danielle's enthusiastic voices were audible through the slightly raised window at the far end of the hall.
A sudden gust of air made the curtains flap wildly, and she felt a chill invade her body as she heard it.
The sound of water dripping onto a tile floor.
A child's whimpering. A softly cried, "Mama."
The bathroom door creaked open. Painfully slow.
She moved, as if by some unseen force, forward. Creeping closer and closer, and the terrible sounds, the awful sounds of water splashing and a child's soft crying, became louder. Drowning out the sounds of her husband. Her daughter.
Her blue eyes squeezed shut fearfully as her hand rest against the wall, and her heart pounded in her chest as she counted silently before entering.
A silent scream tore at her throat, and boxes crashed to the tile floor, as she took in the horrific sight.
Blood-tainted bubbles seeped from the porcelain tub, and Andrew.
Andrew's arms stretched out, reaching for her, as his tears mixed with the blood from the wound at the back of his head.
"Mama.help. Mama.help."
She slid down the length of the bathroom wall in a boneless heap and sobbed. Her hands clamped over her ears.
Would it never end?
"Great. This is just great. And I thought yesterday was bad. This whole day has just been shot to hell," Gwen grumbled. Stumbling forward and gripping the railing of the winding staircase in front of her.
Behind her, he rolled his dark eyes. Dammit if he didn't wish he had some duct tape. Not even a gun pressed between her shoulder blades could convince this dame to shut up. An unloaded gun. But a gun, nonetheless.
".psycho stalker. Why does this sound familiar?" she babbled as she tried to concentrate on the steps in front of her and not how far up she actually was. Funny. She'd had no clue the Lighthouse was this tall.
"For the last time," he groaned. "I am NOT some psycho stalker."
"Oh! Come off it!" she exclaimed incredulously. Whirling around without thinking and glaring at him with icy blue eyes.
He reached a steadying hand out to her. Shaking his head when she recoiled at his touch. "I'm not going to hurt you. AND I'm NOT a psycho stalker."
"What do YOU call it?" she snapped. "You know all these facts about me. I catch you stealing away from my mother's room. IN A TOP-SECURITY MENTAL FACILITY! And if that weren't enough, you kidnap me at gunpoint-AT GUNPOINT-and drive me all the way to this, this."
"Lighthouse?" he provided with a smirk. Struggling not to laugh at the fiery
expression he knew was on her face without even looking.
She sucked in a shaky breath, pushing her disheveled auburn hair away from forehead, as she set one foot in front of the other and decided to ignore his sarcastic remark. "Why don't you just get it over with now? I'd much rather be shot than."
"Would you just shut up?" he sighed in exasperation. "I'll make you a deal. I won't kill you. If."
"If what?" she asked. Tensed and ready to hear the worst.
"Nevermind," he muttered.
"What the hell do you mean 'nevermind'? Does that mean you ARE going to kill me? You don't do that, you know. Give someone hope and just yank it away in the next breath. Tell me about the deal."
"I thought you said you'd rather be shot than climbing these stairs?" he teased. Pushing past her to twist the doorknob in front of them.
"I.I."
"I thought so," he grinned. Nudging her inside with the butt of the gun in his hand.
She yanked her arm away when he gripped it. Steering her outside.
"Fine. Have it your way," he shrugged. Dark eyes scanning the horizon as he slouched against the railing.
She could hear the waves crashing against the rocks below, and the beacon of light blinded her as it swept around, illuminating the whitecaps for miles and miles.
It was beautiful. Utterly beautiful.
And she was scared out of her mind. "Why did you bring me here? Are you going to toss my body into the ocean after you've murdered me? I'm not some expert or anything, but I'm sure there are easier, cleaner methods."
"Thank God," he exclaimed. A grateful smile blooming across his lips. "Finally. You're here. One second more, and I would have killed her," he deadpanned. "Look. I know this wasn't in the plan, but I."
"Okay," Gwen muttered. Glancing around in confusion. "Stalker's still debatable, but I think I have concrete evidence that you are certifiable. You're the one that belongs in the nut house. What plan? Forget the plan. Who are you talking to? I sure as hell don't see."
He smirked openly at her wide-eyed look of astonishment as a tall figure dressed in black stepped from the shadows. Golden tendrils whipping wildly in the brisk night air. Blue eyes made visible by intermittent flashes of light.
"A.A.Amanda?" Gwen stammered. "What's going on here? You know this lunatic? You have some serious explaining to do. Starting with telling me what this big 'plan' is all about, and ending with how you got mixed up with this psycho stalker."
"I am NOT a."
"If it lurks around in shadows, walks and talks like a stalker, it is."
"Lady, for the last time."
"Gwen! Antonio! Stop fighting like children. We don't have the time for this!"
Gwen's jaw dropped open with the revelation, and she held a shaky hand to her forehead. What had she done to deserve this? Another off-kilter member of the Lopez-Fitzgerald family.
She'd known something about him was familiar.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
She smiled as watched her daughter and her husband playing a spirited game of one on one through the kitchen window.
The sun had long since faded, giving way to a midnight sky, and stars were interspersed everywhere.
Danielle's long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore one of her father's old Harmony High tee-shirts. She looked so young, so innocent, so happy. She'd looked so happy to see them smiling when they'd picked her up at her grandmother's home. Her smile so bright as she realized.
Things might just be okay, after all.
Luis winked at her when he caught her staring at him through the window, and Danielle waved before returning to their game.
She laughed softly as she realized the pair was unconcerned with her.
All attention, all concentration, was geared toward the game.
Her daughter surely came by her competitive streak quite naturally, she thought with a smirk. Scooping up the boxes of pictures Pilar had sent home with them.
Matthew had giggled and giggled and giggled about Uncle Luis's 'funny' boyhood pictures.
She couldn't wait to see them.
Stairs were navigated carefully. Boxes settled against her hip as she walked slowly down the hall to her and Luis's bedroom.
Luis's and Danielle's enthusiastic voices were audible through the slightly raised window at the far end of the hall.
A sudden gust of air made the curtains flap wildly, and she felt a chill invade her body as she heard it.
The sound of water dripping onto a tile floor.
A child's whimpering. A softly cried, "Mama."
The bathroom door creaked open. Painfully slow.
She moved, as if by some unseen force, forward. Creeping closer and closer, and the terrible sounds, the awful sounds of water splashing and a child's soft crying, became louder. Drowning out the sounds of her husband. Her daughter.
Her blue eyes squeezed shut fearfully as her hand rest against the wall, and her heart pounded in her chest as she counted silently before entering.
A silent scream tore at her throat, and boxes crashed to the tile floor, as she took in the horrific sight.
Blood-tainted bubbles seeped from the porcelain tub, and Andrew.
Andrew's arms stretched out, reaching for her, as his tears mixed with the blood from the wound at the back of his head.
"Mama.help. Mama.help."
She slid down the length of the bathroom wall in a boneless heap and sobbed. Her hands clamped over her ears.
Would it never end?